#Lydia trevelyan

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Lydia core 😭

[sun-marie]

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

[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? 

[camelliagwerm]

ARTHUR LORE • BEFORE THE CONCLAVE

So if there's one thing about me, it's that I do not stop yapping at times, and I thought it was time to get down a lot of Arthur's lore with Veilguard approaching and he went through a bit of a revamp as a result of the recent playthroughs. This covers everything up to the Conclave.

CWs: reference to physical abuse and parent death.

Born on 12 Solis, 8:92 Blessed to Bann Godfrey and Lady Marina Trevelyan. Has a twin sister, Matilda (or ‘Tilly’, as Arthur calls her), who is – rather annoyingly – 5 minutes older than him, and a younger brother, Percival (b. 9:00 Dragon.)

His magic manifested as an emotional response to his mother Marina’s death – at her funeral. He was only six years old. In his grief and ashamed that magic had seemingly manifested out of nowhere in the core branch of the Trevelyan family, Bann Godfrey shut Arthur away for a week, refusing to see him.

Godfrey’s sister, Lucille, was the one who made the arrangements. A kind and vivacious woman, a social butterfly who never married despite plenty of suitors, she took Arthur to her own estate until the necessary arrangements for Arthur to be taken to the Ostwick Circle (originally, his father intended to send him to Kirkwall. Out of sight, out of mind.) Once his magic was considered under control enough and he was older, she also made the arrangement that he would be allowed to visit her, with her taking guardianship and responsibility for him outside of the Circle.  

Arthur was 15 when he was ‘chosen’ by a spirit of compassion. He’d vented his frustration to his mentor, Lydia, numerous times about how he felt no matter what, his capacity for healing magic didn’t feel enough to be able to help people, and he didn’t have the raw power for elemental magic, and fearing if he wasn’t able to do either well, he’d end up Tranquil. Later that night, Arthur unintentionally summoned a spirit to come to him while dreaming in the Fade. It had sensed his own fear and pain, as well as Arthur’s desire to focus more on restorative and defensive magics.

This new development changed Arthur’s trajectory. Immediately, he was removed from under Lydia’s tutelage and placed with the Circle’s only other – and ageing – spirit healer, Senior Enchanter Melvin, who had no apprentices. Gone were his lessons for elemental magic; everything was focused on creation and spirit magic – spells of healing and restoration, conjuring and dispelling barriers. There were also a lot of lessons involving mental discipline, for the calling of a spirit healer is not an easy one. Now more liable to possession, Arthur had to do a lot more mental exercises to focus his will and to master his fears. Within a year and a half of being chosen, Arthur was doing his Harrowing at the age of 16 – concerningly young, but he succeeded, where just 18 months ago, he may have been made Tranquil as he lacked the raw power to defend himself. He continued to shadow Melvin, accompanying him and the Templar chaperone onto trips to attend to ailing nobles, and even beginning treating them with Melvin’s guidance. 

At the age of 19, Arthur made the decision to become a Junior Enchanter, mostly teaching young apprentices the fundamentals of healing magic as well as reading, writing, maths. He enjoyed it. It was surprisingly calming, and he was good with kids.

When Arthur was 22, Senior Enchanter Melvin passed away, leaving Arthur as the only spirit healer in the Circle. He had to step away from teaching as he had to take on the entirety of Melvin’s responsibilities – tending the Circle infirmary and any noble-born patients. It was also at this age that he was assigned his own Templar chaperone, whose sole purpose was to accompany Arthur everywhere and keep watch for signs of possession — his name was Ser Simon Allaway, a third born son from a deeply devout Starkhavener family who had recently been transferred to Ostwick. 

A couple years older than Arthur, charming, kind, and not at all uneasy on the eyes, Simon had an idealism about him that Arthur appreciated, and he was even lenient — on the weekends that Arthur would spend at Aunt Lucille’s, Simon allowed his charge to move freely about the city, always five steps behind. Arthur would come to convince Simon to put aside their roles as mage and templar chaperone from time to time, the two men often end up drinking together in divey bars in the lower city quarters of Ostwick as Arthur tried to learn more about the man under the plate armour.  

That same year (9:14), Matilda married a recently graduated Chevalier she had met at the recent Grand Tourney, Ser Évariste d’Amboise, heir to a noblesse militaire family — leaving Ostwick for Val Royeaux. She and Arthur had remained as close as they could have done with him being in the Circle. Her last words to him before she left for Orlais was “there is nothing wrong with finding a little comfort.” 

Arthur, perhaps a little emboldened by alcohol and his sister’s encouragement, began a relationship with Simon. Winning a chess match against him, Arthur tipsily (and half-jokingly) asked for a kiss as his winner’s prize — and was surprised when Simon did, and things went even further. The next morning Simon, feeling guilty about what happened, wanted to go to the Chantry to request an immediate transfer back to Starkhaven as he felt he’d taken advantage of Arthur and that they had gone over the line in terms of familiarity. Arthur convinced him not to, saying “I’ve spent my entire life being careful and selfless. Is it wrong for me to want to be happy, even if it must be in secret?”

They managed to keep their relationship private for 21 years, with only Aunt Lucille (and Matilda) knowing the truth. There were ups and downs, a few close calls, but for the most part they made the best of their situation — until the 9:30s.  

Decades of regret was catching up with Bann Trevelyan and knowing he did not have long left, sought reconciliation with his mageborn son. Arthur is willing to hear him out – perhaps he is a little too forgiving, too much of a bleeding heart, but his mother was the same. Godfrey dies of heart complications, just three months later. Arthur was banned from visiting his father on his deathbed by his brother – the new Bann, who saw him as a stain on their lineage.

That same season, the chantry in Kirkwall exploded and the Grand Cleric died in the blast. The work of a spirit healer who had turned into abomination. In response, the Knight-Commander, supported by the Champion of Kirkwall, declared the Rite of Annulment. Only the Champion remained at the end, her hands stained with the blood of innocents and the heavy crown of the Viscount upon her brow. They called her – Rosalind Hawke – the Butcher of the Gallows in whispers.

Less than a week later, Arthur was brought to the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander of Ostwick. With Ostwick’s own First Enchanter having recently passed of old age and leaving no clear successor, they told him that he was to take the position — “with the previous First Enchanter naming no one, we are to make the decision with the Senior Enchanters’ approval. You are a Trevelyan — you have respect and a good reputation. You will do well.” Arthur, a little despondent and grieving for the loss of some of his colleagues in the Gallows, barely acknowledged the appointment with more than a strained, small smile and a quiet “the nobles don’t respect me, they tolerate me.” 

But a Trevelyan always does his duty, and he accepts.  Better he takes it, and hopes he can use his name to guarantee safe harbour for the most vulnerable of his people. In the chaos leading up to the Mage-Templar war, Arthur does his best to keep the Ostwick circle neutral, reassuring the Templars and Chantry in the Marcher state he had ‘everything under control’ (he did not. He developed an elfroot smoking habit just to relax, something he's embarrassed about but absolutely terrible at hiding.)

Being First Enchanter means personal sacrifices, and his relationship with Simon ends. Over the last few years, Simon became a different person. He became more distant and cold towards Arthur, the sex more desperate and hurried even at Lucille’s estate, his mind wanders, and sometimes he could be a little cruel and they started arguing. Simon even hit him once, something the Simon Arthur fell in love with would never have done. It even left a small pair of scars, as the edge of his gauntlet had cut his cheek. It broke Arthur’s heart, and he knew as the news from Kirkwall came in and his appointment as First Enchanter happened, he couldn’t keep the relationship going. It was becoming dangerous, and he called it off. The only reason why he did not request a replacement chaperone was because he had had the same one for 21 years and it would’ve looked suspicious if he’d requested a replacement after so long.  They merely tolerated each other’s company, combined with a few desperate fucks on a desk to release the tension, but that soon ended. In rare moments where he seemed more like the man he’d loved, Simon would promise to remain by Arthur’s side as long as he could.

9:40-9:41 Dragon: the Circles rebel, the College is dissolved. Arthur tries to keep the Ostwick Circle open for those who have nowhere to go – children, Tranquil – but funding runs dry eventually. Simon abandons him, to join the call for Templars despite his promise — and he won’t find out for another couple of years what happened to him. Arthur assumes the worst. 

With Simon gone, funding running dry and violence escalating, Arthur negotiates with the Montsimmard Circle’s First Enchanter, Vivienne, to get the children and Tranquil to Orlais, where the Montsimmard Circle still remained loyal and has the money and space to support them.  

Arthur himself has no choice but to go to Redcliffe. He argues with Fiona and the other First Enchanters who chose rebellion, and when the call for the Divine Conclave comes, he accompanies the Ostwick delegation in the hope his noble name would protect them and in the hope he could be a voice of reason. Perhaps, he might even find Simon.

At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, barely a few minutes before the Divine is meant to start the proceedings, Arthur notices one of his delegation is missing and he slips off to find them. Instead, he hears a call for help that sounds like the Divine. And what he interrupts is a ritual years in the planning.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Veilguard Lydia but better 👍🏼

[sun-marie]

DA Protagonists and being called by their first name

Katheryne Cousland: Please do, it is her name (she also allows a few people to call her Kathy, but only on a occasion)

Aelon Mahariel: You can? If you want? He doesn't really care, but other than Ashalle most people call him Mahariel and so he might not respond right away.

Anwen Hawke: The only people allowed to call her Anwen are her mother, her siblings, and Fenris. Her family is kind of unavoidable, but once she and Fenris finally get together in Act 3 he calls her Anwen sometimes and she finds it very sweet and intimate.

James Trevelyan: Oh please God call him James, or Jimmy, or Jamie, or literally anything else besides "Lord Inquisitor of the House Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and Savior of Southern Thedas"

Lydia Laidir: Do not call her Lydia, not even once. Not even Lucanis can do it (not that he wants to). Her name is Lydia, but please call her Rook.

(I'm too shy to make this an official tag game, but if this looks fun and you want to try consider yourself tagged 👀)

[msviolacea]

I was totally planning to do FFXIVwrite this year, but then over the last couple of weeks, I started revisiting a DA:I epistolary fic for a Trevelyan I never played, and now I've got a game going to get Lydia's details and there's my writer brain.

I'm finding writing letters easier than writing regular prose, so ... maybe I'll have something posted before Veilguard comes out? We will see.

[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]

[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.