#also the fact that my first game was inquisition which was released right after the self titled album makes dragon age the hozier series

[cripfaggot]

the amount of rookanis art i've seen either featuring or captioned with hozier lyrics.... thank you everyone

[mumms-the-word]

seeing you so excited about dragon age has made me really want to get into it. if you've already talked about this and i missed it i am SO sorry but do you have any recommendations on where to start? it seems like so much fun but i am flying completely blind here, i know nothing but vibes and the fact that the games look right up my alley.

from my understanding there's 3(?) other games before veilguard (at least on steam haha) and they all seem to build off one another. would you recommend playing the other games first? (i know veilguard still hasn't released yet i just know next to nothing about the plot of the games and how much they're tied together raaahh)

again sorry if you've already talked about this, i just love seeing other people so excited about something, it makes me want to get invested in it too. hope you're having an excellent day! :)

Hello!!! I’m so excited that you’re interested in these games! They are some of my absolute favorites for a variety of reasons!

Currently there are 3 games + Veilguard (the 4th). The series starts with Dragon Age Origins, a gritty dark fantasy set in the country of Ferelden, which is being besieged by corrupted monsters called the darkspawn. You play a Grey Warden, a warrior (or mage!) selected to fight the darkspawn and save the country from ruin.

Dragon Age 2 picks up after the events of Origins and follows Hawke, a refugee from Ferelden who travels north to Kirkwall with their family…and then ends up being the person everyone asks to solve their problems. Results may vary, and it’s a fun chaotic time for all.

Dragon Age Inquisition takes place 3 years after DA2. The end of DA2 has spiraled out of control into a full on war. Everyone has gathered in one place to try and stop the fighting but, unexpectedly, the whole place goes kaboom with your character, the future Inquisitor, inside. They survive the explosion and end up with a mark on their hand that may just save the world, so now saving the world is their problem.

And soon we’ll have Veilguard, which takes place 10-12 years after DAI (12 years after Inquisition starts, 10 years after DAI’s epilogue DLC…it’s a long story). And it directly involves characters and plot arcs that began in DAI.

All of the games tie together narratively, but they’re also each their own separate campaigns. It’s not like the Witcher where you play Geralt for 3 games, you’re playing 3 (now 4) completely different heroes. But the span of time between Origins and Veilguard is only 22 years in the Dragon Age Universe so—yeah, lots of events connect together.

With Veilguard so close, it’ll be a tough shave trying to finish even one of the games before Veilguard releases and the floodgates of spoilers spill over. That said, if Veilguard has you hyped, but you want to play a different Dragon Age game to get your feet wet and explore a bit of the world, go for DAI (the third one)! A typical full playthrough takes about 60ish hours if you’re not rushing (but some of my inquisitors had an upwards of 150+ hours, and I have rushed it at a 45 hour run once). You may not finish it before the Veilguard release date, but since it’s the one that directly ties into Veilguard, it means you can just hop right in from one to the next.

HOWEVER, if you are interested in the ways the games connect to each other and want to see how your decisions in one game affects the world in the next game, AND if you feel okay with sticking your head in the sand to avoid any and all Veilguard spoilers, you can start with Origins and play all three in order. Each game shapes elements of the world of the next one (for example, who is king or queen of Ferelden at the end of Origins will come up in small ways in DA2 and DAI), and that’s honestly my favorite part of the games. I love seeing echoes of my choices from Origins and DA2 in my DAI game. It really makes it feel like my choices matter.

But Veilguard looks like it’ll be a relatively clean slate. It doesn’t look like there will be choices from Origins or DA2 that carry forward into Veilguard. So if you want to start anywhere, start with DAI. You can always experience what it’s like as a “basic” world and go back later, after playing it and Veilguard and so on, to play the earlier games and see how you can shape and alter the worlds in new or interesting ways. That’s how a lot of DA fans start actually. They play DAI, find out that they can shape the world by playing the other games, and then go back to Origins.

That’s a long winded answer but I hope it helps! I’m in the middle of a DAI run right now and the game really has aged so well. It doesn’t feel like a 2014 game. It doesn’t feel that outdated. And honestly it’s pretty easy to pick up and play (though I recommend playing with a controller, whether you’re on console or PC. The keyboard and mouse controls are horrible).

Go forth and age the dragons haha have fun!!

[dgcatanisiri]

A brief discussion on Taash and how their development seems to be pointing towards at this point in my first play.

I want to tackle this in the now, considering how it's almost invariably something that seems like it will come up in the future. For the record, I've gone only so far as to feed the birds and then discuss clothing choices with Taash and Neve, so plenty left to explore.

Considering Taash is introduced as "she," then gets explicit references to questions of gender, it does seem like Taash is going through a storyline of coming to terms with being non-binary. Which is in effect a coming out narrative, like Dorian had last game. And if you've been on my blog a while, you know that Dorian having a narrative centered on his sexuality has always bothered me.

But I'm not upset seeing Taash have this story like I am about Dorian, for a handful of reasons.

Number one, Taash's non-binariness is not the only thing they get for their character, considering that Varric's narration mentions how they've gotten the attention of the Dragon King, so their place in the ongoing plotline has more than just being "the non-binary."

Number two, being non-binary is a thing that is still developing its place in the world we live in, so this is an exploration at a time that the idea that being non-binary is still something relatively new for society at large - y'know, beyond all the Hays Code censorship of queerness in general, you could still go back to the seventies and have a story about people being introduced to the concept of being gay, so while any queer character is inevitably SOMEONE'S introduction to queerness, there was a greater breadth of alternatives in media that were likely the introduction of "gay person" than there is for the introduction of "non-binary person."

Which dovetails nicely with number three, and that's the fact that at the same time Dorian was introduced with a story I've described as feeling right out of a nineties after school special, as Dorian interacts with his father who wanted to change him like dozens of homophobes in media have before, a story that felt like it was stuck in the past, the same year saw the release of How to Get Away With Murder, a show that took an old narrative of "gay person gets an HIV diagnosis" and then showed him living and not being reduced to a story prop for the development of straight characters, putting a new spin on the old narrative and doing something that hadn't been done with it.

There's also the fact that, number four, this is about Taash's self-discovery. When we meet Dorian, HE'S accepted his sexuality. The issue is that HIS FATHER hasn't. Taash, meanwhile, is recognizing that they don't fit into the gender binary they've been locked in to. It's a different point of the journey - the key moment in Dorian's development was when he chose to run from his father trying to change him, not discussing it in front of someone at least months down the line. Taash is figuring this out as we go.

And then there's number five, which is that Taash coming to an understanding with being non-binary actually DOES fit within the established worldbuiling - the Qun is rigid in its giving of roles, and, even if Taash hasn't been raised under the strict rule of the Qun, their mother left not because of a break in her acceptance of the Qun itself, but to protect her child. So while we had Krem in Inquisition introduced as being "those who were born as one gender but live as another," we are now seeing how the Qun is not built to accept those who are neither - it accepts binary either/or, that you are one thing and not the other, but it's been repeatedly shown how the Qun does not play with the shades of grey and the spectrum between black and white. Taash has not followed the Qun, but we still see how it has shaped their life to this point as a result of being how their mother was raised, how Thedas at large views anyone with the grey skin and horns that Taash has. They have dealt with the way that the Qun influences them, and that conditioning doesn't just break like that.

I mean, I've said for YEARS, Dorian's story felt awkwardly shoved in to the Dragon Age setting, considering that Cousland could be teased about a same-sex partner in front of their noble family like it was nothing, Leandra accepted Hawke's partner, and while Gamlen was an ass, you could pass it off as "...it's GAMLEN" and not "he's being homophobic." The worst really was Hawke asking Fenris if there was an issue because they were both men, a fact that didn't make sense, considering Fenris had never been ANYTHING but reciprocal to Hawke's flirtations. To say nothing of how Fenris never used Tevinter's "quest to distill the perfect mage" against Anders in their various arguments. And then there was the novel The Calling, where King Maric's surprise about Wardens Nicholas and Julian being together was simply that he hadn't recognized it, not because they were.

Arguing "oh, it's just TEVINTER that's like that" doesn't work either, considering that now we're seeing Dorian in the Magisterium and in Minrathous itself, and Maevaris as well - a trans woman, who married a dwarf, a magic-blind race. At MOST if these two can get into the highest point in Tevinter's hierarchy, they'd be assigned to the Thedas equivalent of Antarctica, not operating openly in the heart of the government.

Dorian's story was written in isolation, separate from the rest of the tapestry that was the universe of Dragon Age, not fitting in to the overall picture. Taash's story, meanwhile matches the things established and adds to it - the Qunari might accept binary transness, but existing outside a binary leads to the Qun trying to hammer them back into it. Qunari thoughts, attitudes, and beliefs, have always baffled and struggled with the human ones. DA2's whole second act showed how rigidly adhering to the strictness of the Qun caused problems - the Arishok was not a diplomat, so he only looked upon the world from the edge of a blade, and he could not accept that his position as a leader meant he HAD to interact as one.

This FITS the world. Taash's story feels like an enhancement, an enrichment of the world already established, rather than a tonal clash.

[nerdlydelicious]

1. I started with Dragon Age Origins. Played the Dwarf Noble as my first origin and got the SHIT scared out of my arachnophobic self when I received a very sudden and unwelcome revelation that there were going to be giant spiders in this game.

2. Probably Origins. All three games have something I love about them, but the story for Origins is the best written one so far, in my opinion. Though I would not at all be upset if Veilguard took the top spot when it comes out.

3. I play Warrior most of the time. My canon Warden, Hawke, and Inquisitor are all warriors, and my Rook will most likely follow the trend.

4. The Arch Demon was slain by a Dwarf Warden, who shockingly did not in fact die killing it. And if that had anything to do with him boning his hot witch wife the night before the big battle, then he ain’t saying.

Hawke was a pro mage warrior that fought to protect the circle when Meredith went sailing off the deep end. After the mage rebellion kicked off in full he and Merrill went into hiding together until he was forced to leave her too.

My Inquisitor is a Qunari Warrior who sided with the mages in the rebellion, despite later training to be a Templar after the attack on Haven. He fell in love with Josephine, and disbanded the Inquisition in Trespasser like his predecessor did before him ages past. He wants to stop Solas’s plan without killing him, regarding the Dread Wolf not just as a friend, but as a brother. Leliana took the throne of the Divine.

5. I usually take my time and build a character that I like the look of. The only exception is Hawke, whose base design I loved.

6. I’ve got my first Rook pretty well fleshed out. City Elf, Grey Warden, Warrior. He was a slave in Tevinter that was freed by a Grey Warden that took pity on him and ‘recruited’ him (read: abused the Warden’s right of conscription) and brought him to Weisshaupt. He didn’t force Rook to undergo the Joining, he just wanted to give Rook a chance at a free life. Rook joined of his own volition. Because of his time as a slave Rook has an innate distrust of mages and magic in general.

Which is gonna make romancing Neve or Belara very interesting.

7. I really want to see Dorian, Iron Bull, and Fenris again. As far as we know they’re all in Tevinter, so I’m crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

8. I’m interested in learning more about the Mortalitasi, but I also really want to see what’s happened with the Grey Wardens since the events of Inquisition.

9. I’m thinking of pursuing Neve first, since my Rook is going to initially distrust magic and mages.

10. I really hope we get to explore Minrathous, but Weisshaupt is a very close second.

11. Greater impact of player choices on the world with a lot of divergence in the story depending on our choices, good or bad.

12. I can’t really think of a good answer for this one. Maybe, uh… a bad story? I dunno XD

13. Having a Keep like system baked into the game instead of having to go to a separate website, link your account, and pray the site doesn’t crash.

14. I don’t like the party size being reduced from 4 to 3, and not being able to directly control your party members.

15. No unpopular opinions as of yet, but who knows.

16. I know you probably meant for DAV specifically, but: Josephine totally has a thing for Qunari. If you play as a Qunari she comments on your size (giggity) when you first meet her, and if you romance Iron Bull the advisors walk in on you and Bull, and she asks ‘who wouldn’t be curious?’ Josie 100% likes em tall and horny (again: giggity).

17. I love lore and speculation. I feel it adds to the base game and story if we can take known info and extrapolate on it further.

18. Art and memes, for sure. Can’t wait to see what people come up with.

19. I’m going to try and beat the three previous games before Veilguard releases, as well as take in as much extra content as I can.

20.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard HYPE Q&A

What was the first Dragon Age game you played?

Which Dragon Age game is your favorite so far?

Do you usually play as a warrior, mage, or rogue? Which class are you planning to try first this time around? Which subclass?

What does your worldstate look like going into DAV?

Do you typically use a preset character and name or spend hours in the character creator coming up with a custom one?

Do you have your Rook(s) planned out to any degree? If so, would you share some details or ideas you have?

Which character from the previous games or other media are you most hoping will make an appearance in DAV?

What faction are you most excited to learn more about?

Which romance, if any, do you plan to pursue first?

Which location are you most excited/hoping to explore in-game?

What's one thing you'd really like to see in this next game?

What's one thing you're hoping we DON'T see in this next game?

What's one thing you've seen confirmed so far that you're a fan of?

What's one thing you've seen confirmed so far that you're NOT a fan of?

Do you have any unpopular opinions about DAV so far?

What's one crack theory you subscribe to (yours or someone else's)?

Are you interested in all the lore and speculation or do you focus more on the games and stories themselves?

Which aspect of fandom are you most looking forward to? (e.g. reading/writing fic, the bounty of gorgeous art, getting to know new people, etc.)

Are you planning to replay any of the previous games, watch Dragon Age: Absolution, or read any of the books/comics/short stories, or are there other games you want to play in the meantime?

Post a picture or gif that conveys your current level of excitement for Dragon Age: The Veilguard!

[ftb-dafanfiction]

Happy New Year and Update

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2023 is filled with blessings for you and your families. This year, I am also hoping to add a handful more chapters to From the Beyond, but I think we all know how making plans and finding time for hobbies can work out, right? :P

In any case, the next chapter is finally going into its official "sketch” stages, and with that, I wanted to give you all an idea of what that’s like for a fic this size.

With 74 chapters and counting and over 640,000 words, make no mistake about it, managing FtB at this point is work. Hard work and intensive planning. This is one reason why it takes so long between chapter releases (in addition to my fear of burning myself out again).

Before starting a new chapter, I reread and edit/proofread the previous one one more time to get back in the “zone”. One thing I have a huge concern about is maintaining a consistent tone throughout the fic, especially since it has spanned 5 years of work so far; a person’s style can change a lot in that time, and the last thing I want is for the first chapter and the last chapter to sound like two different people wrote it.

Reviewing notes is a must. I have nearly the entire fic already planned out as far as rough plot points go, with a detailed outline in a separate document. As a matter of fact, FtB is slated to come to an end at approximately the same "place” storywise as the canonical Inquisition main quest. Two sequels have also been tentatively planned, one that spans the timeline of The Descent and Jaws of Hakkon, and another that covers Trespasser and the epilogue. I haven’t done much detail work with either storyline, however, as the events of Dreadwolf and what lore I learn in that game may impact how those sequels go.

That brings me to another big task - keeping the timeline straight. I have another document, an Excel spreadsheet, that charts out the contents of each chapter in the story separately, including a rough summary, which major characters appear, key plot events that can’t be forgotten, an estimated day-month-year-season span, and of course, any romance plot points. I’ve even made notes for any unique characterization elements that have been revealed (IE: Tamsyn’s hatred of clowns and her inability to swim). Further charts keep track of major and minor characters and their ages, as well as whether or not they’ve been eliminated from the storyline.

After reviewing all of these notes and making even more notes to follow in the WIP chapter, then I can finally start writing. Each chapter averages 8k-10k words to cover everything required.

As you can see, this is a lot to keep straight in a person’s head, and with so much information that can’t be forgotten, it can feel more than a little overwhelming, sometimes. Fortunately, there are fewer chapters to go than have already been written... relatively speaking, the story is fairly close to the end; after all, only the Arbor Wilds and the events afterwards are left to cover in the canonical timeline.

Knowing that is one thing. Getting there, though, is quite another.

In any case, it’s not something I’m planning on giving up on. However, because of the amount of work required and the time and headspace I need to accomplish it, I can’t give any estimations for when a chapter might be released. The best I can give you is “I’m working on it”. Which I am. :D

If you’ve gotten this far, thanks for reading, both this and FtB itself. No matter how difficult it may be to accomplish, I sincerely can’t wait to share the rest of Tamsyn’s story with you.

~ Auri

[qvid-pro-qvo]

tales from the war room

the monster of a dragon age: inquisition fic that i've been working on that almost no one asked for. special thanks to @hotchseyebrows for being a beta and an encouragement, and to FluffyNinjaLlama on YouTube for an excellent playlist i used as a resource.

a female!inquisitor x cullen rutherford fic. verdanna, the inquisitor, is a dalish mage.

word count: 24,397

rating: mature, for the slow build and burn of something greater than themselves (warnings that apply also apply to the game - canon-typical violence, implied sexual content, as well as a healthy mixture of angst and fluff).

link to the fic on AO3.

-

A familiar face enters the room with Cassandra, and it is here Cullen properly meets the Herald of Andraste.

It was quick, the first time he met her, but the impression was immediate. A commander is nothing without his soldiers, after all, and she did her part in saving the ones with him at the Temple that fateful day.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra confirms, nodding to him. He meets her gaze before shifting to look at the elven woman in front of him.

“It was only for a moment on the battlefield. I’m pleased you survived,” he offers.

Josephine and Leliana introduce and reintroduce themselves, offering themselves as ambassador and spymaster. But the pleasantries are over quickly, as war looms on the horizon. Thus the war room becomes such, and the first meeting begins.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra tells the Herald.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana answers, too quickly for Cullen’s liking.

“And I still disagree,” he responds, turning to face her, brow furrowed. The Herald’s gaze follows them both. “The templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into the mark -” Cassandra offers, but Cullen just straightens his spine.

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so -”

“Pure speculation.”

The dismissal is clear, and Cullen finds himself defensive. “I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Josephine lifts a hand and turns to the Herald, her tone firm. “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us, yet. The chantry has denounced the Inquisition. And you, specifically.”

“Didn’t take long at all for them to find an excuse to hate an elf,” she responds, voice dry.

“That’s not the entirety of it any longer,” Josephine clarifies. She holds her scroll with all of her newfound authority and hardwon knowledge. “Some are calling you - a Dalish mage - the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. It limits our options. Approaching the templars or mages for help is currently out of the question.”

Cullen can’t help the way his mouth feels glued shut at the revelation. Disparaging the mages, as a former templar, in front of an elven mage - clearly a misstep. But when he looks at the woman before him, there appears no ill will. Simply observation, curiosity. A glint of humor in her eye.

“And how am I the Herald of Andraste?”

The question is a fair one. One Cassandra answers easily, stating the facts - a woman coming from a hole in the sky with a woman silhouetted behind her. But even as the Seeker explains, the logic in her mind clear, it is obvious that the Herald doesn’t quite see the connection. Her face pinches a little.

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading -”

“Which we have not.” Cassandra interrupts Leliana, eyes narrowed at her, but Left Hand simply lifts her chin.

“The point is everyone is talking about you.”

At this point Cullen feels inclined to step in. His focus on the Herald has revealed just what he suspected - the word the Inquisition has created seems to weigh on her mind, judging by the way her brow is now furrowed, her jaw clenched.

“It’s quite a title, isn’t it?” he offers. Tilts his head. “How do you feel about that?”

It’s an olive branch, he supposes. One for his misstep earlier, so hastily disregarding the Herald’s own kind. It seems to catch her by surprise as she looks at him.

“It’s… a little unsettling,” she admits.

He can’t help his chuckle, and smiles as she does, a little quirk of her lips. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

But no matter how she feels, Leliana and Josephine make it clear. The hope she inspires is equal to the fear she instills.

“So if I wasn’t with the Inquisition?”

Cullen stops that train of thought with a head shake and the simple truth. “Let’s be honest: they would have censured us no matter what.”

The next steps are decided. Leliana tells of Mother Giselle, a Chantrywoman willing to speak with and hear out the cause of the Inquisition - even if the face is one of a declared heretic, elven mage or otherwise. Cullen offers his own advice, to expand the influence of the Inquisition where she can, while she is in the Hinterlands and wherever she travels. And Josephine is clear in telling her that the more agents they recruit, the more their reach spreads, hopefully for the betterment of Ferelden and beyond.

Thus concludes the first meeting of the Herald and her advisors, and the war room christened. Cullen moves to follow Leliana and Josephine as they leave with Cassandra, but what stops him is the stillness of the Herald, her eyes following him closely.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

“No, no,” she says, but her gaze dips. He sees the light shine on her tattoos, the gentle glow almost making the red markings fade into her skin. There’s something… fiery about them, and just as he thinks it, the supernatural shine seems to dim. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

Curiosity hits him again. He takes a step toward her. “About?”

She still seems hesitant, just as she did before. But there is a beat less before she answers, a sign Cullen takes as positive. “No one… really asked me how I was doing. I suppose I was just shocked it was the Templar who would be the first.”

His brows lift in surprise, before understanding sinks in. The irony isn’t lost on him, as well as the reality. The title she was given overwhelms all else - even her feelings on the title in the first place. With a little hum, he shrugs.

“I simply know if I was straddled with the hope of Andraste and her followers, especially as someone not of the faith… well. I perhaps would be feeling the pressure of that title, too. The good thing is that the people you have met are here to help moving forward, including myself,” he tells her, offering what he hopes is reassurance.

Her pinched brow seems to release, and her features smooth. It suits her, the relief, release. “Thank you, Commander.” She turns from him, moves to leave the War Room.

“Of course, Herald.” And then something rather embarrassing hits him. Even he is not immune to the hyperbole surrounding the face of their cause. He coughs, swallowing, and when she looks back with a raised brow, he smiles again. His face feels warm. “I regret to say that’s the only title I know you by - so perhaps some of the pressure could be relieved if more knew your name.”

Both of her brows lift, but then she’s smiling, a big grin that makes him feel stunned to his spot. She turns to him, gives a small bow, and nods to him. “Verdanna, of the Clan Lavellan. And as I said before, it’s a pleasure, Commander.”

“Verdanna,” he repeats, with a smile he can’t help. He bows back, and hears her little chuckle. “Cullen Rutherford. And the pleasure is mine.”

She goes, then. Leaves with a grace in her step, an ease to her movement. Something otherworldly, something magical. It seems cliche, considering the rumors about her, but for a moment he fully believes them all. Blessed by Andraste seems right. Fair.

He’s glad to be serving the cause, and glad that she is the one leading it.

(With further pressure, he might admit, even if she wasn’t the Herald, she would be one he wouldn’t soon forget, that smile in his thoughts more than he’d care to say.)

-

The Herald returns with Cassandra beside her, her steps into the Chantry still hesitant, uncertain. Whether because of the religious banners on the wall or the weight of her title, it’s uncertain, but Josephine meets her regardless, urgent.

“It’s good you’ve returned,” she greets them, as Cullen and Leliana strut towards the travelers. “We… heard of your encounter.”

Cassandra is mystified, the Herald similarly so. “You heard?”

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana says simply, Cullen close behind.

Cullen’s voice is strong as he looks at them both. His gaze fixes on the Herald. “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.” For a moment, he’s grateful that neither have any clear injuries or signs of weariness, but the urgency of the meeting doesn’t fade.

The Herald meets his eyes and nods, the standard greeting between the two of them. She starts to move past him, her shoulder brushing his arm. “At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now,” she says to them. Perhaps even to him, as they all fall in step.

“Do we?” Cassandra says, voice weary. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.” Cullen can’t help but think the same, the report from Val Royeaux troubling in more ways than one. Striking a Sister? Abandoning the city, the Chantry, all together?

“He has taken the Order somewhere,” Leliana says, pensive, “but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.”

A sudden rush of defensiveness floods Cullen. He finds himself addressing Leliana and the Herald, as if to stand up for his former brothers in front of them. In front of her. “We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

But it’s Josephine he doesn’t expect, and her suggestion comes in a calm dissent. “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

Cullen whirls on her, walking backwards for a moment before the steps, eyes narrowed. His years of training, the Templar influence, shades his words before he can soften them. “You think the mage rebellion is more united?” he asks, voice sharp. “It could be ten times worse!”

But the Herald, a mage herself, disagrees. She steps forward, the face of their mission, and looks to them all. “I could at least find out what the mages want.”

If anything Cassandra looks even more exhausted. “No doubt what they’ve always wanted. Support for their cause.” But Josephine’s voice echoes the Herald’s sentiment, and even with Cassandra’s warning, the Herald doesn’t hesitate.

“So it’ll be dangerous,” she states, “but I’ve been in danger since I’ve walked out of the Fade.”

A… very fair point. Cullen holds his tongue for a moment more because of it.

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave--” Cassandra starts.

Josephine is quick to rebut. “The same thing could be said about the Templars.”

Cullen’s eyes follow the discussion, before he lets out a little sigh. The ambassador had a point, whether or not he wanted to admit it. “That’s true enough. But right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to even approach the Order safely.”

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra relents, turns to the elven woman still shoulder to shoulder with her. “That’s something you can help with.”

The Herald seems to pause. It’s as if Cassandra’s suggestion has taken her by surprise, but she lifts her chin to appraise the room. “A Dalish mage, spreading the good word of the Inquisition,” she hums. “And we’re sure this won’t make us seem… desperate? Or worse?”

The tone is light, but there’s a valid concern there, and Cullen finds himself watching the Herald’s eyes. She doesn’t turn to face him, but he doesn’t miss the way her brow furrows, nor the shift in her feet. Nerves, from her, seem so foreign, already her legend larger than life.

“Not at all,” Leliana counters. “But you are the face of our cause. There is no one better placed to convince those around us of the value of the Inquisition. And the more people we get on our side, the quicker we can truly begin the fight to close the Breach.”

“But surely there are others?” she tries. The red of her tattoos shine in the torchlight, and Cullen sees every line of them, the focus on the forehead. “To help the people see the value.”

“That is what we are here for, as your advisors,” Cullen says. And when she looks up, his voice softens. He sees the concern. The fear. The hesitance. “But you, Herald… you can give this… organization a voice. A name. An understanding to the people, a cause. As the Herald of Andraste, your voice has merit and value. More than the rest of us.”

Cullen is shocked by how much he means what he says. It’s earnest, firm. But that doesn’t discount the way the reality of the situation settles over them all. An elven mage, called the Herald of Andraste by the people, and the Herald is the first to laugh. When Cullen looks over, her eyes meet his. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the little wink.

But he doesn’t blink at all, and so his cheeks pinken at the motion.

“Your Maker help us all, then, Commander.”

-

Cullen can’t help the way his jaw twitches. His days with the Templars, with the Circle, sits heavy in his head, and as he looks at Cassandra, he feels… betrayed. How can they all not see the risk?

“Never mind the problem of the mages,” he finally relents, holding his arm tight against him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes don’t look towards the Herald, but he sees the way she stiffens. “But the truth of the matter is we don’t have the manpower to take the castle, anyway. Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go get the Templars.”

He has tried his best, truly, to watch his tongue when talking about mages. He’s told her himself - there were plenty of mages he judged without cause, and plenty more who walk the world without incident. But he can’t help the way it slips out, the problem of the mages… even in front of her, a mage in her own right, and a brilliant one at that.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” Cassandra shoots back, and Cullen’s jaw tightens further. “That cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine pipes up. The letter from Alexius spread on the table before them all. “He asks for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap.”

The next sound is laughter. A little chuckle. Cullen lifts his gaze to the Herald who is very carefully avoiding his eyes now. “Isn’t that kind of him. And what does Alexius say about me?”

There is no humor in Leliana’s voice. “He is so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you.”

“Not this again,” Josephine sighs out, but Cullen can’t help reemphasizing his point.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” When he turns back to the Herald, his face softens. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts.” His voice matches it, and when it does, he finally gets her to look up at him. “I won’t allow it.”

She looks back at him, steady. Eyes narrowed at him. He feels the weight of his stance on the mages, what he knows to be true, hit him with all the force of Cassandra’s shield. As well as something else. His determination to protect her from death, as well as the cause. But she doesn’t seem moved by his urging, simply lifts her chin as Leliana steps in. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

Josephine brushes it off with a wave of her quill. Leliana’s eyes narrow at her, but she does not back down. “Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden? It would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“But the magister -” Cassandra tries.

Cullen stops her before she begins. His eyes are narrowed now. “Has outplayed us,” Cullen tells them all. It echoes in the empty space.

The final tally is three for, two against. But Cullen and Josephine’s words settle over the room like a shroud. Energy ripped away from the three of them. Bitterness and frustration in his and Josephine’s words. It’s the first time Cullen feels out of step with the Herald. The first time he feels… uncertain.

And then the Herald speaks. And she does it with fierce determination, a glint in her eye, her mage’s staff on her back. Cullen finds him just as aware of it as he is her. He’s always so aware of her.

“We can’t just give up. There has to be something we can do,” she insists.

“We cannot accept defeat now,” Cassandra agrees, looking around the room. “There must be a solution.”

The Herald pushes on. Cullen finds himself ready to interrupt before she fixes him with a glare. It is meant to silence him, and it succeeds. “Other than the main gate, there’s got to be another way into the castle. A sewer? A water course? Something.”

There’s a brief pause. From everyone in the room. Cullen can’t help the furrow to his brow - the Herald hasn’t ceased her glaring, and he feels the need to shift in his boots. “There’s nothing that I know of that would work,” he tells her, voice less antagonistic. Placating. She doesn’t seem swayed. His previous words leave a sour taste in his own mouth.

Then. Leliana speaks. “Wait.” The whole war room turns to face her, and Cullen can breathe again. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send our agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen counters, sighing. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana responds easily, addressing the Herald. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

It all clicks for Cullen, then. “While they’re focused on Lavellan, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but… it’s a huge risk.”

“Fortunately. You’ll have help.”

A new voice is heard, a surprise to all. Smug, cocky…and distinctly Northern. It makes Cullen’s jaw clench as the doors open, a tall Tevinter stepping forward, mustache curled, hair coiffed.

The dislike settles instantaneously in the commander’s soul. But even the disdain pointed at him from Cullen and Cassandra doesn't stop his stride into the room, the agent with him informing them of his presence.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” the Tevinter tells them, and his eyes fall onto the Herald with ease. Cullen’s chin lifts. Does he know who he approaches? “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

The presence of the Tevinter. Journeying into Redcliffe, surrounded by enemy mages, a man who has studied the craft for decades. The commander feels his whole body tense, glances around the room before turning to the Herald. “The plan puts you in the most danger,” he tells her. “We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

It isn’t even a moment later she responds. Voice firm. “Bold of you to assume you can order me at all, but I understand the point.” The Herald’s smirk is clear, and she looks toward the mage like she knows him. It’s almost… warm. “We’ll go to Redcliffe. Cassandra and Vivienne will join me and Dorian.”

Dorian. So she knows the man. It doesn’t ease Cullen’s suspicions - if anything it’s too convenient.

“That’s the plan?” Cullen asks, trying to help her see reason. He wants to turn to the other advisors for backup, assistance, but her eyes are already on the mage again before he can ask further.

“I, for one, can’t wait,” Pavus says. He looks to the Herald with an expectation. “What excursion could be more delightful than going to stop a Tevinter cult?”

And she, much to the commander’s surprise, laughs. It’s boisterous, and loud, and Pavus’s smirk is almost as quick as hers. “Well, then. Let’s get you some armor, Dorian.”

“What? I’ll have you know I’m wearing the finest the North has to offer.”

“How long has it been since the North has seen Southern lands? Come on. Let’s get you something that will actually hold up to a sword.”

Dorian’s laugh matches the Herald’s, and the two of them walk out together - there is more laughter down the hall as they talk.

“Tevinter cult?” Cassandra says, and her jaw twitches with her forlorn anticipation. “The Herald certainly knows how to pick her battles.”

“And her companions,” Leliana offers as well, though there is a hidden joy in her tone.

“His name is Dorian Pavus,” Cassandra fills them in, “and it seems that is… how he is all the time.”

“Our work with the Imperium is minimal,” Josephine says, “but I recognize the surname. Another Pavus is a part of the Magisterium in Tevinter. The house itself is quite powerful.”

Mage. Tevinter. Connected. A recipe for the disaster. Cullen feels his shoulders lift, almost to help his gaze follow the elf down the long stretch of hall to the rest of Haven. “Pavus,” he murmurs, voice bitter. “We must keep an eye on him.”

“If anything, the Inquisitor certainly will,” Leliana intrudes again. There is nothing to miss in her tone and this time it’s enough for Cullen to scowl. He turns his head downward to the map, to hide it, but he can’t help the feeling that Leliana’s keen eyes are on him anyway.

-

“It’s not a matter for debate,” Cullen tells the gathered council, eyes narrowed. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared.”

Josephine cuts in, tilting her chin up at him. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

It’s then the Herald approaches. Before he can stop himself, their eyes meeting prompts his anger. “What were you thinking? Turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

The Herald’s voice stays steady, even as Cullen’s grows louder. “We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do just as much damage as the demons themselves!” He can’t help his indignance, but his memories of the Circle seem to cloud his vision, his mind. He can barely think of anything else.

“Don’t you think I would know that?” Her voice seems to echo around him, clearing his thoughts. He doesn’t shake with it but feels buffeted by the sudden force, and is reminded suddenly and clearly how much of a mage the Herald truly is.

No one else seems to notice. Cassandra pushes on, her hand reaching to gently touch Cullen’s elbow as she turns to him. “I may not agree with the decision, but I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks,” the Tevinter Pavus interrupts, appearing in his sudden, loud manner. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cullen can’t help how his eyes roll in response, in part because his anger still simmered beneath the surface. Fresh and hot and vibrant, even as he reels from the Herald’s voice in his head.

Cassandra turns, slowly to face the mage, voice bordering on that same frustration and anger as Cullen at the interruption. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

The quiet agreement from the Herald settles in all of them. “I got a taste of the consequences if we fail. Let’s make sure we don’t.”

Solemn. Haunted. That is the Herald Verdanna’s response. Cullen finds himself turning to her. Not even Cassandra’s confidence seems to sway her, and he sees the way that her eyes drop as Leliana takes over.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future,’” the spymaster urges. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

Pavus sounds as unbothered as ever, even joking. But it seems to bring a smile to the Herald’s lips, something that Cullen feels a hit of something about. Something he doesn’t have time to process. Not fully, but Leliana’s words from last time settle in his head as the Tevinter speaks. “Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.”

Already Cullen sees the way Pavus is wooing her, and it makes jaw ache with tightness. It comes out in his response. Eager to please, reaching out to her, desperate to pull her back to the side of the Inquisition, not the Imperium. “One battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the War Room. Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

But when she jokes, it’s not toward him. She smiles at Pavus, instead, and it feels quite like getting slapped. “And I hoped to sit out the assault on the Breach. Take a nap. Maybe go for a walk.”

“What is it they say? ‘No rest for the wicked’?” Cullen attempts again. He can’t help the way he tries, perhaps his smirk too wide with it.

Fortunately, it’s the right thing to say, judging by the way her lip curls up for a moment. Unfortunately, it’s fleeting, and once again Pavus interrupts, unwelcome. “I’ll skip the war council. But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

No matter what his joke got, Dorian’s words get an even bigger smile from Verdanna. “Then you’re… staying.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

She grins at that, warm. Heartfelt. Cullen wonders what happened in the future, what’s happening now. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

Pavus matches her enthusiasm. “Excellent choice. But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon.”

Their back and forth sets the commander’s teeth on edge, and Cullen has to interrupt at some point, to preserve himself. But it earns him a look from the Herald as he does. “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

“I’ll assist,” Cassandra says.

“At least there’s progress,” Leliana offers, turning to the War Room, but when she looks at Verdanna, her eyes are not met. “Herald?”

There’s a pause. “Before we meet, I think I will take that walk. In a moment, Ambassador. Lady Leliana. Commander.”

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” Josephine says with understanding, and then the Herald is gone into the dusk.

The day ends and the next begins, and Cullen finds himself anxious. He supposes that he should expect days of preparation before an attempt at the Breach, but the way her eyes regarded him at their last meeting - his stomach churns with the implications.

Never mind the fact that when he did see her yesterday, it was with Pavus at her side. Joking together, if her laughter was to be believed. Avoiding Cullen’s own gaze as they walked from fire to fire, the Thedas natives avoiding the Dalish Mage and her Tevinter like the plague.

But this is the next day, and Cullen has not seen the Herald once. He finds himself walking throughout the makeshift stronghold to soothe his mind, but as he approaches the bridges with the remnants of that first battle, he finds himself looking at Verdanna.

Her eyes gaze out over the frozen lake, hair braided back to keep it from whipping in her face with the cold. Her clothes seem too thin for the weather, but he sees the fur lining just peek out over the top of her collar as he approaches.

The sun sets. Even more chill ready to settle in their bones. And yet he finds himself no longer moving, stopping at the sight of her profile.

“Commander,” she eventually calls out to him, when the tension between them grows too thick. “I suppose you found me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he tells her, taking a step back. “If it’s better for me to go--”

“No.” Her voice is a command, and he stops from turning toward Haven once more. “Stay. It’s all right. The view isn’t mine to hoard. I was just… thinking.”

He doesn’t take another step back, instead going back to neutral. Taking a step towards her seems too daring, but he does manage one toward the stone railing, leaning against it as he does, hand at his side. “There has been… a lot to think about.”

Her chuckle is dull. “Oh, Commander. You have no idea.”

There’s a new look in her eyes. As if already she has seen too much. It doesn’t take too many leaps in logic to realize what’s haunting her, especially as she fiddles with the amulet around her neck. Another pendant in her thoughts.

A few minutes pass. Silent between them. Eventually, his guilt from the day prior overwhelms him, and he stands up straight to bow his head to her. “Herald, I sincerely apologize if what I said at our last meeting offended you. Even though I left the Templars, I still - I still remember every moment of my time with them. If my disagreement upset you --”

“I appreciate you saying what you mean, Commander,” she tells him. “And I don’t mind opinions. But don’t you think that explaining the dangers of magic to a mage seems a bit… unnecessary?”

He finds himself lifting his chin. Defensive as he steps closer to where she stands against the rail. “No offense, Herald, but I believe you just came from a situation where a mage didn’t fully reckon with the dangers of his magic.”

“You know what I mean,” Verdanna snaps. Her tone is sharp, but not nearly as biting as he’s sure it could be. The exhaustion seems to undercut it. “The elves have had magic for a long time. We know how to handle it.”

“You know how to handle it,” he counters.

“I meant ‘we,’” she growls out. Pushing off of the stone wall she was leaning against. “My clan has managed it just fine for as long as I’ve been around.”

He sighs, moving to take another step towards her. “And your clan has been around for longer than you’ve been around, Lady Lavellan. But I don’t want to argue with you. Not when you’re obviously…” He pauses to find a gentle word, but finds himself spurred to speech by her glare. “Hurting. From your journey.”

Moments stretch again between them. A standoff. But instead of pushing past him, she simply sinks back against the gray stone, sighing and gazing out again over the frozen lake.

“It was… horrible, Cullen,” Verdanna finally whispers. Her head drops, and one hand lifts to cradle her face. Pushing at her brows, rubbing at her nose. “All of the people around me, withering away. Turning into red lyrium. Going mad. All because I abandoned them. I abandoned all of you.”

All of you. It echoes in his head. “Did you see me?” Cullen can’t help but ask it as he stares out over the rest of Haven with the Inquisitor. “In that future?”

“No… but it wasn’t hard to imagine what happened to the commander of the Inquisition’s forces.” Her voice is hollow, as she stares out over the tents and buildings below the Chantry. His gaze follows hers, but he doesn’t see what fascinates her about the horizon. A few heartbeats pass. “Why do you hate the mages so much?” she finally whispers, and Cullen’s gaze whips toward her.

The question catches him by surprise, though he considers that it shouldn’t. The way he’s acted - he finds himself only able to focus on the great doors to Haven. “I don’t hate the mages. I know it seems I do, but it’s not the mages themselves, but what magic can bring with it. I’ve seen too much destruction to turn a blind eye.”

She lets out a small hum. “So why am I different? You didn’t hesitate to lead the forces of the Inquisition. Behind a Dalish mage as your Herald.”

There are so many reasons, Cullen thinks, looking at her. The light of the sun meets the light of the Breach, the sickly green glow colliding with the warm orange light. It makes the markings on her forehead shine. Her eyes that disarming vibrant green. The Anchor. Andraste herself. The Rifts across the country, the inspiration she brings. So many reasons why Verdanna is different, and yet he finds himself fighting warmth in his face. “You’re in control,” he settles on, voice soft. “And I know what it looks like when someone… isn’t.”

Her laugh is hollow as she runs her hand along her staff. Her thin fingers send sparks along the grip, crackles of purple that makes the hairs on Cullen’s arm stand on end under his metal armor. “I suppose I understand that,” she hums. “But the future of a whole group of people can’t be dependent on how you’re feeling day-to-day, Commander. I need to know that you’ll treat these people with kindness… abominations or no.” But any and all frustration seems to wither in her throat, and she simply sighs. Rolls her jaw. “At any rate… these people are in our camp now, and I’m going to ensure they’re taken care of. I expect my advisors to want the same.”

“I would expect no less of you,” Cullen responds, turning to face her. And when her eyes meet his in mild surprise, he can’t help the way his face flushes. “Or the Inquisition. You’ve started this journey by showing a lot of kindness to all you meet. That won’t be lost on the mages, or the rest of our forces. You show a grace that many don’t possess, including myself, and that’s -- you’re…”

There’s a pause. A small pause, but heavy. Awkward, now, thanks to Cullen’s ever so quick tongue. He tries to rectify it, but the words come out stuttering. “I’m - ahem. Blast, I’m sorry, Your Worship. For what I said before and… the mess I’m making of things now.”

She can barely look at him as she stands straight once more, but speaks anyway, interrupting. “Don’t be… I appreciate the words. I just - I saw what happens if we fail, Cullen. Who I lose. And in that future, mage or apostate, Templar or bandit, it doesn’t matter. It all crumbles before this… ‘Elder One’.”

He follows her lead. Lifts up from the stone. But instead of pulling away, letting her walk towards the Chantry alone, he finds himself reaching for her hand. Catching it. The one the mark rests in.

“I - I meant what I said in there,” he tells her. Watches as those brilliant green eyes lift to meet his. But his grip doesn’t falter with her gaze, and he makes sure she’s listening. “None of this matters without your mark. Without you. There’s more than one reason you’re in the War Room with us, Verdanna. You are more than your mark.”

There it is. Her little smile. The curl of her lips, the scar on them that almost, if he goes a little mad with it, matches his own. He wonders how she got it. Wonders how many more she has, how many more she’ll get on this journey.

But for now, he gets her smile, which slowly grows to a grin. The squeeze of her fingers, the warmth of her hand and the mark.

“Thank you, Cullen.” Her hand drops from his (too soon, his traitorous mind shouts), but he savors the memory of warmth while he can. And before she turns to walk away, she chuckles. “More than one reason.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Well, you said there’s a reason I’m in the room where it all happens,” she offers, grin teasing now. “I figured it was just because of my pretty face, but with the Mark and my presence --”

Cullen’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. “I - I did say -- but I didn’t mean to imply --”

That earns him a laugh. Low and warm, the same warmth of the Anchor, of her hand in his. The same warmth that seems to settle low in his belly as he looks at her face holding such joy. “I was hoping you implied, Commander.” And with a wink, she turns away, and he feels the color of his face surge as he watches her stroll towards the chantry. “See you back in the War Room, yes?”

At first he is simply left behind. He watches as she waves her hand, and she is suddenly pushed across the bridge toward the edge, all that closer to Haven. Another blink, and she is gone. He, however, stands on the bridge toward the Breach, with his mouth a little agape.

The chantry. Oh, Maker. He’ll have to sprint to make it…

With another few curses under his breath, he begins the hike.

Back in the War Room, indeed.

-

He stands with the other advisors, all of their gazes turned towards one mark on the table. One mark. One focus. The Breach.

“It’s time,” Cassandra says, looking amongst them. Looking lastly at the Herald. She stands next to her, close, eyes narrowed as she leans forward to press her palms on the table. “Are you prepared?”

“Our army is strong. Sound,” Verdanna murmurs. She seems to squint at the Breach, and Cullen watches as she clenches and unclenches her hand. He wonders if it aches. “I just wonder -”

Leliana lifts her hand. “The scouts have already searched ahead. What they see is reassuring, and the Breach awaits your arrival. Closing it now is the right way to go.”

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald. The best of our soldiers are ready. But you must be sure you’re ready for the assault on the Breach,” Cullen says to her, tilting his head as she looks up at him. He clears his throat for a moment, gesturing toward the map once more. “We cannot know how you’ll be affected.”

At last, Verdanna nods. Something seems to be hidden in her eyes, something Cullen wants to squint at himself. But when she stands, her shoulders pull back, and she steps back to twirl her staff, once, then twice. “All right. I’ll get Dorian, and the Bull. We’ll go before the sun sets… arrive when it’s dark.”

Everyone nods. Cassandra gestures to the door, and Verdanna looks up at her. There’s a silent moment, and then the Herald shakes her head.

“In a moment, Cassandra. I’ll come gather you all when we’re about to leave.”

She nods. Cullen blinks, and the two of them are alone, the War Room deathly quiet.

He takes a step around the table. Starts to move toward the door himself while she looks at the map. He figures it’s another moment where she prefers to be alone, a moment where she should tackle it herself. There’s drills to run, things to prepare on his end. After a moment, though, he hears her clear her throat, turns and sees her looking at him with that same narrowed, pinched gaze.

And then he realizes.

She’s nervous.

He pauses, at the door. Still reaches for where he can push. “If you want, Verdanna, I can give you some time. The Inquisition can. We don’t need to go today. We can… wait.”

“Would you wait?” she asks, standing up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. When he pauses again, she smirks. “That’s a no.”

“I think the sooner we close the Breach, the better. However we can,” he tells her. “With whoever we can.”

That earns him a little smile. It makes his heart stop, with how bright it suddenly is. She laughs a little too, and he realizes a bit too late that it makes him stand straighter. “You mean me,” she responds.

“I certainly don’t mean anyone else.”

“I’ll tell Cassandra. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled about being discredited so easily,” she teases him, and he feels his cheeks go pink. It seems to always happen with her. She laughs, and he laughs, and for a moment her pinched brows relax. She looks at ease when she does that, and the freckles from her sunned features suddenly stand out on her tanned skin. But as soon as it disappears, it comes back, and he suddenly has the urge to lift a hand, push her brows back with his thumb -

“Cullen?” she says. He realizes Verdanna’s been asking him something, and he finds his cheeks once more flushing. Always around her. Why is it always around her? “Is everything all right?”

“I apologize, Herald,” he says back. Blinks a couple of times to look at her more clearly. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you think we’re ready.” He has a feeling the “we” is hypothetical, as it probably was the first time she asked him.

“I do,” he tells her, firmly. Moves closer to stand next to her. “I think you’re more than ready. I think now is the time, and with you there, we have as great a chance as we’ll ever have.”

“I said we,” she tells him, a little quirk of her lips.

He reaches to squeeze her anchor as it’s flat on the table. The briefest of touches. “I know. But I said you, Herald, and I mean it.”

She lifts up fully. Faces him. It feels the closest they’ve ever stood, especially with her discerning eyes. They seem to rake him over the coals, seem to burn him with how deep they look into his heart, and just like that, the feeling is gone. He wonders if he’s been bewitched, knows the answer to that question even as he asks it. Perhaps she is bewitching… but it’s just because she’s Verdanna. “I’ll have you behind me, won’t I, Commander?” she finally asks.

“Always,” he responds immediately. He doesn’t know why that of all things seems to ease her, but… then again, maybe he does.

“Then,” she murmurs, turning to the War Room door with ease, chin lifting as her hand brushes her braid back behind her ear, “what are we waiting for? To arms, Cullen.”

“To arms, Herald,” he whispers, and just like that, she is gone again, in the blink of an eye.

-

There is joy, there is laughter. There is dancing, and singing and everything that can be praised about Verdanna is. There is hyperbole, and teasing, and suddenly everyone seems to be smiling. Even Cassandra has something akin to a smirk on her face, one that Varric does not hesitate to point out.

At Haven, the delight only grows, as those who were there fill in those who were not. The tavern is full of those taking a drink or two or many, many more, and Cullen walks through them with a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt since this all started. But with every step, there’s one face he seeks, one he doesn’t find, not in the chaos of the hold.

He hopes she is celebrating. Thinks that she deserves it, along with the best rest she can get. If he finds her, he plans to convince her of that. But there’s a sadness in him, a selfish one. One that wonders if after this, Verdanna will need his counsel at all. Wonders if she’ll want it, or if those… feelings he’s been harboring for too long will simply need the universal remedy of time.

And then the horns blow. The bells ring. Any other thoughts vanish as he whips his head around to the sources. Some yelling from beyond the walls. A scout rushes to him.

“Ser, there’s an enemy force approachin’!” she yells over the noise. “It’s coming right for us! More than our numbers, and with monsters in their midst, and no banners to report!”

“No banners?” he asks her, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“I triple asked, Commander.” Her voice is slightly panicked, and he swallows.

“All right. Report to Leliana, go!” With a turn towards those below, he gestures toward the trebuchets. “To arms!” he yells out to his men. “To arms, brethren, prepare yourselves!”

“Cullen?” he hears behind him, whips his head around. It’s Verdanna, and he knows the rest he hopes for her won’t come just yet.

“One watchguard reporting,” he says quickly, turning to her and then Cassandra. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks, but Cullen just shakes his head.

“None.”

Suddenly the door is slammed upon. Cullen draws his sword, but the panicked voice behind it insists it won’t come in. He wants to reach out to stop Verdanna, but she moves forward to open it just as he steps out to stop her.

It’s a massacre outside, a dozen bodies dead in front of the gates. All with armor Cullen recognizes, as if he sees it through a fog. So familiar, and yet…

“I’m Cole, and I came to warn you,” a voice says. Cullen blinks, and before him and Verdanna a young man stands. His hat covers his eyes, and Cullen lifts his sword as he approaches the Herald. “To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What is this?” Verdanna asks, lifting her hand to stop Cullen. “What’s going on?”

“The templars come to kill you” is the only answer. A sudden rage fills the commander, indignation as he looks to Verdanna with bewilderment. The armor is seen more clearly now, a defiled Templar’s garb.

“Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” he shouts, and the Herald shakes her head in shock.

“I don’t -”

The man called Cole simply shakes his head, and Cullen sees eyes paler than moonlight peek out at him. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One.” He whirls to Verdanna, who takes a step back. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

“His mages?” Her voice seems to shake with something like frustration, but Cole shakes his head again and points up and out.

“There.”

Suddenly fog at the top lifts. Cullen squints to the peak of a ridge, and sees a man he knows all too well. It makes his stomach churn for a moment, eyes that seem so hollow, and behind him, the fog collects to form… someone… something.

“I know that man,” Cullen tells them both, voice soft. “But this Elder One -”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole warns.

The forces are clear now. Cullen sees what the scout saw, thousands of soldiers marching towards them in formation. No banners to be seen, simply red detailing that glows with an unholy light. One that makes his blood chill in his veins.

Verdanna’s voice brings his gaze back to the two in front of him. “Cullen! Give me a plan to help the people of Haven! Anything you have!”

He looks out toward the forces again, and feels his jaw click as he rolls it. “Haven - it’s no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster - him - then we must control the battle. Use the trebuchets, hit that force with everything you absolutely can.”

She nods. Her gaze sharpens, and he hears the sound of people running up behind him. Soldiers, mages, the team around Verdanna as she stands at the ready.

“Mages!” he calls out, no hesitation as he looks toward the forces below. “Protect the people! You have sanction to engage them! That man will not make it easy, but this is for your lives!”

There’s shouting. There’s yelling. Cullen wields his sword again, and points it forward. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives, for all of us! To arms! Attack!”

But it’s not enough. Cullen watches the trebuchets rocket off their loads, watches an avalanche swarm the soldiers below. But from above, there’s a new fight, a damned dragon circling their heads and blowing its breath at their forces.

In the end, they slam the gates closed, and Cullen begins leading people away from the entryway. “We need everyone back to the Chantry. It’s the only building that will hold against that beast. At this point just make them work for it.”

“I’m going to clear the camp!” Verdanna calls to him, and when he whirls to face her, his eyes are wide.

“Herald -”

But there’s no fear in her eyes. Only resolution. “Keep leading the others, I’m going to clear the camp,” she states again, voice firm. Dorian nods behind her, along with the Bull and Cassandra. A sudden flash of light comes from her staff and surrounds the party she brings with her. “Go, Cullen! While there’s still time!”

“Be safe,” he says immediately, but her nod does not reassure him.

“Go, commander.”

There’s moments that pass him by next. Dragging a soldier through the doors with his screams of pain in his ear. The sound of swords hitting against his own. Whimpers from people in the depths of the stone walls, echoing around. It’s only when Cullen breaks out of it to the first floor, to see Verdanna once more through the doors, that time seems to slow.

“Herald!” he calls out, rushing towards her. He scans her body, sees no injuries, and manages a breath of relief for that small mercy. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” the strange boy says, eyes up at Cullen and Verdanna.

Cullen feels frustration overwhelm him once again. “I don’t care what it looks like,” he snaps. “It has cut a path for that damned army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

But once again the boy speaks, and the commander turns to him with a glare. His words are anything but quaint - these strike fear at the heart of him. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“If you know why he wants me, just say it!” Verdanna tells him, eyes narrowed. But the boy simply turns to Roderick, who gazes at them with pained eyes.

“I don’t. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters. But he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t… like him.”

It’s bizarre, and disorienting. “You don’t like-?!” It makes Cullen’s hands clench in fury as he looks at him before turning back to the Herald. The truth is plain in only his face, and he feels his throat close up with it. “Verdanna… there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide -”

Verdanna just stares at him. He sees the dots connect in her head as well, watches as she takes a brief shuddering breath. “Cullen. We’re overrun. To hit this enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“I know.” His hands reach for hers. Hold them tightly in his grip. “But we’re dying. We can decide, here and now, how we fall. Many don’t get that choice.”

She just stares at him. Not breaking eye contact. There’s something there, something that travels through the both of them as he grips her fingers. He opens his mouth, to say anything else, but she just shakes her head, and in that moment he knows she feels it, too.

“Commander -”

Then, the faintest sound from the boy cuts through their thoughts, as if it’s meant to. He turns to face the back of the Chantry, then to face the chancellor again. “Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Their eyes turn to face the man. He stares up at both of them, eyes distant even as he looks at their faces. “There… is a path… You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made - made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me - Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” she asks him. Their hands are still gripping each other by their fingers, clinging for the moment to what they can.

“It was whim that I walked the path… I did not mean to start - it was overgrown. Now with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… Herald...”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen whispers. Verdanna adjusts to face him again, eyes wide.

“If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident,” Roderick finally gasps out. His eyes open once more, now seeing, it seems, the woman before him. Cullen’s eyes widen, as Verdanna’s fingers squeeze in shock, one hand dropping from his, as Roderick stares with something beyond his hatred. “You could be more.”

“Cullen,” she murmurs. Turns to him, her commander. “What about it? Could it - will it work?”

“Possibly, if he - if he shows us the path.” But then a new thought takes hold, and he pulls her closer, voice softening. “What of your escape?”

In horror, he watches as she does not answer.

Her fingers drop from his. He takes a step towards her as she looks at the doors to the Chantry. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” he murmurs. But she does not face him again.

“Inquisition. Commander. Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry,” she calls to those behind her. And at Cullen’s reluctant nod, they answer, moving with haste.

“I could go with you,” he says faintly, but her head shakes.

“No. No, you couldn’t.”

He doesn’t hear what Roderick says to the Herald, barely sees him as he watches her movements. Dorian, the Bull, and Cassandra step forward once more, and Cullen realizes with horror what waits for them as well. What waits for all of them.

There’s not much he can do. He orders a few men, but they’re more than willing to go with her as well. It’s something, to watch their devotion, something that both stirs his heart and makes his stomach turn with the knowledge that they will not be returning to his command. Will not be returning at all.

And her… the Lady Lavellan, the woman of the Inquisition. She looks at him one last time, nods in thanks for the men.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line,” he tells her.

“How will I know?” she asks, and he nods toward where the chancellor and the others are going.

“We’ll send a signal up. Towards the sky.”

But when he looks back, she is gone. The doors to the chantry are open, and she stands silhouetted in reddened moonlight. There is a rush of clouds above her head, and he watches her and Dorian lift their staffs to the sky, a storm brewing between the both of them.

“Let that thing hear you, Verdanna,” he insists, as she takes her step forward. When she looks back, he has to blink. Her eyes seem to shine. “If we are to have a chance, if you are, you have to let the Archdemon hear you.”

But it seems only he knows what he truly asks her. Because as she leaves his final request goes unspoken. Let me hear you. At least one last time.

The doors close with a final thud, one that shakes the place. Cullen turns to see his men, before pointing towards the path that Roderick has begun to carve out for them. “Go!” he shouts, and they sprint away.

He manages one last look toward the doors. A last ditch effort to see her turn back. But he knows even as he does that she would never do such a thing… and knows himself enough to know that he would never disobey her orders.

-

The wind howls. And with it, a voice. It’s so faint it seems to be beyond their reach, but the breeze carries it to eager ears.

“... Leliana…”

Cullen stops. There are footsteps that crunch in the snow, alongside his own, but he lifts a hand.

“... Pavus. Pavus, do you hear that?”

Others stop, too. The wind continues to roar.

“What, Commander?” Pavus asks Cullen. “What is it?”

Again. And again. Cullen lifts his hand higher. “Quiet! Everyone!”

“Josephine… Solas… p-please…”

“That. In the wind. Is that a… a voice, Cassandra?” he asks, but the faces around him simply stare.

“Commander,” Cassandra whispers. The chill sinks into their bones bit by bit.

“D-Duh-Dorian… the Iron B-Bull… B-Buh-Blackwall…”

“There! That! Do you hear it? Coming from the pass!” His eyes whip around wildly in the direction, and he swears if he squints, he sees the faintest glow from… from a familiar staff...

“C-Cullen… Cullen, please.” It’s so clear now, so clear that he’s sure it’s coming from above. And there, stumbling forward, singed and aching, clutching her arms to her chest -

“There, Cassandra! Look, it’s the Herald!”

“Thank Andraste… thank the Maker!” Cassandra stumbles forward for a second up, before looking towards the commander and turning back. “Go, Cullen -”

His feet carry him forward, and through the snow he stomps, strides as long as he can manage. There she is, there she is. “I’m going! Go back to the camp, get a healer! Maker preserve her, just a little while longer.”

It has to be the Maker. How else does he arrive at her side so fast? “Gods… Cullen… Cullen?” she asks, and he nods frantically before he can manage to speak.

“It’s me! It’s me, Herald, I’m here. Dorian, a potion, anything.” The mage lifts his hand, produces a flame, and the warmth seems to make her shiver harder as she squints at the sudden brightness.

“D-Dorian… Cullen? Can you hear me?” the Herald whispers. He hears her voice again, as clear as day, and one hand lifts to cup her face. A pinched brow, one he smooths aside with his thumb.

“I hear you, Verdanna,” he whispers back, and feels tears drip down his nose and into his furs as he gazes at her. In a sudden movement, he sweeps her ever closer, kisses her forehead at the center of her tattoos, and presses his nose to her skin. She is alive. She is alive and in his arms, and all he can do is thank the Maker above. “Thank the Maker, I’m here. I hear you.”

-

There’s no table to stand in front of, and so they gather in front of a haphazard tent, the wind from the hells whipping through camp. In fact, there is no War Room at all, their solace in Haven left buried beneath snow and rock and ice, the Inquisition as refugees among the northernmost wilderness.

Every night, Cullen’s dreams haunt him. But now, new scenes flash in his mind. Their foe, named and armed and ready, his army stretching across the lands. Row after row of corrupted soldiers, mind after mind turned toward Corypheus’s will.

The Herald’s eyes bright and vibrant - up until she is buried in snow.

He isn’t sure he’ll ever tell Verdanna what their escape looked like. How trudging through the cold was always lengthened a few hours more so he could bring a struggling few with him to search. He’ll certainly never say how finding her slumped in the cold was a prayer answered.

But now, there is no Herald either. She sleeps, as she should, to rest and recover, while the advisors begin the newest battle.

Arguments.

He can’t help the way his voice rings out, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra’s so-called advice making his frustration mount. “What would you have me tell them?” he says to them, hands lifted in question. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

Cassandra’s eyes flash in the fire, though Cullen suspects there is much more behind the look she throws his way. “We cannot simply ignore this,” she retorts, voice sharp. “We must find a way.”

“And who put you in charge?” he fires back. Certainly not the Herald, motionless in her tent. Recovering, as she needs. Because Cullen couldn’t - the Inquisition couldn’t - protect her. “Without a consensus we have nothing.”

Josephine’s pleading cuts through their voices, looking between the both of them. “Please, we must use reason. WIthout the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

Like the ruin of Haven didn’t do that already. Cullen brushes her off. “That can’t come from nowhere!”

Leliana rises to Josephine’s defense, and Cullen can’t help his step back as Leliana pushes forward to meet his anger. “She didn’t say it could!”

But it’s Cassandra who silences them, voice tight. “Enough! This is getting us nowhere!”

Cullen’s scoff leaves his mouth without a second to lose. “Well. We’re agreed on that much.” He doesn’t wait to see the looks on their faces, simply ducks his head and curses to himself.

This is how it is without her, he can’t help but think. Four people, too stubborn in their own ways to see the way out. The commander pulls back from them, turns away, letting his furs shield him from the howl of the wind, the chill it brings him. Hours upon hours of fighting, bickering, biting... Nothing gets done. The world around them crumbles.

But her. When she stands with them… they see where they need to go. What needs to happen. Who needs to fall. Who shall stand with them against the powers of the breach.

When Verdanna speaks, the world listens.

Cullen listens.

He looks up at the unfamiliar sky. Pushes a hand through his hair. Is this what the Maker wants to reduce them to? Is this the future of the Inquisition? Infighting and arguing until they wear themselves out. His weariness is shared by Cassandra, huddled over her map, by Josephine and Leliana, leaning against each other in the cold.

And then… he hears it. Mother Giselle’s voice, low and clear and sweet.

Shadows fall, and hope has fled

Steel your heart, the dawn will come

If the camp could fall more still, it does. Eyes lift. Ears prick. Hearts open.

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.

Leliana’s voice is next. A sweet, high lilt, vulnerable to the world all at once. More bodies stand to rise, and soon, a guard beside Cullen himself is singing with the two women.

The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far

Keep to the stars, the dawn will come.

Voices lift and raise. The song ascends to the heavens. Soon Cullen’s voice joins in, but he can barely hear his own sound over the unison, unity of them all.

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon

The dawn will come

Templars. Mages. Soldiers. Spies. Orlais. Ferelden. All for one thing. All for one woman. The final verse comes as one begins to kneel, and another, and another.

Bare your blade, and raise it high

Stand your ground, the dawn will come

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon

The dawn will come

The dawn will come

The shift is not subtle. The eerie silence over the camp shatters, the laughter of the people echoing around him. Cullen sees smiles on faces, hands clasped together in reunion and joy.

It’s the wind that carries the words to him. Mother Giselle to the Herald.

“An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”

He lifts his eyes, and he sees Verdanna, her name more in his thoughts than her title, stand in the flickering light of the flame. Sees the crowd gather round her, look at her, kneel before her. And then, her eyes meet his. The truth washes over him like a rising tide, and he is powerless to it.

He is her blade. She is his cause. And if the dawn does come, and if the world they live in is reborn… it will be her doing.

He lifts his arm to her. Crosses it over his chest, bows his head. And when he lifts his gaze once more, her eyes pierce him to his core.

“An army needs a cause. An Inquisition is no different,” he tells Cassandra, as the dawn does indeed rise. “Our cause is hers, is it not? She is our Inquisitor.”

“Because of her decisions. What she has done,” the Seeker agrees. Voice low. “She leads.”

Cullen nods. Thinks to himself once more. Sees her face clear as day, even as she turns away to face the crowd, to walk among them.

Finds his mind wandering as much as his heart. As to what it means… to be her commander. Realizing that he’s hers… in more ways than one.

She is our Inquisitor. She leads. And I follow.

-

Verda -

No.

The Inquisitor calls them to the new war room in Skyhold.

In a formal setting it’s required. A new rule for himself after the lines seemed to blur. But he can’t seem to help it, even in the place where their plans are made. It took so long to bring it together, and still piles of bricks impede their journey to this new war room, but no ceremony seems to insist upon her title. Not when she smiles so brightly at the use of her name.

He made the same mistake in a letter to his sister. Her name so easily on his lips that putting it to paper was nothing. And Mia, quick on the take, caught it instantly. Any reassurance of his survival brushed aside in favor of his slip, curious about why he would toss aside formality for this… woman.

But the fact of the matter is he can’t help it. It’s just so easy to resort to the ease and friendliness, the way he wants to say her name and kiss his off of her lips as a greeting. The kissing is the newest part of the revelation, one that makes his collar tight every time he thinks it. Ever since finding her body in the mountains, watching her collapse into the snow, something has shifted between the two of them, and he can’t help the way he stands at full attention when the door to the war room opens.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen can’t help the way his voice sounds so upbeat, her presence immediately lifting his spirits. He does his best to pretend like it’s simply the inspiration of her valor, her courage, her spirit! “We were…”

Josephine’s retort is immediate. “Eagerly awaiting your presence. Some of us, more than others.”

His face can’t help the way it flushes a deep red. “I wasn’t - I mean, I was…” His sigh is, and he can’t help the way his eyes fall upon her. Glancing up from the statuettes on the table. “We have work to do.”

It’s almost a plea, and surely they all hear it. He can tell that the twitch of Leliana’s lips is a meager attempt to hide her delight at Josephine’s words.

“We sure do,” Verdanna teases, and he can’t help but avoid her gaze as she grins. “To work.”

The weight of the war table settles over them shortly after - unfortunately much lightheartedness gets pushed aside with the knowledge of red lyrium sources looming over them. But he can’t help the way that he lingers over the table, bends over to spread the map out flat at the corners as he hears Josephine and Leliana’s laughter echo down the hallway, as his focus shifts to the way that Verdanna stands with her arms across her chest.

“You’re quite cute when you blush, Commander,” she tells him, a little smile and tilt of her head. He ducks his head with the words.

“I try not to make a habit of it,” he returns, lifting one hand to rub it over the back of his neck. Her chuckle makes his chest warm. “Doesn’t exactly inspire courage and confidence.”

“A shame.” He sees her legs through the multitude of figurines, watches as she walks along the edge of the table until she stands beside him. Leans on the dark wood, her arm brushing his. “Were you? Eagerly awaiting my arrival, that is.”

“Of course,” he answers, and the ease of it surprises him. He looks up at her, green of her gaze hitting him alongside the sudden clarity. And her little laugh after he says it, bright and joyful, immediately puts a smile on his face. “I always… enjoy our time together. Fleeting though it may be.”

He can’t help but wonder if it’s a blush on her cheeks, that travels up to the tips of her ears. But no matter what it is, she radiates warmth and it’s because of him.

“I do, too, Commander,” Verdanna replies, and for a moment he settles into the touch at his side, smiles and bites his lower lip before glancing toward the door once more.

She seems nervous. It’s strange, because ever since Haven’s demise her steps have been so assured. And yet she fidgets before him, fingers fiddling with her belt.

“Verdanna,” he says, but she’s quick to interrupt.

“I never thanked you, Commander,” she says in a rush, and he blinks at the sudden ferocity. “I mean - I realized that, this morning, as I assessed what we managed to save from Haven.”

He blinks again, taken aback. “For what, my lady?”

Once again her inability to meet his eyes startles him. There’s no more stammering, but she still seems nervous. “For saving me. At the pass. At Haven. You… heard me. Somehow, at least, that’s what Dorian said.”

That makes his cheeks blush. Pavus was there, when they found the Inquisitor in the snow. He realizes then, that the magister saw the whole display, and his cheeks are matching hers in their… pinkness. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.”

“It was -” he starts, but there’s so much to say and he doesn’t know how to say it. How to even speak, in that moment. It was nothing, but at the same time… wasn’t it everything? After a moment to clear his throat, he starts again. “I told you that I’d be there for you,” he eventually gets out. “Behind you, always. That didn’t stop after the Breach closed. And it… it won’t ever stop, if I have anything to say about it.”

She looks up at him, then, green eyes so wide they remind him of the dinner plates that Josephine lays out for the visiting dignitaries. She seems shocked by what he says, but he means every word. More than perhaps any other vow he’s spoken. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t thank you. You all saved my life, Cullen. You did.”

He remembers how tightly they clung to each other before she went to face the person they now know as Corypheus, remembers how their fingers intertwined as the world around them seemed to shatter. Now, with the world holding together, at least for a moment he craves that touch once more.

So he takes the leap. Reaches forward, to grab her fingers, and as he does she immediately responds. Grips his hand, squeezes it tight, and he feels what he felt before. An understanding. A knowledge.

Dammit, he feels her.

“I’d do it all again,” he murmurs. “In a heartbeat. And if I were in your place -”

“I’d do the same,” she whispers, and his eyes widen like hers did before.

Suddenly she smiles. Drops his hand, but keeps the touch lingering. “Don’t look so surprised, Cullen,” she says. “Do you really doubt my willingness?”

“Not at all,” he insists, horrified. But then she starts laughing, and he realizes that her tone is teasing. He blushes, lifts a hand to scratch at his neck, and ducks his gaze. “We must - I-I mean, I must be going. There are… things to attend to.”

“Of course,” she says. “But… we’ll see each other again.”

“Whenever you would like.”

She chuckles again, low and warm. It makes the hairs on his arms raise at the rush it gives him. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you later today, Commander. If you’ll let me.”

And in that moment, there’s not a single reason on his mind for him to ever say no to something like that.

“My time is yours, Lady Inquisitor. And whenever you need me… I’m yours, too.”

-

Skyhold offers more than just a new place to lay Cullen’s head. It offers a new beginning.

Seeing Verdanna later means more than just another passing chess game. Means more than glances across the courtyard, or banter in the war room. It means her coming to his quarters with a purpose, and finally a damned kiss on the battlements. It means stolen moments once the doors close, finally kissing those smirks off of her face, lingering doubt being pushed aside in favor of lingering touches.

But even as the Inquisition grows with every passing day, the truth of the matter is that Skyhold, and its relative safety, still has a threat that looms. Cullen sees the way that Redcliffe haunts her, moments of peace interrupted by a sudden grip on a bannister, a fierce conversation around the roundtable. She reminds them all what looms, the overwhelming threat of an empire crumbling to pieces, and soon (too soon, too damned soon), they’re once again in the war room.

“We’re all in agreement, Inquisitor. We have to reach the empress before Corypheus. The only question is: how?” Cullen tells Verdanna as she struts in, hand gripping her staff.

Josephine glances toward Cullen. “We know how. I have our way in. The real question is: where is our enemy hiding?” The commander doesn’t miss the fond look that Leliana gives the ambassador, pride clear on her features. He also doesn’t miss the confidence that seems to fill Josephine. This is her element. “At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the Empress is holding a ball. Absolutely everyone will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Duke Gaspard and the Ambassador Briala.”

“The assassin must be hiding within one of these factions,” Leliana tells them all, and the wheels start turning.

They discuss all the players. Gaspard. Briala. Celene herself. Ideas and conspiracies whirling around them, the reality settling on top of them all like a cloud.

“What better place for an assassin to hide than the empress’s own household?” Leliana finally sighs out, her brow pinched.

Too many people to name float into the picture. The elves with Briala, the soldiers with Gaspard, and the throne all for Celene. Cullen watches as Verdanna lets out a sigh of exasperation, unable to help leaning forward as she rubs at her own forehead.

“Do we need to go to the peace talks? The empress must have a personal guard. We could just warn her that she’s in danger.”

“We’ve made the attempt, but…” Josephine’s eyes dart to Leliana, who scowls.

“It seems that our messages never reached her. Someone intercepted them,” the spymaster admits, and Verdanna gives a short nod. The disappointment isn’t lost - usually Leliana can do the next to impossible.

Cullen speaks up, to remind, reassure. He leans forward on the table again, meeting Verdanna’s eyes with his own. “It is better that we don’t leave this to chance. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, nowhere is safe.”

There’s a beat, and then a small sigh. “We shouldn’t waste any time, then,” Verdanna mutters. “Let’s go to the Winter Palace.”

And with that it’s decided. But Cullen watches the choice do little to ease the Inquisitor’s worry. Josephine and Leliana help her figure out some of the logistics, who to bring, who to leave home (“my lady, if you must insist on Sera, we can figure out… other arrangements for her”), and some early lessons on what to expect at the grand Winter Palace. Figurines are moved around, messages written out for the allies who will be in attendance. There's a plan to follow, though, and then the whirlwind of activity leaves behind an exhausted Inquisitor and fresh worry lines on Cullen’s features.

“You don’t seem reassured by their crash course,” he tells her, as Josephine and Leliana leave the space that he is quick to fill beside her. “Not eager to mingle with the nobility?”

“I don’t think the nobility is particularly eager to mingle with me,” Verdanna counters, sighing as she pushes away from the table and moves to the back of the room. Her eyes gaze out the tall windows. “But, to answer the question, not in the slightest.”

Their privacy allows him to take the opportunity to comfort. Wrapping an arm around her waist already feels like second nature, and he leans in to kiss her cheek, chaste. “Well, we’re on the same page on that point. I don’t think I have a jacket that fits well enough for an Orlesian party.”

Her hum seems to echo in the empty room, and her lips twitch upward. But it falters, and Cullen can’t help his little frown as she turns from him. “You’re telling me. I don’t think anything I wear would gain me any sort of approval given the natural accessories.”

At first, Cullen considers her tattoos. The deep red coloring is warm against the cool brightness of her eyes. He finds himself reaching for them without thinking, tracing her forehead. But when she shakes her head, the self-flagellation clicks, and his fingers drop.

“Your ears,” he murmurs. Heart shattering at her worn look towards him.

“Among other things. Josephine was very clear,” Verdanna tells him. “I’m already starting off on the wrong foot because of my heritage. Being Dalish, an elf, and a mage simply ensures that I’m going to be clawing my way upward in their eyes.” Her laugh is hollow. “Even as the Inquisitor I’m going to get called knife-ear. Potentially to my face.”

A sudden surge of anger fills Cullen at that prospect. Feels himself scowling at the thought. “Oh, no. They’ll simply whisper it. And wish they hadn’t,” he mutters. Her laughter dissipates it quickly, however, especially as her hand lifts to settle on his arm.

“Down, boy. No need to defend anyone’s honor and spark a whole new war. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but I wish you didn’t have to be.” He turns to face her completely, suddenly hit with the danger. “There will be assassins. Enemies on all sides, posing as friends. And there’s nothing we can do but run towards the danger and hope.”

Her gaze softens a bit. “I know it feels counterintuitive. But we’re doing the right thing. And you will be there, Commander, along with other friends.” After a moment of letting him mull over that good news, she seems to not be able to help a smile.

“What is it?” Cullen asks, voice pitched low. A bit of concern still seeps through, unable to be helped, but that quickly fades at her fingers gently tug on his furs.

“Well, there is a plus side to all of this,” she finally says, turning back to the window and leaning against his shoulder, watching the sun crawl between clouds.

“And what is that?”

“I do think that I’ll enjoy seeing what formal wear Josephine can scrounge up for you. Perhaps something with… strong shoulders.”

Cullen’s eyes narrow, but there’s something playful in his tone. Playful. In the war room. Who is he becoming? “Oh, don’t think for a moment you’re getting out of anything. Our dear ambassador wants us to match.”

Her laugh echoes, and he feels her fingers scratch at the back of his neck. It makes him shiver. “Just us two? Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“And fuel for egregious gossip,” Cullen confirms, but his voice goes a little… strained. “Not to worry, though. The whole landing party will be fitted in the finest Antivan tailoring. A proper uniform.”

There’s a sudden moment, when he’s very aware of how close she really is. How her breath is now hot on his ear, and her lips barely brush the edge of his cheek. “Well, I’ll be delighted to see you in a proper uniform, Commander.”

And just like that, she turns away from him. He whips to face her, but her fingers are waving in a cheerful goodbye, a look over her shoulder simply dastardly.

“See you in Halamshiral!” she sings, and then with a flourish of her hand, the door opens and closes behind her.

When he can breathe again, his next stop is his quarters.

-

The teasing does not unfortunately come out of nowhere. Cullen has seen the just short of gleeful looks Leliana has shot him as he passes her in the stronghold, the whispers of his impression on Halamshiral from visiting nobles with Josephine. It makes his jaw clench every time it’s mentioned, especially when he found so many creative ways to refuse the guests at the Winter Palace, out of worry for Verdanna and utter disdain for their company.

So when Josephine mentions it in passing during a Council meeting, their heads bent over a map as they decide how to allocate the resources of the Inquisition, Cullen automatically scowls.

“I have requests for information on your lineage from a few interested parties at the Winter Palace.” He can hear the shuffle of papers, and it seems to hit a particularly sharp point in his head. A headache brews.

“Andraste preserve me,” he scoffs, shaking his head. He doesn’t bother looking up from moving his pieces to a spot in the center of Orlais. “Feel free to use those requests as kindling.”

Leliana’s response is swift. “No! I shall take them. I want to know who pines for our commander. We can use this to our advantage.”

That gets his full attention, feels even more disdain settle in his soul. He stands up fully, looking up to see Leliana’s grin. She reaches for Josephine’s hand while moving to her side, leaning over her shoulder to read the list of names.“I am not bait!” he says to her. .

“Oh, hush.” Leliana’s hand waves him off, immediately reaching for the… not inconsequential stack of requests in Josephine’s hand. “Just look pretty, Commander. Now, where can we send a few regiments to sway our hand?”

The ambassador doesn’t hesitate. “The Marquis of Mont de Glace both took a liking to him -- perhaps another trip to the surrounding settlements to pique interest?”

“And three nobility from Ghislain alone.”

“I did hear tale the Templar connection of our commander struck up some noise at Arlesans,” Josephine adds, and her pitch has soared upward, excitement clear as she holds her pen to her chest, pushes up on her toes.

“Hold on just a moment --” Cullen starts, but the two of them are on a roll.

“And here, the protecteur of Val Royeaux showed interest in… trading strategy?” Josephine reads out, voice pitching upward as she finishes the line. Dawning slowly appears, however, and Cullen finds himself blushing deeply. “Oh. Well. Perhaps that one can indeed go in the kindling.

“I really don’t think --”

“Perhaps the strategy is not just answering one, but answering them all,” Leliana teases. It makes Josephine giggle. Their laughter echoes in the big empty room. High and bright. Cullen’s fingers lift to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A tournament for the honor of the commander, to see who in the end wins his hand --”

“I think we’re done here.”

The dismissal is sudden, and Cullen realizes then how silent Verdanna has been. Her eyes on the table as his have been, never moving, fingers gripping the edge of the map with a strength that he’s afraid will tear the paper. But there’s something more in her voice. The deadpan tone a mask over another emotion.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine says immediately, but she wipes at tears that have started falling from the corners of her eyes. “My apologies. We will continue.”

“No apologies needed, Josephine,” Verdanna answers, eyes narrowed as she stands up straight. “It’s simply clear we’re finished. Everyone’s distracted, and a break… seems necessary.”

Leliana straightens, too, eyes narrowed at her. There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes. A hidden delight. “Are you sure, my lady?” Her voice is carefully neutral, but her gaze flickers to Josephine, who straightens her spine. Peers down at Verdanna’s hands.

“Positive.” Verdanna suddenly stands, and that’s when Cullen sees the tightness in her smile, close-lipped. “Let’s take a break. Reconvene.”

And then it clicks for them all - Leliana, then Josephine, then finally Cullen. The realization moves like a ripple amongst the advisors, who all turn to look for understanding in the others’ gazes, Josephine and Leliana with matching smirks that make Cullen cross his arms over his chest and duck his head to hide his own little smile.

“I simply think it’ll do us all good,” Verdanna says to counter no one but the stretch of silence.

“Well. If that’s the only reason,” Leliana laughs.

It happens then, clear as day. The sun through the glass windows illuminates it beautifully. The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor herself, Cullen’s beloved Verdanna Lavellan... blushes. It’s an incredible sight, one that Cullen savors seeing, one that makes him smile despite his previous embarrassment.

“It is,” she replies. The slightest waver to her tone, a betrayal from her own voice. “It’s always good to take breaks.”

Josephine titters behind her quill. “Of course, Your Worship. We’ll reconvene, then, in an hour. Perhaps the commander needs a break as well. To read through the proposals.”

“Or some privacy with the Inquisitor. To find the perfect match, of course, Josie.”

“Oh, of course.”

There’s a growing delight in Cullen, one from the way that Verdanna’s eyes widen, blush grows brighter, and sudden stammer she develops. “I - I don’t need privacy! We don’t - I don’t know what you’re implying, Josephine -”

“Of course you do, Inquisitor,” Leliana teases, nodding as she links arms with Josephine and begins to walk towards the door. “After all, I’m sure you’ll be able to help him figure out what royal he’ll be best suited for. Or perhaps not a royal at all.”

“Perhaps the both of you could go to Orlais,” Josephine calls out as the War Room door opens. “Announce a potential engagement.”

“One that would surely shock the world,” Leliana says as they depart. “And leave a lot of disappointed fans of the commander. Think about it, Inquisitor.”

The door then shuts behind them both with a solid thud. Verdanna’s eyes don’t leave where Josephine and Leliana left from, and Cullen finds himself covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He still gets a glare, however, when Verdanna turns and sees his raised brows.

“Cullen…”

“Are you, then?” he asks, before he can stop himself. “Jealous?”

“I don’t - I just don’t want the commander of the Inquisition to be used as folly for the games of my spymaster and my ambassador.” It’s a shoddy cover up, especially considering that her eyes can barely look Cullen in the face.

“You are.” His voice is a little awed, a little honored, and he takes a step around the table towards her, smiling.

“I am not!” Her voice is sharp, but she doesn’t step back as Cullen steps toward her. “Not at all.”

“Not even a little bit?” he asks, hand reaching for hers, holding it gently to pull her close. There’s a play of a smile across her lips as he does, and he can’t help the way it makes him grin. “The tiniest fraction, perhaps?”

When she looks up at him, that smile is warm, especially as he pulls her against him. “Never,” she confirms. “After all, none of those suitors got the honor of dancing with Commander Rutherford at the Winter Palace.”

“That is true,” he confirms, laughing, “but there seems to be a little something more there.”

“If there is, you’ll never find out.”

Perhaps there’s an ulterior motive in what Cullen prepares to propose. But he can’t help his curiosity, nor the way that her potential jealousy makes his mind… work. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, pushing her braid back behind her ear. “Tell you what. If I admit something to you, you admit something to me.”

It gets her attention, that’s for sure. Her brow raises at him as she looks up, weighing her options. “Something?”

“Something about… our feelings. And jealousy.”

He sees his own desire mirrored, then. Her eyes scan him from head to toe, fingers squeezing his hand for a moment before she smiles. “All right, Commander. I’ll bite. When have you been jealous?”

There’s the briefest hesitation, and he can’t help the way he has to clear his throat, drop his gaze to the war table for a moment to gather his courage. “There might have been a moment,” he finally states, “when he settled in Haven, that I was jealous of… you and the mage Dorian Pavus.”

“Dorian?” Her voice is delighted, and he feels a small drop of horror dawn as he realizes that she will not be the only one to know this particular secret.

“I know I’ll never live it down,” he says, sighing. “But, yes. Pavus, when he first arrived, held a lot of your time, and I was - I was jealous of the attention he got. The trust. Not something I’m proud of to be sure, but. It happened.”

Her laughter soon echoes around the room. It’s big and bold and hiccups a time or two, especially as she leans forward in her jest to press her forehead to his neck. “That is incredible. Jealous of Dorian.”

Cullen can’t help his indignance, straightening up. “I will simply say he was very good at being on your side, and the two of you were very fond of each other very quickly. He was also a mage. Traveling in time with you! And unfortunately, he is not… unattractive, so those were the dots I connected.”

It’s a moment before her laughter dissolves into giggles, and soon she is letting out a long sigh of delight. “I’m not saying your reasoning is flawed, Cullen. You don’t need to defend yourself. It’s just… it’s very cute. You’re very, very cute.”

It’s his turn to blush, though he looks down at Verdanna with a raised brow. “So were there grounds?”

Her giggle starts up again, briefly. “Hah, no, Commander. Nothing happened between me and Dorian Pavus. There’s nothing to be jealous about, Commander. Dorian is a confidante and a friend, and that’s all he is.” Verdanna’s hand reaches up to fiddle with the fur lining of Cullen’s armor before cupping his cheek, thumb stroking along his stubble in a brilliant, warm touch. “All he ever was.”

“A confidante, for sure, as I have a feeling I will be hearing this over our next game of chess.” His dry tone makes Verdanna laugh again, a sound he will always cherish. There’s a kiss shared, chaste and gentle. But when Cullen pulls back, there’s something playful he can’t help but show in his smile. “Well? Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Admit it. You were a bit jealous at the thought of those nobility clamoring for my attention.”

“I -” Verdanna starts, but at the look she gets from the commander her eyes roll fondly. “Alright, alright. Fine. At the mention of people… desperate for your hand in marriage, I might’ve gotten… a little bit jealous.”

“Only a little bit?” he asks, and her laugh is warm as she pinches his cheek.

“Don’t push it, Commander. But, yes. I was jealous. Happy?”

It’s an ego boost in more ways than one. It makes his heart pound, his blood sing, at the thought of Verdanna coveting his time as much as he covets hers. Jealous of endless faces and names who fight for his attention just as he is the innumerable patrons who seek out the Inquisitor. It makes him desperate for another kiss, one that has one hand gripping hers and the other pulling at the buttons on her coat.

“Only so I can reassure you,” he murmurs, “as you did for me. There is no one in his hold nor in the known or unknown worlds around us that matters to me as much as you, Verdanna. And no one who you need to be jealous about. There is only you and me, no one else.” And then he has to smile. “After all… I do believe only one person got to dance with me at Halamshiral.”

A beat passes. Verdanna looks up at Cullen with softened eyes, a push on her toes to press her forehead to his. “A reassurance indeed,” she murmurs.

There’s a beat that passes as he meets her touch, holding both of her hands now and lifting them to his lips. As he does, however, the familiar light in her eyes is back, bright and vibrant and certainly plotting.

“You know… Josephine and Leliana said an hour,” she tells him. “Whatever could we do to pass the time, Commander?” Cullen feels a warmth flood his body, better than the sun on his skin.

“I bet we could come up with some ideas, Inquisitor,” he murmurs back before crashing his lips into hers with fervor.

-

Cullen’s eyes scan the map once more. There’s only one way forward, and his hand lifts to rub at his chin as he studies it. He considers shaving, as well, but it’s a distant thought. Verdanna tends to enjoy his stubble.

Not the time.

He has to shake his head to clear thoughts of her. To focus on the task at hand. It’s a luxury he shouldn’t allow, especially considering the danger ahead. But he can’t help it, especially as he hears the creak of the door as Verdanna strides in, fresh from her journey to the Forbidden Oasis and looking every title she claims. Her chin lifts in greeting to the room and she smiles, but for the moment, he considers it just for him. And then he remembers there are others in the room as Leliana speaks, clearing his head with her introduction.

“Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” she states, looking at the Inquisitor.

Cullen, ever eager, jumps in. “Fortunately for us, that means that it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls. And thanks to our lady ambassador…”

He turns to Josephine, who smiles graciously. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They’ve already delivered the trebuchets,” she informs them. All the pieces falling into place.

Leliana smiles, too, but it’s tempered. “That is the good news, Lady Inquisitor.”

“And the bad news?” Verdanna’s voice sounds a little worn, and Cullen understands why. Always bad with the good, it seems.

Leliana continues. “Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress.”

“The Inquisition forces can breach the gate,” Cullen reassures them all. He trained them well. “But if the Wardens already have their demons…”

Leliana lifts her hand to cut him off. “I found records of Adamant’s construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

Cullen can smile at that, turns to look at Verdanna. “That’s good. We may not be able to defeat them outright, but, if we cut out reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

Verdanna snorts, and Cullen raises a brow at her. “So our plan is to lay siege to a legendary fortress filled with demons?” It gets a chuckle out of him, but he leans forward to look at Adamant on the map once more. Narrows his gaze. The threat continues to hover, and he feels solemnity settle on his shoulders.

“It’ll be hard fought,” he admits. “There’s no way around it, but we’ll get that gate open.”

Josephine, ever the optimist, pipes in as well. “It’s also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.”

Leliana agrees, at least partially. “The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they’ll turn against Clarel directly. The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They’ll fight to the death.”

“No matter which way the Wardens go, we’ve built the siege engines and readied our forces, Inquisitor,” Cullen tells her. There is no smile now, the knowledge of another battle looming over all of them. “Give the word, and we march on Adamant.”

“I’ll need some time to prepare,” Verdanna says to the room, “but when it’s time, I’ll let you all know.” With a few nods, looks to each other, the four of them stand tall, Verdanna’s voice clear. “All right. Dismissed.”

Josephine and Leliana leave first, their murmurs for each other and each other alone. Cullen doesn’t mind, as it gives him the chance to walk around to Verdanna’s side of the table, look with her at Adamant’s position on the map. “We have the ability,” he finds himself saying, reassurance for her. “The numbers. Soon, it will be in the Maker’s hands.”

“I find myself unwilling to leave it all up to the Maker,” she murmurs back, sighing as she pushes one of the figurines forward. Cullen’s symbol, the Inquisition’s forces, pushing in towards the fortress.

He nods. Reaches up to push her braid back behind her ear, moves his hand down her back. “It’s a good thing we have you, then,” he whispers. A kiss on her cheek. “Maker or no, we have you.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Commander,” she says, but he can see the small flush on her cheeks. It makes him eager to kiss her again, but he restrains himself. Especially as her lips curl, unsatisfied by something she sees. “You will be there. At Adamant,” she says. It seems to be a dawning realization.

“Right by your side, for as long as I am able,” he promises. “Just like I was at Haven.”

If anything that deepens her frown, and she stands up straight again, takes a step back from him and the table. “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks for me. I don’t want the Commander of our forces by my side if that’s not his place on the field. I know you know the strategy, what we’ll need to do, but -”

But he doesn’t let her dart away, push him back. Not now. Not when he can hold her instead. A wonder he’ll never take for granted. “Watching you fight, being alongside you… it’s more than simply wielding my sword while you cast your spells.My place will be with my soldiers. But it also means that I am here,” he murmurs, placing a hand on her heart, “wherever you go.”

As he does so, he feels a raised portion over her sternum. The feeling is… odd against his fingers, until he looks up and sees her gentle smile. “With me in more ways than one,” she whispers. Her fingers lift, and she tugs at an amulet to display for him.

But it’s not an amulet, or at least, not one he’s seen before. There’s no magic coming from the piece of jewelry, and yet as he watches it dangle in the light from the windows, he feels a warmth through his body stronger than potion could give him.

“Is that…” he whispers. Awestruck.

“Your coin,” she confirms. “Luck wherever I go. And you.”

“When did you do this?”

“When we got back from Honnleath,” she murmurs to him. “I can’t go and lose the luck you gave me.”

In that moment he knows. Knows something that he is still afraid to say. Cannot speak, regardless, overwhelmed by what he sees in Verdanna. He reaches for her, pulls her close, against his body.

“Cullen,” she gasps out, surprised. But he can’t help the way he buries his face into her neck.

“Verdanna,” he whispers back, and feels her fingers lift and curl into his hair.

-

There’s a lingering horror that is felt after the siege. Cullen says goodbye to Verdanna at the gates, and later finds out how close he was to losing her forever. She goes in with the Champion of Kirkwall, and leaves without him. A decision she had to make. She comes out mourning, with even more horrors held close to the chest, and in that moment he feels so helpless to her destiny.

What will become of the famed Inquisitor? If the Champion could be lost so easily, what would become of Verdanna? Would she, too, be reduced to a title in the annals of history? The thought of that turns his stomach, the realization that so many will hear her name, her title and not know who she really is.

Needless to say, it’s not the last time he feels his coin against her skin. Not even close. Especially after Adamant.

It seems the coin holds something, if not luck. Something special, that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end when he thinks about it. Every so often, he finds himself drifting off, gaze dropping to her collarbone, thinking about what’s hidden beneath her attire. His coin. His.

(He does limit it eventually, when Josephine’s words blur behind him in favor of remembering where that coin is, what it means for them, and being caught by the ambassador. The blush to his cheeks seems almost fluorescent when she comments on it, and Verdanna and Leliana can’t stop their giggles for far too long.)

But as the days pass, the weeks, the months, it’s clear that Adamant was simply a battle, but that the war continues on.

He watches as the weight on Verdanna’s shoulders causes her to stumble. He watches as more and more places around Thedas call to the Inquisition for help. Ferelden and Orlais crumbling with threats of darkspawn, demons, Red Templars, Venatori, rogue apostates. He watches as people within their camp stumble, too, with her expected to pick up the pieces, Blackwall’s lie sending echoes only he hears in the dead of night, when she wakes with a start about being too late to save him. He watches her fight to control the Rifts and her own magic, and the Anchor become more of a burden than a blessing.

And, on top of all that, Corypheus is on the move.

It is clear the state of the world is in the balance. But what Cullen also realizes, through all of this, is that the Inquisition is not only beloved, but ready. That Verdanna takes all of these struggles through stumble and stride and plans to keep going. And that he, despite every fear, every uncertainty, is ready to follow her.

And so, the War Room beckons.

“It’s time to plan our next attack. What’s the state of the Inquisition?” Verdanna’s voice is strong as she looks among her people.

Josephine’s enthusiasm is not missed. “We’re well-loved in Orlais. Say the word, and the Empire will send her support.”

Cullen has his own excitement. A pride that fills him as he looks at the Inquisitor Lavellan. “And your actions at Adamant denied Corypheus his army of pet demons. With Orlais’ support, our numbers match his.” He straightens his spine, lifts his chin with a small smile. “Corypheus’s followers must be panicking.”

“My agents agree,” Leliana adds.” Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

“Perhaps they’ll rethink following the darkspawn magister from the dawn of time,” Verdanna says. It earns her a small chuckle, but the collective focus is not shaken. “Where is Corypheus now?”

“After Adamant, Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen says. “His army clearly wasn’t prepared to flee. Our victories have them on the defensive.”

Suddenly, Verdanna’s eyes narrow with determination. Cullen feels a rush at the sight. “And that’s where we’ll keep them. Unable to flee. If he’s hiding in the Arbor Wilds, that’s where we'll finish him.”

“But what is Corypheus doing in such a remote area?” Josephine murmurs, almost a question to herself more than the room.

Leliana answers. “His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven,” she says, which makes Verdanna’s mouth purse. “We believe he seeks more. What he hopes to find, however, continues to elude us.”

“Which should surprise no one, but fortunately I can assist.”

The voice comes from behind Verdanna, and Cullen watches with a raised brow as Lady Morrigan steps forward. He knows of her, aware of her since she joined the Inquisition after Halamshiral. He watches as her keen eyes scan the room, landing on each advisor in turn. Verdanna brings her attention back to the topic, however, with a little bow of her head.

“You have my attention, Lady Morrigan.”

Morrigan’s low tone lilts across the room, and soon her focus is only on Verdanna. It’s unnerving, that singular focus, especially considering what seems to hide behind those eyes of hers. “What Corypheus seeks in those forgotten words is as ancient as it is dangerous. It’s best if I show you.”

There’s a brief pause. Cullen glances at Morrigan and takes a step around the table, but immediately he is trapped by her gaze.

“Not you, Commander. Only the Inquisitor.”

There’s a small, shocked silence in the room. Leliana speaks first. “What?”

“What will be revealed to her she will share with all of you. But as of now, the information I hold would be better suited for someone who knows the elves as I do… as well as the woman who holds the power of the Fade.”

“But you are taking her somewhere,” Josephine says, voice tight. “If you need safe passage to a location --”

“Where we are going, no others will be able to follow.”

There’s a hitch in Cullen’s breath, and he feels his jaw click as it clenches. “So you’re taking her… Without any other observers or people to verify your intentions. Just you and Verdanna?” he asks, her name slipping from his lips instead of her title. It earns him a look from the Inquisitor herself, as well as a raised brow from Morrigan.

“You doubt my intentions, Cullen Rutherford?” the witch asks him, voice low. He dares another step around the table. “Do you doubt your Inquisitor?”

“My concern is protecting the Inquisitor… and the Inquisition,” he states plainly, though the undercurrent of frustration peaks through. He can’t help it. There’s a part of him that dreads the idea of Verdanna losing herself, her life, because he trusted someone who shouldn’t be on their side. Blackwall’s betrayal sings in his head as he looks at Morrigan, her journey to the fade and the loss of Hawke clear in his mind -- but it’s Verdanna who stops his thoughts in his tracks.

“Lady Morrigan’s services were offered to the Inquisition. I believe she offers her knowledge to help, not to hurt,” she says. Cullen knows the brunt of this statement is directed at him, to drop his guard. “But the truth is that we need as much as we can get on Corypheus to beat him. If this offers us a leg up, we need to take it.”

“Unfortunately, Lady Lavellan is right. The longer we sit and bicker, the longer Corypheus has to find what he seeks.”

There’s a brief moment when his eyes meet Verdanna’s. Communication between them silent. After a pause, her hand lifts to her chest, where his coin rests, lifting and pulling her shoulders back.

Understanding fills him. I’m always with her. And while he reaches to settle his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looks toward Morrigan with a nod.

“Very well, Lady Morrigan. We will be here when you return.”

The waiting, however, is torturous. Cullen finds himself pacing back and forth, driving Leliana and Josephine from the room to Josephine’s desk for a short time as he moves throughout the space. But soon, Morrigan and his Inquisitor return, and indeed Verdanna tells them all what she saw. Testimony of a mirror, magicked to become a portal to what she and Morrigan call the Crossroads. If Corypheus acquires one, and learns how to use it, he will have access to pathways all across Thedas and the Fade.

“What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asks them, both, eyes a little wide with the implications.

“Why, he will gain his heart’s desire, and take the power of a god,” Morrigan responds. “Or -- and this is more likely -- the lunatic will unleash forces that will tear the world apart.”

It’s shocking, the realization, but not surprising. If anything it’s a confirmation - in the end, all of them could have reached that eventual conclusion. But there’s a difference between suspecting and knowing. Verdanna echoes that precise sentiment as she looks among all standing there. “In Redcliffe, I saw the future Corypheus built. We can’t have that,” she tells them, and there is no argument.

Morrigan’s voice is sharp. “‘Twas always so, was it not? The madman would bury us all.”

“Pardon me, but -- but does this mean that everything, everything, is lost unless we get to the eluvian in time?” Josephine asks. Her eyes meet Cullen’s, and her question cuts to the heart of him.

He can’t help the way he speaks first. Eyes scanning the map as he spreads the corners with his fingers. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our forces move,” he murmurs, looking at all the pieces.

Josephine cuts in, voice firm. “We should gather our allies before we march.”

“Can we wait for them?” Leliana counters, and her fingers move to hold one of her statuettes. “We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

But Cullen’s voice raises over hers for a moment. “Without support from the soldiers? You’d lose half of them.”

Josephine cuts across him next. “Then what should we do, Commander? Let Corypheus outrun us?” The tension in the room seems to approach a dangerous tipping point, all of the advisors looking at each other for the answer none of them have. But, as always, it is the Inquisitor who leads them, and Verdanna takes her step forward to place her hand firmly on the war table.

“I advise you all work together instead of arguing,” she says fiercely. “Now is not the time for that.” For a second, her eyes scan the board, and then she raises upright once more, her voice clear, confident, commanding. “Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”

For another moment there is silence, this of a different kind -- respectful. Even Morrigan seems to appraise Verdanna with a greater understanding. This is their leader, and this will be their champion, for the betterment of all of Thedas.

Cullen can’t help the way he gazes at her, mouth a little open as warmth slowly overtakes him. Verdanna… his pride in her has him close to bursting, has him smiling despite what he knows now about Corypheus’s plan. Has him wondering if, despite Verdanna’s own unbelief on the matter, the Maker truly had a hand in bringing Verdanna to them. To him. The thought makes his cheeks a shade of red the light in the room is unafraid to illuminate, one that earns him a fond, loving look from her even as Morrigan brings them down to earth.

“Such confidence,” she says, a little smirk on her lips, “but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods. Beyond your understanding or mine, Lady Lavellan.”

Josephine chimes in, as always, with diplomacy on her mind. “We’d be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan. Please, lend us your expertise.”

Morrigan seems to not be able to help a small chuckle. “‘Tis why I came here. Although it is good to see its value recognized.”

Leliana’s eyes narrow at Morrigan for a moment, but any comment from her is interrupted by Cullen’s quick tongue. He speaks to Verdanna as the leader of her armies,, as her friend, as hers. “Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Whatever she needs, he is hers to command.

But instead of a simple dismissal, she clears her throat. Cullen watches as she seems to think, brow furrowed, before looking towards her advisors in turn. First, Leliana, with a gentle smile. “The Inquisition began as a handful of soldiers.” She turns to Josephine next, eyes bright as she nods towards her. “Thanks to you, we’re now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god.” Lastly, she looks at Cullen, and her smile is now a grin, her hand at her side once more reaching up towards her heart. “I could ask for no finer council, and no better guidance. No better friends.”

Cullen’s voice doesn’t waver as he mimics her motion, hand on his chest. “I speak for all of us when I answer: we could ask for no finer cause.”

No finer Inquisitor, he muses, watching as she begins to adjust the figurines with her other two advisors. A way forward, thanks to Morrigan. Resources thanks to Josephine. Infiltration, thanks to Leliana. Trained soldiers, thanks to Cullen. But belief… hope… a plan, all thanks to Verdanna.

No finer woman, Cullen thinks as well, watching her nod after a moment and look towards Morrigan. They begin to talk to themselves while Josephine and Leliana begin to plot the course her agents should take, and Cullen watches Verdanna’s head bow to Morrigan as she leaves. Always willing to respect the knowledge of those around her, fighting to understand those most would push aside -- Verdanna’s willingness to see her own limitations and turn to those who would help her overcome it is more than who she is as the Inquisitor - it’s who Cullen sees everyday. He thinks of Cole, of Sera, of Thom Rainier, of Iron Bull, of Dorian, all people pushed aside because of one reason or another… and yet brought into the arms of the Inquisition because Verdanna saw something great in them.

And as he reaches for his own figures, he brushes her fingers with his own, finds himself looking into her eyes and seeing something there that makes the world around them fade away. Sees his own struggles, so often at the surface, for a moment seem so small. Feels the constant itch for lyrium, clamoring for his attention, be pushed aside, her magic swirling in his chest, a soothe to his ache for a few seconds before she pulls away to reach for a few papers from Josephine.

These are the last moments of distraction he allows himself before focusing on the issue at hand, but he can’t help the way his thoughts turn once more to her, only her. There is no one like her, and yet the Maker saw fit for Cullen to be so lucky, to put him in her path to legend. The finest woman, the greatest Inquisitor, and as he watches her, he knows.

The truest love.

-

There’s a moment, in the Arbor Wilds, where Cullen sees her.

It’s a brief flash, really. He has soldiers behind him, pushing them forward, closer and closer to the main camp of red templars where Corypheus seems to be. His heart pounds in his ears, and he downs too many men he knows and a surprising amount he doesn’t. There are demons and Venatori and turned Grey Wardens and perhaps even a darkspawn or two. It is chaos and the ringing of battle as they go from camp to camp.

And then he sees Verdanna.

Feels her, really. In a flash of heat at his back, her magefire erupting and disintegrating a demon before it could slice through Cullen’s plate armor. It seems to scorch the back of his neck, and in a whirl of moment he turns to find the source. She stands with Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian, her staff spinning in her hand, and in a blaze of light a wall of fire ignites the forest floor, downing more spirits in its wake.

There is no moment to go to her, not now. Not when the fighting is so thick. But he finds himself drawn to her anyways, feeling a magical barrier surround him, watching the way her lightning is summoned in a moment’s notice. Another flash of purple, this one igniting head after head of soldiers, and then the dust settles, if only for a moment.

There is not much to say, even then. There is still so much fighting, and they both lead the charge, but he sees her, and for now, that is enough. She is safe, and her eyes are alight with her magic as they pass each other, fingertips brushing, hers dancing with prepared spells.

“Be safe, Cullen,” she tells him, and he feels one last barrier form around him. Another wave of demons approaches.

“Inquisitor,” he calls back to her as she turns, Cassandra taking the lead and Sera the rear. “Be well, friends. For the Inquisition!”

His men, like him, are delighted to see her. Energized, eager to fight. Ready to win. It’s long-fought, the journey to push the forces back, but in the end, they manage. And then…

Quiet.

The aftermath. The mourning of those lost, the celebration of victories won. There are certainly things to discuss, but for now he savors seeing you safe.

The journey back home is a long journey north. There’s lots to talk about, some of it serious, and other bits less so.

“Why can’t we have a big flying thing on our side, Quizzy? Not an demon, course, but something else,” Sera calls to Verdanna as she walks alongside the steeds, much preferring the ground. Dorian lets out a little snort.

“If you want to risk life and limb to attempt to train a dragon to fly for the Inquisition, dear Sera, be our guest.”

Leliana’s eyes narrow a little, playful as she glances back at Dorian. “You know, Qunari revere the dragon. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring the Iron Bull on an adventure like that, if someone wanted his favor.”

Dorian’s reddened cheeks are quite obvious, making Cullen raise his brow. “Well, I - certainly the Iron Bull’s approval simply emphasizes that it’s a terrible idea. Can never trust those Qunari to know common sense.”

But Sera’s voice shouts louder than the rest, especially as she elbows Blackwall beside her and speaks in the loudest whisper she can manage. “Something tells me we’re gonna be fighting a dragon soon.”

In the end, it gives Cullen and Verdanna a chance to laugh together as they banter, and he feels the comradery settle in his bones. Just as laying next to Verdanna settles, too, warming him from the inside out. Able to be in the same bed once more, able to claim his place beside her as he strokes her hair, watching her ever watchful gaze grow tired against his chest.

When Skyhold’s structure greets them in the distance, Verdanna turns to him, gentle smile as she reaches for his hand. Their steeds ride beside each other, and he glances behind them before entangling her fingers in his and squeezing them. “I’m going to call a meeting of the War Council,” she tells him, voice low. “There are… new developments to discuss.”

“As always, we’re at your service,” he says, voice strong.

Skyhold beckons. Soon their steeds are clopping through the front gate, and Cullen manages a smile through his exhaustion. That smile lingers in the War Room, pride lifting his chin and his chest as he looks over each representative. “I’m pleased to report we won the battle, Inquisitor. When you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field. I’m not sure why.”

Morrigan’s voice is matter-of-fact, but there’s something underneath it that sends a shiver down Cullen’s spine. He does his best to avoid her gaze. “What he wanted was no longer within the temple.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, humming. “After all, he spent so long trying to get into the Temple, he probably couldn’t have helped his forces at that point.”

Josephine’s answering hum pitches up. “Then Corypheus is finished,” the ambassador says, and Morrigan and Leliana turn to her with serious eyes. Almost nod.

“If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again,” Leiliana says, reaching for a little statuette.

Morrigan immediately shakes her head. “No. He will not hide.”

“Meaning he will attack us directly, at Skyhold.” Verdanna turns to Cullen, and he has a flashback to their conversation at Haven, the way hellfire rained down on them at the place they started to build with the Inquisition. It makes his chest tighten.

Yet Morrigan hums, again, quite quickly. “Not necessarily, but neither will he remain idle.”

Leliana frowns. “And how could you have such insight into his plans?” Her suspicion is echoed by Cullen’s own thoughts, who simply shoots the Lady Morrigan a sharp look.

“The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me now across the ages,” she replies. “They hold wisdom, secrets I never deemed possible. But even they fear what Corypheus has become.”

“But he’s not a god, yet,” Verdanna counters.

“Not yet,” Morrigan answers with a nod to the Inquisitor. “He is powerful and immortal, but… he has a weakness. The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon, in which Corypheus has invested a part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride to emulate the gods of old, which can be exploited.” Her hands spread, the answer laid out before them as she speaks. “Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain.”

Cullen knows Verdanna can’t help her little huff. It makes him smile, a quick one, as he glances toward her. “Just kill his dragon. Why didn’t we think of that before?”

Morrigan chuckles a little as well, and she turns to face Verdanna as she does. “There is a way to defeat the dragon, Inquisitor, and to match Corypheus in his power. The Well whispers it to me now. Your help will be required, Inquisitor.”

Verdanna nods. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard when I’m ready to embark,” she says, but Morrigan’s low laugh once again echoes in the room.

“No journey necessary. Simply… practice.”

Though ominous, there’s a reassurance to Morrigan’s confidence. “I’ll see to Skyhold’s defenses in the meantime,” Cullen says to Verdanna and the rest. “It can’t hurt to bolster what we have and make new what we don’t.”

“And Leliana and I will ensure that our allies know what occurred at the Arbor Wilds. News of Corypheus’ defeat will certainly help reassure those who still fear his forces,” Josephine says.

The plan falls into place, and Verdanna approves with a nod. “Then it’s settled,” she says. “For now, everyone rest. Our journey was nothing if not tedious and tiring, and there are still wounded to attend to and work to be done.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” they all say, and with that, it is a dismissal.

She goes to all of them, eventually. Discusses with Josephine and Leliana what will be said and what will be omitted. Visits Morrigan in the courtyard. But she ends with Cullen, as he hopes, his finger tracking the words on a report from one of his men.

“How are the defenses, Commander?” Her voice cuts through his thoughts, and his head lifts to look at her with a smile as she leans against one of the walls.

“There… is good news,” he reports, sighing as he stands straight. “When we came, the decay of Skyhold had not spread to the foundations of the walls. Our boundaries are sturdy. However, walls are not always enough.” As Verdanna steps forward, he sits in his chair, leaning back with a press of his fingers against his temple.

Her steps carry her to his side, one hand on his shoulder as she looks over what he’s written. “At least there’s a place to start,” she says, voice quieter now that she’s next to him. After a moment, she perches on the armrest of the seat, letting one of her hands rub at his shoulder. “Tell me what you need, and we’ll send parties out to find it.”

“Understood,” he says, eyes on her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips. “What’s next for you and Morrigan?”

At the mention, Verdanna simply chuckles, and he can hear her disbelief.

“Are you that worried?” he asks immediately. She shakes her head.

“No, simply that… astonished,” she says. “It’s a very complex piece of magic, with a lot of parts.”

“What does the spell do?” he asks, but again, she chuckles. Lifting a hand then lowering it once more.

“I - I don’t think I really know. It’s nothing I’ve seen, though she swears that the origin itself is Dalish in nature. And I don’t think I could describe it in a way that gives it justice,.” She smirks, then, and Cullen groans. “Or at least in words that are less than --”

“I regret ever telling you that,” he says with a wave of his hand, cutting her off as he stands and she begins laughing once more. There’s a flood of color to his cheeks. “More each moment.”

“Don’t be sour,” Verdanna giggles, which only makes his brow furrow more, makes his lips twist. “Cullen. I’m teasing.”

“You know, I told you that in confidentiality, so I surely hope I am the only one who has heard jokes of that nature,” he tells her, and her hand moves to his chest next before she leans down to kiss him .

“I know, vhe’nan,” she tells him. And as always, he believes her, especially as her lips peck against his and then a few more times on his cheek. “Better?”

“Much,” he says with a grin.

“You’re very smart,” she reassures him, hands lifting to cup his cheeks right over the color. “And incredibly brave. And distractingly handsome.”

“Distractingly?” That’s a new one, one that makes his smile only grow. It’s her turn to look bashful, simply turning away as she asks him.

“It can be hard to focus. But while we’re gone, I’ll be thankful for a distraction, I’m sure of it.”

A sudden stab of panic moves through him. He glances toward the door, looking at the way the sun seems to sit in the sky. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Now, actually,” she admits, sighing. “We need Morrigan’s supplies. I came to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you back here, at the fortress.”

“So quickly?” It seems like too little, too late, this little goodbye, one he’s giving a thousand times before. But this journey with Morrigan feels different. Aches in his chest as he watches Verdanna stand and reach for his hand so he’ll stand with her. He complies, and she kisses him sweetly as he does.

“We need these components,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”

“I know, my darling,” he whispers back. “I know.”

He hugs her tightly, and his eyes close as he buries his face in her neck, thankful for how she stays close to him as long as he holds her. He pulls back only when he thinks he’s memorized the sweet smell of her hair and the way her fingers feel gripping his sleeve.

“... walk with me?” she finally asks, after what feels like minutes of holding onto each other. There is a battle coming, part of a bigger war, and she looks nervous, even doing her best to push it down for his sake.

“Of course,” he answers, kissing her cheek. “Anywhere’d you like.”

It hits him as they walk down the battlements together, every so often his hands pulling her close for another kiss. It hits again as he watches the big doors open for her and Morrigan to leave, and once more as her figure disappears into the snowdrifts.

This is the endgame. But in war, there are always casualties. All he can do now is pray that what they have is stronger than Corypheus, turn to the Maker and his guidance, to Andraste and hers. But what’s stopping Verdanna’s body from arriving at their home, wrapped up tight in linens for the world to mourn her over and over again?

The answer, then and there, he realizes, is nothing.

And nothing scares him more.

-

The waiting kills him. Slowly and surely, inching through his veins like the craving for lyrium, compounding on each other until his pacing seems to run tracks into the wood beneath his feet.

“They’ll return,” Josephine tries to soothe him, “and soon. We’re almost to the end.”

But her words don’t help, and Cullen doesn’t know how to describe why. Doesn’t know how to admit that it’s the end he’s so frightened of.

What happens when Verdanna faces Corypheus for the last time? What happens when she reveals herself to him, shows her true colors to face his? What happens when she returns, when the war is over and won?

What happens if she doesn’t?

Any joy in each other’s company is soured by the impending end. The very real possibility that one of them won’t return from battle seems to be the only thing that he can think of, the thing keeping him up most nights. A world without Verdanna seems to have no color, no light, no life to it at all, and he worries that is the future that faces them.

And even now, he waits. Waits for her to return, waits for Morrigan to return, waits and waits and waits. The time ticks slowly by and he can’t help but wonder how much time he has left, even as he stands around the war table with Leliana and Josephine.

Those thoughts continue to linger, even as the doors to the war room push open. Verdanna enters with Morrigan close behind, and Cullen finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the one who has his heart.

“Did you find what you need, Morrigan?” Leliana asks them, and the self-satisfaction in the woman is clear. She lifts her chin.

“I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, yes,” Morrigan hums. “As for matching Corypheus… that is up to you, Inquisitor.”

“We don’t even know where he is,” Verdanna says with a sigh, looking around the room. When she looks at Cullen, he manages the smallest of smiles.

“Then all that remains is to find Corypheus before he comes to us,” he tells her, letting himself huff out a laugh. “Simple.”

There’s a gentle sigh from the spymaster. “We’ve been looking for his base since all this began, with no success,” Leliana admits, clenching her jaw.

“Well, his dragon must come and go from somewhere.”

“What about the Deep Roads? We could send word to Orzammar, hire envoys to --”

The light hits them, before the sound. A blast of sickly green energy that shakes the hold to its foundation, and then the sound of thunder all around them. The green is answered by Verdanna’s own hand, the anchor glowing and pulling her forward, and with a shout she falls forward.

“Verdanna!” Cullen shouts, rushing to her side. His hand rests on her shoulder, but when she looks up, all he sees is the tight furrow between her brows, the determination in her gaze.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan murmurs to them all.

Rising to her feet, leaning on Cullen ever so slightly, Verdanna gapes as she looks toward the window. “He’s in the Valley of Sacred Ashes?”

For once, Morrigan’s voice is solemn, not sly. The wisdom beyond her years ripples through her words. “You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world.”

Josephine’s gasp is an echo of them all as they gaze at Morrigan. “But that’s madness! Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

The realization sets in all at once, and he finds himself looking between his compatriots -- from Josephine, to Leliana, and back to Verdanna once more. Finds himself forcing down the terror as he scans her face, the reality of their situation like a gut punch. “Inquisitor,” he says, voice still so stoic. “We have no forces to send with you -- we must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

Verdanna meets his eyes, then, and there’s a sadness to them. But she looks past him once more to the storm brewing in the distance. “Just as Corypheus expects, I suppose.”

“We can rally the troops that are left,” Leliana tells the room. Her own gaze turns to Josie, who meets her eyes with a few quick blinks. And our friends will help us, but…”

“It’s you and the magister, Verdanna Lavellan,” Morrigan tells her. “What we do now is up to you.”

There’s another crash of thunder, a flash of green. Josephine ducks with a little gasp, and the whole group moves back from the windows, the foundation of Skyhold shaking itself.

“I know what I have to do,” Verdanna tells the room. “Keep each other safe.”

“Let’s find you shelter,” Leliana tells Josephine, grabbing her hand. With a look towards Verdanna, she nods her chin, deeply. “Good luck, Inquisitor. Maker be with you.”

“Andraste guide you, Verdanna,” Josephine tells her, voice still warm even through the low tremor. And with a final embrace for her ambassador, Cullen and Verdanna watch the two women move deeper into the hold.

Morrigan lifts her chin again. Looks to Verdanna with narrowed eyes and a toothy smile. Something flashes in her, something that makes Cullen tense, but as soon as it’s there, it’s lost in the lights dancing in the Valley of Sacred Ashes. “I will see you in battle, Lady Inquisitor,” the witch hums lowly, and with a turn she is gone almost as quickly as she arrived.

All that is left is the two of them. There is another crack of lightning, one that seems to reach for Verdanna herself. Her Anchor erupts and drops her to one knee in pain. Cullen feels his stomach roll as he watches her gasp out before reaching for her shoulders.

“Verdanna --” he starts, voice fighting to be heard over the magic brewing in the distance, but her head shakes.

“I’m all right, Cullen,” she tells him. “I’m okay.” His hands roam her body, but while no injuries are clear he can’t help the way he clings to her. Lifts her to her feet.

Always strong. For the good of the Inquisition. For the good of the world. But what about her? What if she --

“I have no forces to send with you,” he whispers. It hits him all at once. He is horrified, aghast, and his hands fall into hers, even with the Anchor burning so bright. His words had echoed over the war table, but now they shake and tremble. “No army. Almost no one. I have nothing to send with you --”

“I thought you knew me better than that, Commander,” she tells him. Urges him. “I have everything I need. Sera will stand behind me, Cassandra beside me, Dorian around me… all of our friends on the field below.”

“Let me come with you,” he all but yells over the madness outside. His voice growing evermore broken. His hands grip her arms, yank her close to terror and wrap around her without any thought of releasing. “Let me fight by your side! I will not lose you to that damned demon, do you understand? I will not lose you to him. I won’t -- I-I can’t, Verdanna. I love you.”

“Oh, gods, Cullen,” she gasps into his shoulder, and he hears the shakiness of her voice. “Don’t you realize? You are always with me.” Her hand reaches for his. Guides it up to her chest. She presses it flat, and he feels the etchings through her shirt, no armor blocking him from feeling the coin around her neck.

“Maker above,” he mutters, kissing her temple. And when she pulls back, the green of her eyes is swallowed by sickly emerald light, even more distorted by the faint shine of tears.

“I have our friends. Our family. And I have you, do you understand?”

He presses his forehead to hers. He imagines he feels every etching of her tattoos against his own skin, lifts a hand to tangle in her hair and breathe her in. One final prayer. One final plea.

“Maker guide you. Andraste guide you,” he whispers. The thundering of Corypheus’ presence looms. “Mythal guide you. Back home to me.”

Her last gesture is a kiss, firm against his lips, gripping his hands tight. “What did you say before? In front of Andraste herself? I will be back, Commander. And so will you. That is our destiny.”

With that, she unleashes herself upon the world. Turning from him with that beautiful smile, hair flying back from her face, steps confident and certain as she steps toward the doors of the War Room.

She is fearsome.

She is brilliant.

She is Elven, Dalish, magic, and he has the honor to be hers.

“You will be back,” Cullen whispers yet again, a prayer and a plea, and the wind carries it to her ears. Her back straightens, and with a nod, she pushes through the doors of the War Room, vanishes as the entrance slams to a close behind her.

-

It’s over. All is said, and done, and it’s over.

It feels too good to be true. For a moment, as Corypheus fell, Cullen feared the worst, felt bile in his throat. And yet there was nothing to doubt when he found himself arriving at the Inquisitor’s side, his eyes wide at the heap of precious metal on the ground, Verdanna standing above the burnt corpse of Corypheus.

It’s over.

All in all, the final celebration is nothing more than a party, and yet nothing less. The last party they dared to throw, Corypheus revealed himself, arrived with his army on Haven’s doorstep. Now, the threat is gone, and Cullen gazes over smiling faces and raucous laughter and drinks lifted to Andraste without worry that Skyhold will cave in.

And then she appears. At his side, like a warm summer breeze, gently touching his arm as she speaks. “Commander. What a… pleasure.”

When he turns to face her, he is glad to see her changed out of the armor she donned for the fight.. For the first time in ages, there is no furrow between her brows.

He grins. “Am I imagining it, or do we have a moment to breathe?”

There’s a hint of disbelief in her, too. She lets out a little huff. “We happen to have a moment.”

He can’t help his little chuckle, hand falling to his side as he manages to take in the sight of the great hall. “I think you’re right.”

The laughter fades, however. So does everyone else in the room. The light flickers on Verdanna’s face, and he can’t help but feel his hand twitch. To reach out to her face, brush his thumb along her cheek. How close he was to losing her. Losing this moment, this victory. It surges through him all at once, and he finds himself speaking to her from the depths of himself. “You brought us here. You are proof that the Inquisition has made a difference. That we will continue to do so.”

Her hand reaches for his. Their respectful distance no longer respectful, but Cullen can’t find it in himself to care. The night is young, the dawn will come, and she’s still standing in front of him, eyes bright in the firelight, not a scratch. It’s… all he’s prayed for.

“Our soldiers put their trust in you, Cullen,” she tells him in response. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for the Inquisition. For me.”

It takes him aback. He finds a ferocity in his voice as he squeezes her hand, an urgency. “I should be thanking you. You gave me a chance to… to prove myself. In your place, I’m not sure I would have done the same.” But just as soon as the energy has come, it fades. Eyes start to drift towards them, towards her, and he finds himself relinquishing his hold on her. Just for a little moment more. “I should let you mingle. I’m sure everyone desires your attention, as much as I might want it for myself.”

She nods. Steps away. But he doesn’t dare to miss the way her hand reaches to push her hair back, a mimic of his own action, the way she turns to face him even as she walks toward the other heroes.

The rest of the night seems to crawl at a snail’s pace. Cullen watches Verdanna move with ease amongst the crowd, from friend to friend. It seems all of Thedas is drawn to her, eager to make her laugh, praise her name, thank her for all she’s done. He watches as Varric promises one last game of Wicked Grace, as Iron Bull drinks to her name, as Sera teases and pokes her side and Dorian sends a wink in his direction. But even as his eyes flicker away for moments of praise for himself, for laughter and a moment with Josephine and Leliana, nothing stops him from watching her quietly slip towards the War Room.

It doesn’t take much after all. A whisper to the guard, a little look and smile. “We won,” Cullen hears her say, “relax for just a moment.” Her words are like sugar, and he imagines her lips as sweet, glancing behind him once more to take in the music before the wooden door closes with a clang.

“You managed to slip away,” he calls out to her. Her strides slow as she steps through Josephine’s space, and she turns to face him, chin lifted as the moon shines on her features, smile wide, devious.

“As did you, Commander,” she laughs, waiting for him to approach. It’s when they’re in step that she walks again, purposeful movements toward the far door, the creak drowned out by the laughter in the other rooms of the hold.

It closes behind them with a loud thud. The War Room shines with the stars in the sky, the only light from the window and the moon that shows itself, big and brilliant. The little figurines seem to glisten, and Cullen takes Verdanna’s hand as he walks toward them in the center.

“I thought I might claim more of your attention after all,” he admits when he turns to face her, his own hip pressed against the wood of the table.

“I’m glad you did,” Verdanna tells him, and he can feel the heart behind every word.

He can touch her now, but something holds him back. Perhaps it’s the ethereal light of the room, the faintest green glow of the Anchor on his hand. Perhaps it’s the fear that he will wake from a brilliant dream, and the world and the Fade will crumble around him. Something makes him falter, and as always, she is there to pick him up.

Her hand reaches for his, squeezes tight. “Now, Commander, what did we say?” she teases him. Her voice is quiet, and yet Cullen feels it reverberate down his spine.

“You mean what did I order?” he responds, and it’s with the lowest chuckle, eyes on her. “I said you would be back, Verdanna Lavellan.”

“And look where I am,” she whispers, and her other hand presses to his front, flat and warm, even through the metal of his armor. “I’m right here, Cullen Rutherford. Right… here.”

Right here. The symbol of their fight beside them, all of Thedas on the verge of war, and yet, here she stands. Brillant. And beautiful. And above all, his.

His hand slashes out. With a quick motion, he pushes aside all of the figurines, Josephine’s, Leliana’s, all of his even to the side. They fall to the ground with a clatter, some of them snapping under the drop, others under the weight of his boots as he crowds her against the war table.

“Destroying the property of the Inquisition,” Verdanna laughs, her body pressed against the edge. Cullen lifts her with ease so she sits atop the wood, over Skyhold’s representation on the map. Her Dalish markings seem to glow.

“All to please the Inquisitor,” he breathes. And with a yank forward, he is kissing her, enraptured, enlightened. Her fingers move up to his hair, his hands spread her knees wide.

There is nothing stopping them now. No self-control, no fear of discovery. All that Cullen can think is that in this moment he has her, and she has him, and somehow they have both made it to the other side.

Fuck the sanctity of the table, of the war room and their games of chess. Corypheus is dead. The war is won. Their lives have just begun.

-

i posted this on this blog for more exposure, and to keep my fics all in one place! but for more dragon age: inquisition content and shitposting, follow @inqvisitor.

thanks for reading. <3

[ahsbitch]

Something Strange In The Air-Hawthorne!Michael Langdon x Reader

Word Count: 7162

Summary: Michael will be staying at Miss Robichaux’s for a few months leading up to competing against the Reader in the Seven Wonders Test. 

Warnings: NSFW, cursing, dirty talk, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, reader blacks out, also there’s a snake, if you’re scared of snakes maybe skip down to the last section bc pretty much all the others involve a snake, and a snake bite, Hawthorne!Michael deserves his own warning, yeah, also this is very much not proofread so, be prepared for that

A/N: This is written in honor of @guiltyfiend bc, you right, I think everyone wants to dom Hawthorne!Michael a little bit. This took me forever to write and is stupidly long (we love waxing poetic for no reason) but I hope y’all like it! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was something strange in the air. 

There was always something strange in the air, of course. Strange was probably too subjective, anyway. You’d never quite managed to find a place where the air was simply air, and in a city as electric as New Orleans, at a school as volatile as Miss Robichaux’s, there was always something prickling you, needling its way through your veins. It was why you took the time to meditate in the first place, to give you a chance to sort through it all, when you didn’t have to deal with physical world interrupting, when it was simply you and your mind and the universe playing a game of chicken, seeing which would bow to which, in the end. 

But there was something that was a different kind of strange today, something that you hadn’t ever felt before.

No, you’d felt it before, you certainly had, but something you’d never felt quite so strongly, that was it. 

It was a deep, poignant, throat catching sense of doom. 

A hum rippled through the air, someone was taking a deep breath, and you knew in your mind that they were about to call out to you. 

“Y/N,” It was Zoe, and there was a grit in her voice hidden so deep she probably wasn’t even aware that she was already annoyed, “The warlocks are here!” 

Yes, that was it. That was the presence. The warlocks were here, and more importantly, Michael Langdon. The others had known the sense of doom too, the Supreme Cordelia had even had a vision about it. Cordelia was in fact probably the only person who felt the doom in a similar way to how you did, with her prophetic powers. The others felt it because it was so strong, but you were doubtful that it overwhelmed them like it did you, that they felt it so deeply they could practically taste it. 

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that now, you needed to go meet this mysterious Boy Wonder that had made some of the women you respected most in the world, leaders in your coven, shake in their boots. 

You opened your eyes, finally, your head tilted back to look at the sky. After a moment, you slid down the steepled roof of the school, leaping nimbly to the nearest tree, scampering to the ground as quickly as you could. You took a step, but something squishy was under your foot, and you jumped slightly as you heard a loud hiss. 

“Fuck,” You muttered to yourself, kneeling down, coming face to face with a snake, coiled back in preparation to strike, white mouth opened wide. You waved your hand in front of it, once, and as you watched your magic flow a sense of calm through the snake, you reached out to let it sniff you, smiling at it gently, “Hello, little friend. What are you doing so far from the water?” 

The animal flicked its tongue out twice, slowly bringing its head back down, touching its face to your hand gently.

“I like you,” Moving slowly, you picked the snake up, looking levelly into the slitted eyes, “You wanna stay with me for a bit?” 

The cottonmouth raised and lowered its head, and you pulled your hood back to rest it gently inside, the snake nestling instantly into the fabric. 

With that, you hurried to the front of the school, where you saw four men and  five women waiting for you. 

The women, you knew. Cordelia, the Supreme, stood at the head of the line, her shoulders rolled back. Next to her was Myrtle Snow, then Zoe, and next to her were Madison and Queenie, the witches that Michael had rescued. 

The men, you didn’t know, but in an instant you recognized which one was Michael Langdon. 

He was beautiful, with fluffed, golden curls, piercing blue eyes, a cherubic face that held a smile so lovely most people would probably miss the sneer holding it up. He wore the Hawthorne uniform, which you’d only seen in photos, a black bow tied at his throat, his jacket thrown over his shoulder. 

They had already made introductions, it seemed, all turning to watch you approach. 

“There you are,” Cordelia gave you a small, reassuring smile as you moved to stand beside her, “Gentlemen, this is Y/N Y/L/N, one of our brightest witches, who we believe may be the next Supreme. Y/N, this is John Henry Moore, Behold Chablis, Grand Chancellor Ariel Augustus, and Michael Langdon.” 

You nodded confidently, smiling  at John Henry Moore as you shook his hand, a slightly smaller smile at Behold Chablis, your face dropping all emotion as you shook hands with Ariel Augustus, almost coughing as you were hit with a rush of negative energy. 

“Did you just fall from a tree?” Ariel questioned, gripping your hand tightly. 

You concentrated on making yourself smile again, and once you had a grin securely in place you shrugged, “I jumped, actually. I was on the roof, but jumping straight off the roof seems like a good way to end up injured, and I don’t like to transmutate immediately before and after I meditate.” 

“Why were you on the roof?” John Henry Moore asked, looking amused. 

You almost responded, but Behold spoke before you could, “Didn’t she just say? She was meditating.” 

Myrtle moved behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder, “Our dear Y/N is very sensitive to the vibrations of the universe. I believe it’s what makes her so good at playing my theremin. She meditates to sort the different callings that pull at her.” 

Nodding, you turned to the mysterious Michael Langdon, watching him. He stared back, cocking his head to the side, and after a moment he extended his hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N,” He said coolly, his voice strangely melodic. 

You shook firmly, not releasing when the shake was done, not intending to fully end the shake until he moved to end it himself, “Hello, Boy Wonder. It’s nice to- no, actually it’s not particularly nice to meet you. But I’m happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard lots of stories, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done for our coven by returning Madison and Queenie to us.”

His brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth as if to object before suddenly jerking his hand back, frowning, “I’m sorry, but what is that?”

What was he talking about?

A slight hiss next to your ear explained it. The snake had crawled up to your shoulder, and you glanced to see that it was looking at the Grand Chancellor. It seemed that the snake didn’t trust Ariel Augustus either. 

Ariel jumped, staring, his hand raising up and mouth opening, and you could tell that some type of spell was on the tip of his tongue.

“No,” You snapped, reaching a hand up to the snakes head, and Ariel stumbled backwards, pushed back by magic that you hadn’t even meant to send out, “Sorry. It’s a snake. A cottonmouth, although I’ve never seen one this far from water. I just found him. Stepped on him, actually, although he didn’t take it too personally. I mean, he almost bit me, but I wouldn’t have particularly blamed him if he did, and after I calmed him down with a little charm he seemed happy to come with me. I’d like to keep him,” You turned away from the warlocks, glancing at Cordelia, “May I? I’ve already thought of a name for him.”

Madison, Queenie, and Zoe had all stepped away from you, anxiety thrumming through the air from their direction, but Myrtle chuckled, and Cordelia nodded, something inquisitive just behind her eyes, “You may, so long as you take good care of him, and so long as your new roommate doesn’t mind.” 

You whipped back around to Michael, beaming, “What do you think, Boy Wonder? Can Richard stay with us?” 

A deep frown etched into his features, which he looked annoyingly pretty in spite of, and he turned to Cordelia and the warlocks, “What does she mean?” 

“We’re happy to have you staying with us for the next few months leading up to the Seven Wonders test, but there is currently an overflow of witches. Every room is currently occupied, some by multiple girls,” Zoe stepped in to explain, “Y/N had space for a roommate. I’m surprised that the Grand Chancellor didn’t tell you.” 

Ariel shrugged, mumbling something about it not seeming important, and Michael looked at you, horrified, as you slung an arm around his shoulder, “I probably could’ve swapped around with someone, but I thought it’d be fun if we bunked together. Give us a chance to get to know each other better, y’know? So c’mon, Mikey, can we keep the snake?”

“Do not call me that,” He snapped, shrugging you off of him and adjusting his collar, “I don’t care about the snake. I don’t like you.” 

“The feeling is mutual, don’t worry,” Blowing a kiss in his direction, you whispered a celebration to the snake before turning back to your sister witches, “Let’s give them a tour!” 

You were pleased with this interaction. He was taken aback by you, and you could tell just from a single glance that Michael was not one who was easily taken aback. His energy shifted, something hard to determine just under the surface. You were curious to see what you could learn about him, before the two of you competed against each other during the test of the Seven Wonders. 

Alongside that was the strong feeling that at some point you would either fuck him or beat him up, and you found that you were also curious to see which it would be. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael Langdon was an asshole. 

You’d managed to catch him by surprise the day you’d first met him, to get him to stumble, but by the time you’d walked through the front door of the school he had found his composure, and you hadn’t managed to see him without it since then. He was always well put together. 

Alongside being an asshole.

The other witches in your coven were finding themselves swayed by him, you could tell. They didn’t want a male Supreme, but they were fading into his easy charm and good looks. Most spent their time flirting with him, and he seemed incredibly smug at all the attention. They didn’t seem to mind how clearly indifferent he was to them, not particularly harsh, but also never making an  effort to be nice, either. 

The only person he actively disliked? You. 

You couldn’t blame him, of course, but he was a huge pain in the ass. 

For example, he was stealing your study room. 

There were several areas in the school where students could study, of course. Most of the girls just did it in their rooms, and there was one room at the back of the house that was your favorite, holding a large table with bookshelves on either side and a large picture window opposite the door. You were the only one who used it, because there were nicer ones with tables that didn’t have splinters and light bulbs that weren’t constantly flickering no matter how often they were changed. 

And then Michael Langdon showed up, and started hogging the room.

It wasn’t as though you really needed the full study room to yourself, of course. But he took up so much space. 

He spread books along the entire table, and he always used his magic to adjust the lighting and change the temperature. 

“Boy Wonder,” You sighed one day, about a week and a half after his arrival, “Can you please give me some space on the table?” 

Michael glanced up at you, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips although he kept the rest of his face neutral, “What’s wrong, little witch? Are you mad that I beat you in here for once?”

“I’m mad that you take up all the room,” You snapped, “And that you’ve made it fucking freezing in here.” 

“I can make it snow, too. Wanna see?”

You kinda did, actually, but you weren’t going to tell him that. 

“No, I want you to put the temperature back so it’s warm enough that I can’t see my own breath. I can literally see the heat waves rolling off of you, Boy Wonder,” And you could, and it was really fucking weird, in a very interesting sort of way.

 Still not bothering to turn to you, Michael shuffled his books around until there was a new one in front of him, “Little witch, why do you think I’d give a fuck what temperature you want it to be?”

“Because, Boy Wonder,  Richard can’t handle this cold,” You gestured to the snake who was wrapped around your shoulders, shivering along with you. 

Shrugging, Michael stood up finally, walking over to you and reaching a hand out. You stared for a moment, slowly reaching your own out and pressing your palm to his, and the two of you stared at each other for a solid minute and a half, his hand searing hot against your own cold palm, and when he finally pulled away he raised a curious eyebrow at you, “I was reaching for the snake.” 

He still wore that ridiculous fucking Hawthorne uniform, and looking at him in it made you wonder once again how well you would fare in beating him up. 

“Oh. Shit, sorry,” You said hurriedly, pulling Richard off your shoulders and down around your arm, but then you paused and looked at Michael, your voice heavy with suspicion, “Why do you want him?” 

“I’m warmer than you. He can hang out with me and you can go study in our room. Or you can take him back to the room and study with in there with him. Either way,” He said simply, as though you were a bit stupid for not knowing that already.

Glaring, you took a step closer to him, trying your best to be intimidating, “I can’t go study in our room, actually, because your shit is all over my desk, too. And I don’t want Richard to spend all day stuck in the room. He likes going other places. Just make some damn space.” 

Michael took two steps forward and suddenly your back was against the wall. He looked closely at you for a minute, and then he reached his hand out again, drawing his thumb across your lower lip, “Why do you always wear lipstick?” 

“What?” You stared up at him, dumbfounded. 

“You wear lipstick a lot,” Michael pulled his hand away, glancing at the residue left behind on his thumb, and then turned it back to you, “I’m curious why. Can you get this for me?”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes, Michael gripped your chin, pushing his thumb against your lips until they parted. Your eyebrows scrunched together, and you closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to concentrate on what the actual hell was happening. 

It wasn’t even lipstick, it was tinted lip balm. 

His energy had reached a point that was especially strange, still dark and angry like always, but with a type of curiosity to it as well. He was wondering something, and that made you wonder what he was wondering, and there was such a loop of wondering going on that you didn’t even realize that your tongue was swirling around him, didn’t even notice the slight shift in his demeanor as he pushed the two more of his fingers into your mouth, shoving them down your throat. 

What the fuck?

You shifted, trying to reach up and push him away, but his magic pinned your hands at your sides and all you could do was gag around him, frantically struggling. Magic, magic, do something with your magic to get him to stop, but you couldn’t get it to work, couldn’t get anything to happen. You bit down, desperate, and he hissed as he raised his other hand to your chin, holding it pulled down so you couldn’t bite anymore, scratching his nails gently across your jaw as he did so. 

“You look good like this, do you know that? Gagging. I think you were made for it. It’s interesting, how aware you are of energies, of vibrations in the universe, and yet I don’t think you’re even conscious of the energy you send out. How desperate you are for me. You aren’t aware of it because you don’t want to be. I can read your mind, little witch. You may not like me, but you do want to fuck me. You wear revealing clothes and you act like you’re doing it for yourself, like you’re empowered, but you’re not. You act high and mighty, as though you’re wise and powerful, but really you’re just a dumb, depraved, desperate little whore who wants nothing more than to be dicked down by your rival.” 

What the fuck was he talking about? That wasn’t true!

Was it? 

He was pretty fucking hot, you had to admit, but you didn’t want to get dicked down by Michael Langdon. 

You couldn’t want that.

Fuck. 

Finally, finally, when you thought you were going to pass out or puke or maybe both, he pulled completely away from you, stepping back.

You doubled over, catching your breath, and when you straightened up your magic was finally working again, sending Michael flying across the room until he was pressed against the window, and you gasped, “What the fuck, Langdon? What the actual fucking fuck?”

Michael tried to shrug, but his shoulders wouldn’t move, and after a moment you released him, wishing that he would maybe fall over, but he just smoothly stepped forward, making his way back to you, “I’ll raise the temperature back to normal. And here,” He waved his hand in the air and the books in front of one of the seats at the table flew to other spots, clearing you an area, “I suppose there’s room for us to share the table. No promises on my kindness extending to tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll beat you here tomorrow,” You said, thinking through each of your words carefully as you spoke, “And you can suck my Dick, Langdon.”

Richard raised his head up and down as you set him on the table, slithering closer to Michael as if in emphasis to your point.

“Good one, little witch. That’s very clever, for you,” He chuckled, taking the seat next to the one he had cleared space for you at and sliding his fingers into his own mouth, tilting his head back as he cleaned them off and then pulling them back out with a flourish, shooting you a condescending look, “Are you going to sit? If you’re just here to stare, I’d prefer it if you’d leave. You can be very distracting sometimes.

Numbly, you took a seat next to him, trying hard to ignore his cocky grin, and pulled a book out of your bag. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sharing a bedroom with Michael Langdon presented its own challenges. He was an asshole in private just as much as he was in front of others, and it was pretty fucking annoying. 

“Are you ever gonna go to fucking sleep?” Michael snapped at you, pulling his pillow over his eyes. 

“There’s too much noise,” Sighing, you cracked your knuckles, letting Richard the snake trail across your legs, “And not enough noise, at the same time. Am I really bothering you that much? I turned the lights out and everything.” 

He growled, removing the pillow from his head and squinting across the room at you through the darkness, “Doesn’t matter, does it, little witch bitch? You’re still a pain in the ass whether the light is on or off. Can’t you just ignore the noise?” 

“Fuck you, Langdon, you don’t know shit. I can’t just-shit! Ow, motherfucker,” You hissed,  jumping, as Richard bit your finger, “Why the fuck would you do that you dick?”

“What happened?” Michael straightened up, “Y/N?”

The snake was slithering away already, and as he did you were flooded with a strange feeling, the metallic taste of magic in the air. Richard hadn’t bitten you of his own accord, someone had made it happen, and that someone was probably Michael. 

“Y/N,” He repeated, “Come over here.”

Your feet carried you to his bed without your brain guiding them, and you dropped to the mattress next to him, holding out a shaky hand, “Richard bit me.”

Michael wrapped his fingers around your wrist, his large hand engulfing yours as he brought it closer to his face, examining carefully, “Yeah, you did. Weird. You feeling okay?”

You weren’t. Your mind was hazy, and you didn’t know why. It wasn’t the snakebite that did it, you could just tell, it was something deep in your chest and spreading through your body, making you feel like you were in a great fog, and you stared at him, “I don’t feel great, actually.” 

“Would you like me to fix it?” Pressing a kiss to your palm, Michael raised an eyebrow at you.

“I, uh, I don’t know what you, what you mean by-” You cut off, closing your eyes to concentrate, rather than letting yourself get lost looking at Michael.

Dammit, why did he have to be so fucking pretty? It was such a pain. 

Night was the only time you saw him looking casual, too. Night and early morning, when he was in bed. 

Seeing him unbuttoned like this made a strange flip turn in the pit of your stomach.

“I can make the pain go away, little witch,” His voice was hoarse and whispery, “Just say the word.”

“Okay,” You breathed, even though you probably shouldn’t, you should say no, should pull away, should find a way to fix it yourself or maybe go to Cordelia or one of the other witches for help, you didn’t trust Michael, you shouldn’t trust Michael, but the word came out and you were making eye contact with him and fuck, fuck, fuck what were you doing with your life? 

Michael pulled your finger into his mouth, wrapping his lips just below the bite wound, and began sucking gently. 

“What... what are you doing?” You asked blearily, unable to break your eyes away from his, “I don’t... I don’t think you can really suck out the venom. I don’t even know if there is venom? He bit so quick, it was more of a nip than anything, I don’t-”

Pulling his head away for a moment, Michael frowned, “Are you ever quiet, little witch? Just hush, for once, and let me make you feel better.” 

Why was he being so nice? It wasn’t nice, you knew it wasn’t really, there was some type of trick to this, some type of trick to everything he did, and yet you felt swept away, some how. Overwhelmed, intoxicated, by Michael Langdon. 

You nodded, and his lips were around you again, and it was working, you could feel it. The strange pain in your body, that had started to cloud your chest, your throat, stomach, everything, it was fading away. 

You weren’t quite sure what was replacing it, as it certainly wasn’t anything you were used to, but it was mostly calming. There was a thrill of adrenaline spiking through you, but something else. Something deeper. There were few emotions that you couldn’t identify, but this was perhaps one of them. Whatever you were feeling, it was not something that you were used to. 

When the pain was gone and your head was a bit clearer, you tried to pull your hand away. Michael held firm to your wrist, although he let you ball your fingers into a fist, releasing you from his mouth. “How does that feel?” He cooed, tapping his fingers along your veins.

“Better,” You said slowly, and then, “Weird, though. I feel weird. I want... I’m tired, I think.” 

“What do you want?” Michael asked, and there was a smirk on his face that made you want to slap him, and then because your head was still not altogether there, you did slap him. 

Your hand, the one he wasn’t holding in place, hit his cheek at an astounding speed, leaving an angry red mark, and before you could even process that you had done so, you threw your leg across his lap, straddling him, and pressed your lips to his. 

Releasing your wrist finally, Michael pressed his hands into the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, and you stroked your thumb over the mark on his face, listening to Michael’s growl as you pressed down. 

You pulled away after a moment, cupping his face in your hands, panting, “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Which part?” Michael nipped at your bottom lip, smiling a smile that did not soften his eyes at all, “Slapping me? Or kissing me? Because I’ll be honest, I wasn’t fully expecting either of them, little witch bitch.”

“You’ve done something to me,” You mused, beginning to kiss along his throat, “I don’t know what, or how, or why, but there’s something you’ve done. There are a lot of things I want right now.”

“Tell me,” Michael commanded, but then he let out a groan as you brushed your lips over the spot where his jaw met his neck, and his usual suave, intimidating demeanor dropped as you began sucking furiously at the spot. He spoke again, more softly this time, “Stop, tell me.” 

Leaning back to glance at him, you smiled sweetly, “Make me, Boy Wonder,” and then you were at it again, leaving a large clump of bruises near his ear. 

“Seems like you have feelings for me, little bitch,” With mocking laughter, Michael trailed his hands to your hips, giving a harsh squeeze, “What would your sister witches think?” 

“The only feeling I have for you is loathing, Langdon,” You snarled, and in a moment your lips were connected once again, teeth clacking against each other, and when you both paused to catch your breath, you pressed your forehead to his, “Fuck, I really want to suck your cock.”

Michael snorted, “Everyone thinks you’re the future Supreme? You’re just a pathetic little cockslut.” 

You ground your hips down against him and reared your hand back, but this time he caught your wrist, glaring, although he bucked slightly against you. “Fuck you, you’re the one who’s all marked up. You’re the one who’s fucking dry humping me. Look at you. You’re the pathetic one.” 

“Sure I am,” Michael had a low, snarly chuckle that made a bolt of need shoot through you, and also made you very desperately want to hit him again, but seeming to know what you were thinking, he captured your other hand as well, “Such a fiery thing you are, little witch.”

Scowling, you bit his bottom lip and tugged, licking up the blood that beaded up and began to trickle down his chin. Smiling at the bitter taste, a yawn made its way through you before you could stop it. You felt yourself blushing a little at that, muttering quickly, “Sorry about that. I’m more tired than I thought, I guess. Being this close to you kinda blocks out a lot of the other energy, makes it all a lot quieter.” 

“Then let’s sleep.”

You had started to kiss along his collarbones, but you paused at that, murmuring against his skin, “What?” 

Michael wrapped his hand around your jaw, pulling you back so that he could look you in the eye, “You heard me, little witch. You’re tired. I am too. As much as I would love to see you gagging on my cock right now, I’d also enjoy getting some sleep. I’m planning to get up relatively early tomorrow to study.”

“I call the study room,” You said quickly, and you hadn’t even realized that Michael had shifted the two of you so that you were laying down, one hand still cupping your jaw, making it a bit difficult to speak, “What are you doing?” 

“You really are quite dim, little witch. I’m going to sleep. You should do the same,” His voice was softening, although not in a kind way. It was soft, yes, but commanding, dangerous,and you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

Straining against his arms, you tried to stand, “I’ll go back to my bed.”

“You can’t sleep in your bed,” Michael said simply, rolling onto his back, one arm still flung across your waist, holding you in place.

Frowning, you turned your body towards him, curling into his side. He was warm. You didn’t even have a blanket covering you, and already you could feel yourself starting to overheat. You didn’t voice this though, not yet, too confused by the entire interaction to focus on that, “Why do you care so much how I sleep?”

 “I don’t,” He said simply, “I care about my sleep. And I’m not going to lose my sleep just because you can’t grasp your own. Now, stop squirming around so much. Are you that worked up?” 

“I’m hot,” You snapped.

“And bothered, apparently.”

“Langdon, do you ever shut the fuck up?” You jabbed your elbow into his side, “That’s not the hot I meant and you know it. I’m warm. You’re like a fucking furnace.” 

Sighing, getting grumpier by the second, Michael hooked his arm around you and pulled you onto his chest so that you were straddling him once again, arms on either side of his body, head hovering over his chest.

He laughed at the way you yelped, being pulled so suddenly, and his hands rested on your back, bringing one up to guide your head down to rest against his chest, “Did I scare you, little witch?”

“No,” You answered quickly, and then, “Just, this is a weird position.”

“It should be a little cooler for you this way. Just sleep, yeah? Get comfortable, and let’s go to sleep,” Michael’s hand stroked up and down your back, probably unconsciously, and you nodded sleepily.

“Goodnight, Mikey,” You murmured, still largely unable to control your impulses.

“Don’t call me that,” He replied, and then, after a moment, he added gently, “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you always here?” Michael sighed the next morning, setting his books down on your table.

“Why are you always such a dick?” You retorted, shuffling your own books to the side. 

He shrugged, stiffening a little as you rested your hand on his thigh, “Because it’s fun. Listen, about last night, I don’t want you to think-”

“I don’t think anything,” You reassured him quickly. 

“Well that’s obvious,” Michael snorted, “You’re far prettier than you are smart, and far more annoying than you are pretty. I’d be surprised if you used that little head of yours for much more than deciding what color lipstick you should wear and fantasizing about getting fucked.” 

Pulling your hand away, you scowled at him, “That’s not what I meant, asshole. I was going to thank you for helping me fall asleep, but now I’d rather just give you another hickey or something, so everyone who looks at you like you’re a god will see what a little bitch their Boy Wonder actually is.” 

“I would take that back, if I were you,” He said coolly, his voice deadly calm. 

You stood, though only for a moment, and pushed his chair back enough for you to be able to sit, straddling his lap much like you had the night before. Hooking your arms around his neck, you looked at him with a smile, “I have no intention of taking anything back. I said what I said, and I fucking meant it.” 

Faster than you knew he could move, Michael stood and slammed your back against the table, knocking the wind out of you. His hands reached under the fabric of your dress and he ripped your underwear off quickly, stuffing them into the pocket of his dress pants as he looked at you, “You have no power here, do you understand that? You may have felt like you were in charge last night, but that’s only because I fucking let you. You’re feisty, and I like that, but you need to learn your fucking place, little witch bitch. Tell me you want that. Tell me you want me to teach you your place, and I will. If you don’t, I’ll leave. But I think we both know which option you prefer.” 

You nodded, swallowing thickly, and at his raised eyebrow you spoke, “I do. I mean, I, uh, I want you to show me my place. Whatever. Just fucking do something, Michael.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” He growled, sitting back down in his chair, and he tugged at you, pulling both your legs over his shoulders, your hips lifting off the table, so that his face was level with your pussy, “I’m the one in charge. Get it? I want you to sit there and-fuck, you’re already so fucking wet. You think you want to be in charge, but clearly you know that you’re meant to be at my mercy. I want you to sit there and melt underneath me, and you’re gonna keep melting until there’s nothing left of you. Get it?” 

“I get it,” You agreed quickly, although you really weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, and your hips bucked weakly forward at the feeling of his hot breath against you, “Please, Michael.” 

“So fucking desperate. You’re fucking dripping for me, and I’ve barely even touched you,” Chuckling, Michael placed a tiny, barely there, ghost of a kiss against your clit, and even though he wasn’t touching you anymore you could feel his wolfish grin at the way you whined when he pulled away. 

Michael dragged his teeth against the soft skin of your thighs, nipping at the junction of your pelvis, and you knew as he continued that there were dark flowers blossoming along after his teeth. You squirmed underneath him, and when he finally finished with your thighs he placed his palms against them, holding them open, his long fingers pressed against your hips so they stayed down. 

You sat up as well as you could to look at him, and you watched as he stared intently at your pussy, leaning forward after far, far too long to lick a slow, languid stripe up your clit. You moaned weakly, giving a flick of your hand to slam the study room door shut and lock it, and after a moment you dug your hands into his hair, “Michael, wait, the window.”

He leaned back for a moment to glance at the large picture window that took over the wall to your left, and then he beamed up at you, “It’s fine, little witch. No one will walk by, and if they do, it won’t embarrass me, so it doesn’t matter much. That reminds me, if being noisy is gonna make you embarrassed, you might wanna find some way to be fucking quiet for once. I know that’s not your strong suit, but it’s the best you’re gonna get.” 

What a dick. 

You were about to voice this thought, tell him what a dick he was, but then Michael clamped his teeth down gently on your clit, giving a playful tug, and you let out a shriek at that, bringing one hand up to stop yourself from making too much noise. 

Suddenly his tongue was inside you, tracing along the walls of your cunt, exploring, searching for something, and when he found the spot he was looking for you bit sharply into the palm of your hand. 

He was masterful in the way he ate you out, his nose still brushing your clit as he fucked you with his tongue. 

It didn’t take long until you felt your stomach tightening, ready to burst, and you tugged at Michael’s thick golden curls, whimpering, “Fuck, Michael, I’m gonna-”

“Do it, little witch,” He spoke against your skin, and you shuddered at the vibrations it sent through you, “Melt for me. Let yourself dissolve for me.” 

Your orgasm washed over you, Michael attacking your g-spot with a ferocity that you probably should’ve expect but didn’t.  He kept going, and you gasped, pulling harder at his hair, “Michael! Stop, you gotta stop, give me a minute.”

He pulled away for just a moment and you gasped, but then his lips were around your clit and sucking furiously. You cursed loudly, another orgasm already approaching, or maybe the first one extending, you couldn’t tell, couldn’t think about it, you were overwhelmed. 

For the first time in your life, you could only feel one sense of energy coming at you. Everything else was blocked out, hidden away behind the deep, angry lust that rolled through the air between you and Michael. 

He moved back down and began lapping furiously at your folds. Pulling back for a moment, Michael spat on your pussy and then buried his face against you once more, shaking his head furiously, and you struggled to hold back your moans. 

You weren’t intending to give him the damn satisfaction.

Michael seemed to realize you were holding back as he started speaking again, his voice muffled against you but bringing another orgasm bubbling to the surface of your skin, electrifying you, “You taste delicious, do you know that, little witch? So sweet. Maybe a little bitter, but so sugary. I could eat you for hours. You know what? I think I will.” 

“Fuck,” You let out a hiss as he dove back in, tongue delving into you once more, and you did your best to act smug, like he wasn’t sending shockwaves through your very being, “Is this the best you’ve got, Boy Wonder? You’re supposed to be teaching me my place, right? But I’m kind of-dammit to fuck, holy hell-kind of the one in charge here, huh? I’m the one above you right now.”

You couldn’t even be sure why exactly you were saying this, why you were egging him on when it was becoming painful how much pleasure was running through you, but he didn’t respond. At least, not out loud. 

Leaping to his feet, Michael pulled you up closer to him, so that only your shoulders were still laying down. You adjusted your position frantically, scrabbling to grip onto the edge of the table. You were upside down and practically vertical, and he dug into you as though he were indeed starving for you, snarling and slobbering, glaring down the length of your body at you. Your body had started to spasm, and you bit your hand until you tasted blood. 

There were explosions going off in your mind, and not just metaphorical orgasmic explosions, but actual ones too, nuclear blasts dancing across your hazy thoughts. 

You couldn’t be sure how long this went on, how many times you came, it was all a blur. You’d given up on keeping your sounds under control and were now openly sobbing, shuddering as he continued to devour you. 

“Stop, Michael, please, I can’t take it,” You were blubbering, straining hard against him and desperately trying to pull away, but Michael held you firmly in place, chuckling at your desperation. 

He pulled your clit into his mouth once more, the suction almost unbearable, and you were smashed with your final orgasm, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as he moved to lick at your folds again, a dark glint in his eyes as he watched you pant, watched your own eyes rolling back in your head, and the sight of him smiling against you was the last thing you see before a dark haze overtook you.  

You were surrounded by darkness, everything you saw misted in a painful, prickling fog. The air smelled like sulfur, and you looked down to see that you were covered in blood. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A familiar voice rang in your ear, and you swiveled slowly, sluggishly, to see Michael standing just to your right, an admiring grin on his face, “We did very well, my little witch.” 

You tried to respond, but your words stuck in your throat, and you simply stared at Michael. He was wearing something other than pajamas or the Hawthorne uniform for the first time you had ever seen. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, but as you stared at him he reached one arm out and entangled your fingers in his. 

The sky was thick with grey and black clouds, and Michael’s hand was searing hot against your own. When he pulled away, moving to examine a piece of rubble not far from you, you looked at your palm to see that it was bright shade of pinkish red, as though it had been sunburned. 

Michael turned back around to look at you expectantly, and you saw that the piece of rubble he was leaning against had a large sign on it, with a large chunk missing from one of the top corners. 

--Miss Robichaux’s Academy For Exceptional Young Ladies--

Holy shit. 

When your eyes fluttered back open, Michael was sitting in his chair once more and had adjusted you so that your back was resting on the table again, although your legs were still splayed over his shoulders.

You gasped when you caught sight of his face, your mind still tumbling at the...dream? vision? mirage? You weren’t sure what it was, but you were scrambling to reconcile what you had seen with what was happening now. 

Michael merely raised an eyebrow at you, pulling your legs off of his shoulders, “Are you back with me now, little witch?”

“Fucking hell,” You breathed, trying to sit up.

Placing a hand on your stomach, Michael tutted, “Stay down. At least for a few moments. You blacked out and you’re gonna do it again if you’re not careful.”

“I’m okay,” You reassured him, sitting up again after a few moments, swinging your legs down and frowning, “Fuck, I can’t feel my legs.” 

“That makes sense,” Michael stood, looking down at you coolly, “I think I’ll go study elsewhere. See you around, little witch.”

“What? You can’t just leave,” You couldn’t believe it, and you tried to stand but fell back immediately, your entire lower body trembling. 

Michael didn’t bother to respond, just turned away from you with that ridiculous smirk on his face, and walked out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was something strange in the air, but this time you knew what it was. 

Desire.

Michael Langdon was an asshole, but you knew from everything that had happened that you two were destined to meet, although you weren’t sure why.

It seemed that you were going to have to figure it out.   

[invinciblerodent]

Okay, I'm less annoyed about those posts now, and I feel like the reason why I'm so much less annoyed might bear saying, if only to get it out of my own head and have it written down for my own dang self.

I've already rambled on about my point that perception, deception, and unreliable narrators have been a core to the identity of the series from the very beginning of Origins, when you chose a paradigm through which to look at the whole world as the very first choice you made (which I'd argue is only reinforced further by the past choices of a previous protagonist down South not having much of an effect, if any, on the present up North), but now, I also have to occasionally remind myself of the very simple fact that... we are in the pre-release phase of a major AAA game.

One that is the fourth in a very popular, award-winning series, the last game of which came out a decade before now.

This milieu right now, with us, the people who are waiting anxiously to see it come out, and pulling apart every shred of information, getting excited or dismayed at the drop of a hat? It's not going to be reflective of what is coming in a month at all.

The most of us here blogging about Dragon Age on Tumblr in 2024 might be something of a "core" fanbase, but we are also a bespoke minority among the players who are going to pick up The Veilguard.

And the game, it will have been made with the intention to be playable by the majority, too.

I feel like we here posting about our plans cannot get so into our excitement that we forget that most people who are going to play the game are the people who are going to be returning to the series after a decade, barely remembering any of their choices, and people who plain did not play the other three games, simply because they were like all of a whopping 8 years old when Inquisition was at its height of popularity.

Like all the Dragon Age games that came before it, Veilguard will have a new protagonist. It, despite being a sequel, will center a new storyline, it will feature different characters, and it will need to be comprehensible, even if you have not thought about Thedas since you played Inquisition once in 2014, or if you have no idea who the fuck the characters (your own included) even are. It will need to make sense to both the 33 year old who played Origins at release, and 18 year old who was 3 years old then, and is picking up the series for the first time.

And you guys are going to need to be okay with the game being aware that it's both art, and a product trying to be sold to as many people as possible, and try not to let yourself get caught up in the interconnectedness (or the lack thereof) between the different entries in the series.

It would be nice if all past choices had an effect. It'd be nice if the game was tailor-made to honor everyone's perfect, shiny little headcanons.

It's not going to happen. That's fine.

Take a deep breath.

And... this is a bad example because that didn't even try to be part of a greater story and is following a 100 year timeskip, but maybe it'd be good for people to remind themselves that Baldur's Gate 2 came out in 2013, and how happily so many people are/were playing that particular kissing simulator while knowing (and giving) an absolute maggot-infested fuckall about its prequels.

People are going to be the same way about Veilguard, and we all just have to be normal about that.

Hitting the "not interested in this post" button over people's endless navel-gaze-y catastrophizing about how "discouraged" and "critical" they're feeling over Veilguard should be an Olympic sport, and brother, I'd bring home the gold

(thank you for the plethora of undodgeable, untagged spoilers btw, bunch of terminally pessimistic dicks)

[holydragon2808]

Thoughts On Dragon Age II after Replaying (Massive Spoilers)

Hello fellow DA fans! It's been quite some time since I last posted anything here on Tumblr. Hope everyone has been safe during all of the world's craziness. Figured I'd post something to let people know I'm still alive.

Anyway, DA2 was first released back in 2011. I was 20-21 years old at the time. Back then, while I still acknowledged the lack of genuine player agency with Hawke (in comparison to the Warden before them), I did belong in the camp of people believing that people went way overboard with the DA2 critiques regarding those complaints, at least back then.

Now though? After replaying the game again a decade or so later, and also in light of the Inquisitor and DAI, I now personally believe that Hawke's story stands out as (overall), all the more unbalanced in comparison to both the Warden and Inquisitor.

Massive Spoilers for the franchise abound beyond this point. Last warning.

Despite a lot of the old critiques leveled at DA2, it isn't a 100% terrible experience, and despite the oncoming rant, I do love the game overall.

Even though I've personally always thought that DA2 story was centered around tragedy a bit TOO much, in light of the growing franchise and the directional tone of the other protagonists thus far, it unfortunately stands out even more to me, and not in a good way.

A shame really because DA2 could have been a better and interesting contrast to DAO in tone and direction had it been more balanced with meaningful successes and failures for Hawke as a character rather than veering too far over into angst and tragedy.

For example, in DAO, your Warden character is railroaded into success against the Blight no matter what. Regardless of the origin, regardless of what sort of allies you acquire, no matter if you live or die in the end or which warden gets the final blow, you succeed.

This sort of narrative framing gave the writers a much easier way to balance genuine tragedy and success throughout the journey without veering too far in one direction or the other, and also without making nearly everything the player does seem like an exercise in futility.

In other words, there were failures and successes more properly balanced throughout, from experiencing meaningful failures and heartache during the chosen origin stories, to failure at Ostagar, to having more balance with the party members and their struggles (they weren't too boring or too dysfunctional), romances that stood out as a light for the Warden amidst all the fighting and death and their massive burden, to succeeding with building the army to take on the Darkspawn, to potential personal sacrifice to save the world and so on.

The option to play a more tragic, angsty or "evil" character who alienates everyone around them and then ultimately dies in the end is there too. The point is that the game largely gave the player the reins and let THEM decide what sort of story they were interested in shaping within the confines of the narrative railroading.

This balance just isn't there with DA2 as the player progresses. Hawke is railroaded into failure in almost every way from start to finish, whether in their personal life or with the massive political struggles in Kirkwall.

I'm sure most people would have been fine with the main plot between the mages/Templars spiraling out of their control in the end (thanks Anders), the Qunari rampaging no matter what, and even the Hawke family being forcefully separated as the story progressed.

However, to me some of the railroaded bleak tragedy should have been offset by Hawke (and by extension the player) at least having the OPTION of being able to keep their family alive.

I'm fine with the tragedy of losing the whole family being ONE POSSIBLE option in the game, but when this tragedy along with the main plot failures, the dysfunctional party members that are too problematic to help ease Hawke's burdens (in fact, they all add to Hawke's worries, which if Inquisition shows anything, that it finally takes its toll on Hawke) is THE ONE AND ONLY OPTION in light of everything else wrong in Kirkwall, then that's a potential writing issue and could potentially alienate the player more than make them care about anything that happens and wonder why they aren't given the option to just nope out and leave Kirkwall to its fate.

Tragedy can be fine, don't get me wrong, but not everyone wants to role play a COMPLETE AND UTTER tragedy from start to finish with no option to deviate in any way from that narrative. Options in the way people progress (especially where people can break the story down and see the holes in the narrative where it COULD have possible but just wasn't allowed), should be presented in a ROLE PLAYING game.

I personally find it more realistic and relatable when a character experiences a nice blend of both MEANINGFUL success and failure. However, the writers seemed intent on railroading Hawke into just being at the mercy of the main plot with little to no agency.

In stark contrast to DAO, planning for the entire story in DA2 (or just in an RPG period) to end in failure no matter the player choices is already a bold enough risk on its own. It can definitely work with the proper balance of both positive and negative experiences along the way though in both the political and personal aspects of the player characters life, to keep the player actively engaged in a way that doesn't leave them thinking that their presence in the story amounts to little more than the equivalent of holding a book and simply turning the page rather than actively doing something.

But combining an already planned bleak ending with a very corrupt setting where the leaders on all sides are either completely moronic or passive, party members where the majority of them have too many burdens of their own to give Hawke a genuine sense of a reprieve from the madness even if romancing one of them (except for Varric, Aveline, and Bethany, if alive, everyone else is either a whiner or dysfunctional. It's very telling that Hawke's PET DOG gets more no strings attached visits from the party members than Hawke does. Just saying), railroading Hawke to lose the majority of their family in some way, AND having what little success and influence Hawke DOES acquire to come back and bite them in the ass in the end (Hawke struck it rich and became Champion of Kirkwall?! Awesome!.....right up until its revealed the red lyrium idol they found in the deep roads played a part in screwing up everything), then at that point, a serious argument can be made that the writers veered far too heavily into tragic overdone melodrama for some people.

How cool would it have been to be able to leave the game with "Well, okay, I couldn't do anything about the corruption in Kirkwall or the mage/Templar tensions spiraling out of control, but at least my whole family is alive and well"? There could have even been an achievement/trophy for this very outcome called "The pride of the Hawkes" or something.

Just one possible example of how the railroaded political failures could have been offset by giving Hawke, (and by extension the player), the OPTION for personal success in a more meaningful way. The option for extreme tragedy with some or even all of the Hawkes dying can still be there of course for people who want that degree of angst, but again having multiple OPTIONS is more likely to accommodate more people and their preferred play styles or stories, and thus, give more reasons to play the game multiple times.

As it stands now, sure, Hawke can save the life of one sibling, but they're still railroaded into losing one of them before the prologue is over, the other is either killed by the Blight or forced from their side in act 1 because the game said so, and the mother is forced to die in the most shock value induced way possible (nevermind not even being able to warn Leandra in act one or follow up on this quest until it's too late in act two or the guards and Templars being forcefully incompetent for this to play out like the writers want).

Those have just been my thoughts as of late. Some people argue that in a way, this is the entire point of the game. That sometimes only REALLY crappy choices exist and there may not be a third option. I agree with that to a point.

But "there might not be" and "there NEVER is" an option for an ideal third way are two very different things and IMO, DA2 suffered in veering far too heavily in the direction of the latter, often being too focused on heartbreak and shock value (looking at you "All That Remains") to really work as well as it could have.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts a decade later. Make no mistake, I still love DA2 for what it is, love the general concept and idea of DA2, just not the execution. It's just sad to me that this game could have been so much better with more development time, more options to shape Hawke's story on a more personal level (whether with an ideal outcome of everyone in the family living, or a semi tragic one where some can die depending on choices, or everyone dying), and not being railroaded into tragedy to nearly nigh ridiculous levels to the point where a giant spider nightmare residing in the Fade in a whole other game mocks Hawke for their "failure is the only option" status.

And just to further clarify my point here, true, Kirkwall was a ticking time bomb with or without Hawke being there. They made the tensions between the two factions apparent as far back as DAO. A Mage/Templar war was all but inevitable, as was Anders eventually losing himself to Justice/Vengeance and after exhausting all peaceful options, finally doing the unthinkable and "forcing everyone to choose a side". That part was fine. And it makes sense for this part of the story to remain static and unchanged no matter what (as I said before, the issue isn't necessarily that DA2 had a planned tragic ending or was framed as a set story within a story).

The issue is that, at the end of the day, regardless of whether this is framed as a recounting of events already played out, Bioware still chose to present this part of the story to the world as an RPG, not a novel. It's just too easy to pick apart the current execution of the narrative and find too many holes and inconsistencies, far too easy to see that Bioware wanted tragedy and completely railroaded the player into it regardless of whether or not it made sense to do so at times. Part of it is definitely that it was rushed, but not all of it.

" Genuine inevitable tragedy" (example: the mage/Templar rebellion) and "railroaded and just never given the option to question/change anything because the game/developers said so but still forcefully insisting and trying to frame it as an inevitable tragedy" are two very different things (outright confirming in Act 1 that the remains of the serial killer's vicitms did indeed belong to one of the missing women (Ninette's wedding ring) and he gave them white lilies but conveniently never given the option to bring any of this up to the guards/Templars or pursue the quest or warn Leandra until it's far too late). Leandra's death isn't the only example of this problem, but it definitely is one of the most prominent and IMO, takes away from the intended story of a good woman who met a bad end with their oldest son/daughter being unable to prevent it when the game failed to let them (and by extension the player) truly try.

DA2 could have been a great contrast to DAO. Rather than having the influence to shape the fate of the world like the Warden and succeed in their goal, they could have compromised in DA2 with having the fallout of the Kirkwall Chantry destruction and the rebellion still happening no matter what (i.e. Hawke "failing" to stop any of the madness and still ultimately forced to flee Kirkwall in the end after finally dragging the Amell line back into prominence) but still given the player the option to save their immediate family members across the story if certain choices were made throughout. I'm sure most people would have been fine with a more "bittersweet" option being presented for Hawke, (and by extension the player) in the game, especially where again, one can pick apart the narrative and see where it could have been an option, but just wasn't allowed for no other reason than seemingly because of the "True art is angsty" trope.

Bioware could still have their own canon (similarly to how Alistair is shown to be king in their canon no matter what as an example) of the ultimate tragedy if they wanted, but again, DA2 is still an RPG where players expect to have more meaningful choices reflected in how they progress, even with an inescapable darker and downer ending.

Complete and utter tragedy is fine, but I just don't think it was the best decision to have it as THE ONLY option in an RPG.

[eleanorbloom]

When You’re Ready Ch. 09

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warning: Angst? And Ethan kinda psyco 🤣

A/N: It took me ages to finish this chapter because, to me, the plot is kind of boring and it was made just for story progression (and I just couldn’t leave it behind nor reducing it to a paragraph for the next chapter), but I have to admit that with the adjustments that I made yesterday, it’s now pretty decent. Fortunately, next chapter is way more interesting.

A/N2: Special thanks to @aylamwrites​ for helping me with some of my writing/translation issues and for her advices.  Gracias gurrrl 💜💜💜

Hope you enjoy it!

Taglist @utterlyinevitable​  @shanzay44​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @laiba-the-person​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @lahellacute​ @lucy-268​ @aylamreads​ @binny1985​ @romewritingshop​ @cinnamonspongecake​ 

Let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist!

________________

Chapter 9. The Less I Know The Better.

Then I heard they slept together

Oh, the less I know the better.

Eleanor made her entrance into Edenbrook with confidence she never felt before. Not even last year, when she was starting the residency program of her dreams at Edenbrook, she had felt this proud of herself. It was her first day both as a second-year resident and as Junior Fellow Member in the Diagnostics Team, directed by her medical hero, Dr. Ethan Ramsey. And well, yes. The person she had feelings for.

But today was also the first day where she would leave all that in the past, to truly be over him. She would face him, talk to him, and make his presence something so usual in her life that after a few weeks he wouldn’t mean anything but a mentor, a colleague, and hopefully, one day, a friend. But not more than that.

She knew it would be difficult. The night before had been hard enough not falling into his spell again. Her lips were thirsty for his kisses, her skin aching for his touch and her mind only wanted to float into the sky of his eyes once more. But she wasn’t blind anymore. She knew it wouldn’t do her any good.

Bryce had opened her eyes. Even if Ethan had the most selfless intentions pulling away from her to not jeopardize her career, he had hurt her consciously. He had ignored her even when she was drowning. And what Bryce had done just in a few weeks? He treated her like the most precious thing in the world. Like a queen. In the way she always wanted to be treated by someone, but she thought it was just stupid ideas romantic love had put in her head. He had listened to her, respected her space, consoled her when she needed it, and even when she didn’t think she needed it. He had made her his priority. The less she could do at that moment was putting him as her priority over anything she might be feeling for Ethan.

And now, there she was, facing her first obstacle, standing outside the Department of Diagnostics. Big glass walls, and a sliding door before her. She took a deep breath and with a smile on her face entered as the doors slid softly to let her in.

The office was quiet and illuminated by the natural lighting of that summer morning. There was the faintest scent of bergamot and mandarin in the air, probably traces of Ethan’s perfume left early in the morning.

She observed the place taking short steps around. A big desk in front of the entry, a circular table on the right side with a big whiteboard behind…

“I’m here, I’m really here”

“Hey, me too.”

…And a couch between the table and the entry, where it was a man reclined, reading a medical journal.

A tanned man with tiny eyes and a grown beard stood up and approached her. He seemed familiar, but the big smile on her face made her think she might be wrong.  

“Um, Zaid? You’re on the diagnostics team?”

“Ah, I take it you’re one of my twin brother’s residents.”—He answered extending his hand to the confused resident.—“Baz Mirani’s the name, immunology’s the game. Game-slash-specialty.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even know Zaid had a twin brother.”

After a few moments talking, her mind raced to the smirk Ethan had given her the night before. That’s why he didn’t want to talk about the team members. It wasn’t about bias, he just wanted to keep it a surprise the fact that Zaid Mirani had a super friendly twin brother that made them look the personification of the yin and yang in terms of niceness and well, in term of twins. While Zaid was King of Sarcasm, Baz had no ability to perceive it. While Zaid was grumpy and serious, Baz was amicable and talkative.

Then it was the time to meet the last member of the team, June Hirata. June was a very intense-looking woman with a British accent and a self-assurance that exuded from her pores.

Eleanor felt a little intimidated by the way the attending was scrutinizing her, but she thought it was normal for a neurologist and psychologist to examine a new colleague not only on a physical level but in terms of corporal language too, just like she was doing it.

After a few minutes of chatting with her new colleagues, Ethan appeared through the sliding doors.

“Introductions done? Great. We’ve got work to do”—He said, while the three took a seat in the table.

She couldn’t help but feel a little twist of nervousness inside her stomach, but she tried hard to suppress any emotions she might feel, and just focused on trying to be just as stoic as her mentor always appears. She put her best professional face and started to observe how the team worked and took notes of all the things they were saying.

June and Baz started asking questions to Ethan, who had all the information about the new patient. Eleanor remained silent, witnessing the exchange, trying to absorb all the information possible. She was a bit intimidated because that level of confidence and questioning was really out of her league, but she tried to convince herself that it was a normal response for a first day.

The team divagated through some symptoms, theories, and diseases until June gave the final idea: Cutaneous Kikuchi disease. With that, Ethan asked her to run a biopsy on the patient's rash to confirm the diagnosis.

Once the team was dismissed, both attendings returned to their other duties, leaving Eleanor and Ethan alone.

“After you’re done with our patient, you can see Ines and Zaid for further assignments.”—He said as he was taking a seat by his desk—"You’ll be balancing your work here with your usual resident duties. Now that you’re a second-year, that will include rotations at the free clinic.”

“Yes Dr. Ramsey”— She replied standing up from the chair—“We will always diagnose patients without seeing them?”

“No, but we’re often asked for help by hospitals all over the country, so it’s a good habit to keep our blind diagnosis skills sharp.”

Eleanor was about to reach the door when she stops in her tracks, hesitating. 

“Is everything alright, Eleanor?”

“Actually, could we talk?”

Ethan gazed at her for a few moments before answering.

“About the job or about us?”

“The job. That’s why we are here.”—Eleanor replied with obviousness, but it sounded harsher than she intended. As if it would never cross her mind talking about them.  

His eyes betrayed him for a split of a second as he addressed the coldness in her response, but then he just got up from his desk and moved to the circular table. Eleanor sat beside him a moment later.

“I’m all yours”

She couldn't help but shook her head to herself, not missing the ulterior motives in Ethan’s words for the second time straight.

“I’m just surprised how well and how quickly you worked that out. How are you sure you made the right diagnosis?”

Ethan took his time to explain to Eleanor how the team proceeded, the normal way they work, and gave her some tips to be more involved next time. He assured her that it was normal that the first days she would be feeling lost and ignorant, but once she started to obtain more knowledge from medical journals and research, she would improve her involvement in the team. 

She nodded at every advice, and when he was done, she kept staring at him inquisitively.

“What is it?”

“Your glasses, I’m not used to see you with those on.”

“Oh, yes. I use them when I work on the computer. Now that you’ll come to the office frequently, you’ll see me a lot like this.”

“They make you look smart”—She teased, trying to diffuse the tension she still sensed on Ethan after her cold response.

“You've caught me. The illusion behind my status. Without these, I’m a simpering moron.”

That seemed to relax his shoulders a bit. They both laughed for the first time without the tension of their actual status, where recriminations wouldn’t be involved this time. Her eyes shined, happy for sharing that moment after so much discomfort.

“So, Zaid had a twin brother and you dared to not tell me.”

Ethan chuckled

“I wish I was there when you saw him for the first time. I can only imagine your face.”

“Haha, very funny. You’re such a trickster, Ethan.”

They had lean close to each other without noticing, their knees touching, and his fingers just an inch away from hers.  Her composure stiffed, her will power was once again being challenged.

She couldn’t give in. She had to keep playing the cold Eleanor that didn’t feel a thing about his mentor.

She swallowed hard.

“Well, I should get those test run.”—She informed, taking the notebook in her hand, and then standing up in one swift motion—"Thank you for your advice, Ethan.”

“You’re welcome, Eleanor. Anytime.”—He responded, caught off guard by the abruptness of her reaction. 

Eleanor left the office quickly, sensing how his eyes were following her as she passed through the door. She released the breath that had been holding a few steps away from the office.

She had made it.

The interactions during the day weren’t any different. She ran the tests, informed her discoveries to the team (with the help of her intern, Esme Ortega), and then she made quite an impression with the Governor by diagnosing her son was sick; which granted her an invitation to have dinner with Naveen, Harper, Ethan, the Governor, and her staff that night. She had become the best card Edenbrook had to secure important funds to keep the hospital afloat.

After dropping Harper home after the dinner, Eleanor couldn’t suppress the memories of the last time she was alone with him in that car. The night before he left. The night of their last kiss, of the last time they made love. The last time they consciously and voluntarily stared at each other as lovers.

She was in the exact same place where everything had ended and after two months it still hurt.

Eleanor turned to her left, wondering if Ethan might be thinking the same, but his face was serious, without traces of knitted brows or troubled eyes. The streetlights were framing his features in different shapes as the car moved down the streets. She fixated her eyes in his grown beard, which still felt a bit odd to her, but to some extent, it would be useful as a fresh start. He wasn’t the Ethan she knew and wanted. He was the Ethan that left for two months to start over and be the boss and colleague she needed.

Then she looked away, coming back into her senses. She clenched the silk material of her pine dress in her fists until her knuckles were white

“What. Are. You. Doing?” —She asked herself, pressing her fists into her knees harder at every word she said on her mind. 

The car stopped before the red traffic lights and she felt Ethan was turning to her, staring.

“Don’t look at him. Don’t.”—She ordered in her head, her composure tensing even more.

But after a few moments, she gives up.

Amber connects with the sky and the earth stopped spinning. She was so lost in him that didn’t notice he had brought his right hand to hers, taking it gently.

“We’ll be okay.”

His thumb caressed the knuckle of her middle finger, and that’s what it took to feel a shiver down her spine. He knew what she was thinking.  He was touching her. No. It wasn’t anything. It didn’t mean anything.

She had to look away, but if the first time had been hard, now it would be impossible while he was staring at her. She couldn’t just look away. She wasn’t that brave, at least for now.

From the corner of her eye, she perceived a change in the lights. Her way out.

“It’s… It’s green now”—She said in a tiny voice, his eyes desperate for a moment.

Ethan glanced back to the street, clearing his throat. The air returned to her lungs.

He drove the rest journey in complete silence and he barely looked at her when she got off the car outside her apartment.

“Thanks for the ride Ethan, see you tomorrow”

“Goodnight, Eleanor.”

She had made it again.

--

The next day, Ethan and Naveen were sharing their remarks about the dinner the night before when they spotted Eleanor, Bryce, and Sienna entering the hospital after their lunch break. Ethan tried to avoid looking at her, not wanting to expose his mixed feelings about her in front of Naveen, but the old had mastered at reading him after so many years.

“Rumors says Dr. Bloom has been doing good these past weeks”—Naveen said as he finds Ethan following her, reluctantly.

“Mmmh?”

“In the company of a surgical resident”

 “You mean with that scalpel jockey?”—He inquired, pointing out the resident who was walking beside Eleanor with a brief motion of his head.

“Yes, precisely”

“I doubt it. They are just friends. Besides, I don’t think she’d like someone like him.”

Naveen didn’t miss the bitterness in his last words.

“What do you mean? Just because he is a surgeon?”

“Yes.  He is arrogant and shallow.”

“Shallow? To me is quite interesting. I’ve heard plenty of praises from Harper. Very promising, bold, intelligent, and ahead of most of his fellow second-year residents, even some third-years.”

“Hmmm, well, the point is I don’t think Bloom would have that bad taste dating a jock like him.”

“Well, they have been seen pretty cozy. I, personally, have seen them while having lunch or going t-.”

“I’ve seen them too.”—Ethan interrupted—"You say cozy, I would say he’s a harasser who likes to touch women, that’s why he might have his hands all over Eleanor. I don’t know why she lets him.”

“Am I sensing jealousy in your tone, my friend?”

“Jealousy? For Christ’s sake Naveen. Why would I be jealous of a scalpel jockey? And there’s nothing between Eleanor and me to have the right to feel jealous.”

Naveen chuckled.

“Whatever you say, my friend. But to me, they make a nice couple, she looks very happy around him.”—The Chief commented with a smirk full of malice, waiting for his reaction.

“Of course she’s happy around him, he acts like a goddamn clown all the time.”

Ethan turned around and left with his head steaming with anger.

He didn’t believe Naveen’s words. He didn't want to believe his words. He was convinced that Bryce and Eleanor were just friends, or maybe they were having a fling as all resident do, but nothing more than that.

But he couldn’t ignore such information much longer and against all his self-control and dignity, he started paying attention to her interactions with the surgical resident. However, at first, he didn’t find anything extraordinary. They would have lunch with her roommates as usual, hang out at Donahue’s like always, and chat through the hallways of the hospital as all colleagues do. Maybe Bryce acted flirtily and a bit handsy with her, but it wasn’t different from what he has always been with her.

The idea of them having a fling made him feel a pit in his stomach, but at the same time, it relieved him that it was just that. She was sleeping with Lahela so she could to move on. And he couldn’t blame her. But a relationship? Love? With that jock? That was beyond his comprehension.

While he was observing him, Ethan wondered what Eleanor would see in him. He had listened, without no other option, that many residents, even nurses, found him very attractive— ‘hot” was the most used word in fact—, while other residents, mostly men, would say he was cocky and arrogant, but Ethan was sure that even when he agreed he had a cocky way to conduct himself all over the hospital—all over the world— he wasn’t arrogant without fundaments.

He indeed was an outstanding surgical resident, he had heard many praises from Harper the last few months, so he just knew his worth and how to use it, and Ethan couldn’t condemn him for that. And if he was honest about it, he also had to be honest about the fact that he was an outstanding doctor too. He was always kind and nice to patients, always on time to prep them for surgeries, and always had the time and patience to explain for the umpteenth time how would be the procedure to any patient or family who would ask to him. And that was actually an important trait. That said, Bryce Lahela wasn’t so despicable after all, but he was a scalpel jockey and probably was sleeping with Eleanor, and that was enough to Ethan to despise him.

A few days later, th attending was accompanying a patient before her heart valve replacement when Bryce came into the room to prepare her for the surgery.

“Good morning Mrs. Montero, how are you today?”—He greeted in a joyful voice and then he nodded to the attending—"Dr. Ramsey”

“Dr. Lahela”

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared for.”—He assured—"Dr. Tanaka is the best doctor you could have to repair anything that involves your heart, so everything will be fine.”

“That means he could fix how broke my heart is after my husband passed away?”

Bryce stared at her with a sad smile.

“I’m afraid not. But with the new valve, you’ll get plenty of years to make new memories and adventures, so you’ll have enjoyed your time to the fullest before you left this earth to be with him."

“I like the sound of that.”

“I’m sure you do. And let me say you that you will have the best resident by his side too, so you'll be in the best hands Edenbrook can provide.—Bryce winked warmly at her.

Ethan suppressed a scoff at his words and stood up from his chair.

“I believe you, my boy.”

And then Bryce grinned. A broad smile with his nose wrinkled paralyzed Ethan in his tracks for a second.

The same grin Eleanor had done that night at Donahue’s and that he had found odd and new in Eleanor, but for some reason, it was familiar.

And it was familiar because he had seen it in Bryce Lahela many times when he prepared patients for surgery. That sincere and knowing smile.

“Dr. Ramsey, thank you so much for your company.”

“You’re welcome, Elena. You’ll be in good hands now. I’ll come to see you when you have your new valve, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Lahela”—He nodded before leaving the room with his head racing incessantly.

He had read a while ago that expressions are contagious between people, even at the moment they are displayed, as a show of empathy and to recognize other people’s feelings. He did know too that couples after some time would imitate their expressions and laughs. But it also could happen with friends, family, and whoever you share a place to live with.

Maybe it was normal and Eleanor not only had expressions from Bryce but also from Sienna, Jackie, and Elijah, as they would see each other  throughout the day and they shared an apartment. 

But there was another option that could explain the fact that Eleanor had acquired a smile from Bryce. But he was so in denial that he didn’t even want to put it into words.

That realization changed everything in Ethan. His focus was now on Eleanor. On study how different she was compared to the months before he left. And in their daily meetings or just in their encounters through hallways of the hospital, he found that she was again the same happy and sweet resident he had met last year, with a calm demeanor, her sunny smile, and firm disposition to help whoever needed it. But he also noticed that this 'start over' between them had been taken seriously by her. She was completely focused on the work and never talked about anything that wasn’t work-related with him, and he never found her looking for his eyes or his touch like she used to, but he could tell she used to grow anxious when she had to be alone with him in the office.

A few days later, Eleanor found Bryce, Rafael, and Ethan on their way to their morning gym session so she joined them in a heartbeat. When she got into the room with her workout clothes on, the three buddies were in the treadmill warming up. She went to the fourth machine and started to run beside Rafael.

“What made you want to workout with us this morning, Ellie?”—He asked

“I always try to find a moment to make any physical activity but I hadn’t had the chance these few last days so I’m taking the chance now. I want to stay healthy,”

“That's a very good reason. The body is a machine. When it goes without use, it rusts.”—Ethan conceded, at the other side of the room, in the first treadmill.

“Don’t think that’s medically accurate, Doc”—Bryce pointed out, running between Ethan and Rafael.

“I know surgeons don’t know how to read a book, but that’s called a ‘metaphor’”—Retorted Ethan. Even if there was a teasing smile on his face, the bitterness of his words was evident to everyone in the room.

“Geez, I’ll tell Jackie to send you an invitation to the hate group for scalpel jockeys, Ramsey. You would love it”—He said, not missing a bit, his confidence not even remotely shaken.

Ethan observed Eleanor, whose smile had fainted with disappointment. After a few seconds, as she observed Bryce was smiling as usual, she quickly shook it off and ignored the attending for the rest of the routine.

Ethan knew there was something there and just the fact that he might confirm the rumors made him angry. At himself and at Naveen. Why he had to tell him? It would have been so much better not to know what Eleanor was doing with her life. It was not his business and he had no right to snoop into her life like he had been doing these few weeks.

---

The unusual bitter comment the attending had said to Bryce, made Eleanor sense that maybe he was suspecting about her relationship with the surgical resident. The multiples times she caught him observing her in her lunchtime, at Donahue’s, and anywhere he would spot her with Bryce were making sense now.

Maybe there were rumors. Maybe Naveen had told him, he surely knew every gossip in the hospital—not just because he was the Chief, but because he liked hospital gossip—, and of course he would deliver this information to Ethan to wake him up. The old man had always been pretty honest about his support toward Ethan and her.  

Or maybe he just knew. He just figured it out because of her coldness towards him and because even if she and Bryce tried to keep it lowkey, there was always the chance that he could have caught them the times theye couldn’t help but holding hands or kissing when they were close.

Either way, she didn’t care.

At least not as much as she cared the day before he was back, but now she felt relieved that Ethan might have some clues of her situation. She still didn’t want to confirm it, she wanted to know if he was bold enough, if it affected him hard enough to approach her and ask her about her relationship status.

But she knew him. Ethan was never a man of facing emotions or tough conversations. He was a master at avoiding feelings and people and maybe he would wait for something or someone who would confirm the rumors. The problem was if he was emotionally prepared for that moment.

 ______

[onyourzeus]

• beat of my heart | ydw

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: beat of my heart  pairing: yoon dowoon (of day6) & you genre: fluff, non-idol!au, college!au words: 4.3k

author’s note: finally, a dowoon fic that i thoroughly enjoyed writing (hence how long it is) it went on a different track than planned, but isn’t that how most of my fics are turning out to be? lol. please do enjoy!

this dot fic is part of the falling asleep on the bus scenario i intend to write for each day6 member. check out the others: wonpil (currently only have 2/5 completed)

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

there isn’t a lot that occupies dowoon’s mind. he gets classified as an introvert by people who have known him for years but this doesn’t mean too much for him

sure, he likes to keep to himself and only open up to people he’s trusted for a while which… is the kind of life he wants to lead

with that being said, other things that goes under Dowoon’s Approved Interests would be: playing the drums, playing a ton of games, and… animals 

upon entering college, he wondered if he’d have the free time to care for animals just like when he was younger, volunteering at the nearest animal shelter in which everyone who worked there knew who he was

and always regarded him as the shy little boy but also borderline an animal whisperer. it gave dowoon lots of fun memories to look back on his childhood, and for a moment he considered studying veterinary science to continue his passion for loving dogs cats and everything in between

but another love of his life was introduced in first year high school, and that is the drums. as his social circle expanded (as much as he permitted it to, so not by a lot), so did his club activities in music and even playing as a filler in different bands became his priority (next to academics) 

he still visited the shelter from time to time, it wasn’t something he could just drop so easily; bonding with stray-turned-angelic pets waiting for their forever family was his form of therapy, in a way, when music got too complicated at times or when he’s struggling with a class

and then there’s playing league or overwatch or pubg to release stress in a more high-energy fashion

so when the time came that he needed to choose a major, the first thing that came into mind was music theory. he wanted to get better at playing drums, understanding notes, and improving his performance skills overall

he’s experienced frustration over figuring out the rhythm for certain songs he liked to play before, so this is what made him decide that music is the type of interest he’d want to pursue as a career

and bonding with animals… well, would be just that. this way, he doesn’t get burnt out with the one hobby he feels much peace with. his happy place, if you will 

so imagine dowoon’s surprise when he learnt of a volunteering organization on campus that caters to helping out local animal shelters on the weekends. literally what he has been doing since he was a wee lad

it was perfect timing to have passed by the club booth during intro week, he already planned on auditioning for the established bands on campus (day6 sounds like a perfect fit for him, tbh) but he hadn’t reached that level of confidence with his drumming skills yet

distracting himself with going to the shelter every so often would help him leave the dorm for a bit (his roommate ha subtly asked many a times for him to ease off of the mouse clicking during the late hours of the night and shouting, “gg” over and over) 

the first few times he went to the org’s events at the shelter, it was… a little awkward

one, he didn’t know anybody and two, he isn’t exactly the cute little shy 10 year old he once was that knew every auntie and uncle in his small town. 

and everyone else in the event… already seems to know each other. dowoon recognizes the guy who handed him a flyer talking to the animal shelter coordinators up in the front. he had been lost in the crowd of his peers that he has no idea what’s going on

he just wants to pet sum dogs and play laser pointers with cats, is that too much to ask for?

suddenly, everyone had dispersed into groups and apparently you choose where you want to be included in

great, dowoon is just smiling awkwardly to himself as he feels the tips of his ears blush bright red

“hi! dowoon, right? do you have a group to join?” he whips his head to the sound of your voice, just a few feet ahead of him. he’s confused as to why you knows his name, so he points to himself and feels the flimsy paper nametag attached by double-sided tape on his shirt

oh, duh. they had the new prospective members do it a while ago 

he sees your name too, and remembers it in the back of his head like a prayer

dowoon shakes his head, perpetually shy and blushing hard now. you feel a sense of guilt singling him out like that in the crowd, so you approach him more closely and signal to follow you

“i’m part of the board members, and we don’t have enough people in our group so you can come join us!” as publicity chair, it is your duty to make others feel comfortable and welcomed in the org. and this is your time to shine

“we’re looking at some bigger doggos today, do you have any pets, dowoon?” you try to make polite introductions as you lead the group to where you’re assigned. like a lost puppy on his own, dowoon follows suit. he’s grateful for some guidance, and actually seeing the animals calm him down for a moment

and it doesn’t feel like everyone’s staring at him anymore as he hears chit-chatting surrounding the place

so he focuses his attention on you instead, and he somewhat regrets it

he’s not those guys who don’t have girl friends, but most of the friendships he’s formed with them are due to the fact that he was introduced by a mutual friend

so dowoon is, how do you say it, entranced by the way you talk about your first big dog in the house 

and the two that followed after, and how you stopped playing with your friends from the neighborhood

because all you needed in life were your golden retrievers and newfoundland

dowoon finds himself sharing his own childhood experiences of spending time at a shelter, but never having a dog of his own

“family allergies,” he shrugs and you pout for him in frustration 

wow, he’s never seen someone so invested by the fact that he never got to own a pet for himself 

“well, dowoon,” you tell him as you’re approaching the section of big dogs, “i hope you enjoy your time here. this is one of the biggest shelters near campus, and fortunately a lot of dogs and cats get adopted every month!” 

your enthusiasm for #adoptdontshop makes dowoon feel excited again, he’s just itching to be back doing what calms him down in a therapeutic sense

you instruct the other members to join in a pair or a trio to assist the shelter coordinators with grooming some of the dogs and going for their scheduled walks

this makes dowoon suddenly panic inwardly again, why does everything have to be done in groups?

“want to come with me?” you ask him in the middle of his inner monologue. you’re met with a look of surprise similar to how he reacted when you called out his name just a few minutes prior

“me? you’re not partnering with anyone else?” you shake your head, “as you can tell, they’ve already made up their minds. you’re one of the only new people i saw come to our event today, so i’ll be glad to show you around!” and you genuinely are. it’s rare to see a newbie look so obviously excited to be here, let alone by themselves

usually the people you’ve come to know who join your events are just there for the instagram stories or a pseudo-date of some sorts. you’re happy they’re helping out the shelter with taking care of the pets even for a few hours in the day, but their intentions lie far and beyond with what you have in mind joining the org

however, having approached dowoon and giving him your usual spiel on your love for dogs— he was actually listening and nodding along to the right moments!!! it was so refreshing, especially with the way he’s just excitedly tapping his feet right now awaiting where you’ll lead him next 

“oh, let’s hang out with lady! she’s actually going to be adopted soon, but i want you to meet her,” you lead dowoon to one of the bigger stalls on the right where lady was. you call out to her, and immediately you see a tail of a fawn colored pitbull sway back and forth

she comes near you first, sniffing and licking at your petting hands. lady senses dowoon standing idly by your side, and you’re about to tell him how to approach the dog when dowoon does it for himself

he bends down to her level, lifts up a loosely closed fist and lets lady smell her first. “hi lady, nice to meet you. my name is dowoon,” he coos at her, finally lady lets him in her space as her tail wags even faster

“that’s amazing,” you point out, “we had a really hard time teaching her to trust new people” 

dowoon shrugs, grinning while he’s at it and you can tell how modest he’s trying to be. but the way he’s rubbing lady’s belly and chuckling at her snorts make you believe that dowoon knows what he’s doing. and he’s enjoying it to the fullest 

“thank you for trusting me, miss lady,” dowoon tells the dog who has completely fallen in love with him too. you just watch him, in awe of the scene before you until dowoon looks your way

he catches you having a weird, goofy smile and so you fake cough your way as an excuse and tuck a hair beneath your ear. “does she need to go for a walk?” he asks you, tone inquisitive and hands busy petting lady much to her delight

“we can, y-yeah,” you find yourself a little out of breath, so out of the ordinary for you. but you comply to his wish and ask the coordinator for lady’s leash and the record book. 

and that’s kinda how you and dowoon started hanging out a lot on the weekends. after that first event you met him, you’re quick to tell him about the incoming ones the org has for the following weeks (albeit some were supposed to be a secret, you couldn’t resist) and that you’ll be really happy if he came

for the pets, of course

dowoon had informed you that he’s trying to join a band on campus, so he might not be at every event you described. although he’ll do his best, for all the other dogs and cats he hasn’t met yet. you become curious about the guy, but not enough confidence to ask about this band or anything other than his love for animals

so for the next few weeks of the semester, whenever you get to lead an event you’re always looking for a shy boy in the crowd. and 80% of the time, dowoon comes through

there are instances when the other board members ask you to proceed with a diff group or a diff task, and before they can sweep dowoon away from your group…

“ah, actually he’s interested in becoming my intern, so i think it’s best to keep him under my wing!”

“we’re doing interns??? now?? i thought we canceled that—”

“he’s just interested, nothing too serious or finalized but yep— ah, dowoon, over here!” 

what a save, and gladly dowoon didn’t hear

he’s actually formed a few acquaintances within the returning members, and it makes you proud to see him come out of his shell a lil

even if you don’t know much about him yet, just his major and the band he’s trying out for (which is looking very good, in his terms) as long as dowoon voluntarily wants to attend the events, it’s a success to you

“who are we meeting today chief?” dowoon would tease you once the event has started, and it’s becoming a running theme in your guys’ greetings

hmm, you decide, major,” is what you’d call him (as you squeal and squirm involuntarily inside) “bathing ole’ mister winston or trying to teach tiny toffee how to sit and stay for more than two seconds?” 

dowoon visibly shudders, remembering the time the english mastiff mister winston slobbered him so much as a form of thanks for keeping him squeaky clean, and you basically laughed at his face for 15 seconds straight

“let’s teach toffee some tricks today,” he relents as you already knew the answer but wanted to see reactions of his flashbacks 

you’re not sure if any one of the board members have noticed your particular liking to dowoon. if they did no one said a word because the whole point of the organization is

to have fun with animals and prepare them well for their furr-ever home, which is what you and dowoon love doing together. there’s a kind of synergy that you feel being with dowoon and working with one dog

dowoon knows more techniques on how to calm down anxious dogs than you’ve ever learned being in the org

you have to admit sometimes you’re still skittish, jumping from loud sounds or yelping in response to mister winston pawing at you (and his paws are bigger than your face) 

or maybe it’s the fact that dowoon is there teasing you instead, intentionally hiding from you when you need a helping hand only to return with a handful of kittens in his embrace. “sorry, they were calling out to me and i couldn’t resist.” 

you’d roll your eyes and attempt to get upset, but the way his own shines and his shy giggle coming out of him when the kittens fight their way to nuzzle against his cheek— it’s harder than you thought

anyway, you tell yourself that you’re keeping dowoon by your side because the two of you learn a lot together, and the back and forth coordination you have with tougher to care for dogs makes the job easier, it’s really that. it really is

or maybe it’s more… because as the weeks go by and dowoon couldn’t come round the shelter on the weekends, he asks if you want to see him practice with the band he’s joined

unfortunately, a lot of the times clash with your events or other school related activities, so dowoon insists on sending you videos of him playing the drums

it was a wild ride of messages, to be honest, because at first the camera would just be showing the ceiling, and then it would be recording his shoes, then just the surface of a drum until the vibrations shake it off of wherever dowoon was putting his phone against

nevertheless, you’d listen to how he plays the instrument he truly loves, and it was another side of him that got you feeling enamored 

the day has come that there was no event at the shelter, and dowoon alongside other day6 members were having a busking session on campus grounds

“i’ll record you this time, dowoon, you don’t have to rely on faulty angles and physics anymore,” you tell him minutes before the gig started. you’ve seen dowoon give off a positive, excited aura in the shelter, but being with his bandmates and sitting in front of his drums— you’re observing a different side of him

and it’s addicting. to watch

“oh, guys by the way, she’s the one i was telling you all about,” you hear dowoon tell his members while you stand on the side. a question mark pops in your head, what does he mean by that???

soon after, everyone introduces themselves to you and shakes your hand. and you’re stunned, having known their names before (courtesy of dowoon) but not really associating a face with it 

“you didn’t tell me your friends are good looking,” you tease dowoon, “you’re hanging out with the right crowd,” you add, poking him on the side to watch his reaction

and you get what you wanted, ears blushing and hands shoving you away playfully 

around you, a crowd has started forming and you notice people from the org watching on the sidelines too

posters fill up the air with names of the members— and even dowoon

huh, why does that hurt a little inside (maybe you should have made a poster too? you glance at dowoon to see him gazing upon the cheers of the crowd and perhaps his name in sharpie, enclosed in hearts by his supporters)

that hurt a little more too

you shake away the weird feeling, and remind yourself that you’re here to record him for the first time, and to listen to him play live

when they finally begun their performance, you became more speechless than you thought. you’ve gone to indie music gatherings before and have watched a couple of up and coming bands do their thing

but day6 is something else— and most especially, you know the drummer

the ones those girls behind you are screaming your ear off for 

he’s a god with the drums, eyes closed in parts that require careful and soft beats but you see the fiery look in them once the song comes up to its peak 

it was thrilling, it was a sight to behold. dowoon in his other element, another side of dowoon you’d love to get to know more of

you resist from screaming his name so that your recording doesn’t sound ugly (you’re sending it to him after all), but that doesn’t mean your heart isn’t beating as loud as the rhythm of his drums 

a few times during the performance, you catch him looking at your direction, but you’re not sure so you just raise a thumbs up with one hand while the other holding your phone feels strained as they go on

it’s ok, it’s all for dowoon

an hour later, their set ended with a bang and girls and guys alike flock to the members to get a poster signed or something else of theirs (dowoon had already given you a pre-signed poster. friendship benefits?) 

you didn’t want to leave without congratulating him for a very successful first gig, so you sit by the benches. a little farther away from the platform where they performed to give yourself fresh air, and understand why your heart continues to pound so hard and so fast

and the cheers for dowoon’s name playing back in your mind

it’s the after show adrenaline, you tell yourself, rewinding the footage you recorded to pass the time

your mistake since it was all just dowoon

there were times when you “accidentally” zoomed it in his face, and kept it there. for minutes on end

god why does he smile like that, stop you’re hurting my HEART

“someone’s a fan,” a low, litling voice creeps up behind you

and your first instinct is to punch the invader of your personal space

which you did (albeit not as strongly as you wanted) but when realizing who received said punch…

“dowoon holy shit WHY WOULD YOU GO BEHIND ME LIKE THAT” 

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOUR REACTION WOULD BE SO VIOLENT”

so uh, there you suddenly are

in the college’s nurse office

with the drummer of what seems to be a rising band on campus, dowoon

getting his bloody nose (literally) checked out, and asking him serious questions without you in the room

“did she really think i’d punch you like that???”

“i think it was really nice of her to look out for me, you know,” dowoon smirked, and the two of you had already come out of the office and you were ready to actually punch him for real this time

but you decline your desires because you still feel a bit guilty 

a part of you knew it was dowoon, the voice was a dead giveaway, but you’re “logical reasoning” says you didn’t want him, nor anyone, to see you admiring his face on video. playing it on loop 

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, cringing at the turn of events tonight “can you still make it to the band’s after dinner party? can you still eat with your nose like that?”

“you’re so weird,” dowoon replies, pinching the bridge of his nose as he elicits a short “ow” of pain, and you can’t help but feel so terrible

“ughhhhhh dowoon pls say i didn’t break your nose or else your fangirls will hate me”

“what” 

“you heard me don’t make me say it again”

“say what again :)” at this point he’s just messing with you, his nose doesn’t look crooked anyway and he definitely knows there were girls fawning over him!!

“c’mon, i’ll pay for the uber to take you to the restaurant,” you urge, it’s the least you can do for physically hurting the person who seems to be confusing you what draws the line between being a friend and… potentially liking them more than that 

dowoon doesn’t respond, just shakes his head no and walks alongside you

“what do you mean no???” you’re baffled, why would he decline such a good offer?? 

“no i’m not going to the dinner, it’s fine i get to see them every day,” he reasons out. he stretches his arms and evokes a yawn. “besides i’m pretty beat from the gig, so i’m just gonna crash back at the dorm”

you’re not convinced, what if he’s just pretending to be sleepy so he doesn’t bother you anymore? biting your lip, you contemplate on persuading him to go but buying his dinner (you’re not sure how that will work) until he stops in his tracks and

pinches your cheeks

to stop you from thinking as your eyes land on his

dowoon huffs, eyebrows creased with concern as he says, “you look like one of the dogs we fed last week who wanted more food in his bowl, but he doesn’t know he’s on a diet.” 

he.. really compared u… to a dog???? 

“what do you mean by that,” you counter, cheeks heating up from the sensation of his fingers pinching at them. not too painful, but enough to consciously feel the pressure of his touch on your face

not to mention his focus is all on you

“you’re upset because i won’t give in to your apology gift,” he explains further. “but really, i’m fine. you didn’t break any bones, and you aimed for my nose. if it were my hands that got hurt then it’ll be a different story”

you groan outwardly, not knowing how to best him out of his logic

“c’mon the bus is coming soon, let’s call it a night,” he says, releasing your cheeks from his grasp and instead, tugging at your hand to follow his lead this time

you don’t let it go

once you enter the bus, dowoon finds an empty two seater and slides right in by the window seat, patting the one next to him. you reluctantly take the spot, still reeling from the way he held your hand so effortlessly, still confused about how you feel about him, still wanting to make it up to him

“is there an event tomorrow?” dowoon asks, escaping you out of your reverie. you churn your brain to think as this is a good opportunity to divert your attention somewhere else

“i believe so. i’m not leading the event, but it’s basically adoption day at the shelter. did you want to come?”

“of course, if you are”

“oh,” that caught you off guard… he can always come to events even if you aren’t, he’s a member now and he’s good friends with the other board members…

“if you’re not, then are you busy doing something?” he yawns again, eyes becoming droopier by the minute as the bus takes it leave

“not really… we can go… together,” you attempt to string coherent sentences together, but the sight of dowoon dozing off at the electric hum while the bus moves entrances you

his pale soft skin contrasts the tiredness in his voice, trying to keep himself away by answering you

“mm. yeah, i’d like to go with you...anywhere… with you,” he starts mumbling, head dangerously close to colliding against the window

silently, you chuckle. and admire the hardworking effort you’ve seen dowoon achieve so far, it makes you momentarily forget about figuring out your feelings

cause it’s kinda obvious with the way you’re seeing him right now, usually you’d tease him, take a picture for blackmail or even feel slightly awkward sitting in the bus next to each other

but right now, you admire him. and wish you can talk to him more about the band, about his dreams, about going to events “as long as it’s with you”

you hear him continuously mumble string of phrases that are incomprehensible at this point, and instead of making fun of the guy (you’ve done enough damage to his nose), you gently tell him, “sleep, dowoon. i’ll wake you up when your stop is here.”

“mmkay,” he gives in, breathes out heavily and

leans against you

resting his head on your shoulder, even making himself more comfy by nuzzling his cheek by the junction of your neck

in a way it sets your heart aflame

but on the outside, you feel at ease. that he can easily take the hit with his nose just mere moments ago and willingly let his head, and his mind rest for a little right by your side

you don’t have to wonder about your feelings anymore

you’d want this to happen more in the future, and hopefully

you’re just wishing upon a star here, that dowoon feels the same

[actual-mammal]

Solas and the Original Elvhen Gods

For about five years I've been sitting on my theory regarding Solas's origins and the true Elvhen gods, and the new BTS trailer has me just revved up enough to post this. (Buckle up, this is gonna get long...)

Since Solas's first concept art was released back in 2014 I couldn't shake the impression that his design strongly resembled a monk/priest of some kind.

Let's attribute this assumption to 50% my loving ALTA and another 50% because I spent a ridiculous amount of time watching The Mummy movies in my youth. And not for Brendan Fraiser, oh no.

Ahem... anyway.

Aside from his very bald, bald head, Solas tends to wear robes and other more ceremonial looking garments. You could attribute that to him being a "god", but I think Solas himself would probably dislike the comparison. Before the DAI came out, we also got some shots of the companions on the armor inventory screens - including some of Solas in his all white base armor.

The Ancient Dreamers

At the time, this was a super exciting detail. I could count on one hand the amount of information we had on the ancient elves, but it was made pretty clear back in DAO that dreamers who achieved perfect Uthenera were clothed in all white. Once my theory of Solas being an ancient elvhen dreamer turned out to be true, I nearly forgot their cultural importance until long after Tresspasser came out. Mostly because I didnt realize so many people believed the rest of the Evanuris were dreamer mages as well.

So quick question, but do we have any evidence to assume that the Evanuris besides Solas were dreamers? Pre-inquisition codex entries made the dreamers seem a separate group of individuals - tasked with the protection of Arlathan specifically - and slain by the elvhen citizens once their magic failed to protect the city from Tevinter. If this lore hasn't been retconned or "misremembered" by the Dalish, Solas was part of an ancient order separate from his involvement with the Evanuris, which he would have felt deeply connected to because of the rarity of their shared magical ability (Marethari tells us dreamers have always been rare in DA2 when you assist with Feynriel).

Prior to Tresspasser, I assumed Fen'Harel was a lone wolf because he turned his back on his "pack", the other elvhen gods. But Solas paints a very different picture in his way of talking about the Evanuris throughout the game. In fact, he seems intent on not associating with them at all, even before their murder of Mythal or his open rebellion. I never get the impression that Solas was fond of the other Evanuris, or considered them enough of a family to warrant the "pack" analogy.

So who were the members of Solas's first "pack" that the Evanuris never lived up to? Probably the original bearers of the other foci. Wolves, up until the fall of the Dale's were seen as guardians and protectors in Elvhen myth (see the Emerald Knights). Perhaps they were also the sigil of the ancient dreamers of Arlathan, who were the city's protectors? That would certainly make more sense as to why wolf statues are everywhere in Thedas, despite Solas full tilt rejecting godhood. This is backed up by the murals in Vir Dirthara, full of wolves, individuals with bald heads, and foci. And they're fighting the titan.

But more on the Titan later.

I find it hard to believe that Solas personally had more surviving sculptures than all the rest of the Evanuris, particularly after he rebelled against them. It would make more sense to me if the wolves represented something greater than Solas individually. Particularly since he's titled, very specifically, The DREAD Wolf, as if there are other wolves that are not.

The Dreamers and Foci

In his first moment of really opening up, Solas tells the Inquisitor that the foci were used to channel power from "our" gods, which is the first time we hear him sounding so connected to Elvhen religion in 20 hours of gameplay. Solas never refers to the Evanuris as gods in a serious tone, so on replay this dialogue caught my attention. Why would a god need to channel power from himself? Do we ever get any hint of a foci belonging to another member of the Evanuris? Checking back on this topic throughout my playthrough, I can't find any instance of the foci being tied to the Evanuris. However Dorian is happy to tell us about the association between the orbs of Tevinter and the Ancient Dreamers. And Solas having one certainly lends credibility to his statement. My next thought became "so what if there were gods that predated the Evanuris, who were powerful spirits worshipped by the Ancient Dreamers using foci?." This assumption certainly makes sense given everything we know after JoH, since it uses the same structure of the Avvar religion (which Solas feels is highly enlightened for their time). It also provides a stronger story link for why we got that DLC in the first place, and hints what may have happened to these god spirits to facilitate the rise of the Evanuris.

The Original Gods

Surely we would have some hints as to who these dieties were this far into the games though, right? Oh wait, we do. My brain hurts to realize the writers even call them THE OLD GODS to make it easy for us. ::headesk:: Combining the lore of the old gods with the myths from the Astrariums and the archetypes of the Evanuris who supplanted them, we could try to guess their original forms. So let's line up the potential original pantheon:

Dumat/Silentir: The God of Justice, the Dragon of Silence. Supplanted by Mythal.

Zazikel/Kios: The God of Freedom, the Dragon of Chaos. Supplanted by Elgar'nan.

Toth/Ignifir: The God of Love, the Dragon of Fire. Supplanted by Sylaise.

Andoral/Servani: The God of Unity, The Dragon of Chains/Slaves. Supplanted by Andruil.

Urthemiel/Bellitanus: The God of the Artistry/Craft, the Dragon of Beauty. Supplanted by June.

Razikale/Eluvia: The God of Wisdom, the Dragon of Mystery. Supplanted by Dirthamen.

Lusacan/Tenebrium: (Owl) The God of Purpose, the Dragon of Night. Supplanted by Falon'Din (Lethanavir)

This makes so much sense when you consider Solas's hatred for the Grey Wardens, who have been systematically destroying the souls of the old gods once they're corrupted into archdemons. But how on earth did ancient elvhen god spirits get bound to dragons and trapped underground anyway?

The Fate of Gods and Dreamers

Back to Vir Dirthara and the Titan murals. We know the foci were used to seal away the blight in some way, because Solas told us (the angry red eyes are always the blight in his murals):

The rest of this will be pretty tin foil, but I think this mural helps illustrate my assumptions of the dreamers' involvement with the Evanuris.

The (bald) dreamers of Solas's order assisted Mythal in defeating the titan.

Sometime afterward, the "dead" titan returned in the form of red lyrium and threatened all of Elvhenan. This assumption is supported by the last codex entry in Tresspasser" where the Elves attempt to "seal away" a danger in the deep roads.

However they accomplished this, part of it required the dreamers to use the old gods power by binding their spirits to the forms of high dragons (just like JoH). These old god dragons are keeping the Blighted Titan "sleeping" which is why darkspawn seek to corrupt them (to free the source).

I believe the sinners judgement from the temple of Mythal also indicates that the dreamers themselves were the high dragons (taking the form of the divine), and why their foci were passed on to the Evanuris after the binding. The Evanuris were then able to use the power of the foci, as well as the vacuum left by the dreamers' absence, to establish themselves as the "new" gods.

So... thoughts?

[jackdawyt]

Since my last news update in March, today I’m dissecting everything that has come out of the woodwork in April and May regarding Dragon Age 4. So, get some tea and let’s get this show on the road, because we’ve got over 4,000 words of news to delve into!  

Reveal? (game shows/new hire/remaster):

Following the cancellation of E3, EA Play 2020 Live has been officially confirmed as a digital show, taking place on June 11th, at 4:00 pm PST / 7:00 pm EST. 

Before the outbreak cancelled E3 2020, we knew Mike Gamble, the Project Lead on the next Mass Effect game had plans to make a physical appearance at E3/EA Play. So, the question remains, will BioWare still have a presence at EA Play this year?  

Mike Gamble is one of the key members of the Mass Effect team, I highly doubt he’s talking about revealing the next Mass Effect game which is currently in very early stages of development, and won’t release until after Dragon Age 4. Perhaps, Mike back in 2019 was hinting at revealing the heavily rumoured Mass Effect Remaster this EA Play?

Earlier in May, EA had a quarterly conference call and it revealed some fascinating information regarding future unannounced titles. Currently, EA have “one more EA HD title, Four EA Partner titles and two mobiles games still unannounced”. Also, EA said "multiple titles" are set to launch on Nintendo Switch this year.

The EA HD title refers to a remaster of an EA game, hence why most people are speculating at the Mass Effect Trilogy. Venturebeat went on to officially state that this title was indeed the Mass Effect Trilogy.

So, there’s one rumoured possibility for the Mass Effect Trilogy Remaster to be revealed this EA Play, which is cool! BioWare may have a presence this year after all! But I know you all didn’t come for Mass Effect; you came for Dragon Age. So, what do we know about that franchise and a potential reveal?

Jo Berry, a Writer at EA retweeted EA Play Live’s announcement with a party emoji! 👀  

This could be absolutely nothing, but at a whim, perhaps a reference to a Dragon Age 4 teaser, or EA Motive’s new I.P since she has worked within both teams....  

On top of that, Brianne Battye, Writer at BioWare tweeted about her 8-year journey at BioWare. She’s very grateful for sharing her work, and the awesome people she’s worked with along the way.

Patrick Weekes replied saying they: “Cannot wait for everyone else to see what you've been working on recently. :)”

Then, Brianne said: “Right back at you :)”

Two HUGE witters on the Dragon Age team are excited for everyone else to see what they’ve all been working on recently! 👀 When I saw this tweet, I was trying to stay calm and keep my expectations low, but come on when you see a tweet like this, you just get so excited! The question is, when will we see what they’ve been working on, and is it anytime soon? Please?

Well, there is something else we need to talk about that may relate to a potential tease.

Hilary Heskett, who used to be EA’s Global Product Manager has returned to work at EA and BioWare. Put simply, she’s a Digital Marketer for BioWare.  

Hilary; particularly, was heavily involved in Dragon Age: Inquisition’s marketing! In fact, the majority of her work at EA involved representing BioWare as a brand online creating trailers, key art, screenshots, packaging, and advertisements. So, it’s a fair assumption that she’ll be fulfilling the exact same role for future BioWare titles like Dragon Age 4.  

With Hilary joining the team at this point in development, could the marketing stages of Dragon Age 4 soon begin, perhaps at EA Play? Or later on in 2020? Or is she going to be marketing the Mass Effect Remaster?

I sound impatient, but, in the past BioWare have a habit of starting the marketing stages of their products at least two years before an initial release.  

With that, we’ve got to ask ourselves, is hiring a marketer at this point in time a mere coincidence? or is it preparation for when marketing does start? Are we on the verge of seeing Dragon Age 4 official content soon?  

Not to waffle on, because we’ve got a lot to talk about in this video, but I was hired as a Digital Marketer for an app company in the UK. As I understand it, you normally enter projects, mid-to-end of production, because what would a marketer do in the early stages logically? Your role is to be there for the advertising of the product.  

So, in BioWare’s case, it's my understanding that Hilary has joined the team with one year full-swing production, is she about to begin the marketing stages of the next Dragon Age game? Is the game ready for that stage? If anything, I think with Hilary’s background, she’s the perfect person to market Dragon Age 4.  

On top of EA Play, Geoff Keighley announced Summer Game Fest, a new industry-wide celebration of video games. Showcasing digital news, In-game events, & playable content. EA are headlining the event with EA Play, but there are many other world premieres spread throughout the summer. So, there’s a potential for other trailer reveals later on in the year, not to mention The Game Awards.

And, there’s also this leak that shows Dragon Age 4 on a list of PS5 games from the newest issue of PlayStation magazine UK. PlayStation are having an event on June 4th, so we’ll find out if this leak is true soon enough.

If we’re going to see anything Dragon Age 4 related this year, EA Play is the biggest contender for a reveal. I know the whole world could do with that right now! At this current moment, there is no schedule for the show. However, Saria, myself, Fusselkorn and maybe other content creators will be streaming EA Play, no matter what, so turn those reminders on and come join us in our clown suits.

Development (teases/production):

Moving on to teases and development updates. Currently, BioWare are hiring a ‘Senior Outsource Producer.’

This is a pretty big deal, to those who don’t know what a ‘Senior Outsource Producer’ would do...

“Outsourcing development means to hire out any process of a business to third party. The process helps your company or organization to grow.”

To grant more perspective, during Mass Effect: Andromeda’s development, major aspects of the game's animations were outsourced to other EA studios. 

However, this isn’t going to be the same for Dragon Age 4, this role is for one Producer to help the outsourcing team into a robust and comprehensive department that supports BioWare projects in all aspects of development.  

I have friend in triple AAA games, and they had something to say about outsourcing regarding Dragon Age 4: “To be honest, I'd say (outsourcing is) different per studio due to scope. But with something big like Dragon Age I'd probably say outsourcing would start early to mid-production as they have a hell of a lot to do. Some studios outsource from the get go though so that's also possible. And It's rare that outsourcing starts in the final leg of development.”

What I understand from the job posting is that BioWare are looking to hire a producer who will be dedicated to outsourcing so they can establish a pipeline and maintain proper standards for outsourcing. This hiring was posted in May, so the studio might be a few months early from when they actually have to outsource. However, this process will be coming up soon in major development.  

Moving on. In early April, Mark Darrah went on a twitter rampage sharing many tweets relating to Dragon Age 4. One tweet stated: “Is tweeting more going to make you all speculate more or less?”. Followed by a poll with the answers “more”, “less” & “Dragon Age 4!?”

The following week, Mark Darrah teased his three Wolf-Rook books he has placed on a shelf at home.

Later on, in the month, he decided to stack each of them, prompted with the caption: “Spoiler: these are a terrible building material…”

Just last week, Mark tweeted the Wolf-Rook book once more, with the following meme: “Dear men, what is preventing you from looking like this?”

This cheeky tease encouraged Melissa Janowicz (Gameplay Designer) to join the fun and share her own Wolf-Rook book! She said: “It's an absolutely gorgeous book. I'll treasure it for life.”

Ahhh. The secrets these books could hold about Dragon Age 4’s core concepts.... And Mark Darrah is just staking them together, making book forts out of them, as you do! 😂 Maybe one day, we’ll uncover the secrets held within every page, but that day is not yet upon on.

On the same memey day, Chris Anderson, (Application Development/Publishing Support at BioWare) tweeted: “Other people are teasing things, so what the hell, here's an image that I used in something I was working on today.” With a pink image shown.  

Chris and Melissa followed a Twitter conversation about pink being the “perfect colour for when you need something that screams temp.”

Basically, this pink actually has some context for the development of Dragon Age 4. ‘Temp’ means temporary textures, the first blocked out layer of a texture before actual detailed textures are added.

This can refer to many scenes or models in the early texturing phases, as art assets are still in the approval stages. On a wild, out-there whim, perhaps the team are wrapping up a trailer for a reveal? Maybe?... please?

John Epler (Narrative Director) shared his most controversial opinion of all time:

I loved the Hinterlands, but as a fan of the previous Dragon Age game’s ‘linear with freedom' approach, I appreciate John’s take on open world’s since Dragon Age: Inquisition, perhaps this will shape the way forward for future BioWare titles?  

Alix Wilton Regan, voice actress of the Female British Inquisitor retweeted Autumn Witch’s poll asking if people believe the Inquisitor will return as a voiced appearance in Dragon Age 4. Alix tweeted: “C’mon #DAI Fans, you know what to do ;)”

Patrick Weekes replied to Alix’s post with an eye's emoji 👀.... I think I speak for everyone when I say, in some capacity, the Inquisitor has got to return in the next game!

In another tweet, Patrick Weekes teased potential new companions when a Twitter trend placed 5 Dragon Age characters in 6 different camps went around the platform.  

When choosing their preferred camp, Patrick Weekes tweeted: “Finally, in Camp 7, it's turned into a bit of a mess, with coffee grounds spilled everywhere and the couch inexplicably on fire after a drinking game gone wrong. But that's another story.” 

Of course, there’s not much to tear apart here, but we have acknowledgement of the next party members! It sounds like they’re a wild bunch already!  

In early April, Mark Darrah answered a few current development tweets:

So, that’s...Splendid.

Karin Weekes (Editor) tweeted that they “got to sort/catalog/document updates to made-up languages at work today.”  

Following that tweet, @ladyiolanthe asked Karin: “Do you think BioWare might ever be able to release Qunari, Dwarvish, and Elvhen lexicons in a World of Thedas Volume 3 sort of book? Or is that unlikely since they're ciphers and maybe there isn't a standardized grammatical structure, etc?”

Karin replied with: “That’s an interesting idea - I, for one, would find it a hoot! I might send out some feelers…” Any books of made-up languages I can get my hands on would be greatly appreciated!  

Alain Baxter, (‘Production guy’) tweeted: “BioWare review of content today. All I can say is “Scriplet”. 😎

Apparently a ‘Scriptlet’ is an action verb. Alain is teasing premature scripts as they ‘perform their function’ So, something exciting is going down in the scripts, to be worked on in-engine. Or maybe it’s just an inside joke?

John Epler tweeted a great design message about “how 90% of ‘bad’ decisions are, in fact, the best decision at the time. For John, that will always be the camera zoomed conversations in DA: I. People didn’t like it, and asked why not just make them full scenes. But that’s not the decision they make in-house. It was 'make them simple conversations or else cut them'. Game dev is all about making the best decision you can at the time, with the resources you have .A lot of stuff you thought was weird or awkward came down to a gut call of 'this is the best I can make this and I trust it's good enough'. Sometimes we're right, sometimes not.” 

 Awesome words to think on, Dragon Age 4 will be amazing, I’m sure, but just remember to set your expectations right and realise everything design-wise, happens for a reason.  

Shifting to other design aspects. Jos Hendricks (Senior Level Designer) tweeted:

Mike Jungbluth (Animation Director) tweeted: “Just reviewed something in game that hit THIS LEVEL! Hot damn, moments like this are what I live for.” 

Both tweets are incredibly excited and telling of development for Dragon Age 4, it sounds like they’re building and prototyping an epic scene equivalent in scale to the attack at Haven scene? Perhaps, Solas destroying the Veil? Who knows, but it sounds epic, and I’m living for both dev.'s enthusiasm!

For the final tweet regarding the development side is from Åsa Roos (Principle UX Designer)

A UX designer writing about Solas? That must be for codex entries? Right? More lore on our Rebel God!  

Unannounced Dragon Age Game:

In my previous March news update, I discussed brashly about the developers on Dragon Age 4 still claiming that this project has not officially been announced yet, however, The Dread Wolf Rises teaser in 2018 certainly alluded to an announcement regarding the next Dragon Age title. Following this story, we have many sources providing clarity on Dragon Age 4’s current ‘unannounced’ situation.  

Patrick Weekes confirmed that they are “working on an unannounced game in the Dragon Age universe.”

Patrick said: “We would LOVE to be able to say more. We are really excited about what we’re working on. But we can’t share anything right now. Sorry!”

In April 2019, I painted this unannounced situation rather conspiratorial, I said that perhaps the Dragon Age dev’s can’t share anymore on the next game because Anthem was the next project, and EA are forcing them to not speak on Dragon Age. In an attempt to maintain the crowd by not letting BioWare developers regard Dragon Age 4 as the next working project in the works.

However, I don’t think it’s that deep. I think the developers are just under an NDA, and literally can’t speak about the game.  

In Episode 121 of the Anthem-based ‘Freelancer Codex’ Podcast - as a guest, Melissa Janowicz shared that the developers on the secret Dragon Age team cannot talk about the next game, in fact, they can barely talk about the contents of The Dread Wolf Rises teaser trailer.

Chris Anderson also emphasised this same point in a tweet:

As a side not, someone asked Chris why not lie and come up with fake answers to fool the fans, and Chris said: “That can, unfortunately, get me in nearly as much trouble!”

Which shows the validity and value in BioWare developer tweets. The developers can’t just lie about the project either. Which honestly helps someone like me out.

As we know, a game is coming, yet it’s still is very much unannounced, probably because as Jason Schreier reported in 2018, Dragon Age 4 is going to change at least 5 times in the next two years, perhaps BioWare don’t want to show us anything because they don’t want to set anything in stone, or show gameplay that is not representative of the final game.  

But that doesn’t extend to a CGI trailer, or a full title drop, Maker knows that would be amazing, and is within the realm of possibility.

New Lore/Fun:

We have some new lore, and other fun things I wanted to share.  

Dragon Age Comic Writer, Nunzio DeFillipis talked HUGELY about the red lyrium idol and what was originally planned for their comics.

Nunzio recently mentioned in the Unofficial Bioware Forums that the comic characters from Deception were originally chasing the red lyrium idol.

Nunzio stated that the original plan for the comics would've had the characters retrieve the red lyrium idol. Only to have Solas take it back. Eluding to the idol's planned whereabouts before the plot changed since Joplin's cancellation and BioWare's shift regarding this idol in the comics.

Does this still mean that the location of the red lyrium idol is most likely in the hands of Solas and might only be discovered in Dragon Age 4? Or does the next protagonist have a shot at retrieving the idol before Solas finds it?

It seems like a bummer that the original comic idea was scrapped and the writers were forced to change narrative direction regarding this particular idol.

As a funny tweet I saw. Emily (Domino) Talyor tweeted using her overheard in the office hashtag:

BioWare dev’s can’t even tell their kids, folks.

And, regarding the Fuzzy Freaks livestream. Patrick Weekes’s response to my question, asking how does Solas kill dwarves in their sleep if they have no connection to the Fade, was “very effectively.”  This will be a mystery I will personally be investigating when we have our hands on the game.  

Considering it was really fun for those who watched the Fuzzy Freaks livestream, I’m going to share other silly takeaways:

Patrick Weekes doing a New York accent for the Carta Dwarf is amazing!

“DREAD DUMBASS” - is a jokey dialogue option that Karen Weekes scribbled notes for future reference.  

Patrick likes soft romances and happy endings! IRONICALLY.

Patrick’s style of writing is less high fantasy and more modern.

@DrunkDalish, Co-founder of Dragon Age Day interviewed both Karen and Patrick Weekes. As a lover of Dragon Age lore, these interviews reveal so many loving tidbits that you should read for yourself. However, something I noted that was very significant regarding the future is based on Masked Empire’s ending. So, spoilers for that, but Felassan’s fate isn’t what it seems. Perhaps this elf could come back in the future if needed.

Wellbeing:

And, we come to the last topic, this one is centred on the BioWare staff’s wellbeing. Last year, there was a Kotaku article revealing the crunch and working conditions at BW, there was a lot of worry and confusion in the air that the people working on these games were struggling mentally because of senior management and many other reasons. With that in mind, I’m dedicating a section in these news updates to the wellbeing of the developers, any signs/tweets of positivity and hope will be shared in an effort to see if there has been any change in the BioWare offices since Anthem’s release.

It seems like things are going pretty well and people seem happy and optimistic about the next Dragon Age.  

If there are any major updates to a Dragon Age 4 tease at EA Play, I'll be sure to make an update video, but otherwise, be sure to join our livestream as see for ourselves what waits us this EA Play.

Let me know your thoughts down below, what do you think about a potential EA Play teaser, where are your expectations at?

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Questions

Chapter 12 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is posted!

As the title implies, in which I dip my toe into lore. Just one toe, though. 😭

~4060 words; read on AO3 instead.

************************

Over the course of the next few days, Tamaris and Felassan settled back into their routine of mana retraining, overhauling the house, smoking on the roof and eating the delicious food that Felassan prepared for them both. They played cards together and chatted idly about their lives, and they kept ripping on each other for fun just as they had done before. 

There was one very significant difference, however: Tamaris felt much more at ease now that she’s spoken more openly to Felassan about her relationship with Solas. She wasn’t thrilled that he’d witnessed her falling apart like she had, but the benefit of no longer feeling guilty or wary or just plain fucking uncomfortable was so much of a relief that she almost wished they’d talked about it earlier.

That wasn’t to say her emotional landscape was by any means perfectly repaired. Explaining her qualms to Felassan was only the first step to getting her mind around the wound of mistrust that Solas had unwittingly left behind. But for the first time since Solas’s departure, Tamaris was starting to believe that the wound might actually heal. She still felt uneasy at times when Felassan touched her tenderly or when his soft gaze lingered on her for too long, but mild unease was better than panic. 

Felassan occasionally asked more questions about her relationship with Solas, and although her immediate response was to put up a wall and block him out, she forced herself to reply. She would never have imagined that talking candidly about her ex-lover with her current lover would be helpful instead of terribly awkward, but the truth was that it really seemed to help. In fact, as the days went by, Tamaris started to feel the way that Cole had described easing people’s pain: like something tangled inside of her had been loosened and was slowly being smoothed out with every day she spent in Felassan’s company. 

With Tamaris’s greater comfort came another very enjoyable consequence: she and Felassan spent considerably more time indulging in their sexual appetites, which were just as great as their appetites for the scrumptious food that Felassan made. By the fourth day after their talk, however, they still hadn’t had sex again yet, or even done anything more than kiss and touch as much as they could through the barriers of their clothing. Their mana-training sessions now ended every time in a torrid clinch that left both of them breathless, and Felassan joked that the promise of Tamaris’s lips was the main driving force for his magical progress. They continued to sleep in their separate bedrooms, but Felassan kissed her every night before they retired to their rooms — that is, if ‘a kiss’ was what one could call it when Felassan pinned her against her bedroom door and ground himself into the cradle of her hips while she hungrily licked his tongue. Every night when he stepped away from her, she would stare at the blazing glow of his eyes and the rise and fall of his collarbones as he panted for breath, and an invitation for him to join her in her bed crept closer and closer to the tip of her tongue.

But she kept the words to herself, and Felassan didn’t push. And so they continued to fall together into increasingly ravenous embraces as the days went on, embraces which always ended in them breaking apart and grinning stupidly at each other while they tried to breathe through the lust that was swelling over them with all the delicious weight of a summer thunderhead.

Tamaris wasn’t sure what exactly had made them both decide not to push their physical relationship back into sex just yet. They hadn’t explicitly talked about waiting, yet both she and Felassan would stop themselves when her grinding against his lap got right to the point where one or both of them was nearly ready to burst, or when his fingers started playing over the laces of her bra or her breeches. Maybe Felassan could sense that she wanted to hold off for a bit before launching back into the sex that they both so clearly wanted. Or maybe Tamaris could see that he was trying to gain more control over his urges. Either way, the tension between them continued to grow — in a delicious, mutual way that was not at all like the demon that Felassan had so colourfully described —  and it wasn’t long before Tamaris became convinced that what was really happening was an unspoken game of who-gives-in-first. Was Tamaris going to give in and tell Felassan to fuck her again? Or was Felassan going to be the one to turn those delicious pleasured moans of his into an actual plea for her to join him in his room?

Neither of them could say, and neither of them was ready to cave. And yet, without speaking about it, Tamaris knew without a doubt that Felassan was enjoying – and cursing – the torturous pleasure of their fully-clothed trysts as much as she was. 

Aside from their more physical pursuits, a more intellectual one also came back into play; Felassan started reading This Shit Is Weird with more focus, as he seemed determined to get to the part of the book that mentioned the Inquisition’s encounter with the Titan. When he finished reading about their ordeal at Adamant Fortress and their tumble into the Fade, however, the resulting discussion took most of an afternoon. 

Felassan wanted to hear as much from Tamaris’s perspective about what had happened and how Solas reacted. When Tamaris explained how the Nightmare had tried to unnerve everyone by picking away at their greatest fears, Felassan raised his eyebrows. 

“I don’t suppose you remember what this Nightmare demon said to Fen’Harel?” he asked.

“It was something in Elvhen, so I don’t really know,” she said. “It said it knew him, though, which I just chalked up to Solas making weird friends in the Fade. But Solas did also say he’d never been to that sector of the Fade before…” She rubbed her forehead. “Fuck, I wish I remembered.”

“Shame,” Felassan said. “I would have liked to know what a demon would use against him to unnerve him during the time that he was with you.”

“I can tell you the three main things that unnerved him,” Tamaris said dryly. “Killing archdemons, Morrigan getting stuff wrong at the Temple of Mythal, and tea.”

Felassan’s face went slack with surprise. Then he barked out a laugh. “I may fall over from that onslaught. Morrigan — she was with the Inquisition? You were at the Temple of Mythal?”

“Yeah, we — oh, you haven’t gotten to the Halamshiral part of the book yet,” she said. “Morrigan joined the Inquisition after the whole shitshow at Halamshiral. Solas was less than thrilled with her, especially when we got to the Temple of Mythal. They were like cats and dogs.”

Felassan stared at her, then snorted a laugh. “You were at the Temple of Mythal with–” Another little snort cut him off. “–with Mythal’s alleged daughter and Fen’Harel who was trying to pass as a simple apostate…” He guffawed.

Tamaris couldn’t help but smile. “When you put it that way, it is pretty funny.”

“Funny!” Felassan exclaimed. “It’s the makings of a farce!” Another burst of laughter spilled from his lips. He dragged in a breath and patted his belly. “I can only imagine the steam that must have been coming out of his ears.” 

Tamaris chuckled. “Yeah. You should have seen him when that Sentinel guy Abelas came out. He almost lost it.”

Felassan’s face went slack once more. “Abelas? Abelas?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tamaris said with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you knew him.”

“Huge tall warrior, gold eyes, white hair, very stern?”

She raised her eyebrows. “He was wearing a hood so I don’t know about the hair, but the rest, yeah.”

A grin lit Felassan’s face, and he let out another rolling belly laugh. “Fen’Harel faced Abelas and lost his composure. He… fenedhis. It’s…” He slapped his palm on the table and continued to laugh. Tears of mirth were leaking from the corners of his eyes now, and his laughter was becoming loud and uncontrolled. 

She shifted closer to him. “Hey, take it easy. You need to breathe or you’re going to pass out.” She held out her hand.

He grabbed her hand and dragged in a breath, then let it out in an explosion of hysteria. Tamaris squeezed his hand. “Come on, brat, look at me.”

He chuckled wheezily and met her eyes, and Tamaris smiled at him. “Okay, let’s breathe. Come on.”

He exhaled another chuckle, then breathed in hard through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “I need to read more of this book,” he said. “I can’t wait to devour that chapter.”

“No kidding,” she said dryly. “Should we go back to talking about the Nightmare then? Save the Solas-bitching-at-Morrigan stories for when that part of the book comes up?”

Felassan nodded and exhaled another slow breath. “Yes, let’s.”

“Okay,” she said. She released his hand. “What did you want to know next?”

“I have a question for you, in fact,” he said. “What did the Nightmare use to unnerve you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, that’s a personal question.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “ And I believe you still owe me a secret.”

His smirk was mischievous but somehow also soft. Tamaris scoffed. “That’s how it is, huh?”

“It certainly is,” he said pleasantly. 

She gave him a chiding look, then sighed. “Fine. It…” She looked down and rubbed at the tiny dent in her prosthetic arm. “It mocked me about breaking promises.”

“Breaking promises?” he asked. 

“Promises to… protect people who need help protecting themselves,” she muttered.

Marin being dragged away screaming by the Templars. The memory flashed across her mind, and she looked away from Felassan and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The Nightmare’s sealed away, so fuck it.”

“You’re thinking of Marin,” he said quietly. 

She clenched her jaw, then forced herself to look him in the eye. “Yes. So what?”

Felassan tilted his head. “She who dances with fire,” he said quietly.

She snorted and looked down at her metal fingers. “For whatever good that does.”

“An entire novel’s worth, at least,” he said. He gestured at This Shit Is Weird. “I’m certainly compelled by the heroine of this novel. I imagine I would throw myself at her feet if ever we were to meet.”

She rolled her eyes at his irreverent tone. “Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckled, then leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet onto the table. “I have to ask: did  Fen’Harel comment on the Black City at all?”

“He pointed it out,” she said. “He seemed excited to see it. Well, he was excited about everything, even though we were in a really gross weird part of the Fade.”

Felassan nodded slowly, and Tamaris frowned. “Felassan, tell me something. What is the Black City?”

“What do you think the Black City is?” he asked.

She gave him a flat look. “I’m sure you already know what most Dalish think. It’s where the Creators were trapped by Fen’Harel. I didn’t really have any reason to question that before the Breach happened. But… I don’t know. It’s strange. Corypheus said the Black City was empty and tainted already when he and his evil magister buddies got there, which is counter to the Chantry story about those magisters turning it black and creating the Blight.” She narrowed her eyes. “But here’s the thing. The Black City is in the Fade and only in the Fade, which seems to imply that it’s not a so-called ‘real’ place, right? At least not if things in the Fade are just a reflection of dreamers’ minds or what spirits build from the things they see. But after visiting the Vir Dirthara, knowing that some places could be made from the real world and the Fade, it stands to reason that some places could also be made from just the Fade.” She looked askance at him, and her belly did a pleasant flip; he was smiling broadly at her. 

“Go on,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “The Black City is actually Arlathan, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “What the Chantry calls the Black City is the remains of ancient Arlathan.”

Tamaris’s eyes widened at the confirmation. “Holy fuck. So… so wait. Wait.” A buzz of unreality was starting to raise her pulse. “If the Black City is Arlathan, then it can’t be the kingdom of the Maker if Arlathan is Elvhen and the Maker is Chantry bullshit.”

If possible, his smile grew even wider, and Tamaris’s belly swooped with amazement. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Felassan.”

“Yes, Tamaris?” he said cheerfully.

“There is no Maker, is there?” she breathed.

He casually linked his fingers behind his head. “There isn’t, no. The Maker is a figment of human imagination and nothing more.”

She gaped at him. The sense of vertigo in her head was growing as the enormity of this fact thudded in her ears. The Maker isn’t real. The Maker doesn’t exist. The humans were wrong. 

She burst out a laugh. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “This is amazing. And horrible. I can’t decide whether to laugh because I fucking knew it, or — I mean, I knew it but I couldn’t prove it.” She laughed again and shook her head. “Can you imagine the fucking mess it’ll make if this becomes common knowledge?”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Felassan said pleasantly. “The irony is nearly funny, until one remembers that the progeny of our people were crushed under the heels of humans in the name of a being who doesn’t exist.”

Tamaris sobered. “Fuck.” 

He smile faded slightly, and he gave her an apologetic look. “I regret to point out as well that you don’t actually have proof that what I’ve said is true. So this is probably not something that you should go running through the streets of Val Royeaux to advertise.”

She wilted. “Ugh. Yeah, you’re right.”

“An unfortunate curse of being so old and clever,” he said complacently. “But you can continue to bask in the satisfaction of being correct, if you like.”

She huffed. “Feels kind of macabre to gloat about it now, but thanks for the offer.”

Felassan nodded graciously, and Tamaris sighed and propped her elbows on the table. “So everyone’s religion is a bunch of incorrect bullshit. We’re all together in that, at least.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s an optimistic outlook for you. Sort of.” He smirked. “In a charmingly cynical sort of way.” 

“It kind of is, isn’t it?” she said wryly. “How nice to have something all in common. We can all swim in bullshit together.”

He smiled at her without speaking, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s at moments like this that I can imagine why your followers literally sang your praises,” he said.

She couldn’t quite decide if he was being sarcastic or not, but she rolled her eyes regardless. “And the rest of the time they probably wondered how the fuck they got saddled with such a ham-fisted bitch as a leader, right?”

“No,” Felassan said seriously. “I am certain that the rest of the time, they found you formidable and fearsome.”

Her ears started feeling hot. She looked away from him. “Uh-huh.”

He chuckled and idly waved one of his bare feet. After a brief pause, Tamaris glanced at him thoughtfully. “You don’t have any other questions about our little trip to the Fade, then?”

“Nothing more at this moment,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “I have another question for you, then. Why was Solas so angry about the Grey Wardens trying to seek out the archdemons and kill them? He would never explain that to me. He always just… talked his way around it.” 

Felassan’s pleasant expression instantly sobered and sharpened, and her heart skipped a beat in alarm. When he shifted his feet to the floor and turned to face her, her pulse kicked into an anxious trot. 

“That is probably the most important question you have asked me,” he said. “And I’ll tell you now if you want — as much as I know, at least, which I regret to admit is actually not everything.” He tapped This Shit Is Weird. “But I would prefer to finish reading this book first.”

“Why?” she said nervously.

“The answer will be easier to explain if I know first what you know.”

She frowned more deeply, and Felassan leaned toward her. “I am not trying to dodge your question, Tamaris. This is not an attempt to deceive you. I will tell you now if that’s what you want.”

He had that look on his face again: the look of ineffable weariness and melancholy that she now associated solely with elves from ancient Elvhenan. Tamaris studied him with a growing writhing of worry in her gut while she mulled over his words, then finally shook her head. “It’s okay. I can wait.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Are you certain?”

A pang of fondness poked at her heart. He was clearly making an active effort not to prevaricate like Solas had always done. “I’m certain,” she assured him. “It’s just… now I’m scared of what you’re going to say.”

He smiled faintly, but somehow the smile only made his face more serious. “When the world looks the way it does, being afraid is the only intelligent response,” he said. “Only fools will tread through these days without caution.” 

His words made her gut twist a little more, and she wrinkled her nose. “Well, that’s grim of you. Someone needs to cheer the fuck up.”

His sad little smile warmed to something more genuine and Felassan-like. “Not grim. Just realistic. And that was unusually optimistic of you, for the second time today. Have you been nipping into the deep mushroom without me?”

She huffed in amusement. “No. The felandaris, on the other hand…”

He laughed heartily. “Nice try, but you’d be frothing at the mouth if you were nipping into that without my help.”

“Good to know,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you wake me up at the crack of dawn.”

His smile curled with mischief. “Then I’ll be sure not to drink anything you prepare for me anytime soon.”

She returned his smile, then eyed him speculatively. Something strange had just occurred to her — something that she had just assumed, but had never actually asked him.

He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table again. “Ask, avise,” he said warmly. “I can practically see the questions flitting through that lovely ebony-haired head of yours.”

“I was just wondering,” she said. “Do you miss it?”

“Do I miss what?” he asked.

“Arlathan,” she said. “Your time. All of it.”

His smile faded, but this time in a pensive way. He was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was somber. “The time when I was born was both more and less than the Dalish could ever imagine,” he said. “Spirits did not just walk alongside us; they were us. Magic infused every structure that we built and every footstep that we walked, potent and tangible as the blood that flows through your veins.” He let out a wistful little laugh. “We had these gardens: beautiful wild gardens bursting with flowers of every size, in shapes and colours that have no words in this language. And yet, despite the beauty, it was rotting from the inside out. The equality and cooperation that the Dalish imagine did not exist. We could be petty and power-hungry and short-sighted. We had great capacity for creativity, and we squandered it on competitions and power struggles like any human nobles from this time.”

“You’ve mentioned this before,” she said gently. “But that’s not what I asked you. Do you miss it?”

His expression blanked with surprise for a brief moment, just the way it did every time she asked him specifically about his feelings or his thoughts. A sudden rush of affection filled her chest, followed by the usual instinctive feeling of vulnerability at how much affection she bore for him already.

She swallowed hard to try and relax. Felassan, meanwhile, was frowning thoughtfully at his feet. “There are things I miss,” he said slowly. “Those gardens I mentioned, for one. The food, for another; some ingredients are just impossible to find in this time. But I think what I miss the most is… knowing who I was. Knowing my purpose, and knowing that everything I did was a step toward that purpose, even if my steps seemed convoluted or indirect. Always intentionally, of course, in keeping with a slow arrow,” he added with a sly little smile. 

Tamaris nodded silently. Then Felassan sighed. “If there is anything I truly miss, it is knowing who I was. I was the slow arrow of Fen’Harel. I was the silent strike that they failed to notice until it was too late.” He met her eyes. “I am not sure who I am now.”

“You can still be a slow arrow, if that’s what you want,” she said. “You just need a new target.”

He gazed at her silently for a moment, and Tamaris watched with an increasingly erratic pulse as his pensive frown morphed into something undeniably tender. 

He slowly lowered his feet to the floor and leaned toward her, and when his hand rose to carefully cradle her neck, her breath hitched with excitement and just a hint of fear. 

He brushed her jawline with his thumb. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured. 

She nodded dumbly, and Felassan smiled before lowering his lips to hers. He kissed her carefully, his lips pulling at hers in a series of slow and infinitely gentle kisses that kicked her pulse into a faster beat while also lulling her into a sense of dreamlike contentment. It was a clear contrast from the scorchingly passionate kisses they usually shared, and by the time Felassan pulled away, her heart was pounding her ears and her throat, and she couldn’t quite decide whether it was panic or pleasure or something more tender — and far more terrifying — that was kicking her heart into such a rapid beat. 

His smile was so warm and his eyes so meltingly soft, and she wasn’t ready yet to accept everything that they implied. She took a tremulous breath and dropped his gaze. “Felassan, I’m — this is…”

“I know,” he said gently, and he released her neck and leaned back. “But it was a good kiss, wasn’t it?” 

She smirked at him despite her nerves. He was such a smug brat. “It was passable,” she said dismissively. 

He barked out a laugh. “Passable! You cut me deeply, avise. Fortunately for you, I don’t hold grudges.” Then he stood up and chivalrously offered her his hand. “Come. We have so much wallpaper to strip from the study and so little time to do it.”

She playfully smacked his hand away and rose to her feet, and they continued to tease each other good-naturedly as they made their way to the study. But as Tamaris carefully peeled long strips of ugly gold-striped paper from the walls, she couldn’t help but worry about the question she’d asked Felassan about Solas and the archdemons. 

She couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble the answer would bring – not just to the cocoon of peace she and Felassan were building around themselves, but to the entire world at large.

She forced herself to put the worries aside for now. For now, she had a mansion to strip of all its gaudy gold trappings, and she had a handsome companion by her side to strip it with.

And maybe soon, when the time was ripe, some stripping of a more pleasurable kind would happen as well.

[wondergal2001]

Little Lamb: Part Seven

When Charlie first woke up and calmed down from her initial deja vu, the silence was wonderful. It was serene and healing; everything she needed in her life right now. Her head had been filled with so much shit the last few years, it piled up and up until all that noise was pounding in her head. Slamming against her skull demanding to be released. But the silence in this room was just... so silent. For once the only thing in Charlie's head, was her, just her. The silence was her balm, her blissful saviour.

But now it was choking her.

The soothing, healing silence had escaped the room with the cold, no-nonsense woman in a pantsuit. Erica Sloane, if Charlie remembered correctly. But to be honest she wasn't really paying much attention. She completely blanked out the second she made eye contact with the giant man with the ugly moustache. The one from the warehouse. The one who saved her, but also seemed like he couldn't care less for her life.

Ms. Sloane had strut in here like she owned the place, which Charlie din't know yet but she did, said some blah blah explanation about what happened to her, like Charlie didn't already know how she got into this situation and what those disgusting people were gonna do with her. It was old news to her, she lost interest almost immediately, she almost didn't notice when Waller left the room. What really interested her was why the not so friendly giant, looked more uncomfortable being in this room than she did. As soon as that door closed she was on the case to find out why. And thus the staring contest began.

They had both been staring at each other for some time now, what felt like hours but really was only a handful of minutes. Both pairs of eyes roaming the others figure. Trying to surmise every fact, every small tiny detail about each other without opening their mouths. Charlie could feel this man's inquisitive gave travel over every square inch of her person, inspecting every bruise, every scar, every freckle on her blemished skin. She made sure to put her best poker face on; she wasn't going to show this random man just how unsettled she was being in this room with him with complete lack of noise.

He was just as tall and just as wide as she remembered him being. He looked pretty much the same as the last time she faced him, just maybe a little cleaner. His previous sand, dirt, and blood stained outfit had been replaced with a pair of black trousers and a tight, knit sweater. The dark navy blue of the garment contrasting well with his light eyes. He stood, leaning his shoulder against the wall, about a metre away from the door. His arms were crossed at his chest, making his already big arms even huger.

The silence was suffocating her again. Sucking all the air out of her body, she couldn't breathe. This was past quiet, way more than silence. It felt like all the air and all possible noise had evaporated from the room. All thought disappeared from her frazzled head, all she could do was not blink. She knew what this was. It was a test for dominance, to see who was the top dog, who was gonna be in charge of this conversation, in charge of this relationship. She could do it, she knew she could. Charlie flippin' Granger was her name and stubborn was her game. She could hold the blinks back and show this dangerous specimen who was boss.

Charlie was quite the stubborn person, stubborn as an ox most people would say. She was often stubborn to a fault.  In fact that was probably the second word used to describe her. The first word was always the same one.

Awkward.

"So who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?", she finally broke, managing to keep her voice steady. Still trying to keep all of her emotions close to her chest, but she just couldn't keep her lack of comfort inside any longer.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very piercing stare sir. I mean like seriously, what are you doing? Looking into my soul, trying to see my future? Cause I can tell you now, there is nothing particularly interesting to see here. Nope, nada. Probably just a crazy cat lady with a thousand plants.", god she just kept rambling. The word vomit just kept coming and coming, she couldn't make it stop. She sent a quick prayer to mother Karma that she needed to be stopped, and stopped quickly.

It seemed karma took pity on her. A quiet, smooth chuff of air, left the very, very large chest; sounding suspiciously like amusement. She looked over at him, now sitting in a chair that looked much too small for a man of his stature. When he moved there she couldn't tell you, it must have been when she was stuck in her head. She saw his blank face turn into a delicious smirk. Lips pulling up to the side just enough to show his amusement. That accompanied by the mischief in his eyes from her babbling, making his beautiful face look like a total douchebag. Finally, after their intense stare down he spoke.

"That totally makes sense, you seem like that kind of person.", he said sounding just a tiny bit mocking. Still looking at her with that small smile on his face, as if she was the most hilarious person in the world. But not the type of hilarious where they tell jokes that make you pee your pants, the type of hilarious that's only funny to the people watching. The difference between laughing with and laughing at.

"And what kind of person is that Mr. Steroids?", she retorted with some not so hidden venom in her voice. Kind of insulted that he agreed with her lonely, depressing view of her future.

"You don't have great conversation skills do you?", he spoke through a laugh, his mouth breaking into a huge grin showing off his perfect teeth. Of course he has prefect stinking teeth, Charlie thought bitterly. He seemed to relax more, as he leaned back into the chair, sitting like an actual normal person instead of some perfect posture robot. If Charlie heard that sound a year ago, she would have blushed like crazy. She would be trying, and failing, to flirt back with this handsome stranger. She would have answered yes she does have excellent communication skills, and she always believed people had the best intentions at heart. But she knew better now.

"Well considering the last real conversation I had, I was begging not to be kidnapped I think I'm doing pretty well. Sorry to disappoint.", she said the last bit with all the sarcasm she could muster. Hoping to cover up the real sadness and fear that was bleeding out of her confession.

It seemed her retort had woken him up. He swiftly shifted his weight forwards, leaning his elbows on his spread knees, with his large hands clasped together hanging in between. The previous laughter on his face disappeared, being replaced by a serious face with remorseful eyes that glanced down away from her person towards his fiddling hands. After a few seconds of silence, as her admission sank into both of them, his eyes connected with hers again. The look on his face seeming to plead with her to believe what he would say next.

"You're doing wonderfully. Even though there is no right or wrong way to handle what you've been through, to handle trauma, I can tell you are doing the best you can. And that's great, that's the first step. Always.", he said so seriously she actually believed him. Everything about him right now screamed sincere. Nothing about his face, body language, or tone made her think he was lying to her. That he was giving the classic victim spiel. He looked like a golden retriever right now, he appeared to be so loyal, patient and trusting; someone she could count on to help her through this. As much as his words comforted her, the prolonged eye contact was starting to make her uncomfortable. She quickly cleared her throat, looking away from his piercing gaze.

"Where are we? Who are you? I'm pretty sure we are in some medical facility, and no offence dude but you don't look like my doctor." she questioned, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

So she was deflecting again, sue her. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his words, she did. Charlie wasn't ready to go down that hole yet. And she'd rather deal with her trauma in her home, or at the very least, when an extremely attractive man isn't there to see her burst open. He didn't seem all that surprised at her dismissal, if anything it seemed like he expected it. His face shifted again, this time becoming a the neutral, calm government official he was. He rose from his chair, standing up to his full height, his arms found their natural habitat crossing his chest. He seemed to ponder his response, Charlie watched a million thoughts run in and out of his head before he finally formulated his answer.

"You are in a US government medical facility in Virginia. You've been unconscious for several hours now which is to be expected with your injuries. I am the government agent who rescued you and who now has been assigned to help rehabilitate you and assist you in getting back into society. Long story short, that means where you go, I go. And before you ask, yes I am essentially your babysitter. My name's August.", he said sounding nothing like the man she had first met. He actually sounded...friendly. But it didn't matter how friendly he made himself seem, Charlie was not happy, nope not one bit. But she was too lazy and not mention too tired to argue with him. She knew, no matter what she said she wouldn't be able to change his mind, so she settled for showing her anger in another more healthy way. She pouted and glared.

"Tt, babysitter.", she scoffed, finding his blue eyes again staring straight at her. She returned his gaze with a fiery glare, putting all the anger and discontent she could muster right now behind it. She thought she came off as serious and intimidating, but really she just looked like kid when they are told no they can't have cake for dinner. A fact August didn't hesitate to let her know.

"It's cute, you trying to intimidate me. Adorable but useless, not to mention unnecessary. I don't like this anymore than you do.", August admitted with absolutely no shame and a sarcastic smile. He was secretly glad the light-hearted atmosphere was back, and that she took it so well. No yelling or fighting or major resisting. This he could deal with.

"First things first, now that you have woken up, we are going to move you to a safe house where you can finish your recovery.", he declared, sounding like the bossy man she knew he was just from the moustache alone. He started to move towards her, coming to stand right next to her on the left side of her bed. He reached for her arm to help her out of bed and onto the wheelchair close by. He stopped about a couple inches away from touching her skin. She looked at him questioningly, maybe there is a glitch in the matrix, she thought trying to understand what he was doing.

"Can I touch you?", he asked softly, as if he could shatter her by speaking any louder.

"What?", she asked. Her face scrunched up in confusion, her eye brows furrowed together, mouth slightly open in pause. After inhaling a deep breath he elaborated his previous question.

"Do I have your consent to touch you? To grab your arm to help you out of bed?", finally clarifying what he was after. Charlie's scrunched up face melted away into one of open shock. No one had ever asked her that before, not her previous partners, not random people she met out in public, and most definitely not the people she had encountered in the last year. Finally getting her wits together she answered back honestly.

"That depends.", she said equally as quiet as August, and equally as serious. His eyebrow quirked a little, in an inquisitive manner. The eyebrow was enough to ask her to elaborate without opening his mouth, a talent she was definitely going to ask him to teach her later.

"Were you really gonna do it?", she asked with no emotion in her voice, no emotion on her face either. She made sure to gaze at his face to see what he was feeling, she wanted to be certain.

"Do what?", he asked even more confused than he was before. He tried to imagine what she could have been talking about. They hadn't known each other for more than a day. This was their first conversation together, what could he have done to make her question him like this?

"Were you really going let him kill me?", she finally revealed. Looking him right in the eye to make sure he knew that she was watching and that she wasn't going to settle for anything less than the truth.

Finally after several seconds of silence, and even more intense eye contact he gave her a look. What it meant she didn't understand at the time, but would later learn to understand every word he wasn't saying. It was a simple yes or no question but he didn't answer. All he did was gently grasp her arm in his large, warm hand.

To everyone who is still interested in reading this: I am so sorry it took so long. Writing isn’t my strong suit and I just have to be in the mood for it. I will try my best to write more regularly and often. I will be trying to make a master list (it will be pinned on my blog) and a taglist so let me know if you want to be tagged. 

[theliterateape]

History is a Puzzle Box of Rashomon

by Don Hall

I’ve often said that the scariest thing to ever come out of my mother’s mouth was the declaration “Let’s go on an adventure!”

For my mother an adventure must include a lack of preparation, potential for danger, and a sense of I can’t believe we just survived that! She once decided she wanted to do a charcoal sketching of a gravestone from the grave of one of our Appalachian Baptist fire-and-brimstone preacher ancestors. My dad drove her up into the mountains and they started seeing patches of purple paint on trees and rocks.

Turned out that was the locals’ way of telling outsiders they'd get shot if they trespassed. My dad clutched his pistol the rest of the way.

Mom got her charcoal sketch. I can’t believe we just survived that!

When I was a kid and we lived in Arizona, mom decided we were going on adventure. My little sister, mom, and I loaded up in her brown Gremlin, a bag of sandwiches, some sodas, and all of our swimming gear and headed out for an afternoon at Lake Pleasant.

All was copacetic until she thought she saw a shortcut to he lake. It was not a shortcut. It was simply desert. It started out as a bit of a dirt path that sort of petered out about an hour into the drive. We were driving in the open desert in the vehicle equivalent to a Pinto.

Of course we blew a tire. Of course we didn't have a spare.

Being a melodramatic kid, I went into a full-blown faux-survivalist panic. After a few minutes of wailing about our imminent demise I set out to figure how to get water out of cactus, the thorny testaments to the heartiness of desert foliage fending off my un-callused hands and delivering exactly no water.

This being decades before smartphones, we were stuck. We had no clue where we were in terms of the comforts of civilization and while mom put on a brave face (and occasionally got the giggles at my histrionics) our fate was sealed. Unless someone miraculously drove into the middle of the desert to save us, we were doomed.

And then the miracle occurred. A beat-up red Ford pickup truck coming from the other direction popped up on the horizon. I shrieked in relief; mom flagged the truck down.

We were about a mile from a highway but we couldn't know that. The driver of the pickup was taking a shortcut from the highway.

Here's where the story gets odd. To this day, my mother's version of this adventure and mine are identical. Word for word the same until we get to the driver of the Ford. On my life, I swear it was an older Native American man who stopped, hitched up the Gremlin to his vehicle, and towed us the mile to the highway and on to a gas station. 

My mother will go to her grave insisting it was a family of four Mormons.

What?!

We’ve had family arguments about this story. Both my mother and I are intractable in our insistence of our specific endings of either Native American man or family of Mormons. We both were there. We both can see ourselves in the tale. The endings are as different as could be.

There is conclusive scientific research that demonstrates how the memory of an event subtly changes the actual memory as it is retold. The more you tell the story, the more it transforms into something similar but wholly different in the margins.

If my mother and I can have such divergent differences within a memory of an event we both shared, how many splinters are there in a collective re-telling of a larger event encompassing many more tellers? How many completely incompatible versions of the attacks on New York on September 11, 2001 are there? How many versions that don’t quite line up with one another are there of the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941?

Moving forward and backward in history, if we are to accept (and I do) that our memories are more Silly Putty than Lego Bricks, how much does film, television, books, and social media come into play in the constant morphing of objective truth to the collection of subjective memories and finally commonly accepted reality?

There is conclusive scientific research that demonstrates how the memory of an event subtly changes the actual memory as it is retold.

Back in the olden days when one could watch something horribly incorrect in the political sense without it becoming a ringing endorsement of your personal "brand" or a scathing indictment on who you are as a fellow human, I went to a screening of Griffith's The Birth of a Nation. It was at an esoteric video shop/screening theater on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago called Facets Multimedia and there were six or seven others in attendance. I was the only white person in the room.

Historically, Griffith's opus is significant in several ways. 

First, it was among the earliest epic uses of film. Released in 1915, it was the first blockbuster Hollywood hit. It was the longest and most-profitable film then produced and the most artistically advanced film of its day. It secured both the future of feature-length films and the reception of film as a serious medium.

Second, it was the first modern popular culture example of an artistic achievement attempting to force a certain perspective on the larger culture (the idea that the KKK were the heroes of the Civil War) it was initially released with the title "The Clansmen" and reframed the war, Reconstruction, and white hooded sheets in tandem with lynchings as the preferred story of American history.

Third, while propaganda has been around since men could talk and write, it was the most pervasive use of a medium that communicated on a newfound mass level to promote a horrifying ideology and was embraced by President Woodrow Wilson as a personal favorite.

Following the three-hour screening, there was a sense of discomfort as the lights came back up. My guess at the time it was the other viewers in the room wondering if I, the sole white person in the room, was as offended by the revised perspective the film espoused as the rest in the small cadre. I suppose I wasn't as offended because I wasn't black and I knew what I was getting into when buying my ticket. I can imagine seeing the film without some context would be like a slap in the face.

One of the things I learned doing stage combat around the same time was that a slap in the face never hurt as much as you'd think. It wasn't the pain of the blow but the surprise of it that gave it impact. Going in cold to see the KKK presented as the true patriots wouldn't hurt but the surprise might be a shock.

In a very different way but in the same vein, I remember being the only white face in a crowded theater in Fayetteville, Arkansas at the opening night of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing. The looks of inquisition for my reaction to the film from the predominantly black faces followed me out into the lobby and into the parking lot.

I read recently that one of the reasons the scars of that Civil War in America have never fully healed is that we’ve never, as a nation, agreed on a single narrative of why we fought the goddamned thing. The subjectivity of truth in the re-telling of that dark period is confounding and subsequent attempts to force one perspective or the other or multiple angles on the causes of the War of the States has only confused the issue. Thus the recent beheadings of statues glorifying Southern generals and the re-naming parties of public schools to eliminate anyone associated with slavery.

I understand and empathize with this impulse to reverse the whitewash of history from our streets and schools. So much of our literature and symbols in real life have been created with, maybe not a D. W. Griffith subjectivity, a revisionist historical perspective that paints over the ugliest parts of our history to re-tell the narrative and erase those most subjugated by it. I expect over-correction (like the New York Times 1619 Project which casts our history as steeped in nothing but racism and slavery without acknowledging the contributions set apart from those stains) and, after reading that San Francisco schools are eliminating Abraham Lincoln's name, I decided to re-watch Spielberg's Lincoln.

I don't know if it was actually Lincoln or screenwriter Tony Kushner who came up with the following analogy but I found it instructive in the push to reframe the story today.

A compass, I learnt when I was surveying, it'll... it'll point you True North from where you're standing, but it's got no advice about the swamps and deserts and chasms that you'll encounter along the way.

If in pursuit of your destination, you plunge ahead, heedless of obstacles, and achieve nothing more than to sink in a swamp... What's the use of knowing True North?

The film paints the fight for the 13th Amendment as a dark political game, cajoling and persuading the legislators of the day to codify in the Constitution a formal revocation and rebuke to the forced enslavement of other human beings. It also portrays Lincoln as a deeply pragmatic leader. The speech is one he gives to Thaddeus Stevens, a zealous abolitionist, who rightly sees true north but, up to that point, would rather be righteous than successful in abolishing slavery.

Both men are long dead so the question of whether both men would tell the same story, in their re-telling of those pivotal moments leading up to the vote, or if their stories would radically diverge, is wholly academic. That’s where the trappings of art collide with authenticity. This is the version Spielberg and Kushner decided upon and it will be the version millions who watch the film and decide to simply accept it as the one true version.

This is not to say there is no objective truth. It is to suggest that our inability to separate fact from our subjective fictions makes us pretty fucking lousy arbiters of that fact.

On the other hand, we have celebrated author Mark Manson, whose book Everything is F•cked: A Book About Hope is being banned in Russia by Putin because it speaks directly to atrocities committed by Stalin. Putin is looking to re-write Stalin's history. 

There is a big difference between revising a history shown to diminish the effects of overt racists in one country and purging a country’s history of established monstrosities but the mechanism remains the same: reframe the story and tell it enough times that the meaning changes over time. Keep pushing the new narrative (right or wrong) until the soft memory of an entire nation bends to the will of the teller.

That’s all history is, after all. A slew of stories we tell over and over to indoctrinate a sense of national pride. It grows more perilous when those revising the stories weren’t present. The source of the tales becomes less reliable and the reframe more suspect. When the source is a film or video of an event, we feel as though we’ve experienced it but our perspective is entirely subverted by what the camera shows us and the narrative promoted when we watch it.

One of the techniques that Griffith practically invented was the camera’s use to tell the story from his view. Frame things in a certain way, in a certain order, and our very eyes are deceived, our minds accept the deception, and we believe.

In 1950, Akira Kurosawa gave the world the reigning example of individualized subjective point of view. Rashomon shows us three different perspectives on one specific event. The film makes the point so clearly that the term used popularly to label the he said/she said/they said dilemma is a rashomon.

This is not to say there is no objective truth. It is to suggest that our inability to separate fact from our subjective fictions makes us pretty fucking lousy arbiters of that fact. Show me someone absolutely 100% certain of the sort of events they've only seen on an iPhone video moderated by Faceborg and spun by both the media and some random stranger and I'll show you someone deluded and quite probably dead wrong.

Even when we're there to witness events in person we get it wrong so the concept of getting it right through the mediation and manipulation of amateur videographers and activist pushing a narrative is nothing short of lunatic fringe.

Bizarrely, we all know this to be true.

We know that social media is almost entirely unreliable. We know that film is a highly manipulative art form. We know that Robert Downey, Jr. never flew in a suit of armor, that Keanu Reeves is not Neo, that as much as he embodies who I hope Abraham Lincoln was like, Daniel Day Lewis is an actor and couldn't possibly know what the man was actually like in person.

We know this to be true but we need to be right. We need to believe and so we take that leap of faith, that gut level adherence to what makes some sort of sense in the story and run with it. More so, if the fiction supports things we already have chosen to believe in, we are adding it to the arsenal of defenses against any other sort of view of our story.

We know there's more to the story of the Antifa takeover of Seattle. We know there's more to the January 6th breach of the Capitol. We know there are more sides to the story of Michael Brown. We know that with everyone filmed in a Walmart screaming about her right to forego a mask there is something else before and after that moment that may demonize her just a bit less.

We know but we don't care. Context and considering the framing takes too much work. Too much time. In an existence flooded with too much information, too many stories, too much video, too many opinions, it's just fucking easier to settle on the story that suits you and roll with that.

That's why—no matter what my mother says—it was definitely not a family of Mormons and I'll go to my grave with that.