#Naoise cousland

[themournwatcher]

WHY THE HELL WOULD WYNNE SAY THAT ABOUT ALISTAIR PLEASE LEAVE HIM ALONE. GOOD GOD THE DOG ALLEGORY IS GETTING LESS FUNNY

[vigilskeep]

i was like "why does trystan cousland sound so familiar" over and over again before i remembered i made my trystan HAWKE cousins with my naoise COUSLAND. and then i was like ohhh. anyways he's really handsome and i am SOOO obsessed with an apostate cousland i demand MORE OF HIM! swiftly!

*extends my hand like a sycophantic sorcerer requesting grapes be brought to my chaise lounge

they’re multiplying...

[gaysebastianvael]

let’s go boys

[themournwatcher]

i used this meiker to make naoise cousland and zevran arainai :3 y'all can use it too!! show me your ships!

also, HERE is the WLW version!

also tag me i am nosyyyyy

[themournwatcher]

pov naoise is listening to someone trauma dump and he’s about to make it the trauma Olympics /sarcasm

Enjoy your little pouting man ;3 @transprincecaspian

[themournwatcher]

text transcript - morrigan: "you will either find him somewhere outside the Wilds with other survivors or... not at all"

shoutout to morrigan the queen of sensitively delivering news to your new delicate friend that his brother is most likely dead after his entire institution was just wiped out and also so was his family home and all of the members of his family. i take it back there is one person in this group with less diplomacy and tact than naoise himself

[themournwatcher]

Okay so I meant to go to bed 2 hours ago. But the Zevran/Naoise dynamic post-Fade has possessed me mind and soul and so i HAD to write a little short thing about it. This is very rough around the edges and the POV is inconsistent as I’m trying to dig into how they might see each other, so be aware of that.

Current thoughts is that seeing Zevran’s hellish torment in the fade is the first opportunity for them to have a deeper discussion or really ANY discussion at all following Zevran’s recruitment, and so therefore Zev doesn’t know about Naoise’s noble background and vice versa ❤️ read below the cut!

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“Zevran,” Naoise called out to the assassin as he walked by, blocking the light of the nearby campfire. “Have you a moment to spare? I should like to speak with you.”

“For you, Naoise? I can give you the whole night,” Zevran purred as he took a few steps back to meet Naoise’s gaze directly. The warden was lounging as comfortably as he could on the broken log, and his hands were kept busy with polishing his daggers. “What is so important that you could not wait to speak with me in the morning?”

Naoise ran the polishing cloth across the length of the blade with a practiced grace; the daggers, a pair of Highever heirlooms, were perfectly balanced even after all they had been through. He sighed and raised his head. “I merely wished to inquire as to your well-being. What happened in the Fade…?”

“What happened in the Fade?” Zevran said through a laugh. “What about it? As I said, I was abruptly woken up from a perfectly pleasant dream about luscious wood nymphs. How dreadful.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Naoise said with a tilt of his head. “I was there, after all. We are not particularly close—“ an understatement, given one’s recent assassination attempt, “—but if you should ever wish to talk about it…”

“Precisely!” Zevran exclaimed, with such enthusiasm that Naoise sat up straight. “You were there, and thus why I recalled the dream having much to do with wood nymphs. Perhaps I should have referred to you as something more strapping?” His words, his deflection, hung in the air between them. For a second, he worried that he had overstepped; perhaps he had misjudged the warden’s open-mindedness.

Then, Naoise laughed; not loudly or overlong, and no scandalized blush dusted his cheeks, but Zevran considered it a victory nonetheless. Naoise rarely seemed to laugh, instead standing grim-faced and with his arms crossed even when trading witty quips with the others. That Zevran could elicit a real smile out of him was no small feat, even if Naoise was quick to conceal it. His smile might be stifled, but a levity had returned to his grey eyes.

“Do not think I have not noticed that you avoided giving me an answer,” Naoise said, and he almost winced at hearing himself echo his late mother’s words. Standing up to retire for the night, he added, “Be that as it may, I shall not push the subject. I would not wish to wake up with a knife in my throat for any untoward questions.”

“Oh, hardly,” Zevran said. “I assure you, my dear Warden, that I would not be so foolish as to slay the very man who has offered me pardon! The prince of my dreams, dare I say.”

Just as Naoise turned away from the fire, he paused, and then glanced back at Zevran; there was an intensity to the furrow of his brow and the way the light of the fire reflected in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Prince?”

“Yes?” Zevran asked. “Have *I* said something untoward? You speak with a noble bearing, after all.”

Naoise looked as though he had something more to say, but instead shook his head with a wistful smile. “Pay it no heed. I must bid you a good night, Zevran.” With that, Zevran watched as the warden retired to his tent, his loyal Mabari at his heels following a stretch and a toothy yawn.

FIN

[themournwatcher]

now that i have spammed this blog with naoise content...

i have got to know

[themournwatcher]

I’m chewing on so many thoughts for Naoise. One of my mutuals informed me that Eleanor Cousland has the sexiest backstory ever and intentionally kept it from her children so we don’t even get to KNOW in game that Cousland has a pirate grandpa and that Eleanor once pushed Bryce from a cliff because he mistook her for the help.

Naoise might not have grown up knowing this his mother “might have dallied as a battle maiden once”, and not the fact that she sailed up and down the Storm Coast to prohibit the feasibility of moving Orlesian soldiers into Ferelden, but he CERTAINLY resembles her in his looks and in his mannerisms that I think people who know her history do a double-take when they cross paths with him.

Eleanor and Bryce’s son? The youngest? The one who rarely left Highever and who reportedly is Eleanor’s spitting image in facade and spirit? Well, I do think I shall get right out of your way now, Ser…

Naoise is cunning and clever and wily, and everyone who says he doesn’t have any diplomacy or tact is wrong; he does, and he gets his way quite a lot, but he’s unafraid to ruffle feathers to do it. He’s not APPEASING, is the difference Arl Howe makes when he remarks on how fierce Bryce’s boy has become.

Naoise is the spoiled second child, quick to brattiness and indignation, and his stubbornness means that he refuses to yield when he doesn’t get his way—but is that such a bad thing, when you can read people like a book with a few quick quips? Sure, he might be annoying to travel with and hearing him bemoan the loss of his house can be tiresome (if sympathetic, as the grief is fresh), but it’s that same rigidity that pushes him on. If he desires his vengeance, he will receive it.

[themournwatcher]

A small collection of images featuring Naoise Cousland now that I've got my mods and Origins running the way I want them to. Here's a peek into the poor poor traumatic twists so far. RIP like basically his whole family. Also @hannahrama i know i promised you more mahariel and there will be more!! i just hope you like naoise too <3

[themournwatcher]

alert alert! local pretty boy hot at every angle and throughout every trial!! not even the blight can bring this one down!! wee woo wee woo!

[themournwatcher]

I should’ve gone to bed 3 hours ago, but instead I wrote another Zevran and Naoise shortfic (1.9k words) to flesh out their dynamic.

Naoise goes missing, Zevran finds out about Arl Howe, slight bonding ensues. Very rough fic and more of an exploration of themes and character dynamics. LMK what y’all think 👍 read below the cut

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A footstep and the rustling of leaves stirred Zevran from his sleep. He sat up in his tent, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes. He yawned; normally, movement in the forest wouldn’t jolt him from a dead sleep, but something was different this time. He quickly threw on his clothes, and staggered out of his tent as he pulled on his boots. He reached back to grab one of his daggers and strap it to his hip before taking a survey of the camp.

Nothing was immediately out of place. All seemed quiet, and everyone was asleep in their tents. He could see the fire near Morrigan’s remote tent growing dim. The pit that the rest of the party had circled around was still sparking, spitting embers upward. It had been stoked recently. Zevran spun in a circle, trying to place the discontent in his gut. Something wasn’t right. He took a few steps closer to the fire, sighing as he peered into it. He could even hear Alistair’s snoring from his tent a few feet over. Usually it was the dog that rumbled loud enough to shake the earth.

Zevran’s head snapped up. He couldn’t hear the dog. Naoise’s mutt was always making noise, be it snoring or barking or snuffling about. Zevran, twisting around, realized that Naoise was nowhere to be seen, either. The warden was supposed to be keeping watch, and now neither he nor his mabari could be located. He picked up the pace and circled the camp, reluctant to call out yet. Perhaps they had gone off to investigate something alone, but that seemed unlikely and dangerous. He was about to relent and start shouting for Naoise when he saw a shadow lurking at the edge of the camp. Upon closer inspection, it was Coinn; the loyal hound sat still in the cloying shadows, staring off into the distant forest.

“You! Dog,” Zevran hissed. Coinn looked back at him silently. “Come here,” he urged. When the hound didn’t move, he tried all sorts of tricks; clicking his tongue and patting his knee, everything he had seen Naoise do before, but nothing worked. Coinn didn’t budge, and eventually looked forward into the darkness once again.

“You know, I didn’t think the dog was supposed to be keeping watch,” he huffed. Forgoing etiquette for concern, Zevran turned to march towards the Warden’s tent. For all his japes, Zevran knew that Naoise would never have gone to bed without rousing Alistair for his shift. Naoise always took the first shift. When Zevran had asked why, he was merely informed that Naoise liked to know that everyone else was safely abed before going to sleep himself.

He threw open the flaps to Naoise’s tent, finding exactly what he’d feared: nothing. The warden was gone, his bedroll empty. A quick glance told Zevran that he intended to return; his arms and armor were gone, but personal effects such as journals and other clothes remained. He backed out and let the tent fall closed behind him, cursing as he paced around the camp. After a moment’s deliberation, he poked his head into Alistair’s tent.

“Alistair!” He hissed, loudly enough that the other man stirred immediately. “Come out here.”

Zevran was pacing around the campfire when Alistair finally stumbled out of his tent, his shirt inside out. He refrained from commenting, and instead waited for the other warden to finish yawning.

“What is it?” Alistair asked. “I thought you were taking the third watch. Why didn’t Naoise wake me up?”

“He’s gone,” Zevran snapped. “Can you sense any darkspawn?”

“What?” Alistair was clearly awake now. “What do you mean he’s gone? Do you mean Naoise just left? Where did he go?”

“If only I had thought of such evocative questions, Alistair. Are there darkspawn nearby or not?”

Alistair scowled. Zevran almost regretted his sharp tone, but he couldn’t explain the dread building in his chest. He knew that Grey Wardens could sense darkspawn—he wasn’t sure how—but he knew that Alistair was better at it than Naoise. Naoise could only catch on a few seconds before they were set upon, not a few minutes.

“No,” Alistair eventually said. “At least not as far as I can tell. I don’t think Naoise would go running off against darkspawn alone. It would be pretty stupid of him.”

Zevran scoffed. “Obviously. But his dog is just sitting there, staring into the woods,” he said, gesturing to the hound. “And his tent is empty; bow and all. He has to be somewhere. Is there anywhere else he could be?”

As soon as he asked the question, he knew that Alistair knew. The bastard was incapable of keeping a straight face, and this expression was one of dawning recognition, tinged with guilt. “I might know,” Alistair admitted. “Do you remember those knights whose path we crossed on the road earlier?”

Zevran nodded; Naoise had insisted that everyone keep their head down and move demurely, drawing no attention to themselves beneath their cloaks. The rain helped to obscure their identities, but even Zevran could tell that Naoise was tense and on edge.

Alistair bit on the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I didn’t think he’d actually try to do anything about it, really—“

“Alistair! Spit it out!”

“Okay, okay!” He said, putting a hand out. “The knights, their shields and banners… I remember now. The red bear; they were Arl Howe’s men.”

Zevran blinked. “The man who hired me for Loghain?”

Alistair nodded. “Yes, the man who— wait, what? I thought you said that Loghain hired you!”

“Technicalities,” he said. “Loghain was the one who paid the Crows, yes, but it was this Arl Howe who found me and orchestrated the whole, you know, assassination attempt.”

“So you don’t get it,” said Alistair. “Arl Howe and his family used to be close with Teyrn Cousland; Naoise’s family. It was Howe’s treachery that led to their slaughter, and the theft of Highever; he was the one who murdered Naoise’s family.”

Zevran went still. Left unsaid, but plainly written on Alistair’s face, was the fact that Arl Howe was, in some way, responsible for Naoise becoming a Grey Warden. A fact that, as Zevran had learned, Naoise greatly resented, despite his diplomatic efforts at concealing it. “So you think that he has gone after these knights.”

“I didn’t think he’d be so stupid as to try,” Alistair sighed. “Look, let me wake up the others and we’ll go after him—“

“No,” Zevran cut him off. “Let me go alone. If all of us come, he might be emboldened to think we are aiding him, and then we shall have a massacre on our hands. I will go bring him back.”

“Are you sure?” Alistair raised an eyebrow. Zevran knew that his concern wasn’t for him; it was for letting Zevran out of his sight, or for trusting him alone with Naoise.

“You don’t have any other options,” he said. “We will be back before sunrise. You needn’t worry your sleepy warden head about it.”

—-

Zevran might have appreciated the stillness with which Naoise held his bow taut, or the strength exuding from his muscular shoulders, if he weren’t about to fire upon a camp of knights in a vain, reckless quest. He came to a stop but a few feet away.

“What are you doing here?” Naoise asked quietly. He didn’t look away from the camp below.

“Oh, you know me,” Zevran laughed. “I can’t resist the opportunity to sneak away with a handsome man and meet him for a tryst in the woods. The better question is, what are you doing here? Do you plan to join us?”

“You should go back to camp, Zevran.”

Zevran’s smile faded, but he forced it back up. “You know I cannot do that, my dear warden. Not without you to lead the way! I would be hopelessly lost were it not for your keen eye.” The Crows only recruited elves for their greater eyesight. Even in the dark, he could make out the blond tresses curling around Naoise’s face, the clench of his jaw, the pursing of his lips. “Naoise. You cannot fight them all.”

“I can die trying,” he spat. “I can make them pay. Then I can be with my family once again. That is all I have wanted; I should have died there in Highever with them all.”

Zevran noticed the waver in his voice, in his arm. He reached out and put a hand on Naoise’s shoulder. Slowly, he lowered the bow. “Come on,” he pleaded. “Let us go.”

Naoise turned, but bitterly wrenched away from Zevran and stormed off back into the woods. He followed hot on the warden’s trail, but it wasn’t until they were far enough away from the knights to be out of earshot that he realized that Naoise was crying. Soft weeping slowly turned to wailing sobs, and he threw his bow aside on the ground.

“I hate them!” Naoise declared. “I hate them all! I hate Howe! I should have slit all their throats! Stuck an arrow between their eyes!” Zevran didn’t know what to say, or what to do as Naoise sank to the ground. He stopped, merely watching as he cried.

“I hate them,” Naoise said again, trembling. The tears came faster than he could wipe them away. “I hate you,” he added venomously. “You should have let me kill them. You should let me die.”

“How nihilistic of you,” Zevran said. He furrowed his brows sympathetically. “What would that have accomplished? It would have been a waste of a talented life, and not a half-bad looking one, too.”

Naoise sniffled and glared at him. “So you shall take me back to camp, and then what? Wherever after this? Will you return to your assassinations and your dalliances? Morrigan to the wilds, Leliana to the Chantry; yes, yes, we shall all split ways, all go home. But not I, no,” he said bitterly, spitting away salty tears. “My home is gone now, because of him. I am going to die either way, Zevran, he won. I just… I … I do not wish to die alone.”

“I know,” Zevran lied. He, who had been so willing to let Naoise run him through the first day they met, didn’t understand the desire to die with someone. “I know that you do not, and so you shall not. I will not let you die alone, my dear warden.”

Naoise sniffed again. “You cannot promise that.”

“Nor can you declare that you shall die entirely alone,” Zevran said as he picked up the discarded bow. “We do not know what the future holds, no? So we can only continue as we are. Please, come back to the camp with me. Your time for vengeance will come. Have I… ever told you about Antiva?”

It took a moment of deliberation, but Naoise eventually dragged himself to his feet and began to walk. The rest of their trek was marked by periods of silence; uncomfortable, vulnerable, even as he spoke of his own home, and Zevran understood what Naoise must have felt watching him in the Fade. Like you might touch something too tender. When they returned, Naoise and his dog went straight to bed without another word to anyone, Alistair included.

The next morning, Zevran awoke to a bottle of fine brandy outside of his tent. There was a note tied to it, an apology scrawled in the fine calligraphy of someone well-learned.

I’m sorry, it read. I don’t hate you.

[themournwatcher]

re: a conversation I had with @demandthedoodles in the notes of another post

consider this for my naoise worldstate:

- naoise catches wind of howe’s presence or maybe that of his knights while on the road

- naoise consumed by a vengeful desire

- literally leaves in the middle of the night to go sate it even after everyone told him not to

- Zevran volunteers to go get him

- ????? Either naoise is stopped or Zevran walks in and has to help him survive it’s in the works

[themournwatcher]

okay so. i really was chewing on the idea of naoise NOT having a romantic interest in this playthrough. however i have been GNAWING on his dynamic with zevran... the two rogues... anyways i didn't decide to take a bite out of it until now because this specific dynamic is sending me??

zevran has been with this party for the whole of .5 minutes since they left redcliffe, and after deliberating, naoise decided to let Coinn the Mabari hang out at the spoiled princess while everyone else crossed the lake. morrigan declined to continue into the circle with them so the party is as follows:

naoise cousland (out of his depth with mages but generally fond of them, they did his top surgery once)

alistair (ex-templar but highly chantry critical)

wynne (milf)

and zevran who is ONLY there because naoise didn't trust him enough to let him out of his sight!! and yet... literally the first meaningful interaction they have is Naoise stumbling upon zevran being tortured by the crows in his fade dream!

and.. in true princely/noble fashion... Naoise: "I demand you let him go this minute!" Zevran: "Wait, what are you doing here...? You're not supposed to be... here..."

IDK IM CHEWING ON IT OKAY. gnawing on it. like a dog ig

[themournwatcher]

Cas, give us the Naoise lore. Gender thoughts, martial ability thoughts. How's he taking the whole dead family situation? The suddenly a warden situation? What does he make of Alistair's immediately shovelling all responsibility onto his shoulders? Who does he want to kill most between Morrigan and Alistair so far? Anything else you've got on your chest you want to share 😌

Naoise !!!

Gender Thoughts

Ohh boy, here we go. Lex knowing immediately that Naoise is written as a trans man despite me not giving any previous inclination… iconic, actually. you are correct i have lots of gender thoughts about him!

Naoise Cousland is beloved by his family, and especially by his parents. I believe wholeheartedly that he clued into the fact that he was trans at a young age and demanded to be seen as such, the way a spoiled second son would demand anything else. Sure, there was worried discussion between Eleanor and Bryce about how to handle the wider social ramifications--and what about heirs and marriage?--but ultimately they could not bring themselves to deny their son anything and so they helped him to comfortably transition. Doing it younger was smart; noble pages could begin training as early at 7, such as Fergus did, but Naoise did not show any knightly inclinations.

(edit: i meant to say smth here about mage top surgery in his teens. i think it's possible and i think the couslands could have realistically hidden that knowledge from others)

With that in mind, Naoise doesn't suffer from what we might consider "stereotypical" gender dysphoria, or at least in the way comparatively that Mahanon does. He passes, he's gendered correctly, he's widely regarded as a man by his family and his peers. Hell, Arl Howe offers him his daughter, Delilah, in marriage.

That being said--he does suffer from internalizing Ferelden's societal (and toxic) ideas of masculinity. He mimicked what he saw as a noble's second son… (caveat: it seems that being gay is somewhat acceptable [or at least not frowned upon] in Ferelden but given what we see of Krem in Inquisition, I'm extrapolating/hc'ing what being trans in noble society might look like) … being accused of effeminate behavior/being trans/etc would likely bring him to challenge said person to a fight to restore honor. He wants to go off and fight, and says as much during the origin, despite the fact that his parents see him as more readily inclined to take over the teyrnship. Does he take it as a slight against his martial abilities? A jab that he would be more readily accepted as a homemaker? Probably not, but the thoughts linger… he's mostly soothed by them insisting that they cannot risk "both heirs", which assures him that their feelings haven't changed.

Martial Thoughts

Naoise isn't a great warrior like Fergus is, ready to charge the front lines or shield his brothers from the blows. Naoise is analytical, slender, and works best from a distance. Trained in archery, he tends to linger back and pin/compromise as many opponents as possible while his fellows charge. If the line breaks or they need help, he's dual-wielding daggers with speed and elegance… I suppose his mother did teach him SOME of her swashbuckling ways. There's a swagger to how he moves that isn't typical of knights… maybe something more maritime?

Grief + Warden

Naoise, admittedly, isn't coping well with the loss of his entire family. Not only does Dairren die (y'know, the son of Lady Landra who he managed to convince to go to bed with him that night), but so did his innocent sister-in-law and baby nephew, the household, his dad, his mum, Ser Gilmore, etc. He's screaming, crying, throwing up the whole way to Ostagar. He only manages to get it together by the time they're climbing up the steps to meet with King Cailan----and then he's told he won't be able to see Fergus until after the battle. Fine, that's fine. He didn't want to give Fergus the horrible news yet anyway.

Then the battle at Ostagar goes to shit; King Cailan can't make good on his promise for justice, Loghain has branded him a traitor, and Fergus is likely dead. The grief starts anew, but this time with purpose. While Alistair is grieving Duncan, Naoise doesn't grieve at all, he's PLOTTING. He is plotting how going to Redcliffe can help him achieve his greater goal--stopping the Blight is secondary. Avenging his family comes first.

To that end, he thinks little of the Grey Wardens. Duncan strong-armed him into the position by manipulating his dying father. If that wasn't a cunning, manipulative, political move, he doesn't know what is. Fine, he'll just have to be smarter, wittier, more cunning. One step ahead of everyone, including his own order. He's not grieving them after Ostagar, he's reassessing how his position as one of the only Wardens left can be used as a means to his own ends.

Alistair + Morrigan

Traveling with these two (plus his mabari and his eagle!) has quickly shown Naoise, the spoiled second-born son used to getting his own way, just how ANNOYING it is to have siblings. They're bickering all the time, he's bickering with them, none of them can agree on anything, the dog is barking, etc etc. It gets to the point where he whips out the "WELL MY WHOLE FAMILY WAS MURDERED. I DIDN'T ASK TO BE HERE" more than once and it gets them to shut up. He sympathizes with Alistair's grief and Morrigan's reluctance but it all GRATES on him.

By the time he gets comfortable enough to be bratty back, they all want to kill each other. I don't think I could tell you which one wants blood more.

[themournwatcher]

zevran is now twice at risk for being upstaged as a love interest for my wardens (thinks about naoise and transfem leliana)