#Lydia trevelyan

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Lydia core 😭

[sun-marie]

I imagine Lydia Laidir wouldn't be too impressed with "Lord" Inquisitor James Treveylan

[thedragonagebigbang]

A Simple Affair

Written by: Contre Parry Illustrated by: Sahher

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Content Warnings: Depictions of Violence, Blood, Funeral Practices Fandom(s): Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age Inquisition Major Pairing(s)/Character(s): Mage Trevelyan Inquisitor, Senior Enchanter Lydia/OC

Ostwick Circle is thrown into chaos after the horrific murder of Senior Enchanter Lydia. While emptying Lydia’s office, Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan discovers that there was more to her mentor than she ever realized.

A primarily epistolary fic that explores how Ostwick might have ‘peacefully’ disbanded at the start of the Mage Templar War.

More from Contre Parry: @contreparry More from Sahher: @emptyshellofanillusionwizard

Full art by Sahher:

[eldritchblaaaast]

once cooked up a mage trevelyan who's a bit older than the game implies they are as a means of reinforcing the previous message of the first 2 games regarding the treatment of mages and the mage-templar war - a 30-ish enchanter with a bone to pick with every person who defends the circle or the templars, very protective of the mages and apprentices, and extremely Tired of Everything Happening to Him

i miss him

[scalpelsister]

✦  —  'EVERY OC LIST GOT THE' TAG GAME

tagged by @bloodskinandteeth @red-nightskies @jamessunderlandgf - thank you my angels <3 pick an image of one of your ocs that best fits each category, you can even have multiple characters on one category, or even repeat a character for multiple categories. here is a link to the blank template.

in order-

gwendolyn | lydia | taiga leontine | taube | feilan morana | lorelei | lunacy yara | feilan (again) | sadie

tagging- @shellibisshe @ghostfvcker @teamhawkeye @lxmbert @cannibalcult + whoever else wants to do this <3

[simnovoris]

Evelyn Trevelyan, Leah Rutherford's sister, lives in Henford-on-Bagley with her family - Thom Blackwall and twins Lydia and Samuel. Evelyn is pregnant again with their third child. They run a small farm and Thom also makes some money selling crafts.

They adore each other and rarely even interact with other people beyond Evelyn's sisters Leah and Anne. Thom had a slight case of panic when they first found out Evelyn was pregnant, since he had never considered himself father material, but he quickly gathered his resolve into proposing instead.

The twins have been a handful to raise, even for two parents working from home. Lydia is sunny and inquisitive whereas Samuel is a more aggressive and clingy kind of toddler, but they both have each other's backs.

[nirikeehan]

internalised prejudice from bad things happen bingo for thalia?

Thank you!! This was a perfect prompt for some Ostwick Circle backstory exploration with Thalia. I had a blast with it.

For @badthingshappenbingo and @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2469

PS the lyrics that get referenced here are from Stolen Roses by Karen Elson.

---

The banging on the door shook Thalia from a dead sleep. “Mage Trevelyan! Open up.” 

She rolled over, opened bleary eyes. Her dormitory, its familiar slanted ceiling with the spiderweb crack in it, greeted her. “I’m coming,” she called, dragging herself from her narrow bed. The air was chilly, and she was only in the thin shift she wore to sleep, her hair hanging past her shoulders in wild tangles. 

I can’t let a Templar see me like this, she thought. She didn’t recognize the gruff voice muffled by the door, which worried her. If you knew which ones you were dealing with, you could adjust your behavior accordingly. Thalia had grown used to the regulars over the years: Jareth liked meek obedience; Stella let you get away with a bit of spunk; never let Wilfred find you alone, especially in a store room. 

She threw one of her clean robes on over her shift, grabbed the long mass of her hair and twisted it. She had no time to braid, and almost as little to secure it in a bun at the nape of her neck, but she would be damned if she let a Templar catch her with her hair down. The banging recommenced as she was pinning the last of it into place. She smoothed the frizzy bits behind her ears, fingers shaking.

Thalia marched to the door and threw it open. “Can I help you?” she asked in her best noblewoman voice. 

The Templar was one of the new ones. An additional retinue had been sent from the White Spire several months prior, supposedly to “shore up” the routine patrols. No one knew why exactly, but rumor claimed it had to do with some unpleasantness at another Circle in the Marches. The man who stood before her in full plate was tall; her eyes leveled on the flaming sword engraved into his chest. He had greasy brown hair flecked with grey, an aquiline nose, and a stony expression. 

“Took you long enough,” he growled, angling past her to see inside. 

“It’s barely dawn,” Thalia pointed out, trying not to sound annoyed. “I was asleep.” 

The Templar’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened. Thalia waited for him to accuse her of lying. Kevan. That’s his name. Knight-Templar Kevan. 

“Knight-Captain Gerard wants to see you,” Kevan said, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. 

In her seven years at the Circle, she had never uttered a word to the Knight-Captain or his Commander, Faith. She was fairly certain neither of them even knew who she was, and she hoped to keep it that way. A chill went through her. “Why?” 

“Not for me to say.” Kevan stood aside, motioning her into the hallway. 

Stunned, Thalia stepped forward, only to remember she was barefoot. “Just a moment. I need to find my shoes.”

She hurried into the recesses of her room, making a show of searching for the slip-ons she already knew were under her bed. Her heart flitted against her ribcage like a frightened bird. Just be calm. Be calm.

After several deep breaths and wearing her shoes, she returned to Kevan. “All right, I’m ready.”

Without a word, he led her from the bedchamber, down the rounded corridor and to the long winding stair. Mage quarters were high up in the stone tower — to lower their chances of escape, her friend Willow had once quipped. Laboratories, classrooms and libraries were on lower levels, administrative offices lower still. Each landing they passed was accentuated by a sconce burnt down low due to the hour, and a tall, narrow window. The windows were wide enough to press one’s eye to, but not much else. Predawn light leaked in, and on each pass Thalia caught a glimpse of either the fog-laden forest or the calm grey sea, depending on their cardinal direction. 

They reached the floor belonging to the Templars, and Thalia wrung her hands while Kevan withdrew a key and unlocked the heavy wooden door. She had not been summoned to the Templar offices in years, not since she’d first arrived at the Circle. She had been sat down in a chair, had her finger pricked by a senior enchanter murmuring platitudes. Then came Knight-Templar Algernon with ink and needles, seizing her chin and turning her face this way and that, a calculation in his eyes that put a cold knot in her stomach.

She hadn’t seen Algernon on patrol in awhile, to her relief. She’d never quite been able to look him in the eye, afterward. 

She followed Kevan to the one doorway with lighted sconces. Kevan knocked lightly and cracked the door without waiting for an answer. “Knight-Captain Gerard, this is the next one.” 

Thalia stayed silent as she scurried in past the scowling Kevan, and bowed to the Knight-Captain in greeting. 

Gerard was an older man, perhaps in his middle fifties. Thalia knew little about him, except that he’d been born in Orlais and retained a slight accent. He’d been Knight-Captain when Thalia joined the Circle. At the time of the Blight, he’d given frequent speeches during assemblies about darkspawn safety. Her dorm mates Matilda and Crispin had mocked the man mercilessly afterward, exaggerating the lilt like players in a farce. It put many acolytes in stitches, but Thalia, whose tutors had drilled her for years on proper Orlesian pronunciation, found the japes rather cruel. 

She thought of this now, staring wide-eyed at the Knight-Captain as he sat behind his large mahogany desk. He was of stocky build — wide and strong and, rumor had it, capable with a sword despite his advanced age. He had a close-cropped greying beard, a shiny bald head, and skin pocked by an old illness. 

Not even fun to look at, Willow had complained once, during a holiday feast when all mages and Templars had sat to table together in the refectory. What’s even the point? 

“Good morning, Lady Thalia,” said Knight-Captain Gerard. Stoic, but not impolite. Thalia was not sure which surprised her more: that he knew her given name, or that he’d chosen to use her title. Most Templars didn’t know or cared that she was nobility; neither did most fellow mages, for that matter. “You must forgive us for summoning you at such an early hour. Please, have a seat.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive, ser,” Thalia said, falling back on remembered courtesies. She thought of following her previous bow to a curtsy, to prove she was a proper lady, but worried that might seem like overkill. She sat down as daintily as she could. “I’m certain you must have good reason.” 

“We do, I’m afraid.” Gerard’s mouth hardened into a line. “Senior Enchanter Lydia is dead.” 

Thalia gaped. “You’re kidding.” 

“I can only assure you we would not joke about something this serious, my lady.” 

She pressed a hand to her forehead, lightheaded. One of the most important mages in the Circle tower, dead? Thalia had not known Lydia well, had never worked with her personally. But like all the other senior enchanters, Lydia’s reputation preceded her. She was certainly not very old — not even so old as the Knight-Captain. Thalia clutched the fabric of her robe in both hands.

“How? Why?” 

“We’re hoping you can help us with that.” Gerard watched her with a flinty gaze. 

A chill settled over Thalia, along with comprehension. “She was murdered, wasn’t she?” 

Gerard cocked his head. “What makes you think so?” 

“Pardon my impudence, Knight-Captain,” Thalia said, “but the Templars wouldn’t be summoning mages in the pre-dawn hours for questioning if you thought it was an accident.” She swallowed hard. “Or natural causes.” 

“You’re a clever girl, Lady Thalia.” Gerard stood, his plate mail clinking as he moved to a nearby bookshelf and withdrew a volume of parchment bound in vellum. Thalia caught a glimpse of her surname written on the cover in careful script. Gerard flipped open the file, squinted as he strolled toward Thalia’s chair. “Always studious, it says here. Dedicated to your lessons. Very few incidents of…” He turned a page. “Insubordination.” 

“Insubordination?” Thalia felt her palms begin to sweat. 

“Mm. All mages have some, it seems.” He waved a dismissive hand, eyes on the file. “It’s all right, never met one who hadn’t had an instance or two. Ah.” He looked up, poking the page with his finger. “9:32 Dragon. You led some of your fellow apprentices in singing subversivesongs.” 

Thalia’s cheeks grew hot. She’d forgotten entirely about the incident in question. “That was six years ago.” 

Some of the younger children had expressed in an interest in the piano that usually sat silent and unused in a common room. Thalia had sat down and, terribly rusty, played the first song that came to mind: an old Free Marcher ballad about loss and longing. 

The thorns on the roses cut through my skin The vultures flew down and then pecked  What lay on the surface was a tiny crack And below was a gigantic wreck 

So I held my head down and I dealt with the blows In hope that I’d soon be free  to go where the stolen roses grow to forget all the bad memories. 

A passing Templar — Jareth, he always seemed to find her in those early days — had overheard and thought her choice of song nefarious. An official reprimand followed, and no more music during their free hours for six months for all the acolytes in her section. Oh, cheer up, Willow chirped when Thalia lifted her tear-stained face from the pillow, we all know that Jareth’s a cunt. I bet it’s ‘cause he likes you and can’t handle it, so he has to ruin everyone’s fun. 

“Indeed,” Knight-Captain Gerard said. “And at times, some of those rebellious feelings, shall we say… fester?” 

Horrified, Thalia shook her head. “Nothing festered. I swear it. I’ve never even touched the piano since!” 

Gerard’s mouth twitched, and he closed the file. He drew himself up to his considerable height and watched her in silence.

“What does this have to do with Senior Enchanter Lydia?” Thalia worried protesting might anger him, but risked it anyway. If he thinks me guilty of something, I deserve to know why. “I barely even knew her, but I didn’t wish her any harm. I don’t see how a song I sang half a decade ago says otherwise.” 

Gerard pursed his lips, then sighed. He strode to the bookshelf and replaced the vellum tome upon its shelf. He lingered there, trailed his hand along the procession of spines. 

“Lady Thalia,” he said carefully, “here at Ostwick we pride ourselves on fostering a peaceful environment for our mages to hone and practice their craft. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for other Circles throughout Thedas.” 

“What do you mean?” Her voice barely broke a whisper. She thought again of the rumors that had been swirling for months. Kirkwall had come up once or twice, so far away it might as well be a place that existed only in the Fade. Normally, she put no stock in such things, but now… “What’s happened?” 

“Nothing you need concern yourself with. These are restless times on the continent, that’s all. Hopefully it will all blow over soon.” He suddenly looked much older, and quite tired. “You say you didn’t wish Senior Enchanter Lydia any harm. Do you know anyone who did?” 

“No. Of course not. No.” Thalia pressed her lips together, her mind racing. 

“Are you sure? Think hard, my lady. Have none of your fellow mages expressed dissatisfaction with your circumstances as of late?” 

Thalia could think of a thousand moments, a kaleidoscope of slights: Matilda seizing Crispin’s arm to keep him from raising a hand against the patrol that had stopped him for the fifth time that week. Willow stretched out on the sofa by the dormitory hearth, scratching behind her delicately pointed ears. Trouble’s brewing with the new Templars; they’re looking at us all twitchy. Elias hunched over five open books on a library table, unkempt hair stuck in every direction — he never remembered to brush it, now that he’d made Tranquil. Calmly pushing toward her the words of a long-dead Chantry scholar about the nature of sectarian conflict. There’s always a breaking point, Thalia.

Running into Jareth again recently. Realizing how mean his gaze had turned over the years. You know so little about the world, mage, he sneered. It’s got to be like that to keep you lot in line. The horse is out of the barn with the others. There’s only one way to stop it. 

What others? Thalia had asked. Stop what? 

He’d ignored her. She hadn’t seen him again after that. She hadn’t seen a lot of the regulars recently, now that she thought about it. 

“Why are you so certain it was a mage, Knight-Captain?” Thalia asked softly.

Gerard’s expression hardened. “I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information.” 

“Because I can think of a number of Templars who might have cause to hurt Lydia.” Her voice sounded brittle, as scared as she felt, giving voice to the idea at all. 

“My Templars are not suspects in this investigation,” Gerard said, with an infuriating finality.

“Why not?” 

“Because they aren’t,” Gerard snapped. “Are you being obtuse on purpose, girl?”

Thalia flinched, lowering her head. “No, ser. Forgive me, ser.” 

A tense silence followed. She stared at her lap, wringing her hands. Gerard let out a slow breath. “No, forgive me. I should not have raised my voice at you. It’s been… a long night.” He cleared his throat and strode toward the door. His hand reached the knob, pausing there. “If you think of something you may have forgotten, or notice anything that might help us understand what happened here, you’ll tell us, won’t you?”

“Of course, ser,” Thalia lied, staring at the door. Dare she stand, or would that look too much like she wanted t leave? She met his eyes. “I will do so right away.” 

“Excellent. You may return to bed now. I apologize again for disturbing your slumber.” 

Gerard opened the door to reveal Kevan waiting for her, stony-faced. Thalia scrambled to her feet and tried not to run out of the office. 

The Knight-Captain blocked her way with his mailed arm slung across the doorframe. Thalia halted, forced to look up at him. She swallowed. 

“You should know, you were never really a suspect, my lady,” he added quickly. “Standard procedure, you understand. We’re questioning everyone.” 

A deep, seething anger bubbled up in Thalia as she stared at the old man and his contrite face. Every mage, you mean. This time, she did curtsy. “Good luck in your investigation, ser.”

“Right. Yes. Thank you.” Gerard moved his arm, and Thalia escaped into the welcome chill of the dim corridor. 

[vanmarkham]

to add to gideon he was nepo babied into a junior enchanter at like 21. he was senior enchanter lydia's class pet, originally bc she is a spirit healer and was drawn to the story of him discovering magic through healing which can be difficult to grasp magic. except then gideon is actually not that good at healing but he is really good with the young apprentices and at teaching fundamentals

so he ends up becoming a mentor to the young apprentices and he v much relates to them adjusting to circle life bc it was a hard time in his life as well

[asterroses]

making it so that andraste had the most one-sided love with her senior enchanter [lydia] 🫡 as one does

[adler-obsessed]

god. Vivienne really is just. that character. She is taken to the circle so young she does not remember what her parents even looked like and someone had to tell her. She wouldn’t even know if they were telling the truth. She is ruthless, the terror and nightmare of the Orlesian court. She almost weeps when you find the Tranquil skulls in Redcliffe. She hates drop waists. She is harrowed younger than any other mage in living memory. She teaches Bull the steps to the dance of the six candles. He likens her to a Qunari dreadnought that has half the enemies on the ground before he’s even reached the front line. Her accent’s not Orlesian. No Free Marcher can tell where she is from either. Is her original voice another part of herself she cut off? She enchanted a duke within one meeting and they scandalised even Orlesian society. She was good friends with his wife. They possibly fucked too. No can control her. She’s been owned since the moment she was first brought to the Circle. She belongs to no people. There are a dozen leashes around her neck claiming otherwise. She makes fun of an elven god for setting his coattails on fire.  She is on the verge of banishing Cole back to the Fade all the time. She can’t help but grow to care for him at the end despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. She hates herself for it. She thinks caring makes you weak. During the first conversation you have with her unmasked as a Trevelyan, she begs to know if you also cared about her childhood friend, Lydia. She tries to import illegal fur into Skyhold. Did she kill everything soft within her soul herself or did the Chantry sisters do it for her? She is impossible to prank. Some might say she’s even better than Sera at pranking. She was pulled into the game by the time she was nineteen. She’d faced worse things since she could first remember her dreams. Life has never been fair. One merely needs to be hard enough to survive. The blade at her neck when she lay on the floor of the harrowing chamber was no different from the hunger in her belly as child, a necessary pain that only drove her forward. Maker, was there ever any chance that she did not see cruelty as simply another word for life? Is there any version of her that does not end up surrounded by moral filth? 

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Veilguard Lydia but better 👍🏼

[sun-marie]

2, 4, 21, 31, 43 for the oc asks! c:

thank you for the ask!!

2. Do you have a personal favorite among your OCs?

I think they're all kind of on rotation for my #1 favorite at any given time! I definitely have some that are more developed than others, but most of that comes down to the amount of time I've had them. I'd say currently, my favorites would be Lydia Laidir and James Trevelyan (since i'm still in DA Hell), and Zephyr Skybreeze (one of my BG3 Tav's, I have a soft spot for her since she's the first OC I had to build her background out from the ground up)

4. A character you rarely talk about?

I had to think about this one for a bit, but I'm gonna go with Maya, my Pokemon Violet kiddo! No real reason for that, beyond that my love for Pokemon Violet comes in waves and is more often dormant. That, and most of what I talk about w/ my OCs is shipping related, and she's literally a child so. Not a lot to say there lol.

BUT I love her quite a lot! Violet is the first Pokemon game I ever felt like I was actually creating a character who had traits and personality (rather then gens 1-5 being pre-built and gens 6-8 feeling kinda blank). The classes helped a lot with that, I think! Her favorite teacher is Jacq, she's really good at math/science and anything related to Pokemon Battling, is kinda bored in Art Class and struggles with History and Languages (which is like the polar opposite of my academic experience lol). She shares Nemona's passion for battling but takes an analytical approach to it, and I think in the post-game I could envision her as a Pokemon Battle Professor when she's an adult <3 (though I haven't played the DLC yet so idk if that's in my canon 👀)

Also honorable mention to Marco, my ME Andromeda boy. I have so much love in my heart for this guy and literally no idea what to do with him ✌🏻

21. Your most artistic OC

Viola, my Dark Urge! I've mentioned it before but I like the idea of her sick and twisted urge fantasies lending themselves to an innate understanding of human anatomy, and sometimes when she wants to kill kill kill kill, she draws....killing, instead lol. It's therapeutic for her, I think in a similar way her faith is, and I like the idea of art being such a strong positive outlet that it's able to ground someone in reality.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

Hm! Well seeing as how I barely maintain my own blog I'm not super sure how to answer this 😅 but I'll do my best!

I'll go with Zephyr, I think. I think she'd have one of those really fancy layouts with the small buttons and the small text and a cherry blossom overlay with constantly falling petals. She'd reblog a lot of academic literature, poetry, positive affirmations, and moodboards! She'd be intensely active for like two weeks and then ghost for three months, and rinse & repeat

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favor some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

Physically: Ponytails for days, followed by long braids. Idk what it is, but multiple of my OCs (Sabina, Zephyr, James, Ruathym, Maya, Anwen, Vanessa, AELON even in Inquisition literally remembering some of these ocs have ponytails as I type this sentence lmao) pull their hair back into either a midlength ponytail, a braid, or transition between the two. It's a good look, what can I say~

Character-wise: I have noticed a theme starting to pop up my last couple OCs, of having wild periods of Young Adulthood before mellowing out by the events of the story (James, Lydia, Sabina). Other than that, I have a few characters who are begrudgingly bound to Not Be an Asshole by their moral compass, i.e. they're rude in almost every conversation but they make good Big Choices (Ruathym, Aelon, Vanessa, Act 3 Anwen)

some OC questions <3

[rosella-writes]

Hi Rosella, happy Friday! For DADWC, I am here with another poetry prompt, from “Fugue” by Louise Gluck:

10. A golden bow: a useful gift in wartime.

How heavy it was — no child could pick it up.

Except me: I could pick it up.

11. Then I was wounded. The bow was now a harp, its string cutting deep into my palm. In the dream it both makes the wound and seals the wound.

THANK you, I used this to deal with the idea of a mentorship that grew too close within the Circle and a child who was given an adult role far too soon. For @dadrunkwriting

Relationship: Lucas Trevelyan x Senior Enchanter Lydia of Ostwick

Warnings: mentor x student dynamic, abuse of authority, death

~~~

Beautiful, boy.

A warm glow of pride takes root in Lucas’s chest, like an ember gently blown into a flame — Enchanter Lydia’s hands around his help guide the tiniest of magelights towards a sconce, which they plant within with a quick snap of Lucas’s fingers. He’s ten, and this is his first intentional magic. 

Ever after, his success is owed to Lydia. She is the ember of pride that watches his growth within the Circle — her eyes are the ones he searches for when he learns to conduct electricity without scorching the soles of his shoes, when he learns to commune with healing wisps of Compassion, when he raises his first successful barrier against the battering power of an Enchanter. He learns quickly, but he does not do it for his own gratification. He practices and reads and studies for the sake of his mentor’s warm smile. 

Unlike the other apprentices in the Circle, Lucas holds no fear of the Templars — they are guardians, failsafes, as Lydia says. She soothes him with reminders of this in his darker days, when he comes to her with the aching pain of missing home. She folds him to her breast and strokes his hair and hums an old song that replaces any memory of his mother’s voice. 

It’s Lydia who wakes him in the dead of night when he’s seventeen. She holds his face between her hands and presses her forehead to his, whispering frantically as he rouses from deep sleep. He doesn’t know what she says — it could have been a prayer, or advice, or simply an attempt to quell any rising fear. But when the Templars take him past the door he was never permitted through, up the winding stairs, and urge him into a room with soaring ceilings and windows that pour moonlight through their tinted panes, she is not with him. 

His Harrowing is his first magic done without Lydia’s proud, watchful protection. 

Lucas cannot say what he experienced within the Fade when he wakes — the Templars later tell him he cried out, not for his mother, as many apprentices do, but for the Senior Enchanter. She is outside the door, wringing her hands, when he is finally permitted to leave. 

Beautiful boy, she gasps. She takes his face in her hands again and kisses his forehead, and he can remember the sensation of her hot, quick breaths across his hairline and over his tear-stained cheeks even years later. 

My beautiful boy. 

Her last words when Ostwick’s Circle falls carry Lucas to the Conclave itself. He can still feel her blood drying in the sticky creases of his hands, see her violet eyes grow cloudy and tacky and dark like those of a dead fish. He can taste her last dying kiss in his mouth. 

At the Conclave, Lucas’s magic is as wild and barely constrained as it was when Senior Enchanter Lydia first guided his hands. It is both the string of a bow and of a harp, humming beneath his skin — capable of such violence as what laid the Circle low, or of such healing as he tried to weave in the depths of Lydia’s wounds. But where he had excelled in warlike arts, Compassion slipped away from him, and his mentor had grown cold in his arms. He has only the memory of that glowing ember of her pride to carry him — he tries to remember it as he stands among the other mages at the great gathering, how she would find and hold his gaze even in a crowd.

[contreparry]

How about “You’re not in bed. I came looking for you.” for DADWC? :)

I wanted to write some more Ostwick Circle Trevelyan and Lydia, so here they are for @dadrunkwriting!

There had to be something else here. Anything else. Evelyn pulled another book off of its stack and flipped through it until she reached the index pages. She scanned words and page numbers, reading but unable to comprehend what she was even looking at anymore. Too many words. Too many numbers. And there was not enough time, never enough time! Another book. All she needed was another book, and then, surely then-

"You weren't in bed," a voice that was as bright and brassy as the sun and as comforting as chamomile tea with lemon washed over her. "I came looking for you."

Evelyn's shoulders slumped in relief. Of course Lydia saw that she wasn't in the dormitory. Of course she noticed that she had slipped past the guard and went to the library. Of course she knew Evelyn would feel unsettled and seek comfort in the one thing that had always given her strength: information. Lydia knew her. Understood her. Of course she went out to find her.

"Here I am," Evelyn replied, and she twisted her back and turned her head until she was facing her nighttime visitor. Lydia was wearing her nightgown and dressing gown, and her curly pale blond hair was piled up atop her head like a nest. She stepped further into the library alcove, each step light and graceful as if she was dancing. She eyed the books Evelyn picked off of the shelves, a small smile gracing her dainty features.

"I see you picked some of your favorites. Practical Alchemy. The Botanist's Guide. Elemental Spells: A Master's Guide," Lydia raised one slim eyebrow when she picked up one book from the pile and read the name carved into the dark blue leather cover.

"Fade Creatures by Edmond," she said softly, her green eyes growing soft with sympathy, with pity. "Evelyn, you won't-"

"Won't be able to prepare myself for my Harrowing, yes, I know!" Evelyn interrupted. "I know, Lydia, I simply thought- I hoped-" Frustration strained her voice until it cracked and she could no longer speak. She dropped her eyes to her lap. Fool thing to hope that she would find knowledge that no one else in Ostwick ever stumbled upon. In a tower full of scholars she had no chance of turning over a stone that hadn't been unturned. Every apprentice mage studied. Every apprentice mage searched for something that would guard them against the unknown. Every apprentice mage wanted to pass through their Harrowing unharmed. Why would she be any different?

"Oh, Evie," Lydia sighed, and her warm arms wrapped around Evelyn in a tight hug. Lydia's pointed chin dug into the top of Evelyn's head. She felt a little like a child, like when she first arrived in Ostwick Circle and Lydia was just an apprentice who was so patient and friendly that she thawed the icy wall Evelyn put up between her and the world.

"I'm afraid," Evelyn confessed, her voice small in the darkness of the library.

"We all were. But the only advice I can give is..." Lydia hesitated. Evelyn leaned her head back, back until she could look upward and see strands of Lydia's pale hair and the tip of her pointed nose.

"Do not ignore the fear. Recklessness is as sure to kill you as fear," Lydia said solemnly. "And..."

"And?"

"A good night's sleep will serve you better than these books," Lydia teased. "Now, off to bed!" She gripped Evelyn's shoulders and pulled her up, whisking her off to bed with her usual forceful cheer, and Evelyn followed without complaint. Don't ignore the fear. Don't ignore the fear.

That was more helpful than anything else she had, and Evelyn clung to the words as she fell into a fitful sleep.

[rexinasuperomnes]

10 years ago today, I opened Dragon Age: Origins for the first time.

I had never played any video game other than Sims, but I had gotten really into D&D. A friend told me that I would love Alistair and the story, and they were correct. I created Cordelia Cousland, archer, and became Queen of Ferelden. When I finished Origins in three weeks, my friend told me there was a second game out and a third coming soon. So I created Lydia Hawke and romanced Anders, completing DA2 in two weeks.

In 2014-2015, I was going through the darkest point in my life - I had dropped out of school and was reevaluating my sense of self. I was just starting to figure out my sexuality and finally take care of my mental health. I had a huge falling out with my parents over my sexuality and my partner that culminated in going no contact for a year.

Then Inquisition happened. I created Alison Trevelyan and romanced Cullen, completing DAI in 5 days. I met Dorian Pavus, a brilliant man who had difficulty in school because of the societal expectations for his behavior and was betrayed by his father because of society's views on his sexuality. He still cared. He still tried. He was hurt, and he will always hurt, but none of that prevented him from going after what he wanted.

The level to which I resonated with Dorian's story helped me figure out I'm transgender. His story helped me go back to school and start pursuing my goals.

[TW: Self-harm] At the worst point, when I had a plan to end my life and had taken steps to enact that plan, my partner talked me out of it by telling me that I couldn't stop living because I had to wait for the next Dragon Age game. There have been other times where that thought has stopped me from making plans. Because I hesitated, because of that thought, I was able to get myself into a better state where I don't make those kinds of plans anymore.

Dragon Age has saved my life over and over and changed me in ways I may never be able to parse out. I am forever grateful to my friend that told me I would love Alistair.

[scalpelsister]

tagged by @hey-hey-its-magic to do oc name meanings! thank you! :)

unlike heather I do not have oc icons ready to go, so these are going to just be baldur’s gate screenshots. very function over form on this one 😅

Leontine Trevelyan

Leontine- has its roots in Latin and French, and means "lion". Leontine is an alternate form of Leona (Latin): feminine of Leon. [x]

Trevelyan- the last name given to human player characters in the game Dragon Age Inquisition. It is originally a welsh / cornish last name derived from a place name, meaning ‘farmstead or tref (town in welsh) of Elyan’. [x]

Lydia Coleman

Lydia- It derives from the Greek Λυδία, Ludía, from λυδία (ludía; "beautiful one", "noble one", "from Lydia/Persia"), a feminine form of the ancient given name Λυδός (Lydus). The region of Lydia is said to be named for a king named Λυδός; the given name Lydia originally indicated ancestry or residence in the region of Lydia. Lydia is also a Biblical given name: Lydia of Thyatira, businesswoman in the city of Thyatira in the New Testament's Acts of the Apostles. She was the apostle Paul's first convert in Philippi and thus the first convert to Christianity in Europe. [x]

Coleman- Anglicized form of Gaelic Ó Clumháin ‘descendant of Clumhán’, a personal name from the diminutive of clúmh ‘down’, ‘feathers’. OR an occupational name for a burner of charcoal or a gatherer of coal, Middle English coleman, from Old English col ‘(char)coal’ + mann ‘man’. [x]

Feilan, The Little Wolf Of Luskan

Feilan- From Old Norse ‘feilan’, from Old Irish ‘fáelán’ (literally “wolfling”), diminutive of fáel (“wolf”). Taken from Olaf Feilan, an Icelandic Gothi in the 10th century. [x] [x]

The Little Wolf Of Luskan- Luskan is the name of a town in the Forgotten Realms / Faerun setting in dnd, and is where she grew up.

Morana Talahriel

Morana- Marzanna (in Polish), Morė (in Lithuanian), Marena (in Russian), Mara (in Ukrainian), Morana (in Czech, Slovene and Serbo-Croatian), Morena (in Slovak and Macedonian) or Mora (in Bulgarian) is a pagan Slavic goddess associated with seasonal rites based on the idea of death and rebirth of nature. She is an ancient goddess associated with winter's death, rebirth and dreams. Marzanna's name most likely comes from the Proto-Indo-European root *mar-, *mor-, signifying death. Other theories claim her name is derived from the same Indo-European root as Latin mors 'death' and Russian mor 'pestilence'. Some authors also likened her to mare, an evil spirit in Germanic and Slavic folklore, associated with nightmares and sleep paralysis. In Belarusian, Polish, Ukrainian and in some Russian dialects the word 'mara' means dream. But Vladimir Dahl says it means 'phantom', 'vision', 'hallucination'. [x]

Talahriel- An elvish last name I created, using Thalassian, the language of Blood Elves from World Of Warcraft. Loosely meaning ‘Death Keeper’ or ‘Death Guardian’. Talah meaning death, or possibly the opposite of light. Riel is taken from and simplified from ‘Ban’dinoriel’, meaning Gatekeeper. The meaning was inspired by the forsaken Death Guards (also from World of Warcraft), but also a line from irish mythology where the goddess The Morrigan tells Cu Chulainn that she will guard his death. [x][x]