#adaia tabris

[lelianasbong]

the description of adaia's boots has me in its grip..

some mothers knit booties for their unborn babes. adaia, who was much more practical, made leather boots adorned with patterns of vines.

[shivunin]

the fact that you start the Tabris origin by literally stepping into your mother's shoes. the fact that what you get is a wedding outfit and your mother's worn boots, kept carefully intact for years, tucked away for this exact moment. the fact that you then immediately take the path she never could, leaving behind the alienage and the wedding and following Duncan (who would have recruited Adaia first, if not for baby!Tabris) to what ought to have been death.

And Then!! instead of fighting and falling as she did, cheating death and becoming the fighter she always intended you to be instead??? Reliving and simultaneously subverting the story of her life??

[hallaslin]

I love you character portrayals of the complexity of the concept of motherhood in dragon age. I love you Brosca family, I love you Eleanor Cousland, I love you Adaia, I love you Leandra, I love you Grand Cleric Elthina, I love you Keeper Marethari, I love you Divine Justinia V, I love you Morrigan, I love you Flemeth, I love you Mythal.

[moghedien]

the timeline of Leliana’s Song vs things said in the city elf origin leave wiggle room for interpretation of exactly when Adaia died and there’s no clear answer for that which I love because I go feral for the potential there

like I’m obsessed with the idea that maybe Adaia did escape the dungeons and maybe she did tell her teenage child that there was a good human that saved her. And that child got their mother back for a little while and was old enough to consider that maybe their mother wasn’t lying and there might be a few decent humans. And then more humans caused trouble and Adaia was killed and there was no “good” human around to save her this time.

And the idea of this random good human becomes like a bitter thing in her child’s mind because the child has seen no evidence of this. They’ve only seen the evil humans can commit in them. They took Adaia twice. But that doesn’t change the fact that a human DID save Adaia from being tortured and killed in a dungeon. They got Adaia back for a little while because of a good human and it becomes a sort of nagging bitter feeling they feel conflicted about.

And then that child grows up and has a wedding that humans use as an excuse to hurt them and their family. They’ve never met a good human. Maybe some (like the priests) will tolerate them enough to perform chantry rituals for them. Duncan may have only helped them because he wanted to conscript them into the Wardens and take them from their family when they’re needed the most.

So Adaia’s child is taken from their home because they’re useful to humans. They end up getting burdened with responsibilities because they’re useful and because of the skills Adaia taught them. They end up traveling with a number of humans. They get exposed to the world outside of the alienage for the first time. Things probably change slowly for them, as they’re getting closer to people and experiencing more. Some humans will like them because they’re needed to save the day. Some humans might just be nice to them for no reason. Then again, a lot won’t and will resent them regardless. Some will just pretend not to notice that a knife ears is leading the Wardens, but it’s clear they do. It’s both validating and complicating their worldview. Maybe their mother wasn’t lying about a human saving her because they were just good. Then again, maybe the human just saved a random elf by happenstance and not from goodness.

They probably get close to number of their human companions in a variety of ways. The fact that the humans are all different and get along to varying degrees is probably complicating their worldview. The fact that they might try to get closer to an elf for no obvious reason instead of sticking together probably complicates it more. Everything is probably very confusing for a very long time.

Maybe Adaia’s child recruits a strange Chantry sister from Lothering, another human. Maybe they find themselves getting closer to her in ways they never expected possible with a human (or with another woman even). And then they find Leliana more and more complicated the more they get closer to her. She’s Orlesian and Ferelden. She’s a spy and a killer, but a Chantry sister and the most earnestly devout person they’ve probably ever met. She’s says offensive things about elves to their face and then actually apologizes to them and thanks them for showing her it was offensive. She will talk big about her seduction skills and then stumble every step of the way as she’s trying to flirt with them. Information about her history and her life trickles in slowly as she gets closer to them and is willing to reveal more.

By the time they’ve learned much about Leliana, Adaia’s child probably realizes how complicated the world actually is for everyone. Maybe they’ve met the dalish and found themselves being looked down on and treated either as human would be or as a child. Maybe they’ve gone to Ozrzammar and realized that oppression can exist outside of human and elves and the Chantry. Maybe they’ve returned home. Maybe they’ve tried to return home and found they weren’t allowed in, to protect them from the rioting elves within. Maybe they’ve saved the queen. Maybe they’ve killed Logain. Maybe they’ve slayed the archdemon and saved the whole damned world by the time it comes. It could be never or after these or anywhere in between when it happens.

But imagine Adaia’s child who is not an adult with a very complicated and shifting worldview, who used to only have the concept of there being at least one good human to complicate their world. One good human that gave them their mother back for a little while at least. And now they’re close to a human. They’re in love with a human who is extremely complicated and who won’t tell them honest truths about her past until they’re very close and much time has passed. Time in which their worldview has probably shifted a great deal and got much more complicated.

Imagine how it would go for Adaia’s child in this circumstance when the details of Leliana’s past finally come out and she’s willing to talk about them. When they find out that the same estate where she was betrayed and tortured was the estate they rampaged through, slaughtering humans to save their family and themself.

And it isn’t even pride that makes her reveal it. She isn’t bragging. She didnt feel like she was a good person in the moment. She struggles to feel like she’s a person now, even when she knows her actions are for the greater good. So imagine Adaia’s child when Leliana almost offhandedly mentions saving other prisoners from the dungeon. Including an elven woman who said she’d tell her child about Leliana and the fact that there are good humans like her.

[sympateawithsugar]

Young dad and mom Tabris. I like to think Adaia was taller than Cyrion and had Dalish ancestry.

(the hair jewelry is a gift they gave each other)

[leliwardens]

i cannot recommend enough to make adaia a ghost haunting the narrative to a warden tabris. like the building blocks are already there between ducan knowing (and wanting to recruit!) her and then tabris wearing boots made by her with her dagger fang (with a bonus block if you're romancing leliana too). and if you pick a block up from headcanon territory then you can have adaia be a night elf which directly ties her to loghain, and With Everything He Does really lets you start making some sick and twisted cityscapes.

[rammota]

i know bros had no money for a portrait but please let the tabris finally be happy,,,

[her-gracious-lady-herald-bits1]

Prompt: my Warden's personal dream

Setting: broken circle

---

The stew smells bloody perfect.

Too perfect.

That's what twists something deep in Kallian's gut, makes her stomach go tight, makes the back of her neck itch like someone’s watching. But she shoves the feeling down. It's warm, it's here, and her head's pounding like she drank half of Denerim dry. Who gives a piss if it smells right? Ain't like she’s got the strength to question it now.

The chair creaks as she leans back, rubbing her temples, trying to remember where the hell she was last night.

Her father sits at the head of the table, ladling stew into bowls, slow and careful, like he’s measuring every drop. The table’s straight—not a wobble in sight—and covered with a proper tablecloth. Kallian squints. They’ve never owned a tablecloth.

"More wine, Kallian?"

Her stomach clenches.

Shianni’s voice is soft. Too soft. And that’s wrong, ain't it? There’s always a bite to her words, a sharp edge, something ready to fight. But the bottle's already there, dark glass catching the candlelight, and Kallian’s throat is dry as dust.

She takes the cup and sniffs. Smells like wine. Looks like wine.

"Since when do we have the coin for this shite?"

Shianni laughs, pouring herself a cup. "Oh, listen to you. Always suspicious. Maybe we finally got some luck, Kallian. Ever think of that?"

(Kallian.)

(Not Kal.)

She frowns, but it's just a name, right? Just her full name. Not wrong exactly, just… off.

"Yeah," she mutters, taking a slow sip. "Can’t say I have."

"Eat up," a voice says, warm and familiar.

Kallian freeses.

Her mother sits across from her, curls tumbling loose around her face, dark eyes bright with something Kallian barely remembers. Something soft. Something warm.

"You’re too thin, Kallian," she says, shaking her head like she's tsking at some minor offense. "Always running off, never stopping to take care of yourself."

The fork in Kallian’s hand wavers.

A lump forms in her throat, but she forces a smirk. "Yeah, well, hard to keep weight on when you spend half your time fighting darkspawn and the other half running from them."

Her father chuckles. Not the half-hearted one she remembers, the one weighed down by too many years and too much loss. This is light. Warm. (Wrong.)

"Always on the move, our girl," he says. "Just like her mother."

Her mother hums at that, swirling her wine. "If I had a sovereign for every time I had to chase you down, Kallian, we 'would' have the coin for this wine."

Kallian swallows. "Kalli," she says, before she even thinks about it. "You always called me Kalli."

Her mother tilts her head, smiling. "Did I?"

Something about the way she says it makes Kallian’s stomach twist.

"You’d make Aunty pull her hair out," Shianni laughs. "Remember when you snuck out to see the minstrels? Thought you'd run off to join ‘em."

Kallian snorts. "Aye, and I’d have got away with it too if you weren’t a sodding snitch."

Shianni leans in, grinning. "Snitched because I gave a toss. Still do, y'know."

That itch at her neck is getting worse.

Her mother watches her with those dark eyes, soft and knowing. "You don't have to run anymore, Kallian," she says. "You can rest here. With us."

Kallian’s grip tightens on the fork. The stew’s gone thick in her throat.

"You make it sound like I’ve got a choice."

"Of course you do." Her mother's voice stays gentle, like a hand smoothing over tangled hair. "You've fought so hard, Kallian. Lost so much. Let it go. Stay here, where 't’s safe."

(Safe?.)

(The alienage ain’t safe.)

(The alienage was never safe.)

Kallian shakes her head, jabbing at her food with her fork. "Got responsibilities, Mum. Can’t just piss off to play happy family."

Her father sighs, the way he used to when she argued with him. "You always make things harder than they need to be."

Soris pipes up from by the fire. "You’ve got that look again, Kallian. The one where you’re overthinking everything. Just eat."

Her chest tightens.

They’ve said her name more in the last five minutes than they ever did growing up. It was always 'Kal' short, quick, easy. Even her mother, the one person who always called her 'Kalli', won’t bloody say it now.

Her fork clatters against the plate.

"You’re ain't real."

The words tear out of her before she even means them to.

The room stills. Everything stops, like a blade being drawn.

Her mother tilts her head, too smooth, too fluid. "Kallian, dear, you're not well. Too much wine, maybe?"

"Don’t call me that." Kallian shoves the chair back, heart hammering. "You never called me ‘dear.’ And you sure as shite didn't call me Kallian every blighted time you spoke. Say it. Say my fucking name."

"Kalli," she says.

Too late.

Kallian snorts. "Took you long enough." Her hand wraps tight around the wine bottle's neck, muscles coiling.

"You don’t have to fight anymore," not-Soris says, voice echoing. Warping.

Her mother smiles, soft and sweet. "Stay, Kallian Adaia Tabris."

"Shut the fuck up!" The bottle flies, shattering against the wall, wine spattering like blood across the perfect table. "I’ve had enough of this demon shite!"

They move then. All at once. Faces melting, smiles stretching wide, too wide, too sharp.

Kallian moves too, flipping the table, sending bowls clattering to the floor. The fork's still in her hand, and she drives it deep into not-Soris’s throat. Wet. Sticky. Her stomach lurches.

They’re coming. Claws out. Teeth bared. Voices twisting, warping, the walls shifting around them—

And then—

(Snap.)

Pain—white-hot and immediate—shoots through her fingers, curling them inward against her will. It’s like someone’s just stomped on them, twisting until the bones crack. Her breath catches—

(no, no, this already happened.)

(Mud between her knees. A boot coming down. The sharp, unbearable crunch.)

Kallian stumbles back, her grip on the fork faltering. The room warps, stretches. The scent of stew and wine is gone, replaced by the stink of damp wood and city rot. The warehouse district. The night her mum—

Her ribs explode in agony.

She barely registers the blow before the next one lands—hard, brutal, a phantom fist slamming into her side. She doubles over, gasping, but she knows this pain.

(Remembers this pain.)

("That all you got, knife-ear?" Laughter. A kick to her stomach, stealing her breath. And then—)

"Your fault."

The voice is soft. Too soft. Her mother’s voice, close to her ear.

"You got caught, Kalli."

Kallian jerks upright, gasping. Her mother stands before her—not a twisted demon-thing, but Adaia (as she was). Strong. Sharp-eyed. But there’s no warmth in her gaze.

"You tripped," she says, stepping closer. "Dropped the coin. That’s why he saw you, isn’t it? If you’d been faster, you wouldn’t have needed saving."

Kallian grips the fork tighter, ignoring the tremor in her fingers. "Shut up."

Adaia cocks her head. "If you hadn’t been such a stupid, careless child, I wouldn’t have had to come for you. Wouldn��t have had to pull steel. Wouldn’t have—"

The words cut off, strangled, as blood pours from her lips. A blade juts from her stomach—long, steel, slick with red. The same way Kallian saw her last. The same way she

(couldn’t stop it.)

Kallian’s throat goes tight. "No—"

"You killed me, Kalli." Her mother’s voice warps, layers upon itself. "Didn’t you?"

The warehouse district flickers back into the dining room. The walls pulse, the floor warping beneath her feet. The demons are closing in, their grins stretching impossibly wide.

"Shut up," Kallian whispers. Her ribs still ache, her fingers still burn.

"You got her killed."

Her father’s voice this time.

(No.)

(Not him.)

(Not real.)

But he’s there, watching from his chair, wine glass still in hand. The others join in—Shianni, Soris, voices overlapping, twisting, pressing into her, a relentless tide.

"Your fault, Kallian."

"You're why she died."

"She should've let them take you."

Kallian grits her teeth. The fork is still in her grip. The fork.

(Three strikes, Kalli.)

(One to Stagger.)

(One to bleed.)

(One to finish.)

She exhales. "Yeah?" Her voice comes out steady, sharp. "Then it’s a good thing I bloody well take after me mum."

And then she moves.

She drives the fork into not-Soris’s throat again, harder this time, twisting. She wrenches the chair leg from the wreckage and slams it into not-Father’s skull. The demons shriek, the walls shuddering around her, distorting. The warehouse flickers in and out, but she forces herself through it, dodging, weaving, stabbing.

Not-Mother reaches for her. Her face is still kind. Still Adaia. But her teeth are too sharp. Her eyes too dark.

"Please, Kallian—"

The fork slams into her open maw, again and again and again.

The world shatters.

Kallian jerks awake, breath ragged, hands trembling.

No fork. No blood. Just stone, shadows, and the stench of demons.

Her ribs ache. Her fingers curl inward, useless. Phantom pain.

Not real.)

But Maker

( it felt real.)

Her stomach churns, bile rising in her throat. She presses a fist to her chest, sucking in air that won't come fast enough. Inhale—too quick. Exhale—too shallow.

(The Fade. I'm still in the Fade.)

The voices still echo in her skull.

(She should’ve let them take you.)

Kallian’s jaw clenches so tight it hurts.

(That wasn't her.)

(That wasn't her.)

(That wasn't her.)

Her fingers twitch, half-expecting the warmth of spilled wine—or something fouler—still clinging to them. But there's nothing. No blood. No broken bones. Just her, her daggers, and the empty dark.

She swipes a shaking hand across her mouth, forcing her breath to steady.

Four fingers gripping the dagger hilt. Three breaths. Two feet on solid ground. One bloody thing at a time.

She squeezes her eyes shut and drags in another breath. Slower. Smoother. (Better.)

When she opens them, the dream is gone. Just stone and silence and that ever-present, cloying sense of wrongness.

Kallian wipes her sweaty palms on her gambeson, rolls her shoulders, and grips her daggers tight. Her hands have steadied.

(Mostly.)

"Right then," she mutters, swallowing down the last of the unease. "Let’s be having you."

She strides forward, the shadows stretching long around her.

Next time, she's bringing her own damn cutlery.

---

[cyanorhis]

Ever since I found out about Adaia I have been so obsessed with her that I started tweaking Aria's design bit by bit with the only caveat being that I still want to keep her weirdly similar to Fiona bc I'm sick in the head and I like to put Alistair in ridiculous situations he cannot possibly control.

so I changed her skintone and eyecolor (darker and lighter respectively) but honestlyy? idk what I'm doing, every doodle of her looks different it is becoming annoying

[bottomseareef]

Cyrion’s genes are STRONG

[vigilskept]

Lidia Yuknavitch, Letter to My Rage / Warsan Shire, How to Wear Your Mothers Lipstick / Autumn Sonata (1978) / Chase Petra, Monet Issues / Ijeoma Umebinyuo, Questions for Ada / Taylor Byas, Painted Tongue / Destroy Boys, Drink / Nayyirah Waheed, hate.

[psalacanthea]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Mahariel & Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Inquisitor's Family (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai, Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Male Tabris (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Cute Kids, Melancholy, Sad Solas (Dragon Age) Summary:

A series of ficlets of Solas realizing his mistakes through interactions with the Inquisitor's children, and not via a romance with Lavellan. Small, sweet, sad.

...

finally remembered to put these on AO3.  all in one place.  sorry it took so long! <3

[heniareth]

Nightly Vigil

Words: 536 | Rating: Teen and up

A quick character study of Astala Tabris as a teen, and her changing relationship with her mother. The hanging mentioned at the beginning refers to the hanging of one of Adaia Tabris's fellow smugglers, which Astala witnessed with her mother (lotta headcanon material in this one)

On the fourth night after the hanging—that is, as soon as the appropriate time for a wake had passed—her mother was out running the streets again. And Astala couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed. She tried to find rest, but all the while she listened to every creak of the house, every brush of the wind against its crooked frame. She listened for steps. She listened for the dull roar of a mob.

Finally, she gave up, and climbed out of the bed. She hesitated, wrapped a shawl around herself to ward off the cold. Then she quietly approached her father sitting in front of the hearth.

Her mother could approach her father unheard. But her, he heard her. He smiled when he saw her, and pulled a chair up next to his. She'd long stopped being small enough to share a chair with her father.

"Can't sleep, little one?" he asked.

Astala shook her head, and leaned against him.

Her father wrapped an arm around her, and they both sat in silence, trying to look past the cover of darkness Adaia Tabris had disappeared into.

For as long as Astala could remember, her mother had done this. A few times, Astala had even gone with her, now that she was old enough to do so. And for as long as she could remember, her father had stayed up and waited for her.

"Will Ma come back?"

Her father sighed. "Well, she has always come back."

Astala didn't like that answer one bit. She could feel her father wasn't happy, either.

"What if she gets caught?"

"We can only pray that that doesn't happen, little one." Her father ran a hand over her hair. "I fear-"

He feared. What he feared, Astala never knew. He stopped himself before he could finish the thought.

"I want her to stop doing this", Astala mumbled into the resulting silence and pressed her head against her father's shoulder. "Why does she do this?"

It took her father a while to answer.

"Your mother..." he began, haltingly, "has always loved her freedom. It's important to her to be out, carrying her weapons. Even if..." He took a weary breath. "Even if it puts her in danger."

While Astala mulled this over in silence, her father continued speaking.

"Your mother also cannot stop doing what she thinks is right. It will drive her up the walls, and right now she thinks it's right to go out and work like every other night." Her father shifted, and as Astala looked up at him she found him looking at her with a smile. "You do that as well, you know?"

Astala looked away. Then she shook her head.

"I would never do this."

"My little girl." There was pity in her father's voice, and Astala didn't lean against him as much as he pulled her closer. "Don't be too harsh on your mother. She is trying to do her very best. For all of us."

Astala said nothing, and settled against her father's shoulders once more because she knew it would make him happier than arguing. She stared into the low flames of the hearth, jaw locked and tense, eyes stinging.

[bluerose5]

Not a new playthrough or anything but wanted to try my hand at creating my Warden, Darrian, in the BG3 character creator. Not 100% perfect, especially since I had to use a half-elf preset instead of the elf ones, but I think I'm satisfied with it (especially since this is without mods). 😊

Also, bonus, Adaia Tabris' form (based on my hcs at least) as his guardian:

[starlightchocolatecookie]

Adaia Tabris (city elf's mom) Headcanons:

an extrovert, funny and witty

brings life to every party

mischivous, loves to troll people

best mom ever (according to her daughter)

used to work for Eleanor Cousland as a spy

[leliwardens]

leliana telling tabris "[they] lit [her] path through darkness" and adaia telling leliana "[she is] a light in this dark place" just!!!! rrrr grrrrr *starts gnawing on the bars of the my cage*