#after all he was a templar at ostwick! she asked him to help her escape and he refused! why wouldn’t he choose justice again?

[vigilskept]

2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14 and 15 for your trevelyans!

2. What were their expectations going into the Conclave?

sander's genuinely just trying to find his siblings and get the hell out of ferelden. he would like it if they changed things but he’s not hopeful and wants to be far away from this place when it falls apart lol

thea's cautiously hopeful. the war's pretty clearly at a stalemate, with no clear path towards tipping the odds to their side & she’s already had to do some things she’s not proud of to get to this point. she needs this not to drag on any longer.

4. Was there anything in their life they were looking forwards to doing once the Conclave was done?

sander’s kind of hoping he’ll be able to find some excuse to cross paths with the valo-kas again :’)

thea literally is just hoping to survive without getting executed or made tranquil…. she is so paranoid for real.

under the cut as we start to get into the heavier stuff 😈

5. What was the Herald of Andraste's opinion about the Chantry and the war before the explosion?

they both start out extremely bitter towards the chantry for related reasons, though not exactly the same. thea was already 16 by the time she (very publicly) discovered she was a mage, and it threw her whole life into disarray. prior to the conclave this resentment is all externalised and placed squarely on the chantry. similarly with sander, he deeply resents his parents’ devotion which he sees as having torn his family apart. they sent thea away without even giving him a chance to say goodbye for the sake of “keeping up appearances” and they were going to sign away his future to the templars just to avoid scandal! he believes in the maker, sure, but he does not feel positively about the southern chantry.

6. Is the Herald impacted by Justinia's death? Or do they move on quickly?

sander feels nothing in particular about justinia’s death. he was kind of expecting her to be assassinated by one side or the other. what he’s terrified of is that his siblings might have died at the conclave and he has no way of knowing for sure. most of the bodies aren’t in any identifiable state (and he does try, at the temple, trying to find any markers that it might be them)

thea is horrified when they tell her and actually does think they might be correctly accusing her. she feels inexplicably sick with guilt and there’s a gaping hole in her memory. it could be that she did murder the divine. she must have murdered someone. after all, she’s only felt this particular type of guilt once before :)

8. How do they feel about the mark on their hand?

ohohoho. the short answer is that they’re both fucking insane about it.

sander’s extremely shaken by it at the start. it hurts! it feels like it’s tearing straight through him as it expands! it’s only after reaching solas that it goes from terror -> curiosity. bc solas does something to close that rift. which means he knows something about it. so it’s just an unfamiliar tool, not some incomprehensible horror. as to what placed that mark on his hand though….. he does really, earnestly wonder about this especially in the early days. is it the maker? could it be? he comes to believe it was, and the eventual revelation that it was solas’ orb, that the anchor was just another part of his plan that went wrong… oh there is murder in his heart after that. experiencing levels of rage heretofore unknown.

with thea….. it’s completely different. she sees it as something like a stigmata. there’s a story the southern chantry tells about how archon hessarian’s sword grew hot from the flames and seared into his palm at the hilt, branding him for his sin such that no healing magic could soothe the wound. that mark stayed with him for to the end of his days. for thea, just as the brand marked the archon for his part in the prophet’s death, the anchor is a mark of her guilt. she first thinks it’s for the murder of the divine, but eventually comes to realise that it was her murder of her brother (damian) that haunted her :)

9. How do they react upon being called the Herald of Andraste?

sander feels so trapped by it at first. he plays into it immediately because i mean, what else are you going to do when people who were accusing you of murder moments ago now see u as their hope for salvation? tell them to fuck off? the mob could turn on him at any moment so he is playing to them. in the long run, this will be his ruin, because being the herald leaves increasingly little for anything else to remain under that mask. it whittles away at him until the herald is all that’s left!

thea is horrified by it, because where people see a blessing at her left hand, she sees a curse! if the maker has marked her out as anything it’s as a sinner!!!!!! she takes on the mantle as well because she feels taking people’s hope away would be even crueler but she feels like she is playing with fire as she does. she wonders whether it won’t just make the maker angrier in the end.

10. What are the Herald's opinion on the Mage Rebellion and on mage rights?

pro-mage baybeeeeeeeeeee (at the start anyway)

sander thinks the circles are fucked given how they’ve torn his family apart, and thinks there has to be a better way to go about things than locking mages up and throwing away the key. he does come around somewhat on viv’s view that people are too frightened to accept so much change so quickly, and that getting rid of circles could put mages in danger from those who fear them (guess who he backs for divine)

thea deeply resents the way her entire life was thrown into disarray after becoming a mage and the total loss of freedom as a circle mage. she wants them gone. unfortunately her guilt and self-hatred after the conclave is going to lead to a WILD 180 turn and she will end up seeing her past rage and resentment as evil borne from being a mage, and begin to see her previous oppression as justified. mages can’t be trusted with freedom, look what they i did.

11. Who does the Herald of Andraste help - the Mages or the Templars? Why did they choose them?

sander goes to the templars, not because he believes in their cause by any means but as a political maneuver to bring them to heel under the inquisition. he disbands them and conscripts them into the inquisition’s ranks immediately.

on the flipside, thea goes to the rebel mages because she fears what damage they might do if they’re not brought under the inquisition. its not politics for her, it’s real fear! she means to gently bring them into the fold, initially, but after seeing that they were willing to work with a tevinter magister….. she conscripts them. she will not let them go astray as she has gone astray!

14. What type of Inquisitor are they? What are their motivations? How do they lead?

sander’s far more politically shrewd between the two of them since his life has always depended on other people’s opinion of him! he’s much more comfortable playing The Game, and he’s much more open to unorthodox approaches and points of views. he’s willing to hear sera out more often than not! once he’s fulfilled his initial goal (getting his siblings back safely) he begins to think more on whether there is some divine purpose to having been inquisitor, and concludes that maybe it was so he could help set things right. this unfortunately is the start of him taking the role of inquisitors more seriously….. and being far less open to hearing others out. it’s not immediate! but it does get to him, and he does begin to see others giving him advice as them trying to lead him astray/manipulate him into pursuing their own agenda. it’s not a a great trajectory from there!

thea on the other hand is motivated by guilt and fear the whole way through. the exact shape of those guilts and fears changes pretty significantly over time, but she ultimately views the role of herald/inquisitor as her penance throughout. mages have broken the world (again) and she must do her best fix that, in order to atone.

15. Since religion is a major component of DAI, is your Inquisitor religious? What do they believe in?

they’re both andrastian though…. as you can see, the exact shape of their beliefs is a bit complicated?? they both find faith & a renewed relationship with the maker through the role of inquisitor, but I wouldn’t say this is a good thing for either (even if the self-destructive nature is more obvious for thea).

post-trespasser u could say sander is no longer andrastian though! the maker is gone if he was ever real at all and the gods that remain are cruel and indifferent (and he intends to see him them pay)

inquisitor questions

[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. 

[kiivg]

.I decided to just go with my three heroes instead of like all my dragon age romances because I’ve got someone for Blackwall, Gaspard, and I’ve got a mind for someone with Dorian too. Then I’ve got a whole load of OC x OC as well, and trying to draw all of them would be time consuming. However! During drawing this, I realised that, technically, Andrastopher, Anders, Marcus, and Zevran, have all slept with one another. Whether that’s between two people or more just depends on when in the timeline haha…. ,’:)c.

.Anyway there’s some things about my Heroes and their love interests below :), thank you for asking! I’m always excited to talk about my OCs.

...

.Andrastopher and Zevran’s relationship starts out as quite a basic thing. Something that’s not talked about in camp or on any of their journeys, but everyone knows it’s happening. On Andrastopher’s side, it’s something to make him forget for a little while, something to take his mind of everything that’s happening to him. Zevran, after all, offers this to him as more of an incentive to keep him alive knowing that Andrastopher most likely will end up killing him. Something that Andrastopher wasn’t exactly quiet about, he did actually plan on presenting Zevran’s head to Arl Howe at some point.

.Of course, everything changes with the course of time. Fighting beside one another in such dangerous situations, it was bound to leave them closer than before. They save each other’s lives, they tend one another’s wounds, and one night, Andrastopher doesn’t slink back to his own tent with a satisfied hum in his belly and stays curled around the other man. There’s a tenderness that blooms between them both, and what was not talked about before, is shown more and more openly.

.Zevran, I think, falls in love with Andrastopher before Andrastopher falls in love with him. He’s too broken to glue himself back together long enough to even think about such a thing. It probably doesn’t help that Zevran had started off by complimenting him on his looks above anything else, and Andrastopher knows he’s a weird looking man; more of a curiosity than a crush to anyone who looks at him. Anything Zevran had said after that was taken with the knowledge that the man would be lying.

.By the end of the blight, something that Andrastopher had hoped to die in, he’d found a reason to live again. Completing Morrigan’s ritual was a risk to take, but one he did so willingly so he could waken next to Zevran another day. However odd their beginnings were, neither man was willing to see the other one gone.

.After the blight, Andrastopher struggles with everything he knows. There’s no place for him in the world, and he cannot hide in Zevran’s arms as if there is nothing wrong. He takes a year to himself, sacrificing himself to the Qun, accepting that he needed a restriction in being who he was meant to be. It was a hard time apart, but the reunion was a sweet one. Though time and work takes them apart for perhaps months at a time, they remain loyal to one another. They marry at some point, a small thing which really only included the pair themselves, a chantry Mother, and Oghren who was both amused and embarrassed about it all.

.To this day they remain together, and regrets have been spoken about how they had initially started out. Andrastopher knows he should have treated Zevran better, something the man has forgiven him for over and over throughout their years. 

...

.Marcus and Anders’ relationship was in-game the rivalmance because it’s so much more delicious than the basic romance. But, in my mind, it’s different.

.They start off butting heads in Kirkwall, Marcus needs Anders’ help, and Anders’ needs Marcus’ help. The idea of anything between them isn’t really on the table at the time since Marcus has been spending his time between Meeran’s legs more often than not. They both find each other insufferable for a variety of reasons; Marcus is egotistic, narcissistic,  overtly cocky, and spends most of his time either fighting or fucking or playing that ridiculous lute he won in the Hanged Man. Whilst Marcus thinks Anders’ fight has been blown to unrealistic proportions, and he’s championing something that can be overcome easily enough, the man has a hero complex that grates on his nerves. Marcus is a Fereldan apostate who lives freely, and he can’t understand why people don’t just escape from the circle; his father did easily enough.

.After the Deep Roads expedition, coming home after eating nothing but mushrooms and drinking rock water for weeks, just to return to Carver’s newfound templar job really makes him rethink his attitude in Kirkwall. Marcus becomes openly supportive of the Templars, he has no choice; Carver’s relation to a mage has him under valiant watch, and though money helps, Marcus has to be on his best behaviour. Being seen with Anders can only damage his reputation, but they had kissed in that foggy desperation in the Deep Roads, not that they’d spoken of it, but it remains a memory that tasted sweet despite their breath.

.Marcus spends most of his time in the Blooming Rose in the next few years, wealth and desire letting him flaunt his time in rented beds. Anders yet plays on his mind, pulling him back time after time whenever he hears the man needs his help. They fight and disagree, snapping with magic curling in their fingertips. Anders feels like Marcus is betraying the very core of himself; denying that he’s a mage in every positive song he sings of the Templars. He hates the man with an intensity that boils over in the need to return to that time in the Deep Roads; when mages and templars didn’t matter, and the once fat Fereldan apostate gave away his shares of tasteless fungi to the mage who knew how to heal wounds. They fight and kiss, biting at each other with teeth and nails, and it is Marcus who storms away; burning with confusion and singed footsteps, and awaiting a visitor at the end of the night.

.When things get particularly bad, Marcus gives in to Anders’ way of thinking, apologising for what they had been through over the years. He gives him a key to the Hawke estate. It’s a safe place to hide, a safe place to smuggle mages in and out. He warns him on Carver’s inclusion, Marcus can’t be seen helping; it would only come back upon his brother and he’s not willing to risk such a thing.

.Anders stops by the estate more and more, and the animosity between them settles into something of a comfort. The man is there when Leandra is killed, he is there to stop him from killing Merrill just a few nights after, he is there to drag him home from the Blooming Rose when he drinks too much to remember where he lives. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve any of it, and he is selfish when he kisses Anders for the first time in years, selfish when he tries to drag him into bed, selfish when he asks him to stay the night. Marcus’ rise to Viscount is the only thing that keeps Anders safe, and is the only reason that Anders is able to be smuggled from Kirkwall after the explosion.

.It’s a year and a half before they see each other again. Justice has been calmed over the months, and Marcus’ attempts at keeping Kirkwall sane had slowly been overthrown by a group of zealots. A mage couldn’t hold position for any longer, and he had no choice but to flee. He’d spent six months building a home for himself in the ruins of Lothering, and he welcomes Anders with laughter and disbelief when he sees the man again. Years had passed since they had first met in Darktown, but seeing Marcus with a small herd and a weight settling in his gut, it’s the most real he’s ever been.

.They settle together, never intending for it to be permanent. But there is a loneliness that could only be combatted together, and when mages begin to find them it’s hard not to fall in love with one another when they work to rebuild what was once lost. A small village sprouts around them, mages seeking safety and succour found under the guidance of a heavy stranger named Conchobhar, and that taller fellow named Jarl.

...

.Goddard and Yetta’s relationship isn’t actually an in-game thing, since he’s seventy-one at the beginning of Inquisition, and like what options do I ever have apart from making him a sugar daddy (I missed a thing there for sure AH), so I gave him a wife called Yetta.

.Essentially, it’s an arranged marriage for them. Which begins terribly, because neither want to marry the other; Goddard is still holding out hope that he will find his first love again, and Yetta was betrothed to him since she was a child so she’s never had a choice. Their wedding is awkward, Goddard tries to convince his little brother, Milward, to take his place, and Yetta is caught trying to escape from the actual event. Goddard also turns up in Orlesian finery in an attempt to insult Yetta’s family and to remind them that he spent a good few years in bed with a chevalier. It works, but, the wedding still goes ahead, and they’re both miserably married by the end of the day.

.Despite his tactics, Goddard promises Yetta that he’d stay truthful to her regardless of whether or not they end up in bed together. And, in the beginning, neither of them wanted to. Goddard spends his nights sleeping on the floor, and there’s a more than obvious rumour floating around that they haven’t yet slept together. Despite all the pushes and shoves they receive; Goddard being pushed into Yetta’s room as she dresses for the day, Yetta being forced into the bathing chambers whilst Goddard is alone in there, conversations of sex being brought up at their meal times, and even being locked in their bedchamber for so long that Goddard ends up bum rushing the guards who bring them food at meal time.

.It’s not the best beginning, but there is a camaraderie that begins between them in their joint frustrations. Their attraction to one another begins in the written letters they send over the years. With Goddard working in Ferelden, and Yetta remaining in Ostwick, it’s the only way of communicating they have. And though it takes years, it’s hard to deny the way that their feelings grow each time Goddard gets some weeks away from the military.

.Together they have three children over the years, agreeing to stop trying after that due to Wakefield’s complicated birth. They remain happy together until this day, accepting a few blips over the years, and the rather gargantuan blunder of Goddard having an affair whilst incapacitated and presumed dead in Ferelden. Everything that is thrown at them is tackled head on and together, and it is obvious in almost everything that the do together, that their love grows ever stronger every minute they spent beside one another.

.TL:DR: all my heroes are happy and loved and alive :)c.

[gold3nberry]

Everything Is Fine

Well, hello, everybody! I’m alive, and I apologize for the hiatus. It wasn’t planned, it just happened. After four years of writing about my adored Demetra and our dashing Commander, life happened. I missed this fandom a great deal, but I needed time to recover (spiritually, let’s stay), rest a bit, and focus on my career. I hope you’re all doing great, and if you want to chat, you know where to find me, now that I’m around again! Hugs!

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Demetra Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford NSFW-ish (nothing too explicit).

Ao3 here

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Demetra sauntered, her shoes dangling lazily in her hand. The grass kissed by the moonlight was pleasantly cold under her bare, sore feet, and the hem of her silk dress rustled gently against the lawn. A smirk escaped her lips at the thought that Vivienne was likely going to kill her. The Inquisitor ruining her dress, walking around barefoot and with her hair half - down wasn’t exactly the picture the mage wanted others to perceive. Demetra sighed heavily. She had been so offended when she first heard Orlesians snicker about the Free Marches nobility. Provincial. Uncouth. Uninteresting. She had been bothered because those words had been repeated enough during every Trevelyan’s reunion. At the time, they were directed to her parents and all their children until Demetra’s mother had had enough and decided to simply skip the unpleasantness entirely. After that, they received the blame because they were shaming Trevelyans in front of all the Marches not sitting at their places during Satinalia’s banquets or weddings or birthdays. As if the Trevelyans really mattered outside Ostwick. As if Ostwick really mattered outside the Free Marches. And she, Demetra Sòphie Trevelyan, the fat and chatty youngest one, was the most worthless of all of them. Her sister was famous for her diplomacy, beauty, and grace. Her two brothers were brave, beautiful, and with a career on their own - at least until Gavin married an elven woman - but Demetra only had her brain. For the main branch of her family, it wasn’t that much to be proud of. Her parents told her to ignore them, but it wasn’t always easy. Now, as the Inquisitor, the Orlesians were doing more or less the same. In their eyes, the Inquisitor Trevelyan lacked too much to be respected. Yet, they still needed her. They knew that she knew they knew, and they despised her behind smiles and masks even more for that. Demetra shook her head. She came to the beautiful garden to get rid of unpleasant thoughts, not to pile up them. With the Maker’s help, tomorrow at sunrise the Inquisition delegation would leave the chateaux and return to Skyhold. 

Maker, she was tired. The exhaustion of chasing Red Templars or killing ferocious giants was nothing compared to the waltz she was forced to dance in Orlais. If she missed her shot, wars could start, and alliances get broken in a blink. Giants at least didn’t force her to smile until her mouth felt blocked. After another evening spent walking and dancing on heels that had no right to be that nice and that painful at the same time, Demetra was eager to put them in her wardrobe for a while. Her shoes were like this last mission: lovely to see, but horribly painful to have around for an extended amount of time. The garden around her was silent, and the estate on the background asleep. The marquess who hosted the Inquisition’s party in her chateaux had made sure they didn’t have a moment of quiet in all the weekend. A courtesy that, the noblewoman had made it pretty clear, she wanted to have repaid with the Inquisitor’s support in the imperial court. If the woman hadn’t signed a contract with the Inquisition providing soldiers, supplies, and a kind word with the rest of Orlesians noble houses, Demetra would have been pleased to tell the Marquess were she could put her demand of support for her little social climbing. Instead, Demetra had spent four days strolling around with the Marquess and her equally vain friends, letting Varric enchanting them with the tales of their adventures, and smiling and nodding until she had felt her head was going to fall in one of the fountains. She yawned quietly, too tired even for sleeping. She walked, unaware that she was a lovely vision, a sort of romantic spirit gracing the night with her presence, or so Varric would have probably told her if he wasn’t drunk asleep in his luxurious suite. 

Nobles were the ones who disconcerted her the most. Despite being herself a noble, her family was so atypical that she wasn’t prepared to challenge a world as nuanced and complicated like the Orlesian ones. Beyond sickening sweet smiles and glares as sharp as knives, they laid at her feet requests for help, for blessings, for an alliance against bandits or other people who had the disgrace to not being in their circle of so-called friendship. None of them seemed willing to consider that Corypheus was gathering his troops, sneaking around in the darkness, ready to bring ruin and desperation upon them all. She suspected that partially this was because the thought of the end of the world glooming over them was too terrifying to deal with. Much better turning the head in the other side, pretending that everything was fine, that Red Templars weren’t ransacking villages or Venatori summoning demons. With all the faith they proclaimed in the Maker and Andraste, they didn’t have that much hope in the Prophetess’ chosen one. They only saw a fat woman, jumped out from nowhere, and she could have understood that. But then they decided that their troubles were more important than anything else, that their pretense was more important than the reality of a world on the brink of extinction, and Demetra couldn’t forgive that.  The Inquisitor walked a bit longer until she arrived at the little lake - a little bigger than a glorified swimming pool -  that the Marquess has shown off to her that very afternoon. Demetra wanted to put her feet in the cold water, but she didn’t expect to find someone else there. ”Demetra!” Cullen called, surprised, but not displeased, it seemed. He chuckled, rubbing his neck “I would have invited you to join me if I had known you didn’t lock yourself somewhere with Leliana and Josephine discussing this visit.” ”Don’t you think I would ask my military advisor to join us?” she replied quietly, not wanting to break the silence around them. He shrugged, smiling gently “I have no purpose here, beyond making sure you’re safe and protected. This is Leliana and Josephine’s territory, after all. Leave me the battlefield. I’m fine with that.” They didn’t spend that much time together, in the past two days, both busy with their tasks, and with Cullen spending a lot of time patrolling around. In her generosity, Josephine had maneuvered to have Demetra and Cullen placed in two close bedrooms, insisting that he was her bodyguard. However, Demetra knew that her Ambassador was planning to use the inevitable gossip to the Inquisition’s advantage. Leliana hadn’t disagreed. It was the worst kept secret in Thedas anyway, she had shrugged, ignoring Cullen’s embarrassment during their last meeting in Skyhold.  ”But leave the furniture alone,” the Spymaster had commanded with a sly smirk. Cullen swam near her, walking slowly when he found the point where he could touch the sand under the water. Despite having to be with him for quite a while, Demetra was always surprised by the intensity of her attraction towards him. She loved the way he laughed - really laughed - when he was amused, the wrinkle between his eyes, the way he frowned when thought that something was silly. She adored the way he hugged her, intense and unrelenting, how much he trusted her, the glint of pride in his eyes after her triumphant return from a mission. They got along together well, so well that sometimes she was scared to lose it, either due to lyrium, war, or he changing his mind. She fought valiantly towards these thoughts, knowing that they both wanted to be together and that the love they found was something worthy of fighting for, but sometimes she didn’t believe she had been so lucky to find him. When she had finally shared these thoughts with him, her surprise had been enormous hearing his admission that he thought he was the lucky one in their relationship.  Cullens’ voice was gentle as always “What are you thinking?” “That my feet are sore and that I love you very much.” He blushed delighted. It was enchanting, really. Since their first time, they had been intimate uncountable times - and in many, many different locations than his or her bed. Yet, he, the man who once took his Inquisitor against a wall and that woke her up with his mouth between her thighs more than once, still blushed every time she voiced her feelings.  “Come here, love,” he murmured, his honeyed eyes soft and his words darkly alluring. Any other time, she would protest that she wasn’t going to undress where anyone could surprise her, but this time was different. She wanted to feel him, skin against skin, having his lips pressed on the top of her head, and his arms sheltering her from the outer world for a while. Demetra needed him, and Cullen knew it. And he was waiting for her. He would always have. The thought alone made her heart pump faster and full of joy. She let her shoes fell on the grass with a gentle thud, and quietly blessed the simple corset of her ballgown. Letting the precious embroidered silk falling in the grass, she shredded her undergarments as well. Cullen was staring at her, the water gently skimming around his trim waist. He was looking at her with equal love and desire, and when he motioned her to enter in the water, she didn’t hesitate any longer. She had always thought nobody would appreciate her body outside herself. She was glad the Maker had proved her to be wrong.  “You’re beautiful,” Cullen murmured, holding her against his chest. Demetra chuckled. She hardly thought she was beautiful. Pretty, maybe. Tonight, she was wearing heavy makeup and all the beauty that money could buy thanks to expensive clothes and jewels in her hairstyle, but she wasn’t going to fool herself. Cullen sighed, “I’m sorry I’m not better with words.” She winced, looking at him, wanting to tell him that it wasn’t his fault if Orlais had left her overtired and sad. It was a place that always made her feel as if she was the youngest lady Trevelyan, back at Ostwick. All the love of her parents and siblings hadn’t been able to shelter her from disapproval and mockery. Ostwick had been hard, but in Orlais, it was even worse because she had felt alone. However, Demetra was aware that it was just her tired mind suggesting those considerations. She wasn’t alone for real. Tiptoeing, Demetra pressed her lips against his “I believe your sincerity, Cullen. I’m just… I don’t know? Overwhelmed?” “Orlais,” he nodded, kissing her nose, her cheeks, and her lips, making her laugh. He took his time, lingering against her skin, pressing and curling over her. Demetra sighed, relaxing in his embrace. It was a lovely moment. The water murmuring around them, the magnificent starred sky, the warmth of Cullen’s body. She could endure Orlais’ unpleasantness if it led to moments like this. They swam for a while, giggling like children when he playfully splashed her, and she returned him the favor.  The water was pleasantly cold, but when Cullen realized that Demetra was shivering, he wrapped her in his arms. Weightless and content, she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I would like to give you a real holiday,” he murmured, rocking gently. She chuckled, pressing a kiss on his chest, right where his heart was beating, and an angry scar marked his skin “Save the intention for after I defeat Corypheus.” He nodded. She was grateful he didn’t voice his terror at the idea of her facing that monster again, but she noted how he held her tighter than a moment before. “Where would you bring me?” she asked, pushing away a wet curl from his forehead. Cullen’s answer was quick, “The South Reach if you don’t have other suggestions.” She looked at him, surprised, and he smiled, hesitant “I know it’s not a popular place, but I thought… after everything is over, if you want, that’s it, I would like to present you to my siblings. If they’re willing to speak to me, I mean.” “According to the letters Mia sends you, they’re more than willing.” “I haven’t been fair towards them,” he warned her, stiffening slightly under her touch, “I thought the money I sent while in Kirkwall was enough. That cutting out everything that could remind me… the Circle, and all that was before was the only way to survive.” “Look at me, Cullen.” He was ashamed by himself, and his torment was evident.  “Cullen, I would be glad to come with you and visit your family. It would be an honor, actually. You own them an explanation, that’s true, but I think they got an idea about what happened. Maybe not the full extent, but I’m pretty sure they know, and they understand, love.” He was still unsure, still frightened facing the idea of having failed his own family. Demetra loved his sense of duty, but hate it when it blinded him towards the possibility that mistakes could be forgiven, if not repaired. He was harsh towards himself, harsher than anyone Demetra had ever known.  “Come,” she said, pulling him gently “let’s go to bed. It’s late, and tomorrow I want us all to leave as soon as possible.” They dressed slowly, Cullen peppering her skin with a kiss here and there. She adored the intimacy of having him buttoning her dress and murmuring compliments. “You’re going to sleep with me tonight,” she declared quietly, while they walked hand in hand towards the house. He smiled, “I missed you.” She kissed his jaw and let him wrap her shoulders with his arm, echoing the sentiment. Dechoing the sentiment. During a mission, they didn’t usually have a lot of time to be together. It wasn’t only about sex. They both missed sharing the goodnight kiss and greeting each other in the morning. Or having a moment to joke about something funny happened that day. Or reading before sleeping, her nested against him, his hands absently playing with her long braid. When Cullen slipped with her under the blankets, she hugged him from behind, kissing his nape. Cullen grabbed her hands and murmured a tired “Goodnight,” adhering against her body with a satisfied sigh. For once, he fell asleep sooner than her. Demetra stayed awake, listening to his regular breath. A moment before falling asleep, she smiled and snuggled closer to him. Everything was fine.

—- As always, let me know what you think of this tiny thing!

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 36!

Full fic is over at AO3! Modern Thedas AU with magic, demons, and so much angst and pining. Just... so much. 

Well, Maria thought to herself, she’d been a semi-decent Inquisitor for approximately seventy-two hours. In all honesty, a better run that she expected to have before she finally ran into the one thing she could not do. 

That one thing was reading a fucking speech. 

She buried her face in her hands, ignoring the scattered notecards all over the floor, the ones she’d thrown there in a fit of pique. She couldn’t meet Josephine’s anxious gaze one more time, but she felt it on her shoulders anyway. The silence hung over them like miasma, poison she was going to choke on. 

“Alright, Inquisitor.” Harding kept her voice carefully light. “Maybe we need to try something a bit different.” 

Maria looked up, spearing Harding with a glance she hoped conveyed her complete exasperation with the entire situation. She’d had it with the camera pointed at her damn face, the notecards containing Josephine’s carefully chosen words, and Harding’s disappointed little wrinkling her brow. She felt like screaming.

Instead, Maria sighed and bent down, sweeping most of the cards back into her hand, shuffling them back into order without thought. She stared at the neat, precise handwriting until her eyes ached. The words flowed when she read them in her mind, but the second she tried to push them into the air, they turned to lead weights and awkward silences. 

“Let me see those.” Harding plucked the cards from her hand and frowned at them. 

“Perhaps I should rewrite it. Again.” Josephine stepped forward over Maria’s shoulder. “Allow me…” 

Maria wasn’t certain that rewriting the speech she was supposed to be giving would help any more the third time around. She’d still be nothing more than a wooden puppet, dull and lifeless, stumbling over the simplest words, unable to look at the camera without turning red and stuttering. 

“Good idea! I’ve got a better one.” Harding grinned and held Maria’s gaze before tossing the cards over her shoulder where they fell like a deck of cards, scattering in all directions. Maria huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. 

“Does that mean we give up and I can go do something productive?” Maria asked. She had a little under a thousand things on her to-do list. Re-establishing connection with the outside world came with a cost, after all. 

It turned out, everyone thought they were ghosts. Orlais and Ferelden had rescue teams scouring the area, the meager forces either country could spare with Ferelden trying to clean up from the witch rebellion and Orlais in full scale civil war. The would-be rescuers were more than a little confused to discover that so many people had escaped Haven, found a magical fortress, and flourished in the aftermath. 

But it was Maria’s continued, implausible, survival that really astounded the world. Unfortunately, she was trending across all the social media channels. Again. Harding’s footage of the avalanche that buried Maria had gone viral almost immediately. Memorials sprung up in the most unlikely places, from Denerim’s chantry to the docks at Ostwick. Josephine released a statement, but it became increasingly clear it wouldn’t sate the appetite of Thedas. They wanted Maria, more than just the photographs of her greeting the rescue teams. More than the stolen video clips of her wandering Skyhold carrying supplies. They clamored for her to speak, to tell her story, to shine her attention on them. 

Maria didn’t really think even her sputtering on camera would be enough. She worried the world wouldn’t be happy until it swallowed her whole, honestly. 

“No more reading off these cards.” Harding stated, fiddling with her camera for a moment before putting it back on it’s tripod and dragging her chair over to Maria’s. Harding sat down and leaned forward, lightly placing her fingertips on the back of Maria’s palm. “To be honest, you suck at it. A lot.” 

“The honesty I need to hear.” Maria joked weakly, sagging back in her chair. “Tell Josie to give it up.” 

“Inquisitor…” Josephine sighed. Harding shook her head and smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, we’ve got to try one more thing before you’re off the hook.” Harding tapped her finger lightly on Maria’s skin. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Fuck, Harding.” Maria raised her marked hand to her forehead and rubbed away the impending headache. “You were there. You know what happened.” 

“I know.” Harding said softly. Maria fixed her gaze on Harding’s and watched as the woman swallowed some great emotion, a shudder passing through her. “Hard to talk about, isn’t it? I swear every time I try to remember, I can hear the people we lost screaming. Smell the smoke.” 

Maria gulped down her own panic, the fear that she’d look up and see the dragon’s wings darkening the sky through the pretty windows. She sounded like she was begging, but she didn’t care. “Harding…”

“What happened first?” Harding pressed softly. “I was back with Varric, I couldn’t see. I heard the gunshots, they said you were on the frontline.” 

She’d been. With Solas, then Bull. The girl who died beside her, choking on her own blood. Maria never even knew her name. They’d lost so many people, and Maria never knew any of their names. She flicked her eyes to the camera and Harding squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t look at it.” Harding directed. “Look at me.” 

If she looked at Harding, she may cry. She blinked several times, trying to bring her expression under control. The silence stretched on until Maria let out a long, heavy breath. “The Templars came in armoured SUVs. We barely had any warning, so we erected barriers out of anything we could get our hands on. They’d been poisoned by the red lyrium, like we saw on the news in Kirkwall with the Knight Commander, but there were so many of them. They didn’t care if we shot them, they kept coming out of the darkness like a nightmare.” 

“But the Inquisition had explosives.” Harding supplied softly. Maria nodded, focusing on Harding’s hand on hers. 

“Yes.” Maria’s voice sounded a bit more sure. If she ignored the camera, ignored Josephine’s silent presence, and just focused on Harding it was easier. “Yes. They’d been left there. The Inquisition requisitioned your drone to deliver the explosives…” 

Harding gently prodded Maria through most of it, but the words flowed when she spoke. The templars. The dragon. Corypheus. The avalanche. One rolled into the other, but by the time they got to Skyhold, Maria felt raw, scraped clean on the inside. Harding pulled back, looked at Josephine expectantly. 

“We will need to edit it for length and clarity.” Josephine nodded, all business, but Maria saw her hands shaking as she typed something into her tablet. “But…. forgive me.” 

Josephine wiped her face briskly with her sleeve, shooting Maria a watery, wan smile. “I was not prepared to be so moved. I will remember that you should not be scripted. For the future.” 

“Well, Inquisitor.” Harding smiled, tears in her own eyes as well that she dabbed away. “How was that interview you said you’d never give me?” 

Maria laughed, the sound relieved and choked. “Maker.” She wheezed. “Did you get me saying that on camera the first time? If so, you should tack it onto the end.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Harding stood, extending her hand to Maria. “Not bad, Inquisitor. Not bad at all.” 

“I try.” Maria reached automatically for her phone in her pocket, frowning at the ever present notifications while she allowed Harding to hoist her up. She skipped the emails, those she needed to pick through at night when she wouldn’t be interrupted and they wouldn’t keep multiplying on her. The text messages usually were more urgent.

Usually being the key word. The first one, of course, was from Sera. It consisted of a string of nonsensical emojis (fried shrimp? Who actually used the fried shrimp?) plus a blurry photo that could have been Cullen’s desk chair on top of one of the turrets. She sent a simple thumbs up and moved to the next one. 

Varric. Again. She opened up the message, hunching her shoulders defensively as Hading and Josephine talked over her, to read the string of messages. 

Varric: Let me know if you get this. I made another minor adjustment. Maria: Stop fucking with it before you fall off the walls. We don’t have health insurance here. Varric: Let me guess, no worker’s comp either? Maria: Negative on the workers comp. We may have beer, though. Varric: That’s the best medicine. Hey, do you have a minute? Maria: Also negative. Cullen wants me to meet his senior officers and introduce myself properly. Varric: Right, when you have a second. Maria: Sure. Varric: How about now? Maria: Leliana’s explaining Orlais to me. Varric: Right. Let me know if you figure it out.  Varric: Later tonight? Maria: I can’t, I’m going over supply manifests with Josephine. Maria: Maybe tomorrow. Varric: So, it’s tomorrow. Just in case you haven’t noticed. Maria: I’ve been told. I’m sorry, I’m swamped. I’ve got a speech to memorize and give for Harding and Josephine. Varric: Alright, Princess. I’ll stop bothering you - come by when you can. Varric: And in case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen by far. 

Fuck. Fuck. Why was this so fucking hard? Three days of messages, three days of ducking around Varric wherever and whenever she saw him. Three days nursing her bruised ego and railing against her own stupidity for believing for even a moment Varric fucking Tethras truly… 

He’d be what she needed, if she asked, because he was kind, because he felt bad for her, because she wasn’t bad to look at. But she could never be what he actually wanted, and that… that stung. That stung far more than she could deal with just now on top of everything else. She certainly couldn’t spend time in his orbit, smelling his cologne, listening to his sinfully rich voice, waiting for his smiles and his laugh. 

But she couldn’t ignore him either. She couldn’t.

Maria: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess.

As she typed the message, another one popped in. She swiped to view it and fought back a smirk. 

Dorian: Fasta vass, come here.  Maria: Where are you?  Dorian: Follow the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth. 

What did she do to deserve Dorian Pavus’s histrionics today? Maria simply pulled up the group chat, typing one simple question into it. 

Maria: Anyone point me to our favorite neighborhood magister? Dorian: I am not a Magister, you heathen. Bull: Have you tried following the trail of spilled wine? Sera: or smell of hair wax Vivienne: Second floor rotunda, darling. You can’t miss his ostentatious shirt. Maria: Thanks Viv. 

She slipped her phone back in her pocket and frowned at Josephine. “I’ve got to go.” 

“I will email you the final footage for your approval.” Josephine declared smoothly, making a note in  her tablet. Harding simply saluted lazily.  

“Don’t.” Maria groaned, making a bee-line for the door. “I’m not going to watch it anyway. Just… whatever works. Do that.” 

She fled before Josephine could argue, flying through the crowd in the great hall before anyone could stop and catch her attention. She found that speed was the key for moving across Skyhold, because if she slowed down for even a moment, she got roped into a hundred different projects of varying degrees of importance. She slipped into the rotunda and turned toward the stairs…

“Inquisitor.” Solas called. “A moment?” 

Well, at least it was just Solas. She paused and turned to look at him. The elf was studying the blank wall in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. “What’s up?” 

“I find the act of painting meditative and I wish to design some murals for this room. I asked Skyhold, but I believe the spirit wishes you to make the final determination.” Solas turned his back on the wall and pierced her with his gaze. “Would you like to see some sketches before I proceed?” 

“You can paint?” She asked instead, curious. Solas simply smiled. 

“I can.” He admitted. “I think I do so rather well. One of my few true talents.” 

Sera could draw too, although she sincerely hoped Solas’s paintings were much less provocative. Sera’s most detailed sketches seemed to feature big breasted women in various states of undress. Maria wondered, momentarily, if it was an elf thing. Then, she internally winced and scolded herself for being a bit racist. 

“Yeah, sure. I don’t need to see them. This is kinda your office, isn’t it?” Maria waved at the room, empty of all but a neat little couch and a tidy desk littered with papers. “Whatever you want to do.” 

“A dangerous offer.” Solas smiled warmly down at her. “I shall try not to abuse the privilege. I thought, perhaps, to create a visual history of the Inquisition? The destruction of the conclave, the Inquisition’s formation, recruiting the witches at Redcliffe and…” 

“Haven.” Maria whispered softly. Haven. She ached with it’s loss and all the fallen they’d left, so raw and fresh again after the interview. She feared she would carry it with her the rest of her life like a scar on her heart. 

“Haven.” Solas repeated. “It weighs on you. I am sorry.” 

“I think we’re all still reeling.” Maria tried to make her tone light, shrugging. “How did you ask Skyhold? About the murals? Varric keeps trying to talk to her through Cole but I don’t think it’s going well.” 

“It is not, but Varric is a child of the stone. He does not understand such things.” Solas muttered, examining the walls.

Maria flinched just a bit. Well, maybe she should have asked about the painting skills being an elf thing then. If ‘children of the stone’ was getting thrown about so casually, it certainly would have put him in his place. 

“I want to understand.” She insisted instead. “You know about spirits. You said some of them were your friends. Can you… can you introduce me? Is that how it works?” 

“You wish to learn? About spirits and the fade?” Solas asked, incredulity lacing his voice, piercing her with his eyes. 

“Yes.” Maria answered sternly, lifting her chin. “You’re the expert. I can clearly do… something with this mark on my hand. Teach me about the fade before I shoot myself in the foot.” 

Solas continued to look down at her, blinking slowly, before he shook his head. “You are full of constant surprises.” 

It wasn’t a no. Maria smirked. “So… you will?” 

“Cadash!” Dorian shouted from above them. “I can hear you distinctly not making your way up here. Solas can wait his blighted turn.” 

“If you wish.” Solas smiled, hesitant. “But Dorian is right. We will do so at another time.” 

“Great.” Maria grinned, waved her hand at the walls. “Have fun. Don’t let Sera help.” 

With that parting bit of advice, she sauntered to the stairs, leaving Solas to his quiet contemplation. She made sure to take her time, lingering an extra second before emerging onto the next floor.

Which… had sprung bookshelves. Apparently. She blinked, looking around, taking in the rows of empty shelving. Dorian stood in one of the new alcoves, scowling and tapping his fingers on the wood. “Was putting me on blast in the group chat strictly necessary?” He asked grimly.

“Next time, you’ll answer my question instead of being so dramatic.” Maria tipped her head to the side, examining his tailored black shirt with the intricate silver embroidery over the shoulders. “I don’t think that shirt is so bad at all.” 

“Because you have proper taste.” Dorian sniffed. “You also have an empty library.” 

“Odd.” Maria agreed, tracing the nearest plush armchair with her fingers, taking in the rich velvet upholstery. “Wasn’t this Cullen’s office yesterday?” 

“That’s over on the battlements now, under his bedroom. Frankly, I think he’s happier.” Dorian waved Cullen’s migrating office away dismissively. “This lackluster excuse for an archive is outrageous. And Fiona will not see reason.” 

Maria finally noticed the other figure on the floor, the elf glaring holes into Dorian’s back. Fiona stepped forward, pleading. “Inquisitor, you must understand, I cannot simply agree to hand over our history for the perusal of…” 

“Ethnocentrism at it’s finest!” Dorian sniffed. “She’s concerned I’ll find something useful her people missed.” 

“His people tried to enslave us!” Fiona lifted her chin, icy and regal. “I will not…” 

“Dorian did an awful lot to prevent that from happening.” Maria wouldn’t sit here and just… let Dorian be slandered. Not when he was the only one who knew what Fiona’s idiocy nearly cost them. “What’s the issue?” 

“All the knowledge of the southern circles is sitting, abandoned, in their shoddy little prisons.” Dorian pointedly didn’t look at Fiona, but stared imploringly at Maria instead. “It should be here where it can be studied, where perhaps we can use what we find. Even Madame de Fer agrees, but unfortunately Fiona is rather distraught that my grubby little Tevene hands will be all over it.” 

“Those tomes are quite valuable!” Fiona insisted. “They must be left in…” 

“The circles you ran out of?” Maria broke in, raising an eyebrow. 

“Until they can be collected by the witches and catalogued appropriately…” Fiona persisted. 

Maria fought the urge to roll her eyes and balled her hands into fists, hunching her shoulders. She bit out the words like bullets. “Grand Enchanter, your witches joined the Inquisition because it wasn’t a very good idea to keep going it alone. May I remind you, now is probably an even shittier time to strike out solo.”

Fiona bristled. “Are you saying we would no longer be welcome if…” 

Balls. Who the fuck had time for this? Maria rubbed her forehead, attempting to soothe the headache returning with a vengeance. She lowered her voice to a steely command. “I’m saying that maybe you should remember you are part of a team and act accordingly. Which includes treating everyone here with the same respect you insist on receiving.” 

Fiona set her jaw and looked like she had every intention of continuing to argue, so Maria turned to Dorian instead. “I’ll get Cullen to see if we can spare some people once we’ve got a clear path in and out of Skyhold.” 

Maria paused, shooting a disdainful look back at the elf. “Unless that’s going to be a problem, Fiona?” 

“Of course not. Inquisitor.” Maria could feel the acid on the other woman’s tongue. “I hope this decision proves wise and that you are not judged harshly on your… trusting nature.” 

With that, the woman rotated robotically on her heel. She reached the nearest door and pushed it. The door remained resolutely shut even as she struggled. It finally fell open only once she pressed her entire weight into it, leaving Fiona scrambling in a rather undignified manner to regain her balance. Maria heard Vivienne’s voice drifting from the other room before Fiona slammed the door shut behind her. “Careful, darling. A fall at your age would be disastrous.” 

Maria barely covered her laugh with her hand, immediately looking up to see Dorian not even bothering to hide his smug satisfaction as he spoke. “Well. That felt rather vindicating, didn’t it?” 

“Is that why you wanted me? To make her give you books for our new library?” Maria asked, trailing after Dorian as he settled into one of the plush chairs at a rather sturdy table. “I’m guessing we can’t just order the ones you want online and have them shipped?” 

“If only. Although I do wish to place an order for some items from my homeland. Nothing illegal to get southern panties in a twist, I promise, just some charts. I confess I’m not entirely certain what our address is, however. Not to mention whether or not we’re eligible for two-day shipping.” Dorian’s fingers continued to tap, anxiously, on the wooden surface of the table. Maria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. “You know. Corypheus claims to be Tevinter himself. A Magister, in fact.” 

“He didn’t look human to me.” Maria replied, shrugging. “He looked like a demon. Don’t demons lie? A lot?” 

“Perhaps.” Dorian mused. “They say the blight is punishment for the sins of our Magisters who dared to walk in the realm of the Maker.” 

“They’re also rather convinced I’m the Herald of Andraste.” Maria shrugged her shoulders a second time. Humans were strange. Fuck if she knew what the truth was behind Corypheus. Honestly, she didn’t see how it mattered one way or the other. 

“Not Andrastian, I take it?” Dorian teased, but the longer she listened, the more she heard something wrong under his light tone. He continued talking regardless, the words meaningless. “Not that I blame you. Boring stuff. I was raised Andrastian, of course, but I’m afraid that I’ve been lying about attending services to my eternally disappointed mother for…” 

“Dorian.” Maria interrupted. “What’s wrong?” 

Dorian’s fingers lost their rhythm, the incessant tapping ceasing while his dark eyes bored into hers. “You’re rather observant today.” 

“Survival instinct.” Maria claimed. One she’d finely honed. “Don’t change the subject. What’s happened?” 

If it was bad news, Maria wasn’t sure she could handle any more. Dorian simply sighed, slumping in his chair. He was silent for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I received word from a few of my remaining friends back in Minrathous. Do you remember Felix?”

How could she forget Felix? Their, admittedly few, interactions were branded in her mind. Him stumbling against her, him pleading with his father, the ghoul with the unseeing eyes and Leliana’s arm around his neck…

“I never asked...” Guilt churned in her stomach. She hadn’t asked, she’d fled and let the Inquisition deal with it because she’d been choking on Varric’s blood and Hawke’s inferno. She’d been a weak, spineless thing good for nothing but being led back to Haven by her nose. 

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do that again. She was the Inquisitor now and she had to deal. She choked down the memories and took a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists until her nails cut into her skin, the pain a stark reminder of where she was, whose eyes were staring at her. “I never asked how he was. What happened to him and…” 

And his father. The man who would have killed them all.

“You were exhausted and there was no need for you to manage the fallout after… after everything.” Dorian frowned. “It was my mess to clean up, after all. We packed them on their plane and sent them back to Tevinter. Alexius was arrested as soon as he stepped foot in Minrathous on the King of Ferelden’s insistence, although I’m sure he’ll be quietly released once it’s diplomatically safe to do so. Felix…” 

Dorian’s voice grew hoarse with emotion, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m afraid Felix has passed. He pulled a thousand strings to get in front of the Senate, to deliver a rousing speech denouncing the Venatori cult and warning the Magisterium, and… then I suppose he laid down his sword.” 

Maria felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving them both floundering as Dorian struggled to bear the grief written all over his face. Maria’s numb lips asked the question before her brain could process it. “He was sick?” 

“The blight. He was on a research expedition with his mother into the abandoned Deep Roads. She… she passed several months ago. Alexius is alone now. I suspect all he really wished was the power to save his son.” 

Dorian’s raw devastation was the only thing that prevented her from pointing out that he’d nearly killed the entire world and everyone Maria had left in his mad quest to save Felix. She couldn’t forgive him. Not even for Dorian. 

But she knew better than to say it. Particularly when Dorian covered his face with one hand, the slight tremor in his shoulders the only sign of the sobs he struggled to hold back. Maria unwrapped her arms from her torso, hesitating only a moment. With Dorian sitting and her standing, she stood just a bit taller than him. She stepped forward, tentative, and rested her marked palm on his shoulder. His free hand reached up almost immediately to cover hers, a silent gesture of gratitude while his long fingers wrapped gently over her hand and squeezed. 

“He was the best of us, you know.” Dorian murmured beneath his hand. “You could always count on Felix. If he had not been my friend, I… I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know if I would be here now.” 

“He clearly thought you weren’t half bad either.” Maria offered, at a loss for anything else to say with that weighted confession in the air. “He went along with your crazy plan in Redcliffe, didn’t he?” 

Dorian’s laugh sounded broken, laced with unshed tears, but it was still warm and unbearably soft. “Of course he did. It was a brilliant one.”

Dorian dropped his hand from his face, eyes shining with emotion. His fingers gripped hers again. “At least Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.” 

xx

Varric tried not to be overly obvious in his leisurely stroll to the rotunda. Up the courtyard steps, through the gallery where Vivienne set up her alchemy table because she claimed the light was ideal. Fiona nearly ran him over in her hurry to escape past the other witch, her face blotchy with fury. 

Maker’s balls, what did Dorian do? The last thing Maria needed was Fiona deciding to cause trouble because Sparkler stepped on a few toes. Varric scrubbed his hand across his jaw, casting his eyes back down at the group chat while he ambled past Vivienne holding up a glass beaker to the light. 

“Leave Dorian to his tantrum.” Vivienne advised, lifting her eyes from her work. “I’ve found the Inquisitor is the best one at talking him down. She’s more than capable.” 

“And miss the material for my next book?” Varric asked cheerfully. “Never.” 

Vivienne shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Suit yourself.” 

He would. At first, he’d been… understanding of Maria vanishing into the ether. He even tried to convince himself it was better, tried to talk himself into some gratitude that she wasn’t rubbing her rejection in his face. She was being kind, that was all, and sensible. Extremely sensible.

Except Varric needed to talk to her about an over growing list of items. He’d prefer to make his confession about Hawke in person, after all. He still needed to explain how the new AI on her phone worked and assuage any worries about robot eavesdropping, which was always better done face-to-face. The wi-fi in the castle was still spotty and she seemed to be the only one who could reason with her damn… 

As if it knew the direction of his thoughts, when he placed his hand on the door leading to the rotunda and shoved, Skyhold kept the door stubbornly shut. A gloating declaration that the group chat messages didn’t say Maria Cadash was looking for Varric Tethras, did they?

“You learn to read?” Varric grumbled quietly, praying to the Maker himself that Vivienne couldn’t hear him. He pressed forward again. 

The door didn’t budge. Varric knelt to examine the lock, frowning, but the knob rattled. It was, he thought, like a snake warning someone they were getting too close to its territory. 

“If you think I won’t pick this lock, you’ve got another thing coming.” Varric threatened. He had damn good lockpicks, and nothing but time. At the very least, he’d put some good scratches into… 

The door slid open silently just a crack, relenting to his whims. Or so Varric thought. When he went to shove it the rest of the way, it held fast. Varric could see a sliver of the room, now filled with empty shelves and plush chairs. One of those chairs contained Dorian Pavus, Maria standing in front of him, close enough to fall into his lap. She had her hand on his shoulder and as he watched, Dorian dropped the palm that covered his face to the table beside him. Varric could see the traces of lingering emotion etched into his handsome features. Maria smiled, a tenuous thing, but still there. She shook her head in silence, refuting whatever he’d said. Dorian took the hand he had trapped on his shoulder and lifted it, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste, courtly kiss on them. 

The door closed gently, like a mother tucking their children into bed. A clear signal that Varric was interrupting a moment. One he had no part of. 

And the author in him, at least, could see the beauty in it. Dorian playing the part of an exiled stranger chased from his homeland, a prince in all but name trying to do the noble thing and fighting evil despite losing his family fortune meeting. Maria starring as a former criminal with a heart of gold, one who found herself lifted from the gutter to lead the righteous in a fight for the very soul of the world. It was a damn fine story. Varric almost wished he would have come up with it himself. Almost. 

The rest of him felt sick with envy. A monster inside him desperately craved the right to place a kiss on Maria’s skin, the opportunity to have her lean towards him with that same sort of careless intimacy, to have her fall against him the same way she had their doomed night in Haven. 

But it wasn’t him. Yet again, it was someone else who had that privilege. Varric turned, blindly stalking past Vivienne. He tried to ignore her sharp, lingering gaze on his shoulder blades. It didn’t burn as much as the jealousy in his stomach anyway. He threw the door open and emerged on the walls back above the courtyard. Down below, he could see children drawing on the ancient walls with brightly colored chalk. Their laughter rang brightly, full of sheer joy. 

It hit him like shrapnel and he ran from it, back up the battlements. He wasn’t sure, entirely, where he was going. He just needed to keep walking, to put the picture of Maria and Dorian firmly behind him until he could look at it with some distance. Until it didn’t feel like holding a bleeding heart…

“But it’s not like that!” 

Cole’s furious protest from behind him made Varric stop short, turning to watch the kid scramble after him. The kid’s cheeks were flushed pink like he’d run halfway across the castle to catch Varric. He huffed to catch his breath, staring down Varric with panic. “No. She wanted to show you, but it knotted up all your strings. He needed her. Loss comes in waves, a small smile sneaking snacks into the study. Gone. He’s gone now and he was one of the last bits of home that didn’t cut the wrong way. She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.” 

“Kid, it’s fine.” Varric pinched his nose, hard, hoping the pain would clear the image from his head. Maria’s flushed cheeks, her shy amusement as Dorian’s lips brushed her skin. His princess in her castle with her devoted knight at her feet. Not him. Never him. 

“But it’s not.” Cole protested vehemently. “You’re both so scared. But the fall isn’t far and it’s soft underneath the walls. Alone isn’t safe. If no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.” 

The kid’s imploring tone softened, his eyes bright with emotion. “Tell her. You have the words and she’s been silent for so long.” 

He had a million things to tell her. But having her shoulder his bruised heart wasn’t on his list. “It’s alright.” Varric repeated. “It’s complicated, kid.” 

“It isn’t.” Cole protested. 

Varric’s phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down, the unknown number flashing across the screen. It could only be one person. “I gotta take this.” 

He transferred the call directly to his earpiece, answering with a small amount of wariness while he turned his back on Cole to stare out over the mountains. “Hello?” 

“I’ve got good news.” Hawke’s sanguine voice was just what he needed to hear. He closed his eyes to bask in it for a second. “And I’ve got bad news. Which do you want first?” 

“I could use some good news.” He looked back over his shoulder, but found Cole had vanished as suddenly as he appeared. That… probably didn’t bode well. He sighed and leaned on the battlements, looking out instead, ignoring the prickling in his gut. 

“The smuggler you sent me didn’t slit my throat on the freighter to Jader. Which, by the way, rhymes.” 

Varric chuckled almost against his will. “And the bad news?” 

“You know that sleeping thing I said I’d do on the ship? Well, guess who forgot how much she hates sea travel. I hope you’re not expecting me to be in working order when I climb those damn mountains, Varric, because I’m going to need a nap.” 

Guilt twisted inside him uneasily. He didn’t want Hawke exhausted, falling prey to red templars or Venatori on the road. “You can stop and rest, Waffles. A day or two isn’t gonna kill us.” 

“It may.” Hawke joked. “The way your luck’s been lately? I won’t chance it. Besides, the more distance in between me and Fen I can get is best.” 

If someone didn’t know her well, they’d miss the hitch in her voice, the careful lightness almost smoothing it over. Varric sighed. He hadn’t heard a word from the elf, but he hadn’t expected to. It wasn’t exactly Varric asking Hawke to come that caused the problem. It was Hawke declaring she was coming alone. 

Varric wasn’t entirely sure how that fight played out, although he knew it ended with Bethany sealing the lovers in separate rooms for a good long while. Hawke had her way, like she usually did, but Varric knew that wouldn’t last long either. The second Broody stopped brooding, he’d be off like a rocket on Hawke’s tail. It might take him a bit longer without Varric’s contacts smoothing the way, but Broody had experience smuggling himself out of and into places. He’d make it, eventually, Varric was certain.

“Should’ve just taken him with you.” It’s what Varric said the first time. And every time he’d spoken to Hawke since. 

Hawke gave varying reasons why he couldn’t come. The first, that Bethany needed him (patently false. Sunshine was perfectly capable of defending herself). The second, that he was just as much a fugitive as she was, clearly also false. 

“Bring him into a hotbed of Tevinter magic?” Hawke scoffed. “I’d never hear the end of it.” 

Another lie. Hawke wasn’t telling him something and she was hiding it from Broody too. That meant it was almost definitely going to bite them all in the ass. Eventually. Hopefully after they dealt with their Corypheus problem. 

“Any idea what your ETA is?” Varric asked. “Your trusty dwarf would very much like to get all the yelling and threats against my life done and over with.” 

“Depends on whether or not I can steal a car, how far that car can get me, and if I have to walk through snow up to my tits to get up there.” Hawke mused. “I’m in Jader now. Bet I can make it by tomorrow night.” 

“Take a nap.” He ordered. “Then you can start back up again.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Varric.” Hawke teased. 

For some reason those words sent an icy shiver of dread through him. They felt like a bad omen, and Varric wouldn’t count himself superstitious, but… 

“Be careful, at least.” Varric pleaded. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but we’d be lost without you.” 

“Varric!” He could see Hawke’s extravagant reaction in his mind, her fluttering hands, her mouth dropping into a startled, theatrical o. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

“Of course I care.” This was closer to honesty, to vulnerability, than either of them cared to go. But he’d called her here. Pulled her into danger again. His best friend, maybe the truest friend he’d ever had. If there was a time to be real, this moment with them standing on the edge of the end of the world was it. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.” 

Especially if she got hurt trying to save his ass. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Varric.” Hawke soothed immediately. “No need to get sentimental on me now. Besides, you need to save some of the good shit for my kickass memorial service, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember.” He laughed weakly. “Pyrotechnics are already ordered, just like I promised.” 

“Excellent!” Hawke cheered. “Now, let’s see if I can remember how Fenris taught me to hotwire a car. See you soon, Varric.” 

The line clicked dead before he could get another word in. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head, staring out over the mountains. His head felt quieter already. Hawke was coming, fuck, maybe she’d know what to do about… 

“Cole told me I needed to find you.” Maria’s quiet voice was almost lost in the wind. “He said it was important.” 

Oh yeah, he knew the vanishing spirit kid was gonna be an issue. He spun, gluing on a smile, trying to replay the conversation. He hadn’t called Hawke by name, had he? Maker’s breath, how long had Maria been standing behind him, silent as a ghost, still as one of those statues of Andraste. Her eyes were unfathomable, the sky during a storm and she wore an expression Varric couldn’t quite read. It could have been anger, but it seemed to lack any heat. Maybe it was just weary resignation, a woman preparing for her eventual martyrdom.

Her eyes flicked to his earpiece and she jerked her chin at it. “Bianca?” 

Bianca. Hell, if she thought he was talking to his AI, he’d take it. And it was an excellent segway to the things he actually needed to talk to her about. 

“Nice to see you too, Princess.” He greeted, softening his smile into something more real. “Speaking of Bianca…”

Maria shut her eyes a second too long, opening them on a shaky exhale and plastering a wooden smile over her features before she interrupted him. “You seem fine. Cole thought you’d be jumping from the battlements, but I can see he was wrong.” 

Maker’s ass, Varric was going to have a talk with the kid. The last thing he needed the woman whose dad ate his gun worrying about was who’d be swandiving off the keep. Varric wasn’t that dramatic by a long shot. He grinned playfully. “It’s a long way down and we’ve got Netflix again, so I’m off the danger list.” 

“I can see now why you were so eager to get it up and running. I’m glad it worked.” Her facade was far too brittle, he felt like he’d shatter it with just the wrong word. She wasn’t even looking at him, but past him, into the abyss beyond. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, if you’re okay I’ve got to go. I’ve got a million things and…”

She impatiently shoved her hair back from her face. Varric watched, wary. “Maria…” 

“Varric.” She snapped. “It’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine.” 

Cause anything that had to be said three times was clearly true. But Varric couldn’t think of the right words to say to fix… whatever had just gone sideways. He wished he was brave enough to take her hand, intertwine their fingers together, make her stay put until he got to the bottom of it. 

She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.

His tongue froze inside his mouth while he tried to find his words. But really, he only wanted to say one. Just one. Stay.

Instead, Maria’s false smile seared itself into place. “See ya, Varric.” 

And as he watched, Maria fled back into her castle, leaving him bereft. Again. 

xx

Varric: In case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen. Princess: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess. Varric: Let’s forget whatever happened on the walls. I didn’t mean to get you worked up. Varric: I watched your interview. You did great. Varric: Talk to me, Princess. Please. 

Varric stared, morosely, at his phone. He’d been assigned a tiny broom cupboard off the side of the courtyard by Josephine, although he swore it had been larger. Now it seemed to barely contain his desk, bed, and a dresser with enough room to walk from one to the other. It also, Varric thought snidely, had some sort of issue with the heat. His crackling fireplace looked quaint, but it served no functional purpose. His room constantly felt somewhere just above freezing. 

He tore his eyes from the accusing light of his phone, his unanswered messages, and looked back at his tablet. He forced himself to watch the whole interview twice, even though it felt like rubbing against sandpaper to see Maria’s mouth spin the story of their desperate fight for survival, their half-baked flight into the void. 

Her own near brush with death before she stumbled into his arms. She left out that part, the way he held her, the way she tried to fight him off before relenting. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn’t remember it at all.  

The last five minutes were easier to watch. He hit play again, watched the last of the clip begin to roll, Maria’s voice quietly spinning magic as she spoke to Harding. “I want Skyhold to be a safe place. Not just for the people who fled Haven, but for everyone. The world is in danger from magic we don’t understand and we have to work together to take care of people who can’t fight on their own.” 

“Before the attack on Haven, people were frightened of what the Inquisition represented. Do you think the purpose has changed?” Harding asked calmly. 

“The attack on Haven did change us.” Maria insisted, a flicker of fire in those stunning eyes. “It changed everything. The Inquisition will unite Thedas around a common goal, protecting our people. Not just from Corypheus, but from the worst parts of these wars. Starvation, homelessness, and disease can kill as many people as a dragon. We have to be ready for that too. The Inquisition will serve everyone who needs us. Regardless of what they believe.” 

Maker, she was good. But the best part was what happened next. Whoever made the decision to leave it in was a genius. Her whole interview she’d been calm, although at times her eyes gleamed with both fury and unshed tears. There’d been no trace of nerves, Harding gently soothing them away as she was being interviewed. 

“Thanks Inquisitor.” Harding said, easily casual, falling back into reality. 

Maria’s eyes flicked directly to the camera, then back to Harding. A slow, small, triumphant smile tipped up one side of her lips, her eyes still glimmering with emotion. She looked heart wrenchingly vulnerable, easy to adore, and at the same time recklessly, amazingly brave. 

“Thanks Harding.” Maria breathed, shoulders relaxing, just before the image cut away to Ruffles. 

Judging by what he’d seen of the coverage, it was nothing short of a rousing success. A near miss that made their Herald a hero, made her an Inquisitor with just enough blazing courage to delight the masses. 

Varric hit stop on the video again, spared a chagrined glance at his phone. His own messages lingered pathetically. 

Bianca.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Nobody knew. 

Except, of course, that probably wasn’t technically true. Somebody in Rogue Tech, Bianca’s secretary at least, had to have some idea. Hawke knew, although she was very good at pretending she didn’t know anything. What's-his-name might know. Varric didn’t care that much, but he might. 

How good was Nightingale? Good enough to ferret out his darkest secret? 

But even if Nightingale discovered their sordid affair, it’d been cooling for years. Fuck, he hadn’t even seen Bianca for at least a year. Kirkwall going to shit really ruined any furtive liaisons. Nightingale did know about Bianca’s digging in Maria’s past, of course. Was that enough for both women to draw their own conclusions?

Varric ran through his phone call with Hawke, again, listening with an outside ear. 

Of course I care. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.

He could have been talking to anyone, but she’d thought he’d been talking to Bianca. Maybe the real Bianca. If she’d heard what he’d said. If…

She heard. She definitely heard. That’s why she thought he’d been working on the communications so hard, to contact a lover. After, of course, attempting to seduce her in Haven. No wonder she wasn’t answering, no woman would. Even if she didn’t care about him, even if she’d rather keep him as a friend, the thought that he’d been lying or using her… 

His journal was open beside his phone, lines scrawled unsteadily on a blank page, the Lovers tucked in between the pages.

I never tasted the stars before your kiss Never relished the flavor of the universe imploding But now I’m watching from the center of the flames Awash in the uncertainty of oblivion Wondering if this is what it feels like to burn.

Fuck. Fuck.

It was getting late, but not so late that she wouldn’t still be awake. Varric needed to fix this, the longer it festered, the worse it would get. He’d already waited over a day and… 

He stood, knocking his chair back into the bed, grabbing his coat from where he’d thrown it on the comforter. 

Thank Andraste he did 

The trickle of dust from the ceiling was barely visible in the dim light of his shoddy lamp and inefficient fire, he barely had time to recognize it for what it was before the stone above him cracked open, dumping plaster and stone and one sputtering, irritated woman on his bed.

He blinked, shocked, down at Hawke’s sprawled form. She squawked, sitting up, coat askew, backpack slung half off, covered in snow and rubble. 

“Maker’s balls, Varric.” Hawke asked, inquisitive blue eyes skipping around his room, a teasing smirk twisting her lips. “Why did they stick you in a closet?” 

He didn’t bother answering. He pointed up at the rapidly closing hole above his head. “Explanation, Hawke?” 

“I was a bit lost. Maybe it’s the castle’s idea of a shortcut? You weren’t kidding about it being a bit of a diva, hm?” Hawke stretched, examining his repaired ceiling with a good deal of curiousity. “I like it when impressive medieval fortresses come with attitudes.” 

“Why didn’t you text me?” Varric demanded, exasperated. 

Hawke simply grinned, sitting up in the mess that had been his bed, extending her arms. “I wanted to surprise you! And look, I did!” 

She certainly had. And, as always, her timing was horrid. Varric chanced a glance back at his phone. The second he did, he watched Hawke’s sunny smile drop from the corner of his eye. Without her mask, Varric realized how fucking exhausted she looked, how brittle her own bravado was. 

“Varric?” She asked softly. 

“It’s fine. Let’s see if we can clean off the bed. You look like you’re running on empty. We can wait until tomorrow to…” Varric thought it would be excellent if the castle decided to clean it’s own mess up, but somehow he doubted that would happen. 

“I’m fine.” Hawke protested immediately. “I’m good to go, I swear. And I wanna meet her.” 

Her. Her. The inspiration for his latest shitty attempts at poetry. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head because she’d gotten under his skin. 

“Tomorrow.” Varric promised. “When’s the last time you ate? Real food, not candy bars and coffee.” 

“Varric.” Hawke repeated. And in that moment, he knew she’d seen. Somehow, he’d let his guard down long enough that she’d managed to glimpse his battered, broken soul. His insecurity and his vulnerabilities all laid bare. “What happened?” 

“Food first.” Varric muttered, tugging his coat on. “And fucking beer if I can find it. I’m gonna need it if you’re expecting to hear how badly I’ve fucked this one up.”

[forthelulzy]

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 5

How can a tree stand tall If a rain won’t fall To wash it’s branches down? And how can the heart survive Can it stay alive If it’s love’s denied for long? — “Lift the Wings”, Bill Whelan (Riverdance)

Irene returns to Haven utterly exhausted. Julien is alive, but it is somehow worse to be so close and unable to talk than it was when she had no idea where he was. Envy’s attempted hostile takeover leaves her with a pounding in her temples even days later, and she’s still trying to wrap her head around what that boy… spirit… thing… said. The templars had no idea what she was talking about, either.

Then she arrives back in the mountain village and has to endure a war meeting when all she wants to do is crawl into her bed and sleep.

Or drink… but no. She won’t. Sleep it is.

“You did not see what I saw, Commander,” she snaps. “The templars are too far gone. I never wanted to go to them in the first place, but now that I have, they’d damn well better help me close that Breach.” Her voice is straining, but she doesn’t care.

“Cassandra wrote that you found your brother,” Josephine says delicately.

She knows what the Ambassador means, though. They always think she’s stupid. “Yes. He is included in the conscription. He is too injured to help, but I will not be accused of favoritism. After the Breach is dealt with, I would support granting the templars more freedoms. For now, they are on thin ice.”

Cullen grits his teeth but doesn’t argue further. Leliana says, “We have a few dozen veterans on their way ahead of the rest. They should arrive—”

And then Cole is there on the war table, crouched just so that he doesn’t step on any of the flags. He picks one up, ignoring Josephine’s scream and Cullen’s shout of alarm, and says, “Soon. Templars don’t like to be late.”

Cassandra and Cullen draw their swords, and Leliana has a dagger out faster than a blink. Irene waves them down, but no one moves. “Cole,” she says, “what are you doing—”

“You know this creature?” Cassandra snarls, stepping forward to put her sword between Irene and Cole. He tilts his head at her, something in those watery blue eyes that makes Irene grab Cassandra’s wrist and squeeze.

The sword drops with a clatter. Cassandra yanks her wrist back, but Irene holds tight and says, “Stop it. He wants to help.” She lets go, turns to Cole and says, “Come on, off the war table.” She needs to control this situation before someone gets hurt — and it won’t be Cole. She has seen him fight, after all.

Cullen looks between her and Cassandra. His swordpoint drops a few inches.

Cole slips off the table, murmuring something about ‘not being a war’. He is literal-minded, and she is reminded of herself when she was young.

“I, for one, am interested in why he came,” Leliana says, folding her hands behind her back. Her dagger is undoubtedly still palmed there.

“You,” he says to Irene. “You help people. I saw. I want to help too. Help you help them.” He ducks his head and peers at her from under his lashes and the brim of his ridiculous hat. “I won’t get in the way. I won’t need any of your supplies. I just want to help.”

His voice sounds almost plaintive on the last sentence, and if she had not already decided, that does. “Cullen. Cassandra. He saved my life in Therinfal. I’m not turning him away. Or killing him.”

“Then…?” Cole says, blinking. Blue eyes. Her husband had blue eyes. Not nearly so big and watery, though.

She takes a deep breath, wills her chest to stop aching. “You can stay and help, Cole.”

He tilts his head at her again. “Tiny. No trouble. No notice taken unless you want them to.”

Cullen finally sheathes his sword with a frustrated sigh. “Fine, but you’re not honestly suggesting he can run around doing as he pleases?”

Irene turns to him and scowls. “He is currently in higher standing than the templars. He has not once tried to kill me.”

“That’s not—”

“Or blithely ignored others trying to kill me.” She is being petty, but she also doesn’t care. She needs to sleep, but undoubtedly something else will come up before she can. It always does.

“I don’t think anyone is suggesting he be left alone,” Josephine says, looking thoughtful — and neatly skipping over Irene’s point. “Perhaps we could— oh! Where did he go?”

Cole is gone again, the map marker he picked up right back where it is supposed to be. Irene sighs, rubs her temples. “He… does that. But he isn’t the main concern right now. If the templars are almost here, we need to prepare.” She barely waits for them to agree before turning on her heel and leaving the war room.

Colm has rubbed off on her, she thinks. Her husband was kindhearted, sometimes to the point of folly. A few years ago she would have killed Cole on sight, but now she’s a different person. She just hopes she’s different enough, and that her faith is justified.

“Oh, I see it now. It was hidden before. Hiding or running. It can never be both. You didn’t kill him, but you did kill him. Bare fists, bloody face. Eyes like yours.”

Her breath catches in her lungs as she freezes in the hall. Cole is half-hidden in the shadow of a pillar, but his voice is loud in the quiet Chantry, and the hushed conversation between Mother Giselle and Vivienne stops as both women look over curiously. Irene’s stomach feels heavy, but her heart is hammering away at her chest. There it is. You never truly thought you could run far enough to escape this, did you?

Footfalls behind her, but she won’t run, not again.

“Herald? What is he talking about?” Cullen. Irene cannot appreciate the irony of him taking Cole’s word for it now, after drawing a blade on him earlier.

She turns slowly, finds them all behind her. She knows her expression isn’t helping matters, but she never could control her face. She’s so tired, so tired of everything.

“Irene,” Cassandra says, like she’s just dredged up a memory long buried. “That day, you said you thought you must have done something, and only realized you hadn’t when you saw the Breach. Tell me. What made you think you could have destroyed the Conclave?”

Oh. Had she said that? Everything between waking up and waking up again is a terrifying blur. She gets that way, when she’s angry. Rage would have a fine time with her. “I—”

Cole starts, eyes going wide. “Oh no. I said the wrong thing. They’ll hurt you. I won’t let them!” He reaches for his daggers, but Irene steps between him and the advisors, hands out to placate. She doesn’t have the energy for anger.

“They’re not going to hurt me, Cole. Why don’t you go find someone else to help? I’ll be fine.”

Cole stills, staring at her. “You have the mark but you don’t need to lead. Locked up, trotted out only to seal Rifts then shoved back in. Or they could find another way. Too risky. You’re lying.”

“I… yes, Cole.” Shit. She should have thought about bringing home someone who could read minds. “I am. But sometimes hurt is inevitable, necessary. Sometimes hurt is justice.”

“Justice…? You’re not that person anymore. You never were.”

She can’t think under so much pressure, but maybe that’s for the best. “Please go, Cole. Whatever will be, will be.” Her voice comes out strangled, quoting one of Julien’s favorite lines to soothe her when she got angry. If only he were here, but he’s in the infirmary. He woke up once, but was delirious from pain and too many healing potions. What will happen to him, if she can’t explain this? If the others bring down the judgment that should have been brought to bear years ago?

Cole nods jerkily and disappears again. She can only hope he’s gone farther than a few steps this time.

“Now. Herald. What’s going on?” Cassandra asks, voice hard. It pains her, to see the woman she had formed a tentative alliance with so hostile, but it is no less than she deserves.

Irene glances to the side of the hall, where Vivienne and Mother Giselle are both looking on. The First Enchanter is fanning herself while she leans against the wall, face unreadable, while Giselle has stepped forward a few paces, showing concern. Concern for Irene? It is a strange thing, to know another has so much faith in her.

Either way, she doesn’t want an audience for this. Let them gossip, but it will be difficult enough to explain to just four people. “I’ll tell you everything. Just. Not here.”

Josephine turns back toward the war room, but Irene remembers her first time approaching that room, hearing Chancellor Roderick’s raised voice from within. She knows where this must happen. She strides toward the door leading to the dungeons before she loses her nerve. It is where she has always belonged, after all, and there won’t be a walk of shame if they condemn her. When they condemn her.

She leads them down the stairs, startles the single guard on duty. Knight-Captain Denam is supposed to arrive with the main force of templars, behind the veterans who will help seal the Breach, so the cells are empty. The citizens who tried to kill her before she was the Herald were released two days ago, according to Cassandra. Still, she marches all the way to the last cell. The door isn’t locked.

“Herald, what are you—” Cullen starts, but she cuts him off because if he asks it, she will think about it.

“I am Irene Stellana Trevelyan,” she begins, standing in the middle of the chilly cell with her hands clasped in front of her. Her breathing is shaky, but she has to do this. “Eight years ago I was a Templar recruit in Ostwick when I murdered one of my charges, Maxwell. Maxwell Trevelyan. My— my eldest brother.” She nearly chokes on her words. The advisors are staring at her, waiting for her to continue. Cullen shifts his weight, opens his mouth, closes it again. “I started drinking young. I couldn’t handle— I can’t handle it. Any of it.” She swallows, forces her eyes to remain open though her vision is blurring at the edges. “We were celebrating our graduation to full templars, and the other recruits had a flask of whiskey. I drank the whole thing. I knew it was dangerous.” Deep breath. Just the facts, don’t shift the blame.

“I woke up later, on the ground, face to face with my brother’s corpse. I had beaten him to death. Blood, everywhere. I…” She shakes her head, presses her fist to her mouth so she won’t get sick. Cullen no longer looks like he wants to say anything. Josephine’s lovely brown skin is green-tinged in the dim light of the dungeon. “I couldn’t remember a thing, but I knew I had killed him. My knuckles were skinned down to the bone.” She flexes her fingers, showing them the scars that will be there the rest of her life.

There’s still more to tell, and she barrels on. “I turned myself in to the Knight-Commander. I thought I would be expelled at the least, imprisoned, maybe even executed. Maxwell had been heir to the Trevelyan name once, before his magic showed. But my father intervened on my behalf. Said I was too talented to waste on a mage. The Knight-Commander was a good man, but my father… He threatened to withdraw his financial support, even get the Grand Cleric to demote him. Of course he bowed. I was sent back to watching mages the next day. The day after that, before I would get my first draught of lyrium, I ran.”

“Why… why would you kill him? Do you know?” Leliana is floundering, caught off guard as she rarely is. Irene is not surprised the spymaster didn’t find this out — Bann Trevelyan is well-practiced in cleaning up.

“I don’t know. The other recruits were terrified, refused to talk to me about it. Then they all were silenced, one way or another. Some with money, a few more with blackmail. And the remainder were sent out to hunt apostates and never came back.” Yet more lives, ruined by her. She only found this out years later, when others made inquiries on her behalf. “I had no plan, when I fled the city. I just wanted out. Away from my family. I had known he cared little for Maxwell, but…” She shakes her head, trying to banish the memory that comes to her mind, as clear as it was all those years ago: Maxwell’s face, inches from her own, a bloody pulp except for his eyes. Brown like hers, like their father’s, staring into her forever, accusing where the Bann wasn’t.

There are many reasons why she doesn’t sleep until she has to.

“I can’t… I’m sorry, everyone. For acting like someone I wasn’t. For giving you false hope. For creating this mess and leaving you all to try lessening the damage.” She’s done. She takes a deep steadying breath, and holds it.

To her dull surprise, Cullen steps forward. “Irene. You didn’t know what you were doing.” A beat later and he rubs the back of his neck, evidently nervous to be so close to a murderer. But he doesn’t take the words back, or shy away. “Maker’s breath, you were drunk.”

“That’s not an excuse,” she says quietly.

“Not an… Irene. You had no idea drinking that whiskey would affect you so much. You have torn yourself apart over this.” There is something gentle and understanding in his eyes when he says that. “I’m not saying you were wrong to feel guilty. But I will not condemn you for something that was not your fault.” He glances back at the women, but she can’t bear to. She fixates on Cullen, fascinated by his defense. She doesn’t believe him, but she could.

“Josie?” Leliana says.

The Ambassador taps her quill against her chin before scribbling something down. “It could be difficult to mitigate the scandal if this gets out. I could manage it, however. We may even play it to our advantage — that the mark proves Andraste has forgiven you.” A pause. “As for what I think, it would have helped to know this from the beginning. But this is by no means a crippling blow to the Inquisition.”

Josephine is being kind, she thinks. But, Irene is no diplomat. A tiny swell of hope rises in her chest — not that she will be wholly absolved, but that the Inquisition may avoid the fallout of her mistakes.

“The Maker chose you,” Cassandra says abruptly. “I do not like the dishonesty, but even if He had not…” She sighs. “Even if He had not saved you, I think you have suffered enough.” Her posture is stiff, as if she does not like what she is saying. But Cassandra is not the kind to lie about something like this.

“Then we are in agreement,” says Leliana lightly. “Irene, I understand why you didn’t want us to know, but now that we do… Was there anything else?”

Irene huffs a disbelieving laugh, and Cullen jumps. “No. Tevinter husband, blackouts, Maxwell’s murder. That’s it from me.”

“Very well,” Cullen says. “We still have to close the Breach. Let’s worry about our immediate survival for the moment. Get some rest, Irene. If we fail at this…”

“We won’t,” she says, reeling. It’s uplifting, their faith in her. Even if she still thinks it foolish, she will bask in their kindness for as long as she can.

***

The next two days are spent in a flurry of activity, before the work runs out and they return to the dreadful waiting. A storm in the mountains just east of Haven delays the veterans, Leliana tells them. The Spymaster’s plan to stop the rumors before they start is mostly successful, but there is still a whisper that some issue has divided the Inquisition’s leaders. Which isn’t strictly true, but it is the best Irene could hope for.

Cole makes himself scarce, but there are signs he is still around: she finds a sprig of prophet’s laurel in a vase by Julien’s bedside, and the infirmary healers have no idea where it came from. She doesn’t know where he could have gotten the rare herb, either.

Her brother is healing steadily. The surgeon claims he will make a full recovery, even be able to fight again, though it will take time. They had to make sure he didn’t have any red lyrium in his body, and an infection took hold early on, which is why it’s taking so long. Now, with him laying there, unnaturally pale, she just wants to hear his voice again. She tucks his hair — a darker blonde than hers — behind his ears and studies his face. Same strong jawline; it looks better on him, even if it is half-hidden behind a scruffy beard. His nose was healed properly after it was broken, unlike hers. Broad of body, with a little paunch around the middle, visible even under the bandages. She’s a little surprised it has remained, given that he isn’t eating any food. Just thin broth.

Whoever his mother was, she also gave him noticeably darker skin than the rest of the family, and dark green eyes. She was envious of those eyes, when she was younger. A far step up from her own muddy brown. Hers are the same as her father’s, and Maxwell’s.

She can’t sit by his bedside forever; she tells herself it’s because she’s restless, not because she’s afraid of ruining everything she touches. She lurches up with a groan and stalks off toward the gates, grinding her jaw when the healers’ whispers follow her.

The Breach is still in the sky, and while they may be close to closing it, it won’t matter if they can’t find this Elder One Cole and Envy spoke of. Cole also mentioned Empress Celene of Orlais; she may be their best lead. Envy boasted of a demon army, too, but Irene isn’t sure whether that was posturing or a promise. Probably both. Either way, ‘army of demons’ is yet another phrase she would like to never hear again.

She steps out of Haven, nodding to the gate guards when they salute. Maker, but she will never get used to that.

Commander Cullen is taking a break from drills to oversee the construction of… something. Siege equipment? Just the base is done, but people are building more parts nearby. She comes closer, standing next to him while the workers hammer away at a long arm-like piece of wood. “What’s all this?” she says.

Cullen flinches. “Maker’s breath! I apologize, Irene, I did not see you there.” She tries to smile at him — he must have been really distracted, not to have heard her lumbering up — and though she knows it comes out as a grimace at best, he continues, “Haven is no fortress, but we need some kind of defense. These are to be trebuchets. I pray we never have to use them.” He won’t look at her for more than a second at a time. Well, it’s not as if she expected everything to be perfect after her confession.

“Me too,” she says. He’s nervous, with her there, so she shifts her weight and turns away. “I shouldn’t be distracting you.”

“Ah, you— you aren’t distracting me,” Cullen says, voice tinged with a note of panic, and she stops. When she looks at him he’s rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up to his ears. “I would welcome your company. Unless you have other plans?”

Irene remembers why she left Haven’s walls in the first place. “I was going to visit the overlook again,” she murmurs. His blush is throwing her, and she considers that the nervousness may be born of something other than fear. Cullen is almost unfairly handsome. She doesn’t think he’s truly interested in her — she knows she’s not a good-looking woman, and to have this man be falling for her personality is laughable — and in any case, her heart still aches. Someday, she will move on, but she can’t imagine it now.

“Oh.” His hand drops to hang listlessly at his side. “I… apologize, Herald.” He wants to say something else, she can tell, but he decides against it.

‘Oh’, indeed. “There is nothing to apologize for, Commander. Good luck with the defenses — may we never use them.” Irene moves on, the weight on her chest that’s been suffocating her for weeks pressing that much more. She feels him following her with his eyes, but she keeps going.

The land’s been cleared halfway around the lake, in preparation for the templars to come, but the overlook is safe, and her little shrine remains. There’s something lying in the snow in front of it, something that wasn’t there before. She stops a few paces away, wary. She hadn’t thought about it, but a thin layer of snow fell since she was here last. There are footprints leading up, fresh ones, and the rock’s edges has been dusted off. A cut flower — embrium — sticks up out of the pile of snow.

Who would have been here? Who would violate her husband’s empty grave? The white-hot rage that steals her breath and blurs her vision is familiar, at least. It is better than feeling lost, as she has mostly felt since waking up in the Chantry months ago.

She marches over, intent on ripping out the embrium, and throwing whatever is lying in front over the edge to shatter on the lake ice below.

It’s… a staff. It’s Colm’s staff. Still in two pieces, still charred from the explosion, but instantly recognizable from the iron crescent on top. Someone retrieved it. Someone went up to the Temple and found it, brought it back down to put at the shrine she thought only she — and Cullen — knew about.

She falls to her knees, now out of breath for a different reason altogether. She won’t cry. She won’t.

But why—?

Her hands ghost over the splintered wood, and she sobs.

[sky-scribbles]

Party Banter with Inquisitor Jowan

(Brief explanation: this is an AU in which the Hero of Ferelden tells Jowan to run in Redcliffe. He adopts the alias ‘Levyn,’ and later adds ‘Trevelyan’ when he joins the mage rebellion and starts masquerading a former resident of the Ostwick Circle. And then he ends up at the Conclave.)

~

Vivienne: I wrote to an old friend at the Ostwick Circle, Inquisitor. I’m afraid to say she didn’t remember a Levyn Trevelyan.

Jowan: Oh. Well, I… kept to myself a lot, and… and I wasn’t very... accomplished. So she probably wouldn’t remember me.

Vivienne: I find that surprising, having seen your abilities on the battlefield. You have some difficulties with controlling your magic, certainly – nothing that further instruction would have fixed had this ridiculous rebellion not sprung up – but you clearly have a great deal of potential.

Jowan: My Circle didn’t agree. They nearly made me Tranquil. 

Vivienne: Indeed? I’m sorry to hear it, my dear. It would have been a great loss for the Inquisition had they done so, and to the Circles. But they saw something in you, and decided you were strong enough to face the Harrowing. Be proud of that.

Jowan: … Right.

~

Jowan: So, how long have you been a Warden?

Blackwall: I prefer not to count the years. Reminds me of how much silver’s growing into my beard.

Jowan: I don’t suppose you ever met the Hero of Ferelden? Or... did you ever speak to someone who’d met him?

Blackwall: I never had that honour. I travelled on my own, recruiting, never stopped by the Warden outposts. As far as I can tell, even the Wardens don’t know where the Fereldan Commander is now. Why do you ask? 

Jowan: Oh, I, um... It’s just that I always looked up to him. From - from when he became famous after the Blight, I mean.

Blackwall: Hardly surprising. A Circle Mage gains his freedom by joining a great cause, then saves the world? You must see something of yourself in him.

Jowan: No. But I’d like to.

~

Varric: So, Disaster -

Jowan: What?

Varric: That’s you. Disaster. Look, after that incident with the druffalo -

Jowan: I – I didn’t mean for it to happen! I thought I had it under control -

Varric: Exactly! That’s why you’re Disaster.

Jowan: [Sigh] I deserve that.

~

Cassandra: Trevelyan, may I ask where you stand on the rebellion?

Jowan: Behind it.

Cassandra: Hence your presence at the Conclave. You don’t support the Circles, then, or the Templars, or -

Jowan: The Templars who keep the Harrowing secret, so you dread it for years and you’re so scared that you'd do anything to avoid facing it?

Cassandra: I didn’t -

Jowan: The Templars who throw innocent people into Aeonar? The Templars who hunt those who escape as if they’re animals? The Templars who just won’t stop staring? The Templars who make you afraid to even have friends, because they could be taken away from you tomorrow and – and then you’ll have lost the only person who was ever on your side -

Cassandra: This sounds personal. I didn’t mean to reawaken bad memories.

Jowan: It doesn’t matter. I need to remember those things. I don’t know what kind of person I’d be if I let myself forget.

~

Varric: You all right, Disaster? You’ve seemed a bit on edge ever since Redcliffe.

Jowan: What? Oh. It… it was just hard seeing… 

Varric: Seeing the rebellion let itself down like that? Yeah, they messed up, but it all worked out. There’s no need for you to beat yourself up over their mistakes, ‘specially after everything you went through to fix them. What happened in Redcliffe wasn’t your fault.

Jowan: [sighs]

~

Dorian: That young man we saw in that other future, the... the one who killed himself before the demon could take him. I know you’re thinking about him.

Jowan: I’m trying not to. 

Dorian: Look, I don’t know the full story. About who he was, I mean. But I do remember what you said there. About -

Jowan: Dorian!

Blackwall: What’s he on about?

Jowan: Something I said in that dark future in Recliffe. You heard it - the you in the future, I mean - but when we went back, you forgot, and  -

Dorian: Actually, when we returned to our proper timestream, he and Varric never heard your little outburst at all. 

Jowan: Please, don’t ask what it was about. I only said it at all because I was upset, and afraid. And now I can’t share it with anyone else.

Blackwall: You’ll get no argument from me. Everyone has their secrets.

Dorian: Anyway, if you need to talk about... about the contents of the outburst which shall not be discussed in earshot of our illustrious comrades, I’d be happy to buy you a drink in the Herald’s Rest later and let you rant to your heart’s content.

Jowan: Thank you.

~

Sera: I saaaw you.

Jowan: Saw me… when?

Sera: Out for a stroll. You. You and the lady Josie.

Jowan: What? I – but – we were – just talking –

Sera: Talking leads to more than talking. You too shy to get on to the more-than-talking part? ‘Cause I can drop some hints for you –

Jowan: No! No no no no no! No! [coughs] Please, Sera, I… I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know if it’s even going anywhere. Or if it should.

~

Vivienne: Inquisitor, dear, might I have a word?

Dorian: Why do I get the feeling that you actually want to have the word with me?

Vivienne: I’ve already received a few letters from acquaintances, asking whether it’s true that a Tevinter magister is secretly instructing the Inquisitor in necromancy.

Dorian: Firstly, it’s far from secret. Secondly, I’m teaching him entropy magic. If he wishes to refine it into necromancy – which, lamentably, he does not – that will be his choice. Thirdly, I am an altus.

Vivienne: I’m sure the maleficar-fearing nobility will greatly appreciate those distinctions.

~

Cole: I picked the lily because it was so beautiful, but then it withered and died. Blood on the stones, bare, breaking, everything burning as she turns away.

Jowan: ... What did you say?

Cole: It wasn’t your fault. You wanted to protect. First you wanted to save yourself, and then you wanted to save her. Good intentions shattered, scattered like blood on the Circle floor.

Jowan: It doesn’t change anything. If you meant to do something good, but all you ever do is hurt people... Cole, none of those people would have had suffered if I’d just never existed.

Cole: Flowers for Falon’Din on a stranger’s grave, rifts sealed and safe, warm wool given to waiting hands. A barrier raised, travellers shielded from blighted claws by a mage without a chain.

Cole: They’re glad you exist.

~

Solas: Why entropy magic, if I may ask?

Jowan: Well… back in the Circle, I kept trying to learn primal magic. My best friend was studying it, so I thought if I focused on it too, I’d have someone to help me when I got it wrong.

Solas: If you took your failure for granted, it is hardly surprising that you struggled. So, you have discovered a talent for a different school of magic?

Jowan: It was Dorian’s idea. I’m... actually not bad at it. I never thought I’d be any good at entropy. It just didn’t seem much like me.

Varric: Disaster, if you want to meet someone who really doesn’t match the kind of magic they’re best at, I need to introduce you to Daisy.

~

Cassandra: The most important thing to remember is that you must not obsess over landing hits. In a duel, it’s less important to slice your opponent than it is to make sure your opponent cannot slice you.

Jowan: Right. Avoid being sliced. How do I do that, exactly?

Blackwall: Keep your body angled – never show your front if you can help it. Give this bastard a smaller target to hit at.

Cassandra: Remember, you may actually have the advantage in strength, if not in experience. You are used to wielding a mage’s staff – far heavier than a rapier. You may be able to use that to your advantage.

Blackwall: But don’t treat the foil like a staff. Those swishing things you do with a staff will leave you completely exposed.

Jowan: [low moan] I’m going to die.

Cassandra: Nonsense. We will train you from dawn until dusk if necessary.

Blackwall: And you know you won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t do everything you can.

Jowan: You’re right. I… I’ll fight to stay with her. To deserve her. I won’t just let her go. Not this time.

~

Iron Bull: All right, boss, I need to make a list. The Chargers are begging me to tell them about all the weird crap you’ve gotten into.

Jowan: Can we all just never talk about… any of it… again?

Iron Bull: So in the fallow mire, you walked right into some mud pit and sank up to your eyebrows –

Jowan: I was trying not to be killed by undead. I… really don’t like undead.

Iron Bull: In the Exalted Plains, you spent half an hour stuck inside the ramparts, looking for the way out –

Jowan: That place was like a maze!

Iron Bull: In Emprise du Lion, you got knocked into a pit by a darkspawn in Valeska’s Watch. Four times!

Jowan: I’m still not great at targeting my Fade-stepping. [pause] No mention of the bear incident?

Iron Bull: Nah. Even I don’t ever want to talk about the bear incident again.

~

Blackwall: Inquisitor, I... need to thank you. What you did - standing up in front of the entire Inquisition and telling them who you really are -

Jowan: It was no braver than what you did in Val Royeaux.

Blackwall: My crimes are a thousand times worse than yours. I didn’t know those children were in the carriage, but I knew I was killing innocent people. You thought you were doing some good.

Jowan: I knew I was poisoning a man. A man with a wife and a son. And I knew how wrong blood magic was. But I did it all anyway. Still… that’s not the point. This isn’t about which of us is worse or which of us is braver. It’s about the fact that we’ve both got a second chance now.

Blackwall: And I intend to make the most of it. Thank you.

Jowan: Thank you. If I hadn’t watched you own up to what you’d done, I might never have done the same myself. When they brought you before me, I knew I couldn’t judge a man for the same crimes I’d committed myself. I knew… I had to tell the truth.

~

Varric: Josephine knew, right? You told her the truth before your dramatic revelation to the rest of us?

Jowan: Of course! I think Leliana might have killed me if I hadn’t. She recognised me as soon as we met, and when she realised I had feelings for Josephine, she was, um, rather insistent that - 

Varric: Wait, wait, back up, Disaster. You’d met Sister Nightingale before?

Jowan: Sort of. In Redcliffe, when I was imprisoned, she was there with Firion - I mean, with the Hero of Ferelden -

Varric: Firion? As in, Firion Surana? 

Jowan: I was never in the Ostwick Circle, Varric. I was in Kinloch Hold. Firion was... he was my best friend. He was like a brother to me. And I betrayed him, but… somehow, he never hated me.

Varric: Later, we’re sitting down and talking through the details. There’s a story here and I don’t know it. That never sits well with me.

~

Cassandra: So, Dorian - you knew?

Dorian: Absolutely. Why, are we still bitter about being left in the dark? Still determined not to speak to him? Still letting out exclamations of disgust every time he enters your presence?

Cassandra: It would have been bad enough had it been only Blackwall who was lying to us. But for the Inquisitor - the face of the Inquisition, the man all southern Thedas looks up to, the Herald of Andraste - to be a maleficar, the man responsible for the horrors in Redcliffe during the Blight -

Dorian: Did you see him in the dark future, Seeker?

Cassandra: I don’t see what -

Dorian: You didn’t. Neither, technically, did Varric, Leliana and Blackwall. But I did. I saw him fall to his knees as that young man, Connor, burned himself alive. I saw the look in his eyes as he told us who he was and what he’d done, why we shouldn’t trust him to lead us, how he could never save Redcliffe, seeing as he’d almost destroyed it. If you’d seen that too, I doubt you’d be so quick to condemn him.

~

Iron Bull: Hey, boss, back me up on this one. That witch’s kid. There’s something off about him.

Jowan: Off how?

Iron Bull: [grunts] Just a gut feeling. He doesn’t act like someone his age should. You see it too, right? I’ve seen you staring at him.

Jowan: He’s a bit strange, but that’s not why I’ve been watching him. Something about him… he looks a bit like…

Iron Bull: Like one of those creepy kids from a ghost story?

Jowan: No. He just reminds me a bit of an old friend, that’s all. And I know his mother knew –

Iron Bull: Knew who?

Jowan: It, um, doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.

~

Solas: Inquisitor.

Jowan: … Solas?

Solas: There’s no need to look at me the way a startled nug looks at a fox.

Jowan: You’ve not been talking to me much recently. I thought you were angry.

Solas: I was, when I thought of how you ran from your blunders. Your ignorance and negligence caused unimaginable suffering. But was the result of years of being taught to fear yourself. You have accepted your guilt and acknowledged the harm you caused. Now you have learned to face it, and you have done what you could to repair the harm you caused.

Jowan: I hurt Lily. I can’t fix that.

Solas: You have become a man who would not hurt the one he loved in such a way again. That is a brave thing to be.

~

Cole: You tried to help. You didn’t understand, and you got it wrong. Like I got it wrong when I killed the mages. I thought it was right and it wasn’t.

Jowan: That doesn’t make it better.

Cole: No. You hurt people. But you know that, so you don’t hurt them anymore. You help them. Like I do.

Forgiven, free, forging a new life in his own name, Rainier, feeling real as he faces it. Because you let him move forward.

In the library, sharing the silence, soothed by the sound of you turning pages. A southern mage, of all things – and he laughs at the thought, laughs properly inside, because having you as a friend makes laughing easy.

Quiet before the fireplace, warm and right in your arms. She thinks of the steel flashing in the city square and nearly shivers, but she doesn’t, because when you hold her the world is bright and soft and nothing bad can happen.

You came into their lives, and you made them better. You want to look at what you’ve done and smile, because you know you’ve helped. And you should. You think you don’t deserve to smile, but you do.

Jowan: Maybe I do.

~

Varric: Word around the Keep is that you’re planning an expedition, Disaster.

Jowan: Yes. Dorian and Blackwall and Cole are definitely coming, and if anyone else wants to… well. No one has to. It’s a personal thing, not an Inquisition thing.

Varric: Let me guess – the standard ‘person reveals their true identity, then sets out to right the wrongs of their past’ mission?

Jowan: Um… yes. I’m going to Aeonar. They say it’s abandoned now, no one knows what happened to the people who were there. If I can, I’m going to find Lily. Avenge her, and everyone else, if the worst has happened. And if she’s alive, do what I can to make amends to her. 

Varric: You’re really getting the hang of this ‘new life’ thing.

Jowan: I think I might be. I finally found the courage to talk to Connor. Leliana helped me get in touch with Firion, and he still fusses over me like a mother hen. I’m never going to use blood magic again, and the Circles don’t exist any more. They never will again if I can help it. No more Tranquillity, no more stupid young mages scared of their Harrowings and scared of themselves. And… I have all of you. I have the Inquisition. I… have Josephine. Somehow. Don’t ask me what I did to deserve that.

Varric: Saving the world? Maybe even making it a little better than it was before? Giving us all a good laugh? I think you’ve earned yourself a happy ending, Disaster.

[shittybundaskenyer]

Your Healing Touches  Part 1.

Main pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Avenia Trevelyan Rating: M  Word count: 1300~

Summary:  Traveling with a bloody Templar is all a rebel mage could ask for.

About this AU: Avenia is a mage Trevelyan who escaped the Ostwick Circle after it's fall. She traveled to Ferelden with a group of other rebel mages and she started working as a healer as they journeyed from town to town. One night their camp got ambushed and the bandits killed everyone except her. She got rescued by a group of Inquisition soldiers and they took her in to help them heal the wounded. Cullen is still the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, but he goes on important missions with his soldiers. Now they're sent to Ferelden because the Inquisitor wants to find his lost sister.

Sooo this story will explore how Cullen grows to like his mage companion after all that shit happened to him in Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall.

14th of Wintermarch, 9:42 Dragon

She grabs the hilt of the dagger, and then, without a warning, she pulls it out swiftly, the man with curly, dark hair lying in front of her crying out in surprise rather than pain. She quickly presses her hand to the wound and closes her eyes, the strange pull of her magic already buzzing in the air and sparkling in her fingertips. She channels her healing magic into the man’s thigh, slowly stopping the bleeding and patching up the wound. The dagger not went too deep, so it was not a difficult task for her.

After agonizingly slow minutes, only a small, faint scar is left at the previous place where the blade sank into his flesh.

She lets out a soft sigh, already feeling exhausted and empty. Using her healing magic so many times in the previous hours drained her mana completely and the lack of sleep in the last two days doesn’t help either. She grips the edge of the makeshift bed and sits down on the cold ground next to it, her legs aren't able to hold her weight any longer.

“Thank you, lass” the man smiles down at her, then leans forward and touches the fresh, pink tissue on his left thigh through the huge hole on his torn and blood-soaked trousers. “You’re really good at this.”

“No problem” she breathes, then pulls up her legs and hugs them, resting her chin on the top of her knees, trying to slow her breathing.

“Are you all right?” the man seems concerned for a second, his pale blue eyes examining her face and trembling lips.

“I’m just tired, that’s a…” her response is interrupted by a loud thud as a man lifts the flap of the tent and steps inside in full armor, still covered with small blood-stains and dirt from their previous battle. He rests one of his hands on the pommel of his sword, and when his gaze falls upon her, his grip tightens on it immediately. She knows this man too well. The bloody Templar, all in his glory.

“What in the Maker’s name do you think you are doing?” he frowns at them, his eyebrows knitted together, almost trapping the curly strand of golden hair falling into his forehead between them.

“Using forbidden magic? Luring your men into my bed to use them for blood sacrifices?” She shakes her head slowly, already too tired to properly argue with him. “Saving lives, maybe?” She mutters finally.

“I told you we’ll survive without your help, Avenia.”

“You’re too hard on her, Commander” the dark haired man interrupts him. “You didn’t see the blasted thing in my leg, half an hour earlier!” He turns towards the woman first, then glances up at the Commander again, lips pulling into a mischievous smirk. “Do you want one in yours, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rylen.” he huffs, not amused of the situation. There are three people in the tent, but only two of them is having fun in playing with his nerves. “You are my second in command, but I can still send you somewhere to dig latrines with the other soldiers.”

Rylen gets up from the small cot and reaches for Avenia’s hand to help her stand up. She is still tired, but the day is not over yet. The dark haired man lifts her hand to his lips and presses a light kiss to the back of her palm.

“Thank you, Healer” he releases her hand, and then turns to the Commander. “And you should respect her, Cullen. You owe her your life, too.”

Rylen walks out of the tent, leaving the healer and Cullen in complete silence, Avenia grinning into her palm like an idiot and the Commander frowning. The woman coughs, trying to hide her amusement and looks up at the man, eyes still sparkling. Oh, she loves making him angry.

Cullen’s eyebrows now touch, drawing a deep valley into his forehead with smaller wrinkles. Maker, he is furious now, and Avenia wants to laugh into this face.

What Rylen said was true: she saved his life once, even if he was unconscious and she didn’t want to. The battle with a bunch of renegade Templars was though that day. Those men were stronger and quicker than any of the Commander’s troops or Cullen himself and he got beaten up very badly. That night she patched a huge wound on his side, stopped the inner bleeding and tried to fix his ripped upper lip, too. (But she messed up that part, and it left a sexy scar and she hated herself for it.)

The man still doesn't say anything so Avenia busies herself with organizing the parchments and small flasks of potions and salves on her makeshift-desk. The clinking of plate armor stirs the silence as Cullen walks closer, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it out at any moment. The Healer only glances at him from the corner of her eyes and then continues her task. He does this every time they are in the same room and Avenia always reads his body-language like an open book. Maybe he is afraid of her power, or waits when will she turn into an Abomination, or a Blood Mage or Maker knows what kind of terrible thing.

“We discussed it a thousand times but I’ll say it again,” Avenia sighs and shoves the parchments into her backpack “I won’t kill you so you can release that sword.”

Cullen ignores her words and steps closer until he is in front of her. “Skyhold needs healers.”

“So you want to send me away,” she sighs. “Again .”

“Not specifically me, but yes, you need to go. We’ll manage on our own.”

Cullen turns on his heel and he is ready to go but Avenia’s cough stops him in his movements. He looks back at her with an arched eyebrow, amber eyes still filled with anger, but now a bit softer .

“What’s the problem in Skyhold?” She tucks a handful of potions into the pockets on her belt. “Why they need me , suddenly?”

“They not need you , they need a healer. Nobody cares about who you are until you touch them with your glowing hands.” Cullen is still pissed and it shows on his face and in his words. His hatred towards mages is an open secret and he is very bad in keeping it hidden. “We will depart in the morning. Pack all the things you need.”

Avenia almost snaps at him to go and stab himself in the chest but her mouth hangs open and nothing escapes her throat when he ends his last sentence.

“What do you mean by ‘we’ ?” She blurts out, worry rising in her chest, her pulse quickening. Oh no, no, no.

“I mean I have to check my men there too, and I will escort you back to Skyhold. I hope you’re happy about it,” he flashes a cold smile towards her direction, the scar in the corner of his mouth smugly curling upwards. Avenia wants to scream in that moment, but the man is already leaving, the clinking of his armor still audible through the fabric of the tent after he left.

“Oh, Adraste’s tits! ” She hisses and sinks down onto the cot, dropping her backpack next to the makeshift-table.

Traveling through Ferelden as an apostate is one thing, but traveling with the Commander of the Inquisition is a whole new level of aggravation. Avenia hates this man, his cold smiles, his hatred towards mages, his amber eyes, his bloody lip-scar, she hates every piece of him that sings the blasted song of the lyrium in his veins.

And she is afraid, too. In the Circle she always watched the Templars closely, tried to learn their way of thinking, their small movements, their tactics, but she hasn’t prepared for a trip like this.

[somevirtualnolife]

In the Case of Children

1683 Words

Rating: G Pairing: Mage Trevelyan x Cassandra Summary: Reagan and Cassandra broach a much danced around subject. Previous Chapter: In Memory Author’s Notes: WOO. Another story that I left for far too long. I'm sorry it took so long to update this. Sometimes life just gets to ya. But hopefully my writer's block and life has eased up a bit. I rushed the ending a bit... I had a bit of a tough time trying to wrap up the ending for some reason!Apologies for any types. Happy reading!

What was it again?

A sides-weep then a thrust? Or perhaps it’s better to pivot from the other side?

Cassandra tapped her practice sword against the training dummy and frowned. She had the combination down before, now she felt slightly off balance whenever she attempted a final blow. If they were going to fight Corypheus face to face, her technique had to be immaculate. No room for error when they were so close to victory.

“You’re very strong,” Cassandra heard behind her. She gripped her sword tightly and quickly turned around, only to see a young boy with brown hair.

There were a fair amount of children at Skyhold. The fortress was large enough for some to bring their families if needed. And Morrigan’s son was quite easy to point out among them. The way he carried himself and spoke wasn’t quite like that of a typical child; in some ways, he had a knowledge that surpassed even that of the adults around him. As for how that was possible, she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to find out. His mother was a Witch of the Wilds, so who knew what she was teaching her son behind closed doors. She still felt that Reagan had made a mistake, letting her join the Inquisition. The woman was almost the textbook definition of a suspicious apostate. Which was saying a lot, considering the rest of the mages that wandered around here.

“Kieran, was it?” Cassandra said as she sheathed her sword. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people when they have a weapon. It’s dangerous,”

“I’m sorry. It’s just interesting to see someone who was asleep for so long with such skill,” he replied, his big eyes looking up at her.

“Thank you. I suppose,” A compliment wrapped around in mystery. How did this child know of the Rite of Tranquility? More importantly, how did he know that she had once been made Tranquil?

“Where’s your mother?” she asked, not wishing to discuss it further. Morrigan didn’t seem the type to let her son wander around too far from her sight, especially with so many templars about.

“She’s still in the room the with the large map,” he responded. Another meeting in the war room most likely.

“Your mum’s just about wrapped up actually,”

Approaching them from the stairs of the grand hall was Reagan, looking like his usual cheerful self. He ruffled Kieran’s hair playfully, to which the boy simply patted it back down again. He didn’t seem particularly fussed about it though.

“Seeker Cassandra is quite the warrior, isn’t she?” he continued, a large grin on his face. “She can talk one twenty darkspawn at once without breaking a sweat,”

“Really?” for the first time since she’d met the boy, Kieran’s eyes widened and he had a boyish wonder to him.

“Oh yes,” Reagan nodded. “And she chases after dragons for fun,”

“Don’t fill his head with ridiculous ideas,” Cassandra rolled her eyes. He really had to stop overexaggerating her skills, especially in front of the children. They took everything so literally.  

“Can I come with you on a mission and watch?” Kieran looked at the both of them.

“Oh, I don’t think your mother would be too pleased with that,” Reagan crouched down. “Speaking of which, I have a feeling she’s looking around for you, so it’s best you head back to the garden, okay? But Cassandra I will come and see you later. I can show you a few new magic tricks,”  

Kieran frowned, but nodded. Unlike most other children, he very rarely whined or protested. That did make him very easy to take care of at least. An odd child, but easy to handle it seemed. Once the boy left, Reagan stood up straight again, brushing off his trousers.

“He’s a bit of a peculiar child,” Cassandra couldn’t help but say once the boy was out of earshot.

“In my experience, most children are peculiar,” Reagan replied.  

“As odd as him, though?”

“I once taught a girl who tried to lick a nug that wandered into the circle’s courtyard. Well, tried and succeeded. And then all the other children cried because they weren’t allowed to lick the nug as well. It took them forever to focus them back on the class. So yes, as odd as him, I’d say,”

“Ah right. You were the head enchanter for the children in Ostwick, weren’t you?” He had mentioned it a few times in passing. Perhaps working with several little booger-nosed children flinging fire and ice at each other would change one’s idea of odd behaviour.

“Three years,” he replied. He sat on one of the stone ledges nearby, stretching out his neck.

Strangely enough, between the two of them, Reagan was the one who rarely spoke of his past. He always said it wasn’t particularly exciting or particularly interesting in comparison to hers. He was the youngest of four children from a pious noble family who had a fairly tame life in the Circle, according to him. Boring or not however, that didn’t matter much to Cassandra by this point. They’d been together for quite some time now. Getting to truly know each other was what mattered. Besides, it wasn’t as though her life was exciting all the time.

“Do you miss it?” Cassandra asked, sitting beside him.

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “Teaching children is always good fun. Inquisitive, curious… far less surly than adolescents. I’d also say less pressure than having to lead an entire military to victory against a crazed darkspawn magister. Just by a little,”

They fell silent for a moment. Not because they had nothing to say, but because they were beginning to realize just where this conversation was headed. Another subject that they had always danced around which made sense for a time. They were off saving the world, uncertain of just what was going to happen. But now that there was a possible end in sight to Corypheus, there were other parts of their future together that they needed to think about.

“So… children, huh?” Reagan was the one break the hesitation. “Was it ever something on your mind?”

Cassandra snorted. “Do I seem like someone with motherhood on the brain?”

“Well, you never know. I didn’t peg you for a romance reader either, so it wouldn’t be the first incorrect assumption I’ve made,”

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows. There was maybe a brief moment, when she was younger and had been with Gaylan. If things settled down. If the Circle had ever changed it’s rules. If there was a window of rest in her life as a Seeker. But time seemed to move quickly after 25, and before she knew it, it . At least, she felt it did. She wasn’t dissatisfied about it. Faith guided her to be a Seeker of Truth rather than juggle both and she had no regrets about that.

“I thought about it a few times and that was as far as I went,” she finally replied with a slight, self-assured nod. That’s all there really was to it in the end. And honestly, she didn’t see herself being the sort of ‘kind and nurturing’ mother that one would normally picture.

“I guess we’re sort of the same in that regard then,” Reagan laughed, crossing his arms. “With the Circle’s rules, I had sort of accepted that I wasn’t going to have children,”

Cassandra carefully observed the mage’s expression. He was smiling, but his smiles were sometimes unreadable. It was a smile to hide what bothered him, a way to get him from talking about the sadder things when he didn’t want to. But still, she wanted to press forward. She wanted to know him more.

“You say you couldn’t, but… did you want to?” she asked softly.

A long sigh escaped his lips as he crossed his arms and looked up. “…Yeah, I did. But even at Ostwick, there were still things that were… tough. It’s hard enough being a child separated from your parents. Might be even more so if you’re the parent in that situation. And I didn’t want that,”

Of course. That should’ve been obvious to her. Even with her alliance and duties to the Chantry, that didn’t mean she felt that the treatment of mages was always fair or reasonable.  

It wasn’t just that.  Even if that were to change after the Inquisition, if the Circle was reinstated with new rules, he was now with a woman who had no real intentions parenthood. She just couldn’t picture herself being a mother now, even with the most caring and supportive partner.

It was almost he were reading her mind, for he looked back at her. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. Normally she hated when he was even the slightest bit romantic in public with her, but there weren’t too many people around. And…well, if she was being quite honest, she quick loved being in his arms. It was one of the few times that she felt vulnerable in a good way.

“But I make a pretty great uncle, if I do say myself,” he said, brightly. “Half a dozen nieces and nephews. I had a chance to meet a few of them when my siblings offered me temporary asylum after the Circle fell. Pretty sure I’m their favorite. I mean, none of other uncles can conjure up a fire bunny with the snap of their fingers,”  

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” Cassandra chuckled. “And… I’m glad. I don’t want you missing out on what you want due to… any circumstance,”

His nose brushed against her cheek before he lightly kissed it. It was soft, and comforting.

“Right now, I everyone that I want in my life, so don’t you worry about me,”

She cracked a small smile. A genuine one. He was so corny sometimes, but… she liked it.

“I feel the same way,” she responded, tilting her head so that she could return his kiss, planting one on his lips.

“Excellent. Now then… what’s your opinion on mabari?”

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

I wish you would write a fic with a companion!Lydia, what would it be like for her? How do you think she would join the inquisition? Would her relationship with Cullen be the same? So many possibilities!!!

fun fact! I started this but I think I stopped because it’s hard for me to imagine her with anyone else other than cullen! :) It was going to be extremely in depth and included her romance path but here’s a breakdown of how I imagine Lydia as a companion, (with romance!) 

She’s recruit-able in Haven after you come back from Val Royeux. The quiz starts hearing rumors in Haven about a fire mage from Ostwick who has a bit of a reputation, and you have to break up her and a templar getting into a fight, where you see her in action. 

Quiz steps in, and at this point you either take her side against the templar or send her away. If you take her side she’ll thank you, and offer her services because she’s always wanted to explore and see the world…the circle made her feel like a caged bird. After her recruitment her dialogue will change depending on how you handled the templar in her recruitment. if you let him stay and “make amends” she’ll praise you for thinking mages and templars can work together…if you kill him she’ll be remorseful. 

at haven you can ask her about the “situation” at ostwick that led to her coming to haven. she’ll deflect. 

however, once you get her approval a certain level (and only after WEAWH or the siege of Adamant is done.) She’ll confess she fell for a templar at Ostwick and they were found out, leading to his transfer and her disgrace. It’s why she went to the conclave…she wanted to escape it all. this is of course Asher, who you know..makes an appearence in IWD :)

But she’ll also say that he died at the conclave, and she didn’t go in. She has a lot of regrets because of it. 

Approval is gained by being a good Samaritan and helping people out. She’ll appreciate it when the Inquisitor compromises and makes both sides happy, and helping out mages nets approval too. She’ll also approve of helping out templars and recognizing the group needs reform. 

hangs out at Skyhold garden. hangs out in Haven outside by stables near Blackwall. 

Personal Quest

done in 2 parts. Only available after both adamant and wicked eyes are done. she comes tot the quiz and confesses she found out Asher is still alive and didn’t die at the conclave (GASP)

You go to the emerald graves to confront him. turns out he’s a red templar. (ouch) 

he runs away and you think that’s that. or…is it? 

Second part happens after the arbor wilds. Lydia is nowhere to be found. Cullen informs you that she’s still in the wilds, tending a wounded asher. he’s near death and hallucinating. you have two options when you go her: you can encourage her to leave him and move on by telling asher it’s not real, or encourage her to pretend and “give him a peaceful, beautiful death.” 

Guess what? she’ll do the latter option no matter what you pick!

BUT what you did above will effect her relationship toward you. she’ll either be disappointed in you…”we cannot lose our ideals in a time like this,” or be proud of you for “not losing faith after everything.”

Romance

romance available to male inquisitors of any race, and can be soft locked after arriving at skyhold

I’d say the human male and male elf are only a teensy bit taller than her. when the romance is activated she’ll tease “i hope you don’t mind if I wear heels.” If the quiz is a dwarf he can ask if their height differences bothers her, to which she’ll laugh and say of course not. With a qunari she’ll say she loves how small he makes her feel. 

can flirt starting in haven. can’t start the romance until after WEAWH or adamant though. If in a romance her personal quest will have dialogue changes…she’ll assure the quiz that what she feels for them is real and deep and she cares so much. 

The first love scene happens after adamant and wicked eyes, BUT BEFORE asher pops up again.

She’ll tell him “I love you” after her personal quest, this seals the romance and locks it in. Or you can leave her her. (ouch don’t do that.) 

if you’ve been flirting with her, she’ll come to you during wicked eyes, and you can ask her to dance. She’ll ask are you sure. he can either dance with her or just cuddle by the balcony. 

will have special dialogue about the well of sorrows. she’ll be glad you didn’t take it if youd didn’t, but understand why you did if you did. (especially if quiz is an elf.) 

watches the sun with quiz during end credits. say something cheesy like “look at our beginning!” 

In tresspasser vivienne will suggest you marry the girl. You can either tell Viv “already did,” or “planning on it,” or “we don’t need marriage.” 

yes Lydia wants to marry you! similar to cullen, she’ll understand though if you take the “we don’t need marriage” option. She’ll say something sickening sweet like,…”I want the honor to say that I am your wife.” 

srsly marry her how can you deny that

NEVER LEAVES QUIZ’S SIDE AFTER 

Cullen!

if neither cullen or quiz is romanced, cassandra will ask lydia about it in party banter after the quiz’s actual romance is confirmed. she’ll say she’s fond of him. 

she’ll have special dialogue with dorian, cass, and Vivienne about the romance, and the quiz can interact and say TELL HIM HOW YOU FEEL

in tresspasser they get married :) she helps him out with his clinic. 

Also if you were a devil that made cullen go on lyrium, she helps him get off of it after tresspasser. 

I honestly think she would leave the quiz if he made cullen stay on lyrium forever. 

yikes. anyway…that’s kind of it! thanks for the ask! it’s fun to think about, especially the romance, but I honestly just can’t see her with anyone else. 

[vigilskept]

1&3 for your inquisitors!

1. Why were they at the Conclave? Were they trying to achieve something there? Did they go alone or were they accompanied?

sander was there on behalf of his older brother basil who asked him to search for their siblings (leon, thea and damian) who have been out of touch with the family since the start of the mage-templar war. his job is to find them and bring them home, that's it. he set off for the conclave alone, but has been travelling the last leg of the journey with the valo-kas after getting robbed on his way to the conclave and having his sorry ass saved by them.

thea on the other hand was there with the rebel mages. she's taking a backseat in the negotiations since she doesn't really have any leverage, but she was encouraged to make an appearance as a mage with a "respectable" background to help support the legitimacy of their cause.

aslaug was spying >:) she wasn't meant to be there, but being a shapeshifter makes her the ideal spy, so what if she's young! the chantry's presence at the temple has been destabilising the political situation in the hinterlands (the site of the dalish boon w/ close ties with the chasind and avvar clans!!) there's a lot of concern about whether peace will be followed by some kind of exalted march. she was hoping to bring back Top Secret Information and maybe earn a little legend-mark for herself

sindri was literally just there on carta business (smuggling lyrium...) they were meant to be bringing a shipment to the templar contingent there... and it causes pretty significant problems when the explosion fucks that up for them. there were two other carta members they were travelling with, but sindri's the only one to make it out alive.

putting the next little bit under the cut!

3. What was their life like before the Conclave? Did they have friends and family?

sander wasn't close with his family because he skipped town at age 13 after finding out his parents were planning to ship him off to the templars (to make up for the scandal of thea turning out to be a mage...) from there he was squired to a series of knights in one city-state or another, but never lasted particularly long in any one place. he's charming as all hell, so he ends up with friends wherever he goes (albeit not very deep friendships!) prior to going on this errand for basil he was unrepentantly mooching off a wealthy nevarran couple he was involved with. he's written to his siblings now and again, but he hasn't really seen any of them since they were allowed to leave the circle to attend basil's wedding 5 years ago.

thea is also not close with her family, though she used to be! as the only daughter of the trevelyans she was very much the princess of the family, only to be unceremoniously sent to the circle after she turned out to be a mage. she's really, really bitter about it. her eldest brother leon was also in ostwick's circle, but he's really upright and overbearing so they've never gotten on particularly well. her twin brother damian also became a templar there and he did try to look out for her... but wouldn't help her when she eventually asked him to help her escape. she held that against him for a long time.

aslaug's the only child of the thane of fennec-tooth hold, and unfortunately this (& her being recognised as a mage pretty young) has had the side effect of her being surrounded by adults more often than not. does not have friends her own age & consequently tries to act like she is an Adult all the time (she's literally 13 😭) her closest relationships are with her mother, her mentors & with spirits.

sindri's relationship with their family is pretty bad. their mother and sister have been completely financially dependent on them since bhelen's death. they resent sindri, and sindri kind of resents them for keeping them trapped working for the carta! the love is still there, but it's severely strained beneath the financial dependence, the distance and the cultural taboos around surface ties. their friendship with leske is probably their closest relationship prior to the conclave, followed by their sort of familial relationship with oskias. they helped the guy escape to the surface, he looked out for them when they escaped as well. he's kind of like an uncle to them atp.

inquisitor questions

[long-liv-prairies]

Inquisitor as a Companion

Whew! I finally finished it! Here you are @ladydracarysao3, and anyone who wants to read this really long response!

Inquisitor’s Name: Sybil Cadogan (can’t use Trevelyan, lol)

Race / Class / Specialization: Human / Rogue / Assassin/Thief

Gender Identity: Female

Varric’s Nickname for them: He tries to call her Snow, but she shuts him down immediately. You will hear this exchange as banter if both Sybil and Varric are in the party.

Varric: So, Snow…

Sybil: What was that you called me?

Varric: What? Snow? It’s a nickname.

Sybil: No.

Varric: No?

Sybil: I don’t like nicknames.

Varric: Really? All my friends get nicknames.

Sybil: Others thought they were clever when they gave me names based on my looks. I will not have you do the same.

Varric: …Fair enough. Sybil it is.

Varric does not try to give her another.

Short(ish) bio: Sybil was born to a noble Free Marcher family. The youngest of four children, with an older twin sister, she was immediately marked as different from the rest of her family because of her albinism. Her mother especially was offended by her pale daughter, as superstition ran in her family’s history about the condition. In her mother’s eyes these fears seemed to be realized when Sybil’s twin, Gemma, developed magic at a young age, and her eldest brother was killed in a hunting accident. Her other brother had been sent to become a Templar, leaving Sybil the sole heir to the Cadogan fortune and lands.

Emotionally neglected by her parents and separated from her siblings, Sybil had no interest in becoming a proper noble lady. She resisted her teachings, though she still developed a love for embroidery and horse riding, and still learned much. But as she grew older her mother turned to finding Sybil a husband. Sybil had no interest in noble boys her age, as in her experience they had only ever teased and ridiculed her. She found love instead in a stablehand, but when her parents discovered their affair he was jailed by her father, devastating Sybil. In a desperate attempt to get Sybil married, her mother tried to force her into a marriage with a much older man. It was the final straw, and Sybil ran away.

Alone and with no real skills to survive in the common world, Sybil turned to thieving and using her… feminine charms to secure food, drink, and lodging wherever she traveled. Free for the first time she didn’t always make the smartest decisions, and was arrested on occasion, with one such arrest ending in an encounter with her father that turned sour, as he attempted to trick her into a marriage she still did not want. She escaped, but vowed to never see her parents again.

Over the years she refined her skills as a thief and a lover, never staying long in any one place, finding people to train her further, including members of the Coterie, and help her rob larger and larger targets. Eventually Sybil found a way to sneak into the Circle where her twin Gemma was held, though after the Kirkwall rebellion she had to resort to offering favors to a Templar to secure her passage. However, upon learning that after a few weeks the Templar had turned to her sister for his payment, she snapped, and murdered him in the tower. Gemma was mortified when she was told, and angry at Sybil. Sybil, frightened of what would happen if she was discovered, ran, drowning herself in alcohol and the company of men.

Gemma disappeared after the Circles fell, along with Sybil’s Templar brother Nyle, and she was travelling to the Conclave in hopes of finding them when the Divine was killed.

-The rest below the cut because it’s loooooong

What would their companion card look like? (The Devil) Sybil is seen facing the viewer, her knees drawn up as she crouches on the ground, a chain wrapped around her feet, the cuff clasped around her ankle but open. Golden coins are spilling out of a small purse on her belt A dark hood is drawn over her head, obscuring most of her face. All you can see is her pale nose and chin, her lips turned down in a small frown, and a few small tendrils of white hair. Her cloak swirls up behind her shoulders, embroidered with floral and geometric shapes. In her hands are a pair of daggers, dripping with blood.

Recruitment mission: Shadow in the Hinterlands – You first encounter Sybil while in the Hinterlands. As you approach the rebel mages’ hideout you hear the sounds of fighting, and rushing into the clearing reveals a dark cloaked figure fighting a mage. She joins you in removing the rebel mages, and after the last one has been dispatched a cutscene is triggered. 

You approach her as she inspects the bodies, leaning very close to check the face. You hear her mutter, “Good, she’s not here,” before she stands and turns to you. Her hood now removed, you see that she is incredibly pale, with white hair and pale violet eyes. She has a hard time focusing on your face.

You have a brief conversation where she tells you she was looking for her sister, a mage, amongst those gathered here, but they attacked her before she could approach. You can comment on her skills, and ask if she is interested in fighting for the Inquisition. She will turn you down, saying that she needs to find her sister. Whether you ask her to join you or not, she mentions that she will be heading toward Redcliffe next, as she’s heard most of the mages are there.

After returning to Skyhold a message will appear on the war table from Sybil. She is having trouble approaching Redcliffe, and offers her aid in exchange for passage into the city. If you accept, she will meet you outside Redcliffe when you approach, and help in closing the rift just outside the gate. During the cutscene she will part ways to find her sister, thanking you for your assistance.

When you next attempt to leave Redcliffe another cutscene will trigger, and Sybil will approach you once more, this time with another woman in tow. The dark-skinned, dark-haired woman is introduced as Gemma. You can ask, “This is your… sister?” and Sybil will nod, saying deadpan, “We’re twins actually.”

At this point she will offer her services to the Inquisition. You can ask what changed her mind, and she will say that now that she has found her sister, she wants to make sure she is safe, and the Inquisition seems like they’re the only ones helping anything at this point. When asked about her skills, she will allude to being an accomplished thief, and mentions that she’s more than capable in a fight. If pressed for more, she will begrudgingly tell you that she has more than enough secrets collected on various nobles around the continent to keep your spymaster satisfied, as well as connections to the largest thieves guild in Kirkwall, the Coterie. Gemma will also mention that she is a capable spirit healer, though she has little experience in combat.

If you accept, Sybil will be added as a companion, and you will have the choice to add her to your party right away. Gemma will be recruited as an Inquisition agent. If you do not choose to meet her at Redcliffe you will lose the opportunity to recruit her.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: Sybil can be found at Haven outside the tavern, leaning against the wall. In Skyhold she will find a spot on the wall, near one of the empty rooms with a bed in it.

Personal quests:

Quest 1: Brother Where Art Thou – If the Inquisitor sided with the mages, Sybil will request Inquisition resources to try and find information about the fate of her Templar brother, Nyle. If the quest is completed before the battle at the Arbor Wilds, he will be discovered hiding out with a small number of unchanged Templars, in the throes of lyrium withdrawal but safe from red lyrium. He will be brought to Skyhold with the rest of the Templars, and Sybil will greatly approve. However, if the quest is not completed until after the battle, if will be revealed that he died a red Templar at the battle. Information will come forward suggesting he had gone months undiscovered by the red Templars, but when he was discovered had been force fed red lyrium until he was transformed. Sybil will disapprove of this outcome. If the Inquisitor sided with the Templars, Nyle will have been among the Templars brought to Skyhold, and be an NPC you can talk to for a little more information about Sybil and her past.

Quest 2: (Loyalty) Blood and Water – If approval is high enough Sybil will approach the Inquisitor with a problem. She will reveal that she has received a letter from her parents, demanding that she return to the Free Marches. They claim that she is married, and legally required to return to her husband. Sybil will tell the Inquisitor that the marriage was a sham, and that the Chantry Mother had been paid off by her father to say that she had completed the marriage rites. The Inquisitor can point out that Sybil is under no obligation to return to the Free Marches and her ‘husband’, and that the Inquisition will keep her safe. Sybil will insist, saying that she would have a better peace of mind if she knew her family couldn’t come after her. She asks that the Inquisitor use their influence to convince the Mother to reveal the fraud, and annul the false marriage.  If the Inquisitor agrees to help her, they will travel to Ostwick. They will arrive at a Chantry where Sybil says the corrupt Mother lives and her father comes every day, and wait. After some time passes an older man will enter. His hair is graying and his skin is a slightly lighter shade than Gemma’s, though his eyes are the same striking green. He will approach a statue of Andraste and kneel. A Chantry Mother will enter the room, and approach the man.  Sybil will come out of hiding and approach the two, calling out to her father that she’s come back. However, she tells him that she has only returned to come out from under his thumb for good, saying that she never intended to see him again. He will try to intimidate her, saying that she has no choice but to return to them, that the law will not allow her to run forever. He will threaten her, saying that he knows enough about her past crimes to have her arrested should he choose. Sybil will turn to the Inquisitor, introducing them and saying that her father holds no power over her.  The Mother will appear very intimidated by the Inquisitor, and deferential. The Inquisitor will have the chance to question the Mother and Sybil’s father about the marriage. More information will be revealed, and they will learn that the man she is “married” to is an old family friend of her brother’s, who had been almost raised by her father like another son. Her father will reveal that Sybil had previously slept with the man, and that she completed the marriage rites willingly. Sybil will interject, saying that she had been essentially kidnapped by her father and forced in front of the Chantry mother. She feared for her life and only went along while she felt her life was in danger. During this entire exchange, the more questions the Inquisitor asks the more Sybil will disapprove, as her father tries to muddy the events that happened, and convince the Inquisitor that Sybil is actually the one lying. Ultimately, the Inquisitor can intimidate, convince, or command the Mother to admit that the marriage was fake, and that Sybil is free from this man. Or, the Inquisitor can side with Sybil’s father and the Mother, either because they do not want to help Sybil, or because they are now convinced that Sybil is the one lying and trying to use their power to get out of a marriage she now regrets. If the Inquisitor sides with Sybil she will leave triumphantly, telling her father that she is now free from him for good, and that she has ultimately found a family where he provided her none. However, if the Inquisitor sides with her father she will look betrayed. She will still tell her father that she will not be returning, and storm from the room. As the Inquisitor leaves the Chantry Sybil will be waiting outside. She will have her daggers in her hands, and while she won’t threaten the Inquisitor, it is clear she is ready to attack. After a brief discussion she will simply tell the Inquisitor, “I don’t know why I’m surprised. So called friends always betray you in the end,” and then she walks away. If you do not side with Sybil she will leave the Inquisition for good. Gemma will still remain at Skyhold, but she will tell you nothing about the whereabouts of her sister, and at the end of the main game Gemma will quietly disappear. If you do not complete her loyalty quest, or approval is not high enough to trigger it, Sybil will remain with the Inquisition until the end game, but leave shortly after the final party. If you complete her loyalty quest successfully, Sybil will decide to remain with the Inquisition for a while after the final confrontation. If her loyalty quest is completed successfully, and the Inquisitor has flirted enough with Sybil, a cutscene will trigger back at Skyhold where Sybil reveals she has stronger feelings for him than she anticipated. Dialogue will be slightly different depending on whether they have previously slept together, but regardless, the Inquisitor will have a chance to initiate a more substantial relationship with Sybil. The scene will lead toward sex, with the implication that this is no longer a one time encounter.

Quest 3: (Romance) A Sister’s Love - After completing her loyalty quest and beginning a relationship, Sybil will reveal to you that she worries for her sister and her future outside of the Circle. Sybil knows that currently the Templars do not have control over the mages, but she is afraid that in the future things will change and Gemma will be once more locked away. This fear will be especially strong if the Inquisition is allied with an otherwise free Templar Order. She reveals her worry about Gemma’s phylactery still being somewhere out in the world. After this conversation a quest marker will appear on the war table titled “Find Gemma’s Pylactery”. The quest will let you choose between Leliana or Cullen, using either her spies or former Ostwick Templars to look into where the phylacteries from the Circle have ended up. Either option will reveal information that the Ostwick phylacteries are not it the abandoned Circle, but evidence suggests they were taken by one of the high ranking Templars. Another quest will appear on the war table titled “Track the Phylacteries”. The results of this quest will reveal the estate where a noble Templar Captain has been hiding, biding his time with the phylacteries and a stash of lyrium until the war calms down. A quest will appear on the map to confront the Templar and retrieve the phylactery. The Inquisitor must take Sybil, though he will have the option to tell her beforehand about where they are going, or not. The party will approach a mansion at night, and stealthily climb into a second story window, led by Sybil. They will make your way through a few rooms, looting as you go, before ending up in a room filled with red Templars. They will discover that the Templar Captain has been housing Templars and feeding them red lyrium, turning them. The group will confront the Templar Captain, and when he is destroyed a cutscene will trigger when the phylacteries are found. Sybil will either be surprised to find the phylacteries if she was not told, or very relieved and excited. She will find Gemma’s vial among the horde and pocket it, then destroy the rest of the stash, saying that she wants to be sure the rest of the mages will be safe from Templars in the future. Back at Skyhold there will be a cutscene where Sybil presents the phylactery to Gemma. The sisters will share a moment, where many things are forgiven. Gemma will be relieved, and decide to destroy the phylactery under her foot, saying that she had spent enough of her life behind walls, and that she has no intention of returning to that life. Gemma will leave and Sybil will turn to the Inquisitor, thanking him for making sure her sister will be safe. She will kiss him, and the two will end up in bed. In the morning the Inquisitor will wake next to Sybil in bed. She is awake and watching his face, close so that her eyes can focus on his features. She will tell him, for the first time, that she loves him, and that she wants to be with him exclusively and for as long as possible. She says that it had been a long time since she has trusted someone like she trusts him, or even thought that she could love someone again. He’s given her renewed faith that people can be good and true, and that she doesn’t have to face the world alone anymore.

How to get their approval: Siding with commoners over nobles will always garner her approval, as well as decisions favorable for mages that lead to more freedoms for them. If you are snarky and flirt with her, she will approve. She will also approve of an Inquisitor who generally makes jokes about situations they are faced with. She will greatly approve of siding with the mages. Compassionate rulings toward those in desperate situations will gain her approval.

How to get their disapproval: Making judgmental comments about her past will result in disapproval, as will offering advice when it is not asked. She will disapprove of Inquisitors who side with nobles over the less trodden, and who try to suppress mages’ freedoms. She will disappoint of harsh sentences toward desperate people.

Are they romanceable? Yes, by male Inquisitors of any race. She will approve of female Inquisitors who flirt with her, but will make it clear early on that she is not interested so as not to lead them on.

Can you have sex with them? Yes. A relationship with Sybil will start with sex first. Once reaching Syhold and even before you complete her loyalty mission, the Inquisitor will have the chance to ask to spend a night in the tavern with Sybil. A cutscene will trigger and they will talk about their pasts, though Sybil will hold much back, with some chances for approval changes. Over the course of the night a male Inquisitor will have the chance to propose going to bed with Sybil. If approval is neutral or higher, she will agree, and the scene will fade. The next scene will show Sybil in the morning, dressed and quietly leaving the Inquisitor’s bedroom as he wakes. He will call after her and choose to cut things off right then, or ask to keep seeing her. If he cuts things off, she will agree with no approval change, saying that she doesn’t usually see people more than once. If he asks to continue seeing her, she will refuse, saying that she doesn’t want things to get serious. The Inquisitor will continue to be able to flirt with her, but they will not sleep together again until her romance progresses.

Are they open to polyamory? Yes. She will not disapprove of the Inquisitor flirting or sleeping with other companions, though in order for her romance quest to trigger and her romance culminate all other romances will need to be cut off.

If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? Regardless if Sybil is romanced or not, if Bull is recruited and they are in the same party there will be banter early on implying that they have slept together. There will also be some chatter around Haven/Skyhold afterwards, and the Inquisitor will have a chance to ask Sybil about it. She will disapprove if the Inquisitor seems judgmental of the relationship. No matter what, the relationship will not continue and the Inquisitor will have the chance to romance either of them with no problems. If her loyalty mission is completed, the Inquisitor is not in a relationship with Cullen, and he has stopped taking lyrium, she will enter into a relationship with the Commander.

Who are they friendly with? Iron Bull, Dorian, Sera, Cassandra. Her and Iron Bull have sexual chemistry and generally joke with each other, she and Dorian joke when in a party together, her and Sera have similar views towards nobles and Sybil appreciates her uncertainly toward religion, and it’s implied that Sybil and Cassandra spar.

Who do they dislike? Vivienne, Solas, Cole. She doesn’t like the way Cole says her thoughts out loud, Solas is too stuffy and no fun in her mind, and Vivienne is too pro-Circle. She doesn’t dislike Varric or Blackwall, but they spend less time together.

Companion card changes: (use a text descrip. if you have no images)

Loyalty (Successful): (Judgement) Sybil stands at the top of a flight of stairs on Skyhold’s walls with her hood thrown back, her face turned toward the sky and a content expression on her face. Tendrils of white hair still flow around her features, and there is more color in the cloak that swirls behind her figure. The sun shines above her, and the Frostback Mountains rise up around her.

Loyalty (Failed, left the Inquisition): (Three of Swords) Sybil kneels on the ground, her head bent and obscured by her hood. Rain falls from a dark sky and a dagger is driven symbolically through her body. She holds two other daggers crossed over her heart.

Romance: (Two of Cups) Sybil is naked, her pale body pressed against the chest of a man. Her eyes are closed and her lips pressed against his throat. Their arms are wrapped around each other in a passionate embrace, and a budding vine entwines their bodies as one. They each hold empty wine glasses.

Side Missions: Coterie Connections – A series of war table missions where Sybil contacts some of her connections with the Coterie, providing intel for Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine about nobles in Kirkwall and the Free Marches. Will provide influence, gold, and items from completed missions. Letters from one of her contacts will imply that she had been romantically involved with at least one of the Coterie members.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? Sybil is very pro mage and anti-Circle, as the Circles are what took her sister away from her as a child. She believes mages should have their freedoms, though she does recognize the need for education. She hates Templars as a whole, though she will be friendly with Templars as individuals, though she often has some mistrust toward them initially. In her mind the world has always been shitty, though she recognizes that Corypheus’s actions are above and beyond the general awfulness of the world, which is why she is willing to help and make things better.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: Siding with her father during her loyalty mission, no matter how high her approval or the state of romance relations, will result in her leaving the Inquisition. No matter how low her approval, so long as she is not betrayed during her loyalty mission, she will stay to keep her sister safe. If approval is neutral or lower, she will leave after the final confrontation with Corypheus and not return in Trespasser.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How are they holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year? She has been driven nearly mad, as she watched her sister waste away next to her in the cell. She is almost entirely blind, and in the final fight she recklessly attacks, just wanting to kill as many creatures as possible before death takes her herself. 

At the Winter Palace: Do they enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace? She detests the Winter Palace. Asking her will reveal that it reminds her too much of her childhood, where such events were only ever uncomfortable and painful. If romanced, you can ask her to dance and she will be surprised, but admit that the dance was nice.

In the Fade: Their reaction upon entering the Fade? Nightmare demon’s taunt, and their response? Fear on their grave?

She finds the Fade greatly unsettling, and admits afterwards that she understands why mages fear demons.

“Why do you try? You are worthless, only useful to others when on your back. You should run, just as you always have. It would serve you better.” If loyalty mission completed – “I’m done running, demon, and you will feel my blades in your back before we are through.” If loyalty mission not completed. “Fuck off.”

Greatest Fear: Controlled

Trespasser: What were they up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser?

If Sybil has left the Inquisition, she will not return for Trespasser. However, she will have kept somewhat in touch with the other members she was friendly with, and they may allude to her activities. If she her loyalty mission was failed, you will hear that she has been spending years drinking and sleeping around. Her final slide will reveal that she had been arrested and is currently jailed and wasting away. If she left with neutral or low approval, you will hear that she is still thieving, living back with the Coterie last that was heard, earning money to keep Gemma safe.

If she stays with the Inquisition, she will have risen in the ranks among the spies of the Inquisition. If Leliana becomes Divine, she will be second to Charter. If she romances Cullen, they will reveal that they are engaged.

If romanced, the Inquisitor will have the chance to propose to Sybil during Trespasser.

Other Major Events: Any other major events that happen with them over the course of the main game?

During the main game there will occasionally be banter around Haven or Skyhold suggesting Sybil has spent the night with various men of every race and background. This will continue after the first time the Inquisitor can sleep with her, but end once the romance is initiated after her loyalty mission is completed.

[sassylavellen]

OC as Companion Meme #2

I was tagged by the amazing - @seboostianillustrations​! Thanks for the tag, lovely!

Inquisitor’s Name: Stephen Trevelyan

Race / Class / Specialization:  Human | Rogue | Artificer

Gender Identity: Male

Varric’s Nickname for them: Champ

Short bio:  

The youngest child in the Noble Trevelyan household of Ostwick, Stephen grew up wanting nothing and having everything. He devoted his life to mastering archery. He would go on to win the archery medal in the Ostwick tourney four years in a row. He has three sisters, the eldest (Alyssa) is a mage formerly of the Ostwick Circle, another (Amanda) a Templar for the Ostwick Chantry, and his closest sister Holli, who was the one most likely to inherit their ailing father’s estate and titles.

Stephen traveled to the conclave with his sister Holli to seek out their other sisters, both of whom were on opposing sides of the mage rebellion. When the conclave exploded, Holli was killed and Stephen was injured, but survived.

What would their companion card look like?

Initial Card: Stephen, in profile view with his head down, an arrow set to his bow.

Loyalty (result A):  Stephen wearing a circlet on his head, eyes lowered with a book in one hand, and the other raised, as if taking an oath

Loyalty (result B):

  Stephen from behind, looking over his shoulder. The Inquisition emblem visible on his cloak.

Recruitment mission:  

Stephen can be recruited in Haven once either In Hushed Whispers or Champions of the Just has been completed. Prior to this, he is in Haven and The Herald can speak with him, where he will say he is thinking of joining the Inquisition once he has recovered from his injuries. The Herald will have the option to console him about the loss of his sister Holli, or tell him to toughen up.

Once the aforementioned missions have been completed, Stephen will be waiting outside the Chantry after the first cutscene with Dorian/Cole being recruited. Stephen will thank the Herald for saving one of his other sisters (Alyssa if the Herald sided with the Mages, Amanda if the Herald sided with the Templars) and that he wishes to join the Inquisition officially. The Inquisitor will then either accept his offer, turn down his offer, or request that he join as a scout working for Leliana.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: 

In Haven, Stephen can be found near one of the cabins.

In Skyhold, Stephen can be found on one of the ramparts near where Varric introduces Hawke.

Personal quests:

Quest 1:

In haven, prior to being recruited, talking with Stephen will open up a war table operation that will yeild crafting materials and a schematic for a masterwork battle bow.

Quest 2:

Talking to Stephen in Skyhold once enough approval has been gained will prompt a cutscene where Stephen will reveal that one of his elder sisters may still be alive. Who the sister is will depend on if the player chose “In Hushed Whispers” or “Champions of the Just”, as one sister will be saved in each of those quests. 

(Find Alyssa) If the Inquisitor sided with the Templars, Stephen’s sister Amanda will be saved and he will ask the Inquisitor to help him find his mage sister Alyssa. He heard a rumor that she had been spotted near Redcliffe and had escaped being taken over by Corypheus. They travel there and find out she was captured by raiders and taken somewhere else in the Hinterlands near Valamar. No matter what happens, Alyssa will be dead when you arrive. The Inquisitor can either allow Stephen to take revenge on the raider leader (Stephen approves) or bring her to Skyhold to face judgement (Stephen slightly disapproves). If the Inquisitor pardons the leader, Stephen will greatly disapprove. If the Inquisitor executes the leader, Stephen approves. The Inquisitor will also have a prompt to allow Stephen to execute the leader, to which Stephen greatly approves.

(Find Amanda) If the Inquisitor sided with the Mages, Stephen’s sister Alyssa will be saved and he will ask the Inquisitor to help him find his templar sister Amanda. He had a report from Charter saying she was spotted in Crestwood, and that Red Templars were also spotted nearby. He is worried that she is involved with the Red Templars and asks that they find her as soon as possible. When they arrive in Crestwood, Amanda will be in a camp of Red Templars. Once the hostile Red Templars have been slain, Amanda will collapse, revealing that they made her take the red lyrium and that it’s killing her. The Inquisitor will have three options: leave her to die (Stephen greatly disapproves), Stephen mercy kills her (Stephen approves), or the Inquisitor will mercy kill her (Stephen slightly approves). Depending on the following dialogue it is possible to comfort Stephen and gain more approval.

Quest 3:

Once enough approval has been gained, talking with Stephen in Skyhold will prompt a cutscene in which he will reveal to the Inquisitor that his father is near death, and that he is next in line to inherit his father’s titles and standings. Stephen will confess he is unsure if he wishes to take his father’s place once he dies and that he was never meant for it, but since Holli died and the other remaining sister is either a mage or a templar (depending on who the Inquisitor sided with to close the breach), he is the most likely to inherit. He also mentions that with the right connections, his cousin Cordon Trevelyan could take his place and inherit.

The Inquisitor will have two options at the war table: Support Stephen (Stephen slightly approves) or Support Cordon (Stephen greatly approves)

How to get their approval/disapproval:

Break down of his Approval Ratings for Major Missions:

Fate of the Mages Conscript: Slightly Disapproves  Ally: Approves.

Fate of the Templars Disband: Slightly Disapproves  Ally: Approves

Inquisitor’s Lead: A Dwarf/Elf/Qunari Stands for us all:  Slightly Approves. Example as a Mage: Approves. For Faith: Approves. For Order: Slightly Approves. For What’s Right:  Greatly Approves. To Stop Corypheus: Approves. For Personal Power: Disapproves. For Vengeance: Slightly Disapproves.

Fate of the Wardens Exile: Slightly Disapproves. Ally: Slightly Approves.

Ruler of Orlais Gaspard: Slightly Approves. Briala: Disapproves. Celene: Slightly Disapproves. Reunite: Slightly Disapproves. Spare Everyone: Greatly Approves. Arrest Florianne: Approves. Save Celene: Slightly Approves. Kill Celene: Greatly Disapproves.

Abelas Alliance Ally: Slightly Approves. Reject: No reation.

Drink from the Well: Inquisitor Drinks: Approves Morrigan Drinks: Slightly Disapproves

Are they romanceable?

No

Can you have sex with them?

No

Are they open to polyamoury?

No

If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who?

If Stephen is a scout instead of a companion, and the Inquisitor is Dalish and they recruited Moira (see my previous OC as companion post), Stephen and Moira will begin a relationship.

who are they friendly with?

Cassandra, Varric, Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Dorian.

Who do they dislike?

Dislike is a strong word, but he doesn’t always get along with Sera, Cole, Solas, and Vivienne.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit?

Stephen is fairly neutral to both, but does not like the fighting that has been happening and how it is tearing his family apart. He realizes that the Templars are necessary, but he thinks Mages should be given more freedom.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party:

Once recruited, he will remain a companion until the end, but if approval with him was low, he will not return in Trespasser.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

Not recruitable until after this mission.

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace?

Stephen doesn’t care for Orlesian politics, but knows how to talk and handle himself in court.

In the Fade: Your Inquisitor’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Archdemon’s taunt, and Inquisitor’s response? Epitaph on their grave?

Stephen is bewildered that they survived and does not immediately accept that he really is in the fade.

The Nightmare demon will taunt him that he let his sisters die and that nothing he does will ever earn the love or respect of his father. Stephen will shout back that if the nightmare focused on his father than it clearly never knew his mother.

The Epitaph on his grave reads “thrown to the beasts” 

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser?

If Stephen remains with the Inquisition, he has been settling matters with his family and aiding his cousin settle in to his new role as monarch of the Trevelyan family. He returns to the Winter Palace to support the Inquisitor.

If Stephen becomes the monarch of the Trevelyan family, he has been busy adjusting to his new lifestyle. He comes to the Winter Palace, hoping to get away from it for a while.

If Stephen became a scout, he will appear as an NPC with Charter.

If Stephen became a scout, the Inquisitor was Dalish, and recruited Moira as a scout, he and Moira have continued their relationship and are expecting their first child.

Other Major Events: Any other major events that happen with them over the course of the main game?

None

Wow it’s 1:37 AM and I have been working on this for over an hour lol Still fun tho!

[allonsyroleplaythings]

Baerithryn Gysse'Tylar

Birth Date: Dragon Age 9:00, 3rd Month of Drakonis, 24th Day Birth Place/Home-town: Highever Alienage, Ferelden Relationship Status: Eternally Single Sexuality: Asexual Occupation: Currently an Inquisition healer Class: Mage, Healer/Rift/Dreamer Pet: Pet black cat named Mr. Dribbles (though many of the other healers took to calling him "Little bob") If you ask him why he would name a cat "Mr. Dribbles" he will simply stare at you with an impassive face and say, "I do not see why I need to explain to you my choice in names for my cat, it simply is what it is, and matters not why."

Personality

"Bob" is not someone that wears is heart or his emotion on his sleeve. Occasionally he's been mistaken for a tranquil, though he doesn't understand why someone would make that assumption when he clearly does not bear the tranquil mark on his face. He often misunderstands jokes and sarcasm and misuses them when he tries to do them himself. Either that or people think his blunt way of speaking is meant to be sarcasm when in fact he is really just being blunt. He finds fulfilment in helping others, no matter their race. He deplores stereotypes. He's not easy to get to know, but once he considers someone a friend, he takes that very seriously and would die for any one of them without batting an eye. He's fiercely loyal once he stands behind a cause. He doesn't smile or laugh much, at least not how most people smile and laugh. He feels humour and happiness, but he doesn't feel the need to go around laughing and smiling on the outside. He often finds himself in awkward situations, though he doesn't understand why this keeps happening to him. He also hates being called Bob, because that is not his name. History

Once upon a time, a man fell in love with a woman, and then hearts were broken. You see Baerithryn's father was a Dalish elf, and while his clan was near a human settlement, he met and fell quite smitten with a city elf. Despite her being an elf, Dalish elves and city elves aren't big on intermingling. She wasn't accepted in his clan, and as he was the Keeper's first, he ultimately chose to stay with his clan instead of going to the Alienage to be with the woman he loved. When she realised she was pregnant with a child, she begged him to leave his Dalish life behind and help her raise their son, but he chose duty over love and shunned her, despite the feelings in his heart. She turned stone cold to love after that, even towards her son Baerithryn, she did care for him and make sure he had food to eat, but she was distant, aloof, and not an outwardly loving mother. She taught him that life was cruel, and that there was no place for love in it. When he was 13 and showed signs of magic, his mother tired one more time to get his father to take him in, but the Dalish clan already had a limit on mages, and again he refused, even for his own son. His mother worried constantly that her son would be found out a mage and sent to the circle. She debated leaving and going somewhere more rural, somewhere out of the way, but she didn't know how she would survive. She wasn't a mage herself so she couldn't teach Baerithryn magic, and she was hardly a fighter who could hunt or take care of them both outside of the city. When Baerithryn was 16 another child caught him using magic and reported him. After that he was taken to Jainen Circle for a few years, but when he found out his mother had fallen ill, he managed to escape to go tend to his mother. Now he was 20 years old and an apostate. He knew the Templars would use his phylactery to find him, so he took his mother and they fled to Orlais, hoping to put as much distance between them and Jainen as they could. The travelling was hard on his mother who was fragile and sick. Eventually they settled in a tiny village in the Dales. Things seemed ok for a few years and he tended to his mother as best he could. While there he found another elven mage that taught him magic as well as how to develop his dreamer abilities properly. When he was 25 years old, his mother finally succumbed to her illness. He wasn't sure what to do after that, so he started travelling all around Thedas, and was in the Free Marches when the Fifth Blight hit. He was finally captured by templars and brought to the Ostwick Circle when he was 31 years old. This is where he remained until the rebellions finally made it to Ostwick. He wasn't eager to become an apostate again, although he felt that changes needed to take place, he didn't think outright war was the way to fix things. When he heard of the Conclave he wanted to be there, but there was too much going on for him to travel. He was trying his best to work with the Templars at the Circle to convince them that not all mages wanted to fight against them or run around as apostates. After the Conclave exploded tensions with Templars and mages grew to epic proportions, yet he remained steadfast in his resolve to keep things calm. Finally he decided his help was best used aiding the Inquisition, he felt that they were the way forward for both Templars and Mages. He's been at Skyhold for about Six Weeks or so. Shortly after arriving in Skyhold, a fellow Inquisition member had a hard time pronouncing his name, Baerithryn, so he started calling him Bob. It was a joke at first, but somehow it stuck, much to Baerithryn's dismay. He remains unamused by the name Bob. Abilities

Best at healing and rift magic. He's also a dreamer, but not as talented as other dreamers. He has a way with animals, especially small creatures like cats, ferrets, fennecs, nugs.

[mutantenfisch]

1 & 7

1. What is your Inquisitor’s name and race? (and small characterisation/backstory because I won’t shut up about my OCs)

Duuuude, I have like 17 Inquisitors by now… XDBut anyway, here they are, as ordered as possible.

The Dwarves:

Meret, Craeg, Arno and Eguzkia Cadash. Zelma Aeducan.

Related only by name, Eguzkia bears the maiden name of her mother, who originally was a baker in Orzammar and ran away to the surface with a member of House Helmi who loves his wife and daughter deeply, despite them being lower caste. She and her mother were hired to provide their culinary arts to some nobles at the Conclave and it was only due to a chain of coincidence, that the young dwarf ends up being Herald of Andraste.

Meret’s mother, on the other hand, was indeed a branded casteless who worked for the Carta. Her surface-born son followed her path due to having to provide her medicine for her chronic cough. One of his heist targets, a Tevinter mage and scholar in exile, sees the young dwarf’s intellectual potential and hires him and his mother as apprentice/bodyguard and housekeeper. A decade later, the trio’s interest in the Conclave is only marginal; the Tevinter, Lydus Maro, had planned to make the pilgrimage to the Temple of Sacred Ashes for religious reasons only and by chance, all three of them survive the Conclave, mostly thanks to the distance Lydus and Ama have kept to the temple. Of course, the following scandal with a dwarf of all people being the Herald of Andraste, and with him having a Tevinter “magister” advanced in years as a friend and lover does not help the fledgling Inquisition gaining approval or attention in its first days.

Azelma was the second child of King Endrin Aeducan but after being framed for the murder of Trian, she was exiled to the deep roads. Unfortunately, she never managed to reach the Grey Wardens in time and instead joined the Legion of the Dead, to give her exile and death-in-name a meaningful purpose. A darkspawn emissary’s fire bolt nearly killed her and left one half of her face disfigured and the corresponding eye blinded and ear tingling. She follows some suspicious darkspawn activities to Haven and tries to warn the Divine. Her amnesia is worse than with any other Inquisitor in their respective time-line, for she can remember almost nothing about what happened in the two weeks before the Conclave. 

Craeg is a surfacer who’s never been to Orzammar in his entire life, but as the resident bouncer at his favourite tavern, he had to deal with so many Carta dwarves who were, in fact, real casteless dwarves from the streets of Dust-Town which left for a better (if criminal) life, he decides one day to get one of those infamous face tattoos on his cheek as well. He was probably drunk when that happened. His reason to be at the Conclave was, as with most of my characters, purely business-related but since he has a talent for stumbling right into trouble, it was almost no coincidence that he picked up the orb. 

Arno left his family the moment they declared he’d be married to a member of the Smith Caste and used the anonymity of the Surface to embrace his real identity and change his name from Nora to Arno. He picked the last name Cadash for he knew it was a quite common name among Carta-members and he was sure this would sound believable enough. He loves hitting stuff and wearing armour that conceals some parts of his physique. Smuggling Lyrium as a quick, if dangerous, source of income was good enough for him and especially after the downfall of the Circles, Templars were way too eager to keep their line of supply working, so he did’t ask many questions.

The Elves:

Ilargian, Meretari and Udane Ibaiguren.

They were taken in by clan Lavellan when the Ibaiguren were destroyed during events of the “Three-Queens” era in 9:17 Dragon. Only few clan members survived. 

Ilargian is the oldest of the trio. In the worldstate where he becomes Inquisitor, he and his Starkhaven-born wife Maeve Ameslari, n elf-blooded healer and secretly self-taught hedge-mage, are on the run from the Mage-Templar War. They met a few years earlier when she was in temporary, contract-bound slavery for a Tevinter slave hunter company and escaped together. Now, he tries to get first-hand information about the outcome of the Conclave and decides to go there as a spy for his small, growing family. Being separated from his loved ones really tears on his nerves and sanity and sometimes only the companionship of the mysterious spirit boy can ease his pain and calm his fears, so he can sleep soundly at least during some nights.

Meretari and Udane are half-sisters with a ten-year age-gap and while the older, Meretari, has a few childhood memories of her mother, two dads and twin-brother, the younger is named after Meretari’s mother who, in this worldstate, did not survive the flight to clan Lavellan but is kept in dear and loving memory by her husbands. Udane the Elder was also a cousin of Merrill’s mother and for Varric, the resemblance between Meretari and Hawke’s Dalish companion in Kirkwall is almost too uncanny to bear.

Ondras and Oroilora Lavellan

Again, these two are only related by their clan’s name, but are neither siblings nor cousins. Instead, O was sent to Clan Lavellan after her magic manifested, for Clan Sabrae already had Merrill as Marethari’s first.

Ondras could be the epitome of a bratty teenager who is more interested in partying and flirting, if he didn’t also show a deep care towards others and their daily struggles. For most people, he makes the first impression of a very flamboyant youth who neither hides his good looks nor sexuality and some smell a scandal just waiting to happen. Despite his young age - he barely got his vallaslin before he volunteered to spy on the Conclave - he is an excellent marksman and caring and patient companion to those he grows friends with. 

Oroilora is the keeper’s First and takes her elven pride and distrust towards humans a bit too seriously, but then again, she can’t be blamed for this. A few months before she got her vallaslin, the young mage encountered a troupe of noble-born hunters, who decided to declare the elf their “special” prey. She barely survived this encounter and chose Elgar’nan as her vallaslin and swore to hunt down and kill the humans who hurt and humiliated her. This hunt lead her to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  

Manon Vallon

Manon is one of the few survivors of Celene’s purge of Halamshiral’s Alienage. She was hired as a guard by an Orlesian hedge-knight who bears little love for the Empress’s actions during that night but also needs cheap muscle to protect his estate in the Dales from the brooding civil war. He watched her slaughter some of Celene’s soldiers in the streets outside the Alienage and that settled the deal for him.Manon was his bodyguard at the Conclave, even though she rather wanted to stay behind at her new home to protect her fellow servants, but had little say in the matter, which made her furious at first, but upon her return to the estate, she was glad her fortune turned out like this. She immediately put the whole remaining household under the Inquisition’s protection and retaliated upon the marauders for what they’ve done there.

The Humans:

Maxim, Irene, Roxana, Sebastien, Henry and Jean-Luc Trevelyan.

While Roxana and Jean-Luc both have only little memories of their family and spent most of their lives in the Circle, both have different approaches towards magic and the ongoing war.

Jean-Luc, who was certain he would die of old age in his Senior Enchanter bed, is afraid of the open and of rain and enjoys staying by the fireplace, neck deep in his studies, now wields a green glowing thing on his hand, has to venture through mud and snow and what not and the only light at the end of the day is having conversation with his fellow researcher Minaeve or the heart-warmingly charming Ambassador Montilyet. 

Roxana on the other hand thinks the war has been inevitable and considers it her duty to fight in it, to make mages’ lives safer. She holds no grudge against Templars in general, but then again, not every Circle was like Ostwick’s and not all Templars are nice people. 

Irene served as a Templar for most of her life and while she takes her duties very seriously, and disagreed with Meredith’s leadership when she was stationed in Kirkwall, she can’t bring herself to fully trust mages, after having seen them being possessed or killing her friends with blood magic. She and Cullen know each other since their days in the Kinloch Hold Circle and even though she is a woman beyond her forties and at least for a while was above him in rank, she highly respects him and often speaks back with him when things have to be decided. 

Sebastien is the illegitimate child of an Orlesian servant girl and one of the Trevelyans when this branch of the family resided in Ferelden around 9:15-9:20 Dragon. As a child, he was bullied by his peers for his parents, his accent, his protruding ears and his weight. That he searched solace in comfort-food, such as cookies, did not really help. Especially not, when the Hero of Ferelden and their entourage stopped at their village and the intimidating Qunari companion of the Grey Warden took the little boy’s cookies and told him he didn’t need more. What did help, was seeing the Hero and their friends in action and learning about Alistair becoming king of Ferelden. After this, the boy decided to become like his new idol and after a decade of fiercely practising the way of the sword, he has become a buff, towering young lad, who still loves cookies and has a thing for those pagan giants from the north. 

Maxim, Max for short, is the youngest of four children, and while his mother was incredibly happy that at least her youngest was a girl, the following years showed that this was indeed not the case with young Max. While his father tolerates his personality and his interest in learning how to ride and fight and his older brothers accept him, his relationship to his mother is rather cold and strained by this circumstance. 

Henry is the least person he himself would have thought becoming a hero of some sorts. The calm, quiet man might be a noble and might be quite proficient with a bow or his dual blades, but never had any ambition to actually do noble or heroic deeds. And after all, isn’t the Grey Warden or the Champion of Kirkwall what a real hero has to look or act like? No, for this orange haired man, this whole Herald business is just one big misunderstanding.

The Qunari

Zdravkos, Shura, Artemia and Ireth (though I’m not sure whether I will actually play the latter, due to her being already part of an Elder Scrolls crossover, where she is Dragonborn)

Zdravkos is the son of Vashoth mercenaries who serve as regular guards for a quite unimportant Orlesian nobleman and his family. The boy, even though he always knew he was treated a little different than the other servants’ children, grew up to be a kind and gentle, soft-spoken young lad who would, in his teen years, often impress guests of the house with his skill as both a painter and a dancer, despite his height and “savage” origin. When his magic manifested, at the rather high age of nineteen,  his family’s patron arranged for him being taken to the Circle of Montsimmard, where Kos showed quite some talent for both frost and healing magic and successfully completed his Harrowing only a few years after coming to the Circle and months before the Civil War started. While he is no eager player of the Game, he has a talent for it and uses this to his own benefit after becoming Inquisitor.

Shura is again a vashoth and also a true mercenary. She convinces with her intimidating height - and strange beauty - as much as with her broadaxe. Then again, her abilities as a leader, or at least second-in-command, weren’t just valued by her former company, but also by her fellow Inquisition members. 

Artemia, Temi for her friends, grew up near the Antivan border and as a child, always hoped her horns would curve in a way that’d make it possible for her to use them to swing on them.In the end, she grew faster than her horns and the early death of her Tal-Vashoth parents made it necessary for her to take on any kind of work that would make it possible for her and her younger siblings to survive on their own. She joins the Valo-Kas mercenaries when her siblings are old enough to look after themselves and loses both her horns to enemies’ axes. She’s furious on the battlefield and a whirlwind with her long knives. But as soon as children are in danger she turns into something the Qun would have called a Tamassran, like her mother once was, and fights like a dragon to defend them.

2. Who is your Inquisitor’s best friend?This is indeed not easy to ask. In means of approval, most of my Inquisitors get along well with Varric - Eguzkia Cadash and Henry Trevelyan are declared fans of his work as well. Then again, depending on the character and background, my Inquis have different views and values and since some of them have accompanying NPC OCs, those count, too.For Meret, his lover Lydus is also his best friend - much to the delight of his mum, who is happy her boy is happy. He also becomes friends with Minaeve and both Bram Kenric and Frederic of Serault, the latter eventually engaging in a polyamory relationship with Meret and Lydus.Ilargian would probably be lost without Cole’s presence. The boy knows when to say the right things to the elf and he is the first person he can share his burden of worrying about his family with, while not having to give away too much verbal information about them. He also gets along very well with Blackwall and, to his own surprise, with Dorian.Meretari often sticks to herself, but becomes good friends with Scout Harding, while Udane befriends the Chargers, as does Max.Zdravkos, now that he has the chance, bonds with Vivienne over their similar views towards magic and mages, Jean-Luc and Oroilora become friends with Solas.Irene sticks somewhat to her habits and hangs around with the (ex-)Templars a lot but also becomes friends with Blackwall and Cassandra.For Shura, no-one, not even herself can tell whether she was first friends, then lovers with Sera or if it was the other way around. Fact is, when they can, they plunder the kitchen larder together or prank those who understand fun. Eguzkia gets along with Sera very good, too, but without the romance part. And she sometimes slows Sera down, when a prank seems harmful to her.Pfhhhew, that was a lot. Thank you very much for asking!

[roguelioness]

Deliverance

He’s in the Circle Tower, held in place by a barrier as painful as it is impenetrable, and there’s blood, Maker, so much blood, and he sees the faces of his comrades, his friends, twisted in agony, their screams bouncing off the walls, distorted and desperate, and he’s begging, he’s pleading, for someone - anyone - to stop the madness, and then she turns up, the woman he’s seen before, the woman who drew his eye with her lush auburn hair and gentle brown eyes, except this time her face is a mix of fury and fear, and he’s certain, certain that it is another hallucination made to break him, and he screams to her, at her, but she looks at him in pity…

Kill them all, he says, rage in his voice. They are all blood mages, all of them.

Amell looks at him in horror and sorrow, and whatever he felt for her is twisted into something cold.

She is one of them. He is certain of it, when she convinces the Knight-Commander that the mages are innocent.

And then the scene shifts, and he’s in Kirkwall, and he looks upon the mages with constant suspicion; they’re all dangerous, he knows, he’s seen it. He sees Hawke, raven-haired with fiery blue eyes, and there’s a pull, a something when her eyes meet his… but she is a mage, one of them, and he’s convinced she’s done something to him.

Mages cannot be our friends. They must always be watched. He doesn’t listen to her try and explain the plight of the mages to him - they’re all dangerous, they must be locked away, they cannot hurt the people with their demons - but he does not listen. Will not listen. Cannot listen. He cannot doubt. Doubt is dangerous. At any time, any mage could become a monster. From the lowest apprentice to the most seasoned enchanters.

Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me.

He has many confrontations with Hawke.

It will be up to the mages themselves whether they push us to more stringent measures.

It sounds like you support this. Her face is disbelief and disgust in equal parts.

The Tranquil ritual was created as a mercy so that mages need not be killed out of hand for a threat they might pose. There is an argument to be made for applying it more widely.

Do you think it is easy to contain a mage who truly wants to deal with demons? We’ve done our best. But many mages have made it clear that they view the ritual as no better than death. They want no controls on them at all.

Is he trying to convince himself, or her? He doesn’t know. The accusations surrounding Ser Alrik… he cannot forget. Hawke is a mage, and she has helped his order numerous times. She has stood for the city, defended it, has been willing to give her life to protect it.

His doubts start to grow, no matter how hard he tries to contain them.

And then, it all comes to a terrible end. The Chantry, blown up by an apostate. The Right of Annulment invoked by his Knight-Commander. The First Enchanter, desperate to protect his charges, turning to blood magic.

Meredith going insane.

His Knight-Commander. The woman who had encouraged his suspicions, his distrust of mages. And yet, here she was, filled with hatred and loathing towards the one woman who had done more for the city than the city had done for her.

He stands with Hawke. And when it is all over, he lets her leave, unable to meet her eyes for the shame that he feels.

She is a mage, and she is a Champion. She is more than he is.

He wakes up, heart pounding, doubt and guilt and shame coiled and knotted and tangled together in his gut. He stares at the philter of blue liquid as it gently glows in the dark. It calls him, lures him, promises him dreamless sleep, of rest without nightmares.

He takes it.

The Circles hear of the events at Kirkwall, and rebel. He is unsure whether to blame them or not. For the first time, he understands why they felt the way they do, why they resent templar interference. And yet, he knows that something must be done to protect the people from the havoc that mages can cause.

This time, he has no answers. He does not know what to do. So he focuses his efforts on restoring order. He does the best he can, keeping Hawke in mind as a compass for his actions.

He still feels a great deal of guilt. Perhaps had he seen through Meredith earlier, the tragedy could have been avoided. Innocent lives could have been saved. Perhaps had he spoken up earlier - had he listened to Hawke - the Circles would not have rebelled, and the Templars with them.

And then, late one morning, Seeker Cassandra meets with him.

He has heard of her. Right Hand to the Divine, a woman fierce and righteous. He knows she is working under the Divine’s orders to bring an end to the war between the templars and mages that threatens all of Thedas.

She asks him to join the newborn Inquisition. He will be their Commander, she says, in charge of Inquisition forces.

It takes him less than five minutes to make his decision. He does not believe in his Order any more, and neither can he sit by and watch the world fall apart. Perhaps this is his chance to find something that he can believe in.

He shakes off the lyrium chains along with his Templar life.

But the Conclave falls apart, the massive explosion taking away their last chance at peace. In the midst of all the chaos, a new threat arises; the massive Breach in the sky that spews out demons. He fights tirelessly with his men, trying to protect the villagers of Haven as best he can; yet with the sheer number of rifts in the area he knows it is but a matter of time before they are all doomed.

A miracle occurs. A woman, a mage, with a glowing mark on her left hand. A woman who can seal the rifts. He cannot help but be impressed by her. She is dedicated, fierce, yet kind and caring. It is easy to talk to her; easier still, to forget that she is a mage. Trevelyan, her name is, Trevelyan with the strawberry blond hair and emerald green eyes; she is from the Circle of Ostwick, though she refuses to talk about her time there. He is afraid to ask; afraid to hear that there was someone like Ser Alrik there, preying on innocence and weakness.

She asks him about Kirkwall. There is a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a fear that she will not look at him the same once she hears about what he did. He tries to explain as best as he can, giving her as much of the truth he can bear to confess without hiding his culpability.  She listens patiently, her eyes calm and free from judgement.

It amazes him.

She reminds him of Hawke, and Amell, courageous, willing to fight for those weaker than her. Though they converse frequently, she seems aloof with him, and though he understands, it saddens him. For the first time in a long time - he does not know how long - he looks at her as a person first, a mage second. And he wonders if she will ever be able to look at him and not see the Templar.

She allies with the mages, against his suggestions, and for the first time since they met, he is genuinely angry at her, angry that she did not heed his advice, angry that she would put the villagers at risk. He carries on about abominations, and supervision, and it is only when he sees her blank, emotionless face does he understand how his words might seem to her. He attempts to explain, but his efforts are impeded by the Seeker putting an end to their argument.

She does not come to talk to him in the days after.

The Breach is sealed with the mages’ collective efforts, and he is ashamed that he doubted her, Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste. He wants to approach her, to apologize, when the alarm sounds.

Haven is under attack.

She takes charge, a determined, strong warrior, and she is everywhere on the battlefield, fighting the corrupted templars, protecting the villagers, attacking the incoming forces with the trebuchets he had the forethought of assembling. The dragon appears, and… he knows there is no hope.

Steely-eyed, she listens to the young lad. The Elder One wants her dead, he says, but will kill the others anyway.

To hit the enemy, we’d have to bury Haven. She doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say.

We’re dying, he is more blunt this time, but we can decide how.

Another miracle. An escape route.

But they need a distraction.

What of your escape?

She turns away, silent, eyes narrowed and resolute. He understands; he is filled with respect and horror and desperate hope. Perhaps you will surprise it… find a way…

She nods grimly, and leaves with her companions. She turns around at the door, her gaze on him, and starts to say something. A loud crash from the outside catches her attention, and she’s out through the Chantry door, staff ready in hand.

He wonders what she had meant to say as he guides the villagers out of the burning village and towards safety.

Her companions return to join the last of the fleeing villagers.

She is not with them.

She is not with them.

He does not know what to feel. There’s too much to be done, too many people relying on him. Above the treeline, the signal is sent, and… a rock flies through the air, hitting the side of the mountain, and he realizes gratefully that she is alive, only to have his joy dashed seconds later as the massive avalanche rumbles rapidly down the mountain.

She is extinguished, and it hurts him in a way he does not understand, for he had not thought it possible.

It pains him more to know that she would never know how he felt about her.

Miracle.

She turns up, having made her way through the blizzard with a broken body. She is more dead than alive, but she is breathing, and that is more than enough for him.

She leads them to a new fortress, a new start.

She has just been appointed Inquisitor when she comes to see him. He tries to explain, to apologize for abandoning her; it weighs on him heavily, the guilt of sending her to her death mingled with the guilt of all he’s said to Amell and Hawke; it sits like lead in his stomach.

How many were lost? She asks softly, and it is at that moment he knows he is gone, irreversibly changed by her. Despite all that she has been through, all that she has suffered, she is more concerned about those she had done her best to protect.

How was he to resist a woman so caring, so compassionate?

I’m relieved that you - she stammers then, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink - that so many made it out.

He hopes she means what he thinks she means.

He makes a decision.

You stayed behind. He gently grabs hold of her arm as she turns to leave. You could’ve - and he remembers that she very nearly did. I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. His voice holds the weight of the promise he makes. You have my word.

She smiles, placing her hand on top of his. I know, she says, and all is right in his world again.

He will do everything he can to make sure she will never again have to be in a position where she is forced to sacrifice herself.

There is much work to be done; she is constantly out on the field, while he remains in Skyhold, coordinating and training their forces. Yet as busy as his days are, he never stops thinking - or worrying - about her, and to his delight, it appears as though she feels the same. She writes to him as frequently as she can, talking about what she’s seen and done, inserting an amusing anecdote or two now and then.

She in in Skyhold, a rare occasion, when she comes to see him. She is uncharacteristically jittery, and cannot meet his eyes, and he fears the worst. Did he say something in the war room meeting to offend her? Or perhaps something in one of his letters?

It’s a- a nice day, he stammers out as they walk outside on the battlements, then berates himself when she looks amused. There was something you wished to discuss? Her face turns serious, and she looks away; he prepares for the worst, even though he has no idea what it is.

Cullen… I… I care for you, and she breaks off, looking miserable.

He cannot bear to see her like this. What’s wrong?

She looks at him, nervous, apprehensive. You… you left the templars, but… do you trust mages? She adds shyly, Could you think of me as anything more?

His heart soars with hope. He did not think this was possible. How does she not see what she means to him? How can she not understand how much he cares about her? He did not think she would ever come to care for him, a templar...

And yet…  I’m still here, she points out, a dazzling smile on her lips.

He gives in.

Her lips are better than anything he - or any demon in the Fade - could ever have dreamed up, soft, pliant, comforting… home. He forgets, completely, that she is a mage.

Now, she is the woman he wants. The woman he never expected to find. And yet, she is here, in his arms, and though they are at war… he is blissful.

But the lyrium haunts him still. The nightmares are worse, the demons darker. He cannot sleep, and when he does, he awakens with a mind so clouded he cannot focus.

It is when Ser Belinda points out that he is about to send a contingent into hostile territory does he begin to fear that he will fail. That he may not be able to keep his promise to her.

So he asks Cassandra to replace him. But she does not.

Instead, Trevelyan comes to check up on him. She is kind, compassionate, everything he does not deserve, and something in him snaps. He lays bare all that has happened to him, all that he has done, his eyes pleading with hers to make the decision for him - the decision his heart does not want to make, but his mind says he should.

She hears him out patiently, letting him vent. And then says something he does not expect.

This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what you want?

His mind calms, and he can think clearly again. If I cannot endure this…

Her eyes are filled with so much love. You can, she says, her voice filled with faith and belief, and in that moment… he knows he can.

Because she believes in him.

She sends him to bed, then joins his side with a tray of food, coaxing him to eat even though it is the last thing he wants to do. Her fingers move to his forehead, and she hesitates, looking at him for permission. He wonders why, then realizes.

She is a mage.

And he has just told her his experiences with them.

She is afraid he will think she is going to hurt him.

He thinks of Amell, who saved him from Uldred.

He thinks of Hawke, who saved him from Meredith.

He looks at Trevelyan.

Another mage, in a long line of mages he has encountered who have been good, and kind, and gentle…

He knows the power she wields, has seen it in action. And yet…

It does not frighten him.

He does not fear she will succumb to demons.

He is absolutely certain she will never hurt him.

He takes her hands, and kisses the center of her palms before placing her fingers on his forehead with a smile.

She is his salvation.

His redemption.