#and yes he had a crush on this blonde templar

[pkbth]

"Your eyes are like lyrium, inquisitor."

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

Wee woo happy Friday I'm back on my single braincell in love with Fenders as always. Can I get "resting their hand on the other’s thigh, slowly stroking it" from the intimate prompt list for my glowing boys?

Ask and ye shall receive.

Fenris’s eyes were drawn to the mage as they set up camp. Anders had been quiet since the encounter with the templars they’d intercepted prowling the coastal caves for apostates. The mage's face was drawn and pale, as though the sunlight had been sucked out of him along with his habitually cheerful wit, replaced with furtive glances over his shoulder.

What hurt the most about seeing him this way, of all the things Fenris hated about it, was how familiar it was to him, how intimately he knew what it was like to be hunted, to check the shadows around him and the path behind. It hurt because he’d not seen it for too many years, how alike their lives had been. 

He staked the last corner of their tent down and tossed his pack inside, then retrieved the mage’s satchel. He noticed, as he set it carefully within the shelter alongside his own travel pack, that the strap was frayed and the seam of one outside pocket completely ripped free. He resolved to replace it with something finer when they got back to Kirkwall. 

Anders was tending the fire now, practicing his recently acquired skill–starting one without magic. Steady, long-fingered hands arranged sticks around a smoking bundle of sea-grass. As Fenris crossed the campsite to him, orange-gold flames licked along the driftwood and Anders sat back on the ground, watching it. 

Fenris took a circuitous route toward him, around the fire, careful not to approach the mage from behind. Anders looked up and saw him, plastering on a weak smile that didn’t meet his pretty eyes. Stopping beside him, Fenris brushed his fingertips over the crown of Anders’ head, stroking the soft blonde hair back from his forehead. The mage hummed, eyelids fluttering, and leaned his head against Fenris’s leg. 

“Do you feel like eating?” Fenris asked. 

Anders was silent a moment. “Not really.” 

Fenris would encourage him to, later, but for now he settled beside him at the fire. The rest of their group–Hawke, Bela, Merrill–seemed as oblivious to Anders’ discomfort as Fenris had once been. 

Anders glanced at him with the shy, questioning look that had yet to be dispelled by months of the intimacy they now shared. It was another thing they had in common–self-doubt, a struggle to convince themselves they were a thing of value worthy of care and affection. 

Fenris scooted closer to him and laid his hand on the mage’s thigh, stroking the length of it down to his knee and squeezing it gently. Anders leaned into the touch, lifting his own hand toward Fenris and hesitating. Fenris swayed closer, pressing their shoulders together, and it gave Anders the encouragement he needed to lay his hand across Fenris’s leg, linking them together. 

“Thank you,” Anders murmured softly. 

Fenris rubbed small, comforting circles on the bend of Anders’ knee. “For what?” he asked. For putting his fist through the chest of one templar, crushing the throat of another, and running the last through with his sword? For the hundred another templars Fenris would kill for him? 

“For noticing,” Anders said, looking at him. His burnished-gold eyes were haunted, but there was tenderness in them. Something special he seemed to reserve only for Fenris. 

Even so, a hint of shame writhed in Fenris’s gut. “I should have noticed a long time ago,” he muttered. 

Anders didn’t ask for clarification–he knew what Fenris meant. They’d talked about it before. 

“You don’t just notice,” the mage said, squeezing Fenris’s knee in return. “You understand.” 

Fenris sat with that briefly. “I do understand,” he agreed. 

Anders sighed, slumping closer against him. “That’s more than I can say for the vast majority of Thedas.” 

Moving his arm, Fenris wrapped it around the mage’s back, which was just as scarred as his own body. He felt an answering thrum of energy, a slight, cautious tug of the Fade at his markings that had once turned his stomach but now flowed through him in good way. Veilfire flickered over Anders’ hand, Justice’s touch there and then gone, leaving warmth behind that crowded out Fenris’s regrets. 

The spirit was saying thank you as well, it seemed.

[dalishious]

how much of (dead mage)cole's personality do you think is in cole? stuff like liking rabbits and hats, and being nice, and i guess on the socially awkward side, since i'm not sure if that would occur to a spirit?

Cole, the spirit we know, became human-Cole at least for all intents and purposes. He has more than just his appearance, he has his memories, and yes, I think at least some of his personality and feelings. This is exhibited in Asunder, like when Pharamond’s demon trapped them all in the Fade and Cole was re-living human-Cole’s past. (Excerpt below the ‘keep reading’ cut; TW for abuse and child death.) And even in DA:I during his personal quest, the whole thing is about how angry he is at the templar for killing him. And by him, he says “me”. Because again, it was essentially him.

Also, Cole liking rabbits is an interesting touch, given human-Cole’s younger sister was nicknamed Bunny.

Backing up this would be how Justice in Awakening starts to take on traits and feelings from Kristoff--although in that case, Justice was possessing a deceased person, while Cole is not possessing anyone.

From Asunder, after Evangeline and Rhys defeat the demon posing as Cole’s father:

And then she opened the last cabinet. Inside crouched a filthy young boy, perhaps twelve years in age and with shaggy blond hair hanging in front of his eyes. His face was filled with stark terror, wide eyes having long drained of tears that now stained his cheeks... and worst of all, a little girl was squeezed in there with him. She was half his age, held in a crushing grip, with one hand clamped over her mouth as if to keep her quiet. Only she was dead. The young boy began shaking, fighting against sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. "Please don't tell," he begged Evangeline in a quivering whisper. "Mama told us to hide. We have to hide." "Cole?" Rhys approached behind her, horrified. Evangeline didn't know what to do. The little boy shook even more profusely, new tears welling in his eyes—but he made not a single sound. She wasn't sure he even knew who they were... or who he was. She reached out and removed Cole's hand from the little girl's mouth. "Bunny was crying," he explained in a tiny voice. "Mama told us to be quiet. I only wanted her to be quiet." Gently Evangeline took the girl from his arms, and he only reluctantly gave her up. She weighed almost nothing, just skin and bones and the slightest wisp of a yellow dress. The sort a child would have been proud to own, something she might have thought was pretty. The dead girl dissolved into nothingness the moment she left the cabinet. She looked helplessly at Rhys. He gently moved her aside and crouched down next to the cabinet. "Cole? Do you know who I am?" The little boy stared at him, terror visibly fighting with alarm. His breaths became rapid and anxious. Rhys reached out to touch him, but then stopped... a dagger had appeared in the boy's hands. Cole's dagger. The boy held it up in an obvious threat, a desperate rage slowly overtaking his face. "I won't let you hurt Mama anymore," he seethed. "I'll stop you." Evangeline almost pulled Rhys back. She had no idea if they could be killed in the Fade, but she wasn't eager to find out. But Rhys simply held up his hands to the boy in surrender. "Shhh," he whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you, or anyone." The shaking dagger slowly raised, the point of it touching Rhys's neck. The little boy held it there, alternating between sharp sobs and frightened whimpers. His eyes were incredibly intense. And then the boy's shaking stopped. "Rhys?" he asked with sudden recognition, his voice so pitiful and hopeful it was heart- wrenching. Rhys nodded. The dagger clattered to the floor, and all at once the little boy spilled out of the cabinet. Only he was a little boy no longer. He was the young man Evangeline had seen earlier in the city square, older and dressed in blood- splattered leathers. He buried his head in Rhys's chest, agonized sobs ripped from somewhere deep in his soul, and Rhys simply held him. He said soothing things, and that made the young man cry all the harder. And then the shack was gone. Evangeline looked around, and saw they were back in the burned field. It was completely empty, as if the farm house never existed. But it had existed, once. Deep in her heart, she knew that for Cole it had gone from being a nightmare to a memory... an awful memory the Fade had dredged up from some dark and dreadful place where it should have remained buried. She stood there, watching awkwardly as Rhys cradled the young man, and her heart broke.

[laudedliar]

♠: One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

♡: Accidentally falling asleep together

Cullrian, but i couldnt pick just one prompt so you're welcome to pick your fave or do both or whatever works for you :)

This is the falling asleep.

The adjustment will be happier, I promise. :)

Dunno why I like angst.  But I sure seem to.  Awkward.

~*~*~*~*~

Adamant.  Once a bastion against the dark evils from the underbelly of the world, was now a ruined shell of it’s once glorious past.  Cullen walked along the broken battlements and stone walkways, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stepped over more dead Warden’s and Inquisition soldiers.  If what Solas said was true, their memory would forever be locked in a ferocious battle between the two.  To be enacted again and again by spirits of the Fade.  It was a tragedy that would be written and retold for millennia henceforth.

Cullen knelt at the side of an unblinking, lifeless Corporal.  He reached down and let his fingers close the woman’s eyes, so she may rest peacefully in the next life.

“May the Maker take you by his side.”  He murmured, pressing a kiss to his fingertips before laying them gently along the woman’s cold brow.  Slowly standing from where he knelt, Cullen continued his weary walk, kneeling at each of the dead he passed (Warden and Inquisition alike) and sent his pleading prayer for their souls to the Maker.

He was tired.  Exhausted.  Physically, mentally, emotionally.

He hadn’t noticed he was weeping until a Chantry Sister approached him, her own robes reddened along the bottom hem from the gore she waded through as she blessed the dead in turn.

“Please, Commander.  Go see a healer and take some rest.”  The young woman reached out to touch his cheek, a thumb running along the dark circle under his eye.  “We shall see these poor souls to the Maker’s side.”

Cullen nodded and stepped away from the woman, one hand roughly wiping at the cooling tear tracks along his cheeks.  “Thank you, sister.  Please, if you can save anything that we could send back to families...”

“Of course, Commander.”  The Sister walked with him down the stairs until she was certain he was stumbling through the rubble back to the camp that dotted the open expanse in front of the large, crumbling keep of yore.  Their large battering rams and trebuchets stood stark against the eve darkened horizon.  Soldiers were already put to task to begin dismantling the war machines for use in the funeral pyres.

Funeral pyres that would undoubtedly burn from dawn to dusk and on until the morning broke once more.

He was tired.  So tired he could feel it in his core.  A bone deep weariness.  The healer’s tents were collected nearest the keep.  People rushing too and fro, cries from the wounded and dying filled the air with a melancholy chorus.  It sent shivers rushing down Cullen’s spine and his feet detoured away from the wailing howls.

His wounds were minor, a few scrapes and cuts, a couple bruises.  Nothing that wouldn’t heal on it’s own given time and a little care.

The camp was somber.  Eerily quiet for a victorious army.  A few gathered soldiers shared skins of wine but most sat in silent contemplation of their hearth fires.  Many of the soldiers were Ferelden.  And Ferelden’s remembered the bravery of the Grey Wardens.  They remembered the horrors of the blight.

And they felt the loss of Warden Alistair Theirin acutely.  The man, after all, had been with the Hero of Ferelden.  Had fought beside him.  Had been there when the Hero died to save them all.  And the Warden had, in turn, sacrificed himself as well.

Heroes.

His throat tightened painfully and Cullen turned away from the fires of his subordinates to walk the lonely path up to the Inner Circle’s tents.  Inquisitor Cadash sat quietly, staring into the fire before her own tent.  Blackwall sat beside the small dwarven warrior, holding her hand and whispering soft sentiments to the stout woman.  Leliana was nowhere to be seen and he could not fault her.  She had known Warden Alistair.  Had fought and bled with him.  She had been in love with the Hero of Ferelden and the two had spent many nights in SkyHold laughing and reminiscing about their lost friend.

He skirted around the Inquisitor’s fire pit as well, not wishing to speak with either warrior pondering the flickering flames.  The rest of the companions were interspersed through the tents.  Most were weary from battle and huddled around their own fires or already in their tents.  The Chargers were softly singing dirges for the lives lost that day, Iron Bull drinking from a large skin as he hummed along with his companies melancholy songs.

Cole was perched upon a chair just outside of the circle of light, watching them all drink and sing.  His curious blue eyes flickered towards Cullen as the ex-Templar shuffled past to his own tent.

“Everyone is sad.  I cannot help them all.”  The boy said, drawing the blonde’s attention to him.

“It is impossible to help everyone, Cole.”  He answered, shoulders slumping at the admission.

“But it is possible to help some.”  The boy whispered as his eyes searched Cullen’s haggard face.

“Yes.”

“I want to help.”

Cullen watched the boy as his distant gaze slowly moved back out over the sprawling army camp.  “Good night, Cole.”  He muttered when the boy didn’t continue his thoughts out loud.

“Good night.  Commander Cullen.”  Cole replied, his tone distant.

A raised chorus of singing followed in his wake as he stepped into his tent.  The heavy fabric dampened the mournful chorus as it fell closed and Cullen brushed a hand over his face, wiping away a flaking crust of sweat, dirt, and blood.  He paused, hand resting over his mouth, as he noticed a hunched form on the edge of his sleeping roll in the dim candle light.

“Dorian.”  He called softly, surprised to see the mage sitting in his tent.  He would have expected the man to be with the Charger’s or the Inquisitor.  Not here.  Not inside the Commander’s personal accommodations.

Red rimmed grey eyes blinked up at him and the mage nodded slightly.  “Commander.”

“What are you doing?”  Cullen asked, a hint of anger on the edge of his words.

The Tevinter wrapped his arms around his chest and shrugged, glancing away to the far corner of the tent.  “I am... Hiding.  I figured no one would look for me here.  And had not expected you to return for some time.”

“I see.”  Cullen murmured softly, unsure exactly how to approach the situation.  He shifted foot to foot for a moment before sighing.  “And why are you hiding, exactly?”  He asked as he began to toe off his blood soaked boots.

“Mostly to be alone.”

Cullen kicked the discarded footwear to the side and began to unbuckle his cuirass.  “Well, I’m afraid this is my tent.  If you wish privacy, perhaps your own would be better suited?”

Dorian’s hands clutched at his upper arms and the mage shivered as if chilled.  He didn’t answer Cullen’s sharp retort straight away, instead remaining huddled on the edge of the sleeping roll as the blonde removed his armor with a groan.  When the Tevinter still hadn’t moved by the time Cullen stood in his shirt and pants, the ex-Templar considered the man.

“Dorian.”  He began, curious to the glazed far off gaze upon his counterpart’s face.

“Would you have made me Tranquil?”  The other asked suddenly.

“I - What?”  Cullen asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Do you believe me weak?  Susceptible to - to temptations?”  Grey eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow looked up.  There was fear plainly written in the creases marring Dorian’s face.

Cullen frowned, pondering the man’s questions.  No one had spoken yet of what had taken place when they’d fallen into the Fade.  His teeth worried the inside of his cheek as he considered his answer.  There had been a time he would have absolutely argued for Dorian’s tranquility.  The man was brash, far too intelligent for his own good, and had a cutting tongue.

But time had tempered Cullen’s anger and impetuous desire to see any mage in shackles.  He knew the ultimate price of such enmity.  And he had vowed to see more than just a mage’s abilities.  To see them for the people they were.

Carefully he stepped towards the man and knelt down to sit on the bedroll next to the mage.  “No.  I do not believe you are any of those things.”  He finally answered.

Dorian seemed to relax with his assurance.  The man let out a shaky breath and nodded carefully, as if the motion would cause his head to roll from his shoulders if he moved too quickly.  They sat in silence for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

Cullen once more found himself reflecting on Kirkwall.  Thinking of all the Rites of Tranquility he had personally overseen.  Thinking of the pleading, helpless men and women.  Remembering as their struggles against their binds would suddenly... Cease.  How they would stare cow-eyed at the surrounding Templars afterward, awaiting their orders.

No.  No he could not imagine Dorian in such a state.  Not without feeling the crushing weight of guilt at all those who were.

“You may stay here.  If you wish.”  He murmured, fingers plucking at the bottom of his shirt.  In part because the mage was right in that no one would think to look for him in Cullen’s tent.  But also because the ex-Templar himself did not wish to be alone with only his memories for company.

A soft hiccuping sigh was his only answer and Cullen did his best to look the other way when the mage sniffed lightly, a hand sweeping quickly across his eyes.  He removed his sweat and blood stained shirt before crawling to lay behind Dorian on the soft bedroll.  He waited a moment, eyes lingering on the back of the mage’s head before he reached up and gently patted the other’s quivering shoulder.

Dorian turned his head, his face dark in the dim candlelight.  A soft squeeze on the man’s shoulder and wordlessly the mage rolled to lay beside him.  The solitary lit candle flickered out as it’s wick burned down to near nothing.

Cullen rolled to his side, grimacing when he disturbed a growing bruise upon his ribs.  He looked at his companion, the other’s eyes glimmering in the darkness of the tent.  The mage’s profile shadowed as he contemplated the ceiling of the tent.  The dampened sound of the Charger’s mournful melodies lent a haunting air to the mage’s brooding.

They lay beside one another, Cullen observing his unexpected visitor.  He wondered about the other’s question.  What had made him ask such a thing.  What could possibly have driven the normally sharp witted Altus to his tent to hide of all things.

“What happened?  In the Fade?”  He asked, genuinely curious.

“A great many things.  I wouldn’t know exactly where to start.”  Dorian’s voice was tight, as if he were walking along a razors edge and barely keeping upright.  The man’s breath came in shallow pants, and Cullen waited.  He could hear words gathering along the back of Dorian’s breath, could practically feel them gaining substance as the mage collected them together.  The way one can feel the roll of thunder just before the crackling rumble.  “Tell me, Commander, does a Lion feel fear?”

A sharp hiss as he drew in a breath between shuttered teeth.  “Of course.”

“What are they?  A Lion’s fears.”  Dorian asked, his head turning to face Cullen in the darkness.

Lips moved silently as he considered the other’s question.  The bared vulnerability in the Tevinter’s voice and actions eased any suspicion.  His throat tightened as he examined the answers to the inquiry.

“I fear not being strong enough.  Of failing again.  Of not giving enough of - of -” His throat flexed painfully and Cullen released a heavy sigh.  “That I am inadequate.”

Darkened eyes flickered across his face and Cullen lurched in surprise when a soft touch brushed across his brow, smoothing a stray lock of hair back.  “Thank you.”  Dorian hushed.

They lay side by side, each considering the other.  The smell of battle permeated the air between them, but underneath it all the scent of Dorian’s perfume tinted the air.  And Cullen drew a deep breath, trying to place the faint spiced scent lingering beneath.  He didn’t jolt away when another brushing finger traced the outline of his face.  And when Dorian rolled to his side and slid closer, body warmly pressing against his own, Cullen allowed his hand to rest gently upon the mage’s waist.

The need to be near a <i>living</I> being after the horror of battle was heavy between the two men and they in turn answered that desire for the other.  The closeness helping to push away the open dread each man gave voice to only minutes prior.  The human hunger for touch pulling them closer in their open vulnerability.

“You are the strongest man I know.”  Dorian whispered, the words brushing faint across Cullen’s skin with their proximity.  “Would you make me a promise?”

“What is it?”

“Promise you will not let me - that you - that I -”

Cullen lifted his hand from Dorian’s waist and pressed his fingertips against the other’s lips.  “I need not make that promise.  You are more than what you fear.  You have proven so again and again.”

A slight nod and those dark, shining eyes squeezed shut as a shuddering breath shivered through the Tevinter.  His hand fell to lay upon Dorian’s rib cage, squeezing gently in assurance.  They remained that way, Dorian’s fingers curling along his neck, his own resting on the man’s side.  Weary exhaustion and an easy solidarity between the two beckoned them into sleep.  Arms weaving around each other, as if their closeness could keep the nightmares at bay.  Even if just for a short time.  Keeping each other safe from the fears that crept through the shadows, bidding time until morning saw them part.

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting--Chapter Four

Summary:  Delphine always told Elazar she would do anything to help him if he was ever in trouble, even knowing his knack for finding it. She didn’t expect to be helping him save the world after someone blows up the Conclave and tears a hole in the sky. Nor did Delphine expect to be falling for anyone, let alone a troubled, former templar, while she’s watching her best friend shape the future of their world with a green glowing hand.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: Canon typical violence, a wild Sera appears, and some small disagreements between our beloved advisors

Can be found on AO3

Notes: We’ve passed the 15,000 word mark with this chapter! Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback appreciated!

[Masterlist] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five]

Chapter Four- Starlight

Everyone in their little party was shaken in some way or another as they departed Val Royeaux. The Chantry was denouncing Elazar as a false prophet, and the Inquisition as illegitimate by extension, the Lord Seeker was leading the templars away from the people and Grand Enchanter Fiona was not only alive but had inviting them to Redcliffe. How quickly the world could turn on its head these days.

The unease remained as they arrived at the estate described in the notes. They had made quick work of the guards on their way to the estate’s inner courtyard.

“I don’t like this,” Del whispered to El as they spotted an Orlesian masked man in the center of the courtyard.

Elazar could only shrug as they approached.

“Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”

Delphine shared a disgusted look with her elvish friend as they recognized the self-important drawl in his voice. This must have been the manor’s Lord.

“I don’t know who you are!” Elazar shouted back, obviously unamused at the development.

“You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident. My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

Varric didn’t even bother to hide his chuckle at the short man’s martyrdom speech.

Elazar looked ready to snap back at the man when one of the guards behind the Lord abruptly collapsed, an arrow stuck in his back. Everyone’s heads whipped towards the flash of red that was suddenly pointing their knocked bow at the Lord.

“Just say “what!”” They threatened.

The Lord was obviously dense, “what is the-”  

And just like that the Lord took an arrow to the face, collapsing to floor. So much for trying to question him.

“Eww!” Delphine studied the archer as she went about collecting her arrow from the Lord’s face. An elf with choppy blonde hair and a large grin that could rival Elazar’s. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? “Just say ‘what.’” Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. “Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!” So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re…” the woman looked over Elazar rather obviously, “and you’re an elf. Well. Hope you’re not too elfy. I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the Herald thingy?”

Herald thingy? Del was going to have to start calling El that.

“They say I’m the Herald of Andraste. But who are you, and what’s this about?” Elazar sounded rather diplomatic, was he spending time with Josephine without her knowing?

“No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people? Elves?” At least Elazar sounded as confused as Delphine felt.

“Ha! No. People people. Name’s Sera. This is cover,” The blonde grinned, gesturing to a stack of crates, “get 'round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.”

No breeches?

Their attention shot to the gates on the far end of the courtyard as more guards charged in, all missing their breeches. That was not something Del had ever wanted to see.

“Why didn’t you take their weapons?!” Varric shouted at the elven archer as they began to fend off the half-naked men.

“Because breeches!”

.

The fight did not last long when their opposition had such obvious vulnerabilities. It may have also helped that their group consisted of three mages, two archers and a Seeker. Del was not well versed in archery but Sera was skilled, taking down her fair share of the guards. Varric seemed pleased by the development as well.

As the last soldier fell, the elf’s joyous shout filled the courtyard, “right in the plums!”

After what she had seen, Del did not need any more mental images of that. She hoped that this was the last they’d be seeing of men with no breeches, not that the images weren’t already burned into her memory.

“Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches. So Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

Elazar quirked an eyebrow, “all I know about you or your group is that I followed a random trail into a trap.”

“What trap?” The blonde scoffed, “you knocked, he crapped. It’s… look, it’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something. It’s a just a name, yeah? It lets little people, “friends,” be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. “The Friends of Red Jenny” are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows.”

That made some sense, in a very roundabout sort of way. Elazar still looked rather confused. She and Varric would have to explain it again on their trip home.

“The Inquisition is almost an army now. Can you add to it?”

Sera folded her arms, just shy of glaring at Elazar. “Here’s how it is. You “important” people are up here, shoving you cods around, “blah, blah, I’ll crush you!” “I’ll crush you.”” Sera added in some kissing noises, which Del could agree was actually fairly accurate for the squabbles she knew of back in the Free Marches. “Ahem. Then you’ve got generals and oath belchers, and sure, you have soldiers. Like the dead guys protecting that other dead guy. All those helmets, and what gave them up? Some drunk gets a key lifted because someone’s got bills. So no, I’m not a captain swordface, all marchy. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards, I stole their… look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

Elazar looked back to Del, his eyes wide. It was unlike El to look to her for decision making. He always went with his gut. “You’re the Herald, El.”

“All right, Sera.” Elazar looked back to the rogue, lips pressed together in a thin line, “I can use you and your friends.”

Sera’s grin split across her face, “yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be.”

Del sure hoped so.

“Plus extra breeches, because I have all these… you have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway, Haven. See you there Herald. This will be grand.”

As quickly as she had appeared, Sera sauntered off, humming a tune rather loudly as she did.

“So…ready to go the Duke’s party now?” Varric looked rather smug as Cassandra stood there slack-jawed.

.

“This one is on you.” Elazar leaned over to whisper as Del as the Duke’s staff took their riding cloaks.

“They’re going to want to talk to the Herald, not me,” she hissed back. Although she was the noble-born of their odd pair, this was not close to any situation her tutors had prepared her for. They were both wearing armor and carrying their staffs for heaven’s sake!

El glared back, “I got us Red Jenny, now you get us Madame de Fer.”

She was going to throttle the elf before this incredibly long night was over.

The crier motioned them forward, prepared to announce them to the other guests. Del slipped her arm around Elazar’s as they stepped forward, trying to look somewhat formal as the Herald’s plus one.

“Lord Lavellan and Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick, representing the Inquisition.”

As El openly admired the opulence and finery around them, they were quickly approached by an Orlesian pair.

“A pleasure, ser and lady.” The lord greeted, Del bowed her head back seeing as she wasn’t wearing a dress to curtsey in. “We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new. It is always the same crowd at these parties. So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

“Are you here on business? I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.” The woman was just as curious as her counterpart and just as blunt. They did not appear to be all that good at the Game with such straightforward questions.

A toothy grin split across Elazar’s face, “everything you’ve heard? Completely true.”

Maker’s balls Elazar was going to ruin the Inquisition before Cassandra and the others could get it off the ground.

“Better and better,” the lady cooed, “the Inquisition should attend more of these parties.”

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit!” Another heavily accented voice cut through the noise of the party. Del quickly spotted another lord descending the stairs to the foyer. “Washed-up sisters and crazed seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

Delphine would not call the Left and Right Hands of the Divine political outcasts, nor would she call Cassandra crazed to her face.

“The Inquisition is working to restore peace and order to Thedas.” Elazar was turning on what charm he could summon in their current company but Del could feel the crackling energy running around him. There was no way this was going to end well.

“Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army! We know what your “Inquisition” truly is. If you were a man of honor, you’d step outside and answer the charges.”

This man did realize Elazar was a mage, right? He was so sure of himself that he would challenge a mage to a duel?

Del bit back her retort as the air around them snapped with cold. The lord stilled as his torso was suddenly trapped in ice.

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house to my guests. You know such rudeness is… intolerable.”

When Delphine had first heard about Madame de Fer in the Circle she had been amazed. The woman had single-handedly turned the position of court jester into a seat of power. She was an advisor to the Empress of Orlais. Mages could only dream of holding such positions, and the power to exert change. Del had never met the Enchanter but she had imagined someone of great poise and elegance. Vivienne exceeded that image as she approached them.

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!” The Marquis stuttered, frozen, literally, as the woman of the hour approached.

“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?”

It almost sounded as if the Enchanter was enjoying this, though if Del was in her position, maybe she would be enjoying the power too.

Vivienne turned to Elazar, her perfectly shaped eyebrow quirked, “my Lord, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

The crackling around El began to melt away as he eyed the Marquis. Del let go of the breath she had been holding, thankful El’s calm nature had returned.

“The Marquis doesn’t interest me. Do whatever you like with him,” he shrugged.

Vivienne tutted, “poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Ferelden dog lord.” She snapped, releasing the man from her ice spell. “And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning… and you’re still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think his sword would end the shame of your failure? Run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt.”

El didn’t do a very good job of hiding his snicker behind a sudden coughing fit.

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering I’ve so wanted to meet you.” The Enchanter’s smile was dazzling as she motioned for them to follow her further into the mansion, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmand and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Del and El both smiled back as they reached a secluded hallway overlooking the grand estate.

“Is that Marquis going to pose a problem?” Del was not an expert on Orlesian politics, but she knew that pissing off one lord or lady could cause a tidal wave of problems down the road.

“His aunt is the Vicomtess of Mont-de-Glace. Not a powerful family but well-respected…and a very devout. Alphonse will be disowned for this. It’s not the first time he’s brought his aunt disgrace, but I’m sure it will be the last. And after such a public humiliation, I expect he’ll run off to the Dales to join the Empress’s war effort. Either to make a good end or win back a modicum of self-respect.”

Maybe this would be alright for them after all. Josephine wouldn’t lose her head at least.

“But I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries.”

Those were the pleasantries?

“With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

Delphine wished El would at least not look so dour at her proposition. Even if Elazar wanted to approach his fellow rebels for help, having the loyal mages on their side, at least in name was nothing to sneeze at.

“And you interest in the Inquisition, Madame de Fer, is it personal or professional?”

Del suppressed a groan. He had wanted her to lead this, so why was he trying to be antagonistic now?

“Aren’t you charming? It’s professional, of course.” At least Vivienne wasn’t offended.

“You say you led the last of the loyal mages. Loyal to whom?” Elazar pressed.

To reach the heights Vivienne had achieved as a Circle mage, she had beyond mastered The Game, and it showed. Not a muscle twitched. Not a speck of untoward emotion behind her eyes. If Vivienne was not pleased with Elazar’s questioning, she did not let it show.

“To the people of Thedas, of course. We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

Elazar tensed at the intentional dig. This was not going in a direction that would benefit them. Del dug her nails into El’s arm, her silent plea for him to take a breath and think about their situation.

“And what do you get from this, Madame? You would only seek out the Inquisition if it was to your benefit.”

Vivienne’s eyes sparkled beneath her ornate mask at Delphine’s question, “you’re quite right darling. I would get the same thing anyone else gets by fighting this chaos: the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I won’t wait quietly for destruction.”

Her words echoed a speech Delphine remembered vividly, one that had sent chills down her spine and sent her mind reeling at the events that would overtake their usually quiet lives. They may be on separate sides of this war but they all understood the sentiments behind one’s desire for choice.

Del nudged Elazar, causing the surprised expression to slip off his features. She knew he understood that despite their differences they needed the Enchanter’s support. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

A delicate smile grew on the poised woman’s lips, “great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.”

.

Delphine finally understood why Elazar had been moving nonstop since the Conclave. It was not so much a sense of urgency but it was to keep the dread at bay. As they returned to Haven Delphine felt the sorrow and melancholy return. It had been gnawing at her since the explosion but traveling with the others seemed to keep it at arm’s length, their banter enough to occupy her mind with distractions. Haven did not seem to afford her the same luxury anymore. People were still pouring into Haven, seeking answers, or searching out their friends and families. The wails haunted Del as families learned their loved ones were not among the handful of survivors. That could have easily been her, tear-stained face cursing the Maker for allowing such a tragedy. On the nights she couldn’t sleep it almost was her.

Her sudden mood swing must have been written plainly on her face. El linked his arm with hers, his warmth and less-than-subtle calming aura spell soothing away some of the darkness that had fallen upon their arrival.

In his eternal quest to be cheery, Elazar waved to Cullen and his lieutenants as they departed the makeshift stables. The Commander nodded back in greeting his expression rather stoic as he watched them stroll into the village, Del and El still linked at the elbow.

Josephine greeted them with a restrained smile when they arrived at the chapel. “It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter.”

“You heard?”

Del wasn’t sure why Cassandra was surprised. They knew Leliana had people in Val Royeaux.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course.”

Cullen strolled in behind them, brow furrowed, “it’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their sense as well as the Capital.”

“At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now.” El shrugged, though Del knew he was anything but apathetic about the situation.

“Do we?” Cassandra countered, “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

Leliana nods, “true. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what, my reports have been…very odd.”

“We must look into it, I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” Cullen may no longer be a templar but he obviously still held a strong faith in the Order.

“Or the Herald could simply go meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead,” Josephine offered.

After meeting the Lord Seeker Del was more willing to work with Fiona, though Del wasn’t sure if El felt the same way. He appeared to have become rather disillusioned with the Grand Enchanter, and mage authorities in general.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse.”

Cullen obviously hadn’t heard the Lord Seekers' opinions- she hoped that was the case, that he would be much more up in arms if he had- to believe approaching that man would lead to anything productive.

“I could at least find out what the mages want.” El shot back, obviously not fond of Cullen’s insinuations either.

“No doubt what they’ve always wanted. Support for their cause.”

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe, the mages might be worth the risk.” Josephine, ever the ambassador, was not one to share her opinion on the Mage-Templar war, and Del had never thought to ask.

Cassandra almost sounded disdainful, “they are powerful, ambassador, but more desperate than you realize.”

El scoffed, “so it will be dangerous. I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade.”

Del looked to Elazar, wide-eyed. Did he really feel that unsafe?

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave…”

“The same could be said about the templars.”

It appeared the Inquisition was just as split and heated about the topic as the rest of Thedas.

“True enough.” Cullen cut in, glowering a bit at his advisors. “Right now I’m not sure we have enough influence to approach either side safety.”

Heads seemed to cool at that. There was no point fighting about who to ally with when neither would actually speak with them.

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places. That’s something you can help with.” Cassandra looked pointedly at Elazar, as if he had not just brought Red Jenny and Madame de Fer into the Inquisition during their trip to Val Royeaux.

Josephine nods, “in the meantime, we should consider other options.”

The group agrees and disperses, all in varied levels of frustration. This was more of what Delphine pictured when she arrived; hot tempers, gridlock, and frustration.

Leliana lingered, fiddling with her gloves. El quirked an eyebrow at the spymaster.

“There is one other matter. Several months ago the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider the idea they’re involved in all this, but the timing is…curious.”

The Grey Wardens? They were heroes, especially after all that had happened in the last blight. Delphine prayed to the Maker they weren’t all wrapped up in this too.

“That does sound odd.”

Elazar nods “I agree.”

“The others have disregarded my suspicions. But I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

Delphine hated to be negative towards the idea, but she doubted that one Warden could solve the mystery around their disappearance. “And if he can’t?”

“Then there may be more going on than we thought.”

Elazar and Delphine shared a concerned look. Mages, Templars, and now the Grey Wardens. Was anything in their world right anymore?

[abbeyfangirl]

dragon age: all characters (companions)

I’ve been in this fandom for a hot minute now and I want to update my opinions on characters :)

Origins

Alistair: super sweet dude who literally is not the stereotypicalchantryguyfightme. He’s a great example of healthy masculinity and I totally wish he was bi because I have an entire essay on that— also: he’s a poc! His mum was brown. In game he’s got dark features. if you really want a blond/blue-eyes/white guy, make your warden that. or accept that brown people can be noble and moral. or just draw cailan, idk. just because BioWare whitewashes doesn’t mean you should.

Leliana: someone hug my singing girlfriend before I crush her under with my own hugs. Also: nugs. Yes! Shoes. Yes! She likes how I style my hair? YES!! I honestly think she’s super duper and it pisses me off whenever someone’s like: yeah she enjoys killing people and the Game. ok. and michel de chevin willingly participated in genocidal marches through the alienage he grew up in with his elvhen mum. 

Morrigan: dirty swamp witch that i stan and also have a v big crush on. tiddies. Have a son with a GW so we can raise him with our tiddies out in the forest. she’s also white-passing, as her father was chasind and all people we’ve seen that are chasind are black. therefore, she is biracial. therefore, poc can be goths and don’t shy away from giving morrigan a darker skintone. if the devs had of been thinking, she’d have a darker skintone.

Zevran: Actually is the best romance, I think. Loves consent, therefore I will stan him so hard my skull cracks a little. Also: he is a very brown boy and if he’s white in da4 I’m seriously going to throw all canon out the fucking window. genuinely a good person who needs to be told so. 

Wynne: grandma who only likes my friends who go to church. but also super sweet and I’d rest my head on her bosom (in a platonic way omg ZEVRAN)

Sten: angry quiet boi. the bestest boi. I totally would give him a kitten for a gift and bake him cookies. Thicc softie. I think if I had DA:O and i knew how to use mods i would mod the fuck outta him. sorry.

Sha(y)le: who’s gender? idk her. See also: fuck birds and authority. pound ur ass into the ground you feathery meatbag little shits. fuck songbirds.

Dog: such a good boi. thicc. thinks Alistair is a whiny fuck and is Morrigan’s only friend. love him. he’s the cutest companion. bet.

Ohgren: honestly forgot about him bcc he’s such a shitbag. also: he could’ve been a really cool addiction recovery type but NOPE. probably would have a trump shirt in a modern au and would catcall wlw and hit mlm. no thanks.

Awakening

Anders: he acts like rlly straight but he’s so gay I can smell it. also he’s rlly cute and fun and I love him so much.

Justice: MAYBE i’M selF CONSCious OF THE twitchING. is the friend that genuinely doesn’t get dick jokes but is ur 110% ride or die.

Nathaniel Howe: honestly is sort of a white knight/neck beard a little, but it’s kind of charming with his whole velanna m’lady?? grump boi. annoying soul patch that I’d mod out SO FAST—

Sigrun: would have ROMANCED the FUCK out of her. why she even entertains the idea of fucking with ohgren makes me realize most of the writers are dumbfucks.png. peppy little emo. 12/10 would die if she kissed my cheek teasingly.

Ohgren: why. why. why. I’d have brought Shayle over. Maybe Zev? Definitely Dog.

Velanna: she was written to be an annoying feminist and you can tell but I deadass am a kindred spirit with her bcc I too am deadpan annoyed with Thedas’ general population too. love her. Would’ve loved to romance her. She’d totally be one of those who’d get all tsundere and be like “n-no i hate you” *kisses the fuckin soul out of you then blushes so hard she’s now a tomato*

Dragon Age II

Anders: fuck the cops. i don’t care. fuck the cops. (vine reference). also: do i hate him for blowing up the chantry that would eventually annul a huge collection of his people? no. read dalishious’s meta on Anders. v intriguing. didn’t they retcon the fuck out of the reported deaths too? like there was like eight Templars and Elthinia in there. Templars killed more “abominations” in a day than Anders in the game canon—

Aveline: initially thought she was fine and then realized she’s shit to my lil brother and I will fucking clap her ginger ass. See also: whorephobia isn’t a joke so fuck off with treating Isabela badly, you tit.

Bethany: sunshine. Literal sunshine. I feel my freckles grow in her presence and i love it. she’s my little baby sister and I’d slam that ogre so fuckin hard before it touched either twin.

Carver: there has to be a mod where both twins survive. I love them both to bits. My babies. carver is my bitter, angry little brother and I can relate because I too am very angry and would totally clap my own ass. hes so genuine and I don’t get the competition between Beth and Carver. Like, both are fuckin stellar in different ways. In this essay I will—

Fenris: honestly, I don’t get the general hate between him and Anders. Fenris’ main arc should’ve been a recovery arc, not drunken moping and revenge. he deserves better. give him a soft sweater instead of his spikes and let him love himself as much as I love him for MAKERS SAKE. like when you really think about their relationship, it could’ve been an eye-opener for fenris and finally some legit sympathy for anders. but we all know that if they had of teamed up that Meredith would’ve been dead before the end of Act 1 so.

Isabela: whorephobia is not a joke. oversexualizing your only appearing brown woman is so poorly written. how about we appreciate her and her lovely bosoms but also let people tease her about her heart of gold? her innate understanding of freedom? instead of just a wave of dick? please?? can we give her some pants for when she fights? can we accept that i fall for rogues who hate themselves?? fuck. also whomever draws her x femHawke x Merrill literally is after my own heart.

Merrill: my fucking babygirl MARRY ME. Fenris could’ve been her older brother type, but NO. she and Isabela should’ve been canonical gfs instead of Isabela/Fenris (no shaming the pairing tho!!). I love how she’s written as neurodivergent. V nice. Sometimes I just look her up and cry because she’s fucking everything. Also: she’s in the Dalish origin and she’s far from being white. Why did they make the most innocent/naïve character really white? hmmmm.

Sebastian: whew that boy. Would totally be that annoying Mormon at your door but you still let him in bcc he’s super sweet. Also: huge ass bible thumper and should get his head slap because you said the maker loved all his children why do you defend a complicit old hag you annoying attractive fuck—

Varric: totally is a bard and the devs couldn’t handle the idea of him being one bcc it might make him look less straight. is the only grey morality person I don’t want to fucking bash in with a fry pan. he sees people and I like that, but you totally know he’s siding with mages every time bcc him and Anders are like besties. I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules. “Professional Younger Brother”.

Tallis: I know nothing about her but she seems okay. I think she was an escaped slave and honestly? Fucking props. Spy on a shitting organization, idk what you’re doing, but your VA was that cool lesbian from SPN so I think ur okay?

Inquisition

Blackwall: Redemption Arc 101. Love him to bits. Sad dad bunwall. good man. actually atoned for his sins by actively becoming a good person. his initial design is 80% hotter im so sorry but so not.

Cassandra: was way browner in the last game. would romance the fuck outta her. I love me a butch lady who melts at my dorky recitation of poetry. BioWare is a coward. also is the worst choice for divine. but not a bad person. could use some more guidance or get her ass whipped by a dalish elf about religion or a circle mage kid whos like “yeah bud i didn’t ask for the templars to whip my ass everyday for existing.”

The Iron Bull: I think the Qunari/Vashoth were a little based off black people (the whole anti blackness thing where ppl are scared of them bcc of whatever reason) and it pisses me off that he had a weird ass dubcon thing with Dorian in banter. It doesn’t make sense— he’s an A+++ dom and would not jump straight in role play without at least checking in at first like wtf BioWare.

Cole: his mother was chasind so he’s like not supposed to be that white? or like biracial? albino? idk. love him to bits tho. He’s neurodivergent and I deadass love him. romancing him? idk. I see why ppl think it’s fuckin nasty but also like as a writer I’d age him the fuck up so fast before my inquisitor even THOUGHT about that. like idk. I’m down with him being a sweet little bro character tho. he’s a babe. love him.

Sera: had the worst fucking writer I’ve ever seen and I willingly read the twilight saga twice by a shit ass racist white lady who okay’d pedophilia. like. Fuck you Kristjanson suck your own dick you fuck. had the worst options in regards to speak to her. has a thicc case of internalized racism that literally most of the fandom just loves to use against her. my lesbian neurodivergent queen. Would write a thousand fix it fics for her. Love her to bits. im gay.

Varric: I haven’t played DA2 so i don’t get why everyone wants to romance him but like. a dwarf romance? yes please. Idk he reminds me of my uncle so I only see him as fun uncle material. Deadass should adopt Cole and Merrill and co parent with Blackwall for Sera. dads? fuck yeah. love me some wholesome, present fathers.

Dorian: is a gay stereotype that I love/hate so much. and he’s also just as bad about being a creep bcc he sexualizes qunari men (in banter). I attribute that to shit writing tho. I want to protect him from all the “omg gay best friend!” people. he’d clearly be that tired gay that wouldn’t give a diddly damn about ur het romance. wanna talk about politics? he’s ur guy/gay.

Solas: “me, an intellectual:”. I don’t hate him, but I’m not about him. He comes off as mysterious and suave (which he totally is) but I deadass would not save him from himself because he’s a racist, exclusionist eggshell. idk. not my cup of tea, but I can totally see the appeal. And he’s interesting, I’ll totally say that. “I think the Dalish are garbage but they made you” is not a compliment. it’s so offensive. and such bait for “quirky girls” which I’m no fan of. Would be Achilles and let Patroclus (Lavellan in his case) die before he realized how his pride is literally a waste of time. If he gets a redemption arc I hope Lavellan gets to slap him before getting him to teach all about ancient Arlathan and show that the Evanuris weren’t all total dicknozzles. (Aka I really have a hard time believing that they’d be slavery cult things. especially since they’ve compared elves to indigenous ppl, Jews and the Romani.)

Vivienne: it’s so racist that they’d make a black woman be pro-slavery. That’s such internalized racism. She could’ve been the cool ass “educate yourself first before you speak, fool” ice lady, but NO. the devs could’ve kept the “Templars are a tool that I proudly can mandate” and the “circles are very good education” and we. Could. Have. Romanced. Her. Like. Fuck. Sake. I just wanna give her a hug and say “love yourself omg!!” and not even in a romantic way. Also: she and morrigan should not have been so antagonistic towards each other. I’d expect them to have great respect for each other, as they both moved up in the world through hardwork and very little help. They could learn different magic from each other too and still maintain that rival respect “oh you” mood. Sidenote: probably the cooler option for Divine. if her approval is high enough she’ll love and be loyal to you forever and i can’t see her agenda being bad. she improves the circles exponentially and tells all the antis to suck her pretty painted toes.

Josephine: an actual disney princess. romanced her my first playthrough. I love her so much. she just makes me so happy. And she’s like: “Integrity, Loyalty, peace. That is what it means to be a GREY WARDEN good fucking person.” she’s the person who would let you hold her hand if you got anxious and she’d be that person who shouldered the whole group project with finesse and poise and would probably lie for everyone as to not be mean. i love josie. her and leliana’s relationship is so cute, too. whether it’s romantic or not: women supporting women.

Leliana: if you leave her hardened you must hate her. why. she becomes so against herself. i like how shes feminine and lighthearted because that’s so powerful-- to remain hopeful when the world is hopeless. (its hard to know when to soften her/harden her so i get it but. google it. she deserves to be happy and sweet again.)

Cullen: uwu war criminal with shit ass “redemption arc” that was actually a half-assed (at BEST) recovery arc. Recovery isn’t linear, it isn’t pretty, and even the broken need to be told they are wrong in order to heal right. Like I’m offended by that bullshit. I’ve had to do some mental health recovery in the past and unlearning lots of toxic ideologies— which I’m still unlearning— and it bothers me that he gets an easy pass because he’s hot. It’s one thing if you like Cullen, it’s another thing if you hold him accountable.

[freethemages]

I am more than happy to answer questions from the perspective of my OC Tristan Trevelyan!

Here are a collection of questions he has been asked in a wonderful server that I am a part of. It is extensive, so I am placing it under the cut. 

Is there anything you’d like to know from his point of view? Get to know him a little better! 

Here is a link to an introduction post, and you can find more info, and asks pertaining to him under #tristan trevelyan on my blog.

Okay here goes! I hope you enjoy!

Q: How did you and Cullen fall in love?

It was very slow. [chuckles] Cullen wasn’t exactly aware of his... taste for men, at the time. I think the first time either of us realised there might be something, however begrudging, between us, was Satinalia of 9:41 Dragon.

Q: How did you celebrate your first Satinalia together?

Well, we weren’t ‘together’ really, but I think the Satinalia of 9:41 Dragon counts as the first time we celebrated it ‘with’ each other and everyone else in the Inquisition. We got each other gifts, as is customary. He got me some Crystal Grace bulbs. They are my favourite flower, though I don’t think he knew it at the time! I nearly kissed him that night. I was but a terrified baby nug, and so I lost my nerve.

Q: What is your favourite thing about Cullen?

That’s a tough question. I love every part of him. Even the bits others find tough. 

Most of all though, it’s the devotion I see in his eyes, and the passion that burns behind them in everything he does. Especially when his smile reaches his eyes. That didn’t happen a lot when we first met. It took him time to learn how to be a person and not just the Commander of the Inquisition.  When he looks at me with those honey eyes... I swear in those moments I would do, and be anything for him. Anything.

Q: Have you been with any other members of the Inquisition, in a romantic or sexual way?

I... rode the bull, so to speak. Strictly physical, you understand. 

There was also a dalliance with Dorian. We decided we worked best as friends, which was ideal as it was around that time that Cullen and I began to be a little more aware of our feelings for each other.

Q: How would you feel if a secret admirer often left gifts for you?

Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea. It’s a rather strange concept for me to have a secret admirer. 

Though Cullen does leave me little gifts on occasion, and I find that very sweet. 

I’ve had myriad proposals of sex, courtship, and even marriage since taking up the position of Inquisitor. One lady, who I am sure is totally sane, expressed her desire, nay, her need, to bear the child of the Herald of Andraste. I believe the precise words in her letter were “you simply must allow me the greatest honour of accepting your holy seed into my ready loins, the Maker himself wishes it!” It was... flattering, I suppose? Orlesians, right? [nervous chuckle] ahem. Anyway, that’s my experience with admirers, though none were secret so much as just complete strangers. Thankfully these things have become less common now that people know I am not ‘on the market’, and that people have had time to get over the spectacle of Corypheus’ defeat.

Q:  Had you ever been in love before you joined the Inquisition, or at least what you perceived as love? 

No, I had not. As much as a hopeless romantic as I am, I never had the pleasure of a romantic partner before Cullen. That’s not to say I didn’t dally. I dallied a lot, in fact. 

The closest I got to romance was my crush on a templar in the Ostwick Circle, I suppose. You can imagine how well that would have gone, indeed!

Q: How do you feel about paperwork and things relating to it? There's obviously a lot you have to do as the Inquisitor. 

Oh, I absolutely loathe paperwork! Indeed there is much of it to be done. I try to get out of it as much as I can, though as I am sure you suspect, I cannot get out of much at all. Luckily I only have to deal with reports of my own activities and correspondence made directly to me. The bulk is handled by my advisers. 

You wouldn’t believe the sheer size of the piles of papers scattered about my quarters since Cullen moved in. He doesn’t seem to mind too much though, he’s rather swift and organised, though it may look like a mess to me. He assures me there is method in the madness, and he’s given me no reason to disbelieve thus far. [chuckles] I will say though that no work is allowed during our down time (my rule), so it is not so overabundant.

Q: Do you have a secret talent or passion?

It’s not really a secret, though I don’t advertise it all that much either. I am rather skilled at knife throwing. The dummy in Cullen’s office has seen an uptake in attacks since we started having competitions. The winner gets to decide what happens that night, of course. Now I like to think I’m rather skilled in that department too, but you would have to ask the dear Commander. [chuckles] no, I’m joking, please don’t ask him that, maker’s breath!

Q: Are you religious? Do you have any superstitions or rituals that you practice?

I am not religious per se, though I’m rather agnostic on the whole Maker’s existence thing. I certainly don’t subscribe to the beliefs of the Andrastian Chantry. [he scoffs] Mother would have my head for saying that...They twist faith and use it to control the masses.

What I do believe, is that Andraste was an Avvar mage, and that she was possessed by a spirit -perhaps of faith- and that it was this which led her to begin her crusade. 

Make no mistake, the chant of light was written by mere men, and that we treat such words as irreproachable is the true hubris of man. 

I think what lies beyond the fade is a great deal more complicated than any absent father figure. I do not pretend to know what it is, or if anything is there at all, but I do not believe it is the Maker as we have come to revere him. 

I have found peace in relying upon my own intellectual study of magic and the fade. Spirits are real, and must be respected and acknowledged, for they can inflict a great deal of harm, or happiness. I cannot say the same for the Maker, so I feel no loss in the potential of his non-existence. 

I admit, I really must study Elven and Avvar beliefs in much greater depth before making comment on them.

Q: Do you have any disputes with Cullen? And if yes, how do you two handle the situation?

Oh yes, we definitely have disputes! [chuckles] my darling is a... straight forward man when it comes to addressing situations. I prefer a more nuanced method. And being a mage, that usually involves magic. Cullen has come a long way but he is still... a little wary of such casual use of magic. We argue far less about that than we used to, though. 

Truly, if he always had his way, I would be out of the fray and safe in Skyhold at all times. He knows I’m capable and trusts me of course, but I cannot blame him for his protectiveness. Truth be told I feel the same on the occasions he heads out, though I know he is perfectly capable of handling things.

We are both grown men, and are able to move past things rather quickly. I don’t think either of us could tolerate going any period of time staying angry at each other, or maker forbid, not talking. We trust each other implicitly, and so this works for us. Sometimes the more emotionally charged arguments are settled because passion overtakes us. I have to say, Cullen is always a very skilled lover, but those times... are something else entirely.

Q: What is your biggest weakness?

It’s hard to say. Like most people, I am full of flaws. It’s a part of being I suppose. 

I strive to see the good in all people, which has led me to trust the wrong ones. That’s probably a contender. 

Some have said I am too soft, that the complete absence of executions rent from my judgement displays a lack of strength and will to lead. I disagree. Perhaps that is a weakness, but it is not one I will apologise for. 

They may call me the Herald of Andraste, but I am just a man. Anybody could have been in my place. I do not intend to lose myself under such a hefty title, so full of expectations. I can’t. 

Oh, and I’m dreadful with a longsword. Cullen has tried many times to help me improve. [chuckles] I am just not a close combat warrior, like my dear Lion.

Q: Have you ever thought about having kids with Cullen?

I’d love to raise a child with my love one day. Though sadly we do not have the correct equipment to create a life ourselves. 

I intend to do some research on the uses of magic and conception. Perhaps we will yet have children that possess Cullen’s beautiful blond curls. That is the sweetest sight I could ever dream of.

Q: What did the nightmare demon say to you in the fade?

He told me that the weight of Thedas would crush me. That I, an insignificant human, could never hope to carry the anchor and live. 

He also told me that the Commander would always see my magic and sneer. That he could never really love me while I was the very thing he spent most of his life fighting. But our love is strong. Ex-Templar he may be, but he is also a smart, loving, and honest man. I trust him to the black city and beyond. 

The nightmare could have wielded nothing that would have made me falter, for these are all things I have told myself and yet carried on.

Q: How was your first kiss with Cullen?

Our first kiss? It was... interesting. We were having an argument, actually. He is very obstinate. He was having a particularly bad time with his lyrium withdrawals and was on the verge of giving in. I argued that he was strong enough to keep going, he argued that he was not, the silly man. 

Anyway, it got very heated. I was yelling about how much I looked up to him and how much he meant to me and... bam. His face was on my face. Passion unrivalled. He was scarlet in the face afterwards and apologised profusely. I simply pulled him back to me and kissed him again. 

Later on he confided that he had never kissed a man before. He had no idea he even liked men that way. I was only happy to show him just how much one man can love another. That’s also the same day I learned just how soft those blond curls are, when I stroked them as he fell asleep with his head in my lap.

Q: Describe a childhood memory?

Childhood memory? Hmm, let’s see... 

ooh okay, I have one. So I was about thirteen, and my friend Artemis and I were playing dares, because what else are you going to do in a cushy prison? Knowing I had recently been making good progress on my fire spells, he dared me to... ensure that the skirts of a certain prickly templar ‘caught alight’. 

Well I did it. Only the guy’s beard also caught fire. He’d been growing this beard for longer than I had been there, and boy was he furious. 

Artemis was a good friend and took the rap. He had not been there as long as I and they were more likely to believe he did it by mistake.  That templar never stood guard on the apprentice dorms while we were still in them, though! That got a cheer.

Q: Who teases the two of you (with love of course) about your relationship?

Oh maker, absolutely everybody. Even the recruits! They always find it amusing that the Commander has a soft side. Of course, it doesn’t bother me a jot. Cullen has less tolerance for it but he’s usually alright. 

Dorian, Sera, and Bull are some of the main culprits, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Leliana and Josephine are formidable teases in the war room, too. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Watching him blush and stammer is always a joy. And I always make sure to... soothe his blood flow when needed, of course. 

I’m certain Varric has written a romantic tale that is only half true, but I would also be willing to bet the Skyhold vault that whatever he writes, the truth is infinitely more fantastic.

Q: What is the best/most ideal way to spend time with Cullen?

I get on at him a lot to get his bloody roof fixed [chuckles] but actually some of my favourite little moments with him are lying in his chamber, looking up at the stars over the Frostbacks, in each other’s arms, with nothing between our souls but our skin. We can just be together, two men deeply in love. Not the Inquisitor and the Commander. 

We spend most nights in my chambers now, but sometimes we still like to ascend those ladders, when the weather is not too cold. I used to miss home terribly, even the damned Ostwick Circle. But now, home is wherever he is.

Q: The anchor threatening your own existence... How does it affect your relationship with Cullen? Do you believe it to be a long lasting one?

Maker, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I... admit I’m guilty of hiding the true extent of my pain from him. He has enough of his own worries and I know this would take a huge toll on him. The anchor grows more painful every day. It’s like an acid coming from my own veins. The pain has thus far reached my shoulders. I fear that I won’t be around for very much longer, and the idea of leaving him is too much to think about; it is not an option. I simply must fight it with all I have. I will not let my own fucking arm take him away from me. Wherever Solas is, I hope he returns with some answers. He... seems to know more about this magic than he let on.

Q: If you would wear a flower crown, which flowers would it be and why?

Crystal grace. Without a doubt. Perhaps with royal elfroot wrapped around the stem parts. 

It’s my favourite flower. I know someone who would also appreciate it... I wonder if I could get him to wear a matching one... hmm. We could even have them made here at Skyhold. An excellent wedding headpiece idea, actually…

[Cullen in the background: Absolutely not.]

... Spoil sport.

Q: How do you feel about blood magic?

I suppose the official answer my advisers would want me to give is that I condemn, abhor, and despise blood magic, blah blah blah. But that is not the case. Blood magic is just magic. Can it be used for ill? Of course! So can any other magic, and any other weapon for that matter. 

Like a great many things in life, within blood magic, consent matters. I am not so quick to condemn an entire school of magic based upon the actions of a terrible few. 

Honestly, the excuses for the prohibition of blood magic are just another case of stuff and nonsense fed to us by the Chantry to keep us under their thumb.

I do not personally use it, but I have no qualms about it beyond the fact that I developed my fighting style to conserve my health. 

Oh Maker, here comes Mother Giselle... I wasn’t here! [He hides behind the tall backed chair he was sitting on]

Q: How do you feel about being at sea?

I am.... less than enthused by the idea of being at sea. The journey over the Waking Sea was not a pleasant one. It was my first time, since I had spent most of my life in the Circle, and my family trips before my magic manifested were mostly in the Marches, and twice, Orlais, which was reachable by land. 

There is always the looming threat of being consumed by the untameable ocean, but mostly I just got really, really sea sick.

Q: Describe yourself in three words?

Hmm... magic, romantic, idealistic. 

What do you think, love?

[Cullen: chuckles I was going to suggest smart, strong, and very sexy... though that is four words. Hmm.]

[Tristan shakes his head with a fond smile, and a gentle laugh]

Q: What was your first impression of Cullen? 

Well, I must admit, when he approached us after I had closed the first breach, I was a little dazed. I couldn’t tell you whether it was from exhaustion or his visage. I did notice he was handsome. And briefly wondered where he got his lip scar. There wasn’t much time to dwell, however. 

When I spoke to him later after settling into Haven, that was when I was able to drink him in as it were. Much like myself, he gets flustered quite easily depending on certain subjects, which I found endearing. I tried very hard to not fall down that hole but... well, you can see I failed. And glad I am of it.

Q: What nickname did Varric give you? 

He calls me Twirly. Apparently I tend to add ‘unnecessary flourishes’ when casting with my staff. I do not know what he means, however. The flourishes are essential to looking good when casting, you see.

Q: how would you react to fanfiction or fan art of yourself? What about smutty fanfics/art?

Oh, there have been such things, believe me. [laughs] I find it entertaining, personally. Bonus points if it makes me blush. 

The Commander, on the other hand, gets very embarrassed about it, even when he is not involved. 

I suppose it comes with being painted as a ‘hero’. It’s interesting to see how far people’s imaginations can go. 

If I come across it, I will read it, be warned, prospective fanfic writers and artists! [he winks]

Q: If you and your LI could spend two weeks anywhere in Thedas on vacation, where would you go?

Hmm. There are a few possibilities. A break in Southreach might be nice, to visit Cullen’s family. Though two weeks with Branson’s child may be less than relaxing, I grant you! [chuckles] There is also Antiva City. I should love to go during the Satinalia season, but again, I doubt there would be much quiet relaxation going on, and my Lion does prefer places with a tad more… serenity. And privacy. I can get behind that, of course. So my final answer would probably be a nice secluded log cabin in the Frostbacks. Granted it is not far from where we are now, but for a lovely break all I would need is my love, a roaring fire, a nice book, and plenty of cozy blankets. Sighs It would be wonderful to just be Tristan again, and not Inquisitor Trevelyan, just for a while.

Q: Do you and Cullen have any pets? 

We don’t as of yet, but I hope we do have some in the near future. The cats that roam Skyhold are lovely, but I would love to have an animal that was just ours. Preferably a Mabari. I may not hail from Ferelden, but I consider it my home now. I like Fereldan culture. 

Q: Did you dance with Cullen at the Winter Palace? If so, how was it?

I did! Maker, the glares we got from all of his admirers. If we had danced in the main hall I dare say there would have been a riot! They all seemed to want my handsome man, and I cannot say I blame them.

I loved dancing with him. It was such a peaceful and happy moment after a long and tedious day. He is better at it that he gives himself credit for, too! I am barely any better than him, and I was raised attending balls and other such nonsense until the age of 11.

Q: What are your favourite foods? Least favourite foods?

Three words: Frilly. Little. Cakes. 

I love them. I also love a good traditional Fereldan stew. Many Marchers will claim that their food is superior, but don’t listen. Nothing is heartier than what I’ve had since being here. I think I might have been adopted over from Ferelden as a boy, haha!

Least favourite foods… hmm… I was once cajoled into tasting Anders ham as a boy, and believe me, they are not exaggerating when they say it tastes of despair. 

Q: How did you feel when you learned how the anchor worked?

When Solas held my hand up to that first rift, I was more than a little bit disturbed. It felt odd. As if the rift was pulling from my hand and feeding from my own mana. And just like that, I could bend it to my will. It was… strange. I am used to it now, but I definitely had nightmares in the beginning. I’ve never felt so intrinsically linked to something so dangerous. Learning to wield the anchor was no small task, either, believe me.

Q:Who are you closest to, other than Cullen?

I would say I am closest to Dorian and Josephine. 

Dorian and I had a bit of a fling, but we found we worked best as friends, if flirtatious ones. I trust him with my life and I hope he can say the same of me. He’s a good man. I admire him. 

Josephine is just a very lovely lady, and surprisingly fun when she lets her hair down. I also trust her with my life. She is an excellent source of gossip as well, so it is nice to sit down with a cup of tea in her office for a couple of hours and just chat. In the war room, she joins me in teasing Cullen too, which is always fun; especially when I get to make it up to him later.

[breachy-breeches-creation]

Drabble [Check-ups]

The sound of wooden door creaks open wide, followed by the clunking of the glass bottles as the box is settled on the floor "I brought you supplies, Anders" 

"Just leave it there" The blonde mage was just finished healing the last of his patients and looks up towards the voice, " I'll take care of it later, thank you--Oh Hawke! you don't have to."

"Don't worry about it" The woman with honey locks smiled " I just happened to bump into Lirene at the market. The poor lady, there seem to be not enough helpers so she has to run the errands herself. I was already on my way here looking for you so I decided to lend a hand."  

"Looking for me? Is there something you need?"

"Don't be silly, can't I check on a friend? Oh! I also brought some tea that Merril gave me a couple of days ago." Hawke holds up a small plain pouch. 

"I...um, thank you, Hawke"

"No no, thank you! Last time was a bit of a clutch, isn't it? I never doubt my brother's skills in battle, but sometimes his overconfidence and stubbornness can get to his head and didn't check his surroundings."

"That's what I'm there for" the healer grinned at Hawke, and earned a giggle in return.

"I had a friend like you once. Got in all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Didn't think I'd be doing that again" Anders remembered Warden-Commander Cousland fondly back then, or perhaps she should be referred to as "Her Majesty" since she's also the Queen of Ferelden. Strange how that works; Young, passionate, gracious, fiercely loyal, 'and righteous', his spirit friend hums in the back of his head.  "I got a bit weighty the last time we talked. Sorry for putting that on you" "You'd be surprised how people just tell me their darkest secret. I must look trustworthy" she shrugged. 

"You look...something. True, Proud. Like even if you don't agree with me, you'll be honest. I just...I hope I didn't seem too selfish when I told you about Justice.” the mage rubbed his hand behind his neck “I didn't know what would happen. I figured a willing host, a friend...it had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse" Furrowed brows knitted together, Anders couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for dumping this sort of information on her. 

Hawke tilted her head in a thoughtful manner, "We can't always predict the outcomes of our actions, We can only make them with a true heart." a knowing nod and a reassuring pat on the arm.

Anders never expected such gentle, warm, and most of all, understanding response, his heart blossom a little. "Kind, wise and beautiful. You must have made a deal with some demons, yourself" as soon as the words left his mouth Anders find himself in a blushing mess, scratching his own cheeks sheepishly.  " I'm sorry, I shouldn't presume. I just... we've hardly met and I feel like I know you...Am I making you uncomfortable?" 

Hawke blinked several times with a face of astonishment. 'Well done, Anders, well done. You have just stab yourself in the foot' Anders thought to himself. 

But then, she laughed ” Doesn’t mean I want you to stop” such crisp voice lightens the mage’s heart once more. 

“I’ll keep that in mind”

  "Growing up in the Circle, everything is about order and rules and the Templars." Anders huffed. He doesn't know why he is telling Hawke such intimate things and yet admittedly, there's an air about this woman in front of him that for whatever reason that made this usually anxious and overworked healer relax and trust her somehow. The words just come out so naturally  "The apprentices, we found ways to make that bearable. Karl and I, he was the first. We could forget that out in the world, we are nothing but the Templars' slave. We hadn't been together for a long time, but still, it hurts." 

"I'm sorry to hear that." 

"It's the bloody Templars!" Anders curls his fingers into a fist in frustration. "They don't see us as people. They don't care that Karl was someone's son, someone's lover." He can feel his rage intertwined with Justice...or perhaps it is 'Vengeance' now, boiling underneath the skin, biting every word as he speaks.  "If you are born with magic, they hear about it. They search your little rat bit village and find you. They tell your parents they'll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you, stripped of their rights in the eyes of the Maker. And if you run away, they hunt you down, again and again, and ..." 

But then the mage noticed pools of water had gathered around the pair of stormy blue, glistening like crystals. The next moment, streamed down her rosy cheeks. Just like that, extinguishing any hint of anger within him. 

"You are....crying" Anders speaks softly. It warms and breaks his heart at the same time.

"Oh, I...I didn't notice haha" Hawke quickly wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. "I just…I can tell that Karl was more than just a friend when you have to… ‘give him peace’ ” she sighed, ”No one should have to go through that. I’m sorry."

“No, thank you. Hawke” for lamenting for a stranger.

Hawke’s expression was quickly replaced with a beaming smile, like a sun that appears from behind the clouds. “Well, would you like some tea?”

“Ah yes, sure. I suppose I could take a break. I’ll go and prepare the water” Anders promised to himself, and Justice: he would never want to make her cry again. 

-----------------------

A/N: It's been sitting in my google doc for a while. Basically a bit of "rewrite" on one of the companion check-ups on Anders in Act 1. The second half of the dialogue was supposed to be like ‘exclusive’ to m!Hawke in-game. But fuck that, I can still see Anders telling this kind of information to my lavender (Purple/Blue) Hawke

Messy amateur writing and not very descriptive I know. Just need to get it out of my head. Whatever I guess.

They are not a pair; Anders did have a crush on Hawke for some time, but later eventually develops into more like sibling-like care.

I will get to write about Fenris/Thea Hawke at some point, I swear lmao

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Siblings

Chapter 16 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which there are MANY CONVERSATIONS, Rynne Hawke picks on her poor baby brother Carver, and Stroud’s mustache finally makes an appearance. 

Read here on AO3 (>8000 words) if you prefer.

**********************

“Carv, all I’m saying is that you could have said something before you went off to join the Templars. You had ample time before I went into the Deep Roads–”

“... and left me behind,” Carver muttered.

“To look after Mother!” Hawke said exasperatedly. “You and Gamlen! And you did a bang-up job, the two of you!” She widened her eyes. “How is Gamlen, by the way? Still drunk? Is cheap dwarven whisky still his favourite poison?”

Carver tutted loudly, and Hawke playfully rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Carver, why didn’t you—”

“I didn’t have a crush on Merrill!” Carver snapped. “Just leave me alone, all right?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Carver’s slowly reddening neck. “Denial,” he remarked. “Admirable, given the object of your affections, but patently untrue.”

Carver shot him a resentful look. “Why are you taking her side?”

“I am not taking her side,” Fenris said. “She was a deluded witch who couldn’t see the danger of her ways.”

“I certainly hope it’s Merrill you’re talking about and not me,” Hawke said archly. Then she tilted her head. “Wait. That was a bitchy thing to say.”

Fenris pinched her waist chidingly. “Carver realized his error,” he told her. “Courting Merrill would have been a grave mistake. Literally, in all likelihood.”

“Right,” Carver said. “What Fenris said.” But his neck was steadily growing redder.

Fenris frowned at him, then pursed his lips. “Really? You are still holding a torch for that—”

Carver scrubbed a gauntleted hand through his hair, and Hawke cackled. “I knew it! I knew it! Oh, but you and Merrill would have made such a cute couple…”

“Shut up!” Carver snapped.

“... and can you imagine the book Varric would have written about you two?” Hawke continued delightedly. “Swords and Staves! The cranky Templar and the sweet little blood mage! It would practically sell itself!”

Fenris sneered. “Absolutely not. Nothing could be farther from the romantic ideal.”

“Y-yes – exactly!” Carver stammered. Then he frowned at Fenris. “Wait, are you insulting me?”

Hawke slung an arm around Carver’s neck before Fenris could reply. “All right, fine, not Merrill then. What about that other Templar friend of yours? You know, the little blonde one who was so convinced that Meredith was in the right? She was cute. A complete sycophant, but cute. Did you ever–”

Carver sighed loudly. “Maker’s mercy, Rynne, I’m staying at Skyhold with the other Templars next time if you don’t piss off about this.”

Hawke snickered, and Fenris smirked as Carver tried in vain to wriggle out of her grasp. Carver’s petulance and Hawke’s over-exuberant teasing were exactly the same as they’d always been, and there was something strangely comforting about the sameness of their interactions.

And yet, nothing about the Hawke siblings’ lives was the same as it had been when Fenris had first met them ten years ago. They’d both changed in station and status and wealth, and they’d both lost so much: their entire families, save for each other and Gamlen. Sometimes Fenris wondered if Hawke and Carver continued to treat each other like foolish youth as a way to protect themselves from the undeniable difficulties that life had thrown their way.

Eventually they began gossiping about some old friends they used to know back in Lothering, so Fenris drifted back along the mud-ridden road to walk with Cassandra and Varric instead. They seemed to be discussing Varric’s writing process.

Cassandra was frowning at Varric. “You’re telling me Hard in Hightown is also based on people and events from your own life?” she asked. “Do writers ever invent anything completely new, or is every story a reflection of something that has already happened?”

Varric scoffed and looked up at Fenris. “Ouch. She really aims to wound, doesn’t she?”

“Do not take offense, Varric,” Cassandra said. “I’m just surprised.”

Varric turned his gaze back to Cassandra. “Seeker, every good story is based on at least a seed of truth,” he said. “It’s how you shape that little piece of truth that makes the story compelling.”

“Hmm,” she said. “And I suppose that is also what makes you such a compelling liar.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Varric gave Cassandra a reproving look, then shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered, and he sped up a bit to walk with Carver and Hawke instead.

Once he was out of earshot, Fenris glanced at Cassandra. “That was needlessly spiteful,” he said quietly. “His only lie was was disavow knowledge of our whereabouts. He gave you the truth about everything else.”

“That is no small matter,” Cassandra snapped. “Leliana and I thought it was all connected. The Hero of Ferelden vanishing, then the Champion as well? But no. It was just Varric who kept Hawke from us!”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You know Hawke now. You know she would never have agreed to become your Inquisitor,” he said. “And... if I am being truthful, had you tracked us down two years ago, I would sooner have killed you than allowed her to lead your cause.”

Cassandra recoiled from him. “How could you–”

“That was then,” he said firmly. “Things are… different now.” He sighed and absently rubbed his left palm. “Irrevocably different, in fact. For Hawke and I, and for you. And for Varric as well.” He gave her a frank look. “You should let him out of the doghouse. You think he is a liar, but he is extremely loyal.”

“To you and Hawke,” she retorted.

“Yes,” Fenris said. “But… his loyalty is more than that now.” He trailed off as he thought about the conversations he’d had with Varric: Varric’s surprising Andrastian faith, and his belief in Fenris as a symbol of hope for all the people who were so scared and unsure in this time of war.

“Varric is committed to the Inquisition,” Fenris told Cassandra. “Not just to Hawke and I.” In all honesty, the truth of this made Fenris feel a bit odd. Varric would always be his friend first and foremost. But to think that Varric also saw him as the Herald of Andraste, just like all the other believers in the Inquisition… It made Fenris feel a little bit sad for some strange reason. A little bit lonely, perhaps.

Cassandra didn’t reply, and they walked together in silence on the path to Crestwood Village for a time. Then Cassandra sighed. “This isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric. Not truly,” she said softly. “I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter.” She licked her lips. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

Fenris looked at her in confusion. “What?”

She looked sad now rather than angry. “If I’d just explained to Varric what was at stake,” she said. “Perhaps if I’d just made him understand… but I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I am such a fool.”

“Cassandra,” Fenris said quietly. “You are singularly the most deserving person to be here. The Inquisition would not exist without you. We wouldn’t be here doing this right now if not for you.”

“Is that a fact, or an accusation?” she said.

Fenris peered at her. The corners of her lips were quirked slightly in a tiny smile. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Fenris huffed in amusement. “Take your pick. Perhaps it is both.”

Her smile broadened slightly. Then she sighed again and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I want you to know I have no regrets,” she said. “You may not be the leader I expected us to have, but… in many ways, you are more than I expected. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.”

He shook his head and ignored her praise. “Untrue,” he said firmly. “You anticipated this years ago. You have been pushing to be ahead of it all this time. You are strong and determined, and your faith does you proud.” He shrugged. “We are fortunate to have you.”

She looked away from him and rubbed her nose, and Fenris turned his gaze to the road ahead as they walked. Then Cassandra took a deep breath. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Fenris shook his head. “No titles, Cassandra. I mean it.”

She smiled at him, and they walked in a comfortable quiet for a while longer. Fenris idly watched as Varric said something to Carver that made Hawke burst out laughing. Carver elbowed Hawke, who shoved him playfully in the arm, and Carver’s strident tone drifted back to Fenris’s ears. “That was one time! And you set me up!”

He smirked, and Cassandra shook her head. “They are a strange pair,” she commented. “Anthony and I never fought that way.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Never?”

“Well.” Cassandra smiled slightly. “Perhaps once or twice, but mostly not. We were very close when we were growing up. I was… it was devastating when he died.”

Fenris nodded respectfully. Cassandra had mentioned that her brother had died when they were both very young, but she hadn’t told him further details.

She gave him a curious look. “Do you have any family back in the Imperium?”

Fenris hesitated, and Cassandra’s face melted into an expression of horror. “Oh. I am – my apologies, Fenris, I forgot. Varric did tell me about your – your memories, or that they were… er. I am very–”

Fenris waved her off. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “It is not your fault. It would be a simple question for anyone else.” He nibbled the inside of his cheek as he considered whether to tell Cassandra about his sister. Varric had purposely omitted any mention of Varania in his Tale of the Champion, and Fenris knew Varric would not have told Cassandra about her either, for which he was grateful. That element of Danarius’s arrival in Kirkwall remained a sore point for Fenris, and he was glad that there was at least one piece of information about his life that remained private.

Finally he decided not to say anything. Not yet, at least. “No,” he said. “I have no family that I know of, aside from Hawke. And the mabari, of course.” He glanced over his shoulder at Toby, who was trotting contentedly beside Cole and Solas.

Cassandra smiled and nodded a polite acknowledgement. Then Fenris glanced sideways at her. “Your brother,” he said carefully. “Do… do you wish to speak of what happened to him?”

Cassandra swallowed hard, then shook her head. “I… prefer not to speak of him right now,” she said softly. “Perhaps another time.” She shot him a quick smile. “But thank you for asking.”

Fenris nodded. “Of course.”

“Hey, Cass!” Hawke called.

Fenris and Cassandra looked up to find Hawke grinning while Carver scowled beside her. “What kind of metal makes for the sharpest blade edge?” Hawke asked. “Silverite or nevarrite?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows slightly. “Silverite, of course.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped, and Carver pointed victoriously at her. “I told you! See, you don’t know everything.”

She grinned and smacked his arm. “I never said I did! But damn, I could have sworn I was right about that one.”

“Technically, it depends on the purpose of the blade,” Cassandra continued. “Silverite forms a keener edge. But nevarrite holds its edge for longer.”

Hawke did a little hop. “So I was partly right, then! I think we should split that bet. You can give me five silver.”

Carver snorted. “That’s not how betting works.”

“It really isn’t,” Varric drawled.

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s not how the rules worked in our wicked grace games at Fenris’s mansion.”

Varric’s smirk widened, and Carver wrinkled his nose at Fenris. “You made special rules for her?” he complained. “Seriously?”

Cassandra shot Fenris a playfully reproving look. “Nepotism and gambling, Fenris? Truly?”

“I disavow any knowledge of gambling occurring in my erstwhile house,” Fenris said smoothly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have important… Inquisitor… business to attend to.” He slowed down slightly so the others all drifted ahead of him, to a general wave of chuckling.

Varric drew Cassandra into the conversation he was having with Carver and Hawke, and Fenris smiled slightly as he watched the four of them talking animatedly together. For some time he simply walked on his own and enjoyed the quiet susurrus of the conversations and the ever-present rain.

Eventually, however, his attention was drawn to Solas and Cole’s cryptic conversation. During their trek to Crestwood, Solas had spent most of his time in Cole’s company. This could simply be because Fenris had essentially ordered Cole to stay by Solas’s side. But it did not escape Fenris’s notice that Solas seemed more at ease with Cole, and was more talkative with Cole, than with any other member of the Inquisition.

“They can only return to the Maker if they become real,” Cole was saying. “Why can't they be forgiven as they are?”

“People say they lack the ability to learn or grow,” Solas replied. “But the more contact you have with this world, the more ability you gain.”

“Why would they want to prove the Maker wrong? He's already far away,” Cole said.

Fenris frowned. It always seemed as though he was understanding half of what they were saying, while completely missing the overarching point.

“It isn't about right and wrong. It's about attention, when you think you have been forgotten,” Solas said gently.

Cole nodded. “And rolling the ball so it goes in the hole.”

What? Fenris thought, with some annoyance. A moment later, Solas and Cole drew level with him, and Solas addressed him directly. “Is something wrong, Fenris?”

At Solas’s words, he realized he was frowning. “No,” he said.

Solas bowed his head slightly. “If you have any questions, you have but to ask.”

Fenris glanced suspiciously between Solas and Cole for a moment. “You prefer the company of… of spirits over people,” he said to Solas.

“People can be trying,” Solas said. “Mankind most of all.”

Without quite meaning to, Fenris huffed in amusement, and Solas smiled slightly. Then Fenris jerked his chin at Cole. “You don’t find him trying? The riddles and the… indirectness.”

Solas tilted his head thoughtfully. “It is a matter of familiarity, I suppose. The Fade is a place of constant flux, where thoughts and feelings and expectations are just as real as you and I. As a result, the denizens of the Fade tend to be less… blunt.”

Fenris gave Solas a shrewd look. “You make it sound as though you have spent more time in the Fade than in the real world.”

Solas looked away. “Sometimes it feels that way to me, as well,” he said softly.

Fenris studied his profile for a moment. Sera had once said that Solas’s head was ‘crammed up a thousand years ago’, and Fenris was inclined to agree. The elven mage claimed he was not Dalish, but there was something about his particular brand of overly-knowledgeable melancholy that reminded Fenris strongly of Merrill.

“For what purpose do you cling so fiercely to the ways of the ancient elves?” Fenris suddenly asked.

Solas looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows. “Do you find no value in recalling the past? In remembering the wonders of our history?”

“It is not my history. It is simply history,” Fenris said. “Besides, there is a difference between recalling and reliving. You seem strangely set on reliving what’s dead and gone.” He raised one eyebrow. “It strikes me that you and the Dalish have that in common.”

Solas pursed his lips and looked away from Fenris once more. “Would it surprise you that we do not?” he said. “The Dalish have no more interest in the accuracy of our heritage than you do. They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.” He gave Fenris a disapproving look. “I find myself surprised that you speak of the past this way. Are you not a man who is missing a significant portion of his own past? Would you not reclaim that past if you could? Regain the memories that you lost and feel their fullness once more?”

Fenris clenched his jaw. “Of course I would have my memory back, if I could,” he gritted. “But not at the expense of the life I have now.”

“Why?” Solas said.

Fenris scowled. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

Solas shook his head slightly. “I apologize. I was unclear.” He looked Fenris in the eye once more. “If you were given the chance to go back, to reclaim your memories and the life you lost, would you not do it?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “No. I would not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Solas asked.

Solas’s gaze was unnervingly intense, and Fenris drew back slightly. “There is no guarantee that that life would be better,” he said guardedly. “In fact, I’m certain it would not be.” He glanced at Hawke’s jauntily swaying hips as she strolled up ahead.

He returned his gaze to Solas’s face. “Life is not about going backwards. It’s about moving on,” he said firmly. It had taken Fenris far too many years to learn this truth – years of anger and hate, years he wasted fuming about his unknown past while Hawke had waited in the wings, wanting nothing more than to love him. At the end of the day, Fenris knew this to be true: had he not moved on, moved past the regrets of his forgotten past and the vitriolic hate that Danarius and Hadriana had planted in his soul, he and Hawke would not be walking this road together now.

Solas, however, was clearly unconvinced. “And yet you used Alexius’s time-travel medallion to return to this time, rather than accepting your fate in the future and moving forth,” he said.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the blandness of Solas’s tone. “This is my time,” he retorted. “That cursed, blighted future was not.”

Solas studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

Fenris eyed him with some annoyance, and they walked in silence for a time with Cole hovering vaguely between them. Then Solas looked at Fenris. “I… would walk alone for a time, if you don’t mind.”

Fenris shrugged, then watched as Solas pulled ahead and slightly to the left. Frankly, he was rather relieved to be divested of the elven mage’s company.

Then Cole finally spoke. "Old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real. This side is slow and heavy, but here is what can change."

Fenris scowled. “What are you talking about?”

Cole tilted his head. His eyes were on Solas’s hooded head. “His hurt is quiet. Softer, subtler, not silent but still.”

Fenris tutted. “He’s no different than anyone else,” he said quietly. “Everyone is damaged. Everyone has some sort of… scar. It is best to try and move past it. To make a life that is greater than the harms that were done in the past.” He jerked his chin at Solas. “He should try it sometime.”

Cole nodded. “I will try to help him,” he said.

Fenris shrugged again, and his eyes returned to Hawke. Her arm was cozily linked with Carver’s, and it seemed that Carver had stopped trying to shunt off her affections for now.

He smiled faintly. Then Cole spoke again. “Red hair like the blood that almost stained her hands. She lives in a place that’s not her home, toiling as a tailor like she told you before.”

Varania. Goosebumps rippled across Fenris’s arms. He shot Cole a sharp look. “How can you… she is nowhere near here,” he said roughly. At least, Fenris didn’t think she was. In truth, he had no idea where Varania was now. “How can you hear her thoughts?”

“Your hurt touches hers,” Cole explained. His blank blue eyes settled on Fenris’s face. “She is jealous still. But if you had been wiped away, if you were made not you, she would be not her. She would be a monster.”

Fenris frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”

“You were everything she wanted to be,” Cole said. “Mired in magic, loved, seen. You were free.”

Fenris shook his head slightly. “But that’s… She was free long before I ever was. She said so herself.” But even as he said it, he could start to see how that wasn’t entirely true. Imperial mages who wished that badly for power were beholden to their blasted mentors, bound by their own lust for power to do whatever abhorrent act was necessary. Including, it seemed, selling out one’s own family.

Suddenly Fenris wondered if Varania even was a mage. She’d shown no evidence of magic that day in the Hanged Man, and it was a well-known wish among the soporati to find themselves manifesting magic out of the blue. If Danarius had taken advantage of that wish in his sister…

Cole interrupted his thoughts, as he was wont to do. “You gave her a chance. You didn’t kill her.”

“That wasn’t my… Hawke and Varric stopped me,” he said distractedly. “I would have…” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.

“You would have been sad afterwards,” Cole said softly. “You gave her a chance to not be a monster.”

Fenris huffed. He was finding it oddly difficult to look at Cole. “I can only hope she’s not wasting it.”

Cole nodded, and Fenris walked beside him for a while longer in an increasingly awkward silence. Then he heard Varric’s shout. “Hey, guys, look alive. Undead up ahead.”

Fenris looked up. Sure enough, on the path ahead, a group of about five grisly-looking undead were attacking an elven woman and two Grey Wardens.

Fenris pulled his great-axe from his back and bolted toward the nearest undead archer. In the space of a minute, the undead were lying in grisly pieces on the ground, and one of the Wardens was helping the elven woman to her feet.

Fenris returned his weapon to his back as the second Warden nodded to him. “The Grey Wardens thank you for your aid, Inquisitor.” His eyes darted to Fenris’s left hand.

Fenris closed his fist and nodded politely, but he was on high alert. Leliana had warned that Grey Wardens had been sighted here, in this place where Stroud was hiding.

“What business do you have in Crestwood?” Fenris asked. Beside him, Hawke shifted her weight casually to one hip, but he could feel her wariness as clearly as the rain that was tapping on his hood.

“A Warden named Stroud is wanted for questioning,” the Warden said. “We heard he’d passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They have troubles enough.”

“We’ve heard,” Cassandra said. “We are on our way there now to offer aid.”

“Good,” the Warden said fervently. “I wish there was more we could do to help them, but our orders forbid it. Crestwood was only a detour.”

Varric raised his eyebrows in pretend surprise. “You’re hunting a rogue Warden? You guys can go rogue? I didn’t know that was possible.”

The Warden lifted his shoulders. “Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture. I can say no more than that.”

“I hope Ser Stroud comes with us peacefully,” the other Warden said. “I trained under him for a time. He’s a good man.”

Fenris nodded in farewell, and the Wardens gave a brisk salute before continuing on their way. Hawke folded her arms pensively as she watched them go. “They were acting pretty normally, right?” she said to Fenris and Varric. “No weirdness from them. Not like those Wardens in Corypheus’s prison.”

“They stay by oaths sworn in blood,” Cole said dreamily. “Not theirs, then their own. They’re true.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. “That’s good. I think. Well, they were still after Stroud, so we’d better hurry.”

They continued along the path to Crestwood Village at a faster clip. Soon they were at the threshold of the village, and not a moment too late: a fresh wave of undead fighters had just begun attacking the scared-looking sentries who were guarding the gate.

Fenris clenched his fists, and his tattoos lit his skin at the same moment as Hawke’s barrier settled over him. Thus protected, he phased toward the crowd of reanimated corpses and began hacking them apart, with Cassandra and Cole close behind.

Cole blinked swiftly in and out of sight as he darted around their enemies, and Fenris couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. The first time he’d seen Cole fighting, he’d been a little bit shocked; the vague and floaty spirit-boy became a fierce and focused fighter when his daggers came out. The blades flicked and sliced expertly across their enemies’ flesh, and Cole was distinctly difficult to track on the battlefield: one moment he would be targeting a foe to Fenris’s left, and in the space of a blink he was behind Fenris altogether and tripping a man before slitting his throat with a swift and vicious slash. Sometimes it would seem that Cole had left the fight altogether, then an enemy who had been fighting ferociously would suddenly topple to the ground, bled to death from a dozen tiny cuts to the thigh.

Needless to say, Cole’s fighting style was unnerving but undeniably effective. Within a few short minutes, Fenris, Cole and Cassandra felled the crowd of angry but slow-moving undead, with primarily defensive help from the mages and Varric.

The moment the last undead toppled to the ground, Cole sheathed his daggers. “You can’t hurt me,” he said to one bisected corpse, then carefully stepped over the body and drifted back toward Solas, who was following Hawke and Varric as they approached the sentries.

Cassandra frowned at Cole’s departing back, then looked at Fenris. “I have noticed that you and Cole move on the field of battle in a similar way,” she said.

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow as he wiped his battleaxe clean. “Is that a fact, or an accusation?”

She smiled, but her frown swiftly returned. “Truly, do you not think it odd?”

Fenris paused before replying. “I have wondered about it myself,” he admitted. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the way Cole phased from place to place in combat. Fenris assumed that Cole was somehow moving through the Fade, given that he was a spirit. But if that’s how Cole was doing it, and Fenris could move in a very similar way when his tattoos were active…

He’d always assumed his lyrium marks worked by accessing the Fade. But Fenris hadn’t really taken the time to think about how exactly his tattoos gained access to the Fade. Cole was a spirit; phasing through the Fade was probably a natural thing for him to do. But Fenris was a real being. Was his physical body moving through the Fade every time he flashed across a battlefield? Each time he dragged someone’s heart out of their ribs, was he dragging his fist through the Fade as well?

Fenris slid his greataxe onto his back and considered Cassandra’s question. Solas would probably be able to explain the phenomenon to him. But speaking to Solas was becoming increasingly tiring. Every conversation Fenris and Solas had somehow felt steeped in double meanings, and Fenris was rarely in the mood for such things, especially with everything else that weighed on his mind.

Perhaps he could ask Hawke to speak to Solas on his behalf. Solas’s circumferential speech seemed to amuse her more than anything else, and she would be able to parse out the relevant information for Fenris.

“Perhaps Solas can tell us more,” Cassandra said.

Fenris nodded. “My thoughts exactly,” he told her, and they walked over to join the others.

Hawke looked up at him as they approached the village gates. “The mayor is in his cabin,” she told him and Cassandra. “He should be able to tell us something about where that underwater rift is coming from.” She grimaced as they made their way into the village. “No one has left this village in weeks because of the undead. They’re probably all going a little stir-crazy.”

Cassandra frowned. “We should have the Inquisition bring supplies to these people once the undead are dealt with,” she said, and Cole nodded agreement.

“One of those sentries mentioned bandits,” Varric said. “Better stop them first.”

“We will speak to the mayor first,” Fenris decided. “Get a better sense of what is happening in this apparently cursed place.”

Twenty minutes later, after speaking to the mayor and the various denizens of the village, Fenris, Hawke, and their companions left the village, and Fenris folded his arms and looked at them all. “We have two tasks, then,” he said. “Clearing the bandits from Caer Bronach so we can drain the lake, and meeting Stroud.” He looked at Cassandra. “You, Solas and Cole can go to the keep. Oust the bandits and await us there.”

Cassandra nodded sharply. “Inquisit– Fenris. We will go right away.”

“I can go with them, too,” Carver said.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to come with us?”

Carver tsked. “It’s not like that. You don’t need me to talk to Stroud. But I can definitely help to take out a bunch of bandits.”

Fenris shrugged. “Go on. We will see you soon.”

Carver nodded to Fenris and made a face at Hawke as she blew him a kiss. A minute later, Fenris, Varric and Hawke were trudging along a poorly-maintained path that wound its way up a wet and grassy hill, and Hawke sighed.

“He couldn’t get away from me fast enough, could he?” she said.

“To be fair, you spent most of the trip making fun of him,” Varric pointed out.

Hawke mock-pouted. “As though you haven’t been enjoying it.”

Varric smirked. “I never said I didn’t. It is pretty funny how his shoulders come up to his ears when he’s mad.”

Hawke snickered, but Fenris raised an eyebrow at her. “Carver’s choice was a good one. His skills are better used helping Cassandra and the others with the bandits.”

Hawke gasped in mock surprise. “Are you calling my baby brother thick?” Then she shrugged casually. “Ah, he has always been more brawn than brain, I suppose. He would have come with us if you’d asked him to, though.”

“And why would I do that?” Fenris said.

“So we could spend more time with him!” Hawke said. “I haven’t seen him for two years, and he’s already sick of me after five days?” She elbowed Fenris. “You spent two whole years alone with me, and you’re not sick of me.”

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, I am not your brother.”

Varric snorted. “Andraste’s ass, this just got weird.”

Fenris shot him a chiding smirk, then looked at Hawke once more. “You didn’t spend those two years interrogating me about my sex life or reminding me of embarrassing things I did when I was small. Or goading me into making foolish bets.”

She widened her eyes comically. “Well, I couldn’t very well interrogate you about your sex life. I am your sex life.”

Varric loudly cleared his throat, and Fenris rolled his eyes. “Hawke…”

She sighed. “Fine, fine. So what are you saying? I’m being mean to Carver?”

“Not mean, exactly.” Fenris shrugged and kicked a stray wet leaf off of his bare foot. “But you might try speaking to him in a different way. Or speaking to him instead of taunting him.” He shot her a knowing look. “A normal conversation, perhaps.”

Hawke recoiled slightly, then laughed. “What? No. That would be weird.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “It would weird to have a regular conversation with your brother?”

“Yes,” Hawke said slowly, as though he was being obtuse. “Carver and I don’t do normal conversations.”

“Well, perhaps now is the time, since he is with the Inquisition,” Fenris suggested. “Unless you would prefer that he continue choosing Cassandra’s company over ours.”

Hawke lifted her shoulders ruefully. “Well, Cassandra is a bona fide babe.”

Varric huffed. “She’s lacking your sense of humour, though.”

Hawke grinned at him. “Aw, Varric, you sweetheart. It’s nice to know someone would pick me for their team.” She slung her arm affectionately around Varric’s neck.

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “You might also consider that Carver’s choice to go with Cassandra instead is not about you.”

“What are you talking about?” Hawke said. She blinked comically at Fenris. “Everything is about me.”

Fenris refused to rise to her jokes. “It is not, though,” he said seriously. “You’re not at the center of things anymore, and I am immensely grateful for that. But…” He trailed off as he tried to find a way to explain his point without accidentally being unkind.

Varric came to his rescue. “You’re the hero of your story, Hawke,” he said. “Carver wants to be the hero in his story, but no one will see him as one because you’re there. He’s trying to be helpful and do his own thing, but he can’t really do that without being reminded of how popular you are.” He grimaced slightly and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Joining the Inquisition is probably like reliving the first few years that you guys were in Kirkwall.”

Hawke slumped slightly. “But how is that my fault?” she said plaintively. “I didn’t ask to be ‘the’ Hawke in Kirkwall. I didn’t ask to go head-to-head with the Arishok or to be Meredith and Orsino’s little errand girl. I didn’t ask to be the eldest child in the fucking family–”

Fenris took her hand. “We are not saying it’s your fault,” he said quietly. “But Carver won’t see himself as anything but your younger brother if that is all you see, as well.”

“That’s not all I see,” she protested, but she wouldn’t quite look Fenris or Varric in the eye. “Besides, you make it sound so easy to just start having a normal conversation with him.” She adopted a mocking high-pitched voice. “‘Oh, hello Carver, let’s exchange omelette recipes. How’s the family? Oh wait, that’s me.’” She let out a brittle laugh. “It’s not that easy, Fenris. Carver and I don’t have anything in common. I can strike up a nice chat with anyone except my own bloody brother.”

Varric sighed and gave Fenris an apologetic glance. “She’s got a point, elf. Breaking old habits with a sibling is… really damned tricky.”  

Fenris grunted. I wouldn’t know, he thought bitterly. But it would be petty to make such a snide remark. Instead, he said to Hawke, “You found a way with me. You and I had little in common when we met.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yes, well, I can’t exactly flirt like mad and offer myself on a silver platter to my baby brother, can I?”

Fenris wrinkled his nose, and Varric made a choking noise. “All right, this is getting weird again,” he drawled. “Good thing we’re almost at the rendezvous point.”

Hawke chuckled, and Varric smirked at her as he pulled Bianca from his back. Then he sped up a bit to scout the entrance of the smuggler’s cave where Stroud was hiding.

Fenris waited until Varric was out of earshot, then leaned in close to Hawke. “You did not win me over by flirting or offering me your body,” he said in a low voice. “If that is all it took, then Isabela would have succeeded.”

She looked up at him with a saucy smile. “Ooh. Is this where you give me a list of reasons that you love me? Too bad Cole isn’t here to help out. That was extremely entertaining.”

He pulled her to a stop and waited until her expression became serious. “You were genuine with me,” Fenris told her quietly. “You gave me more than jokes and flattery. You told me truths about yourself, Hawke. You allowed me to see more than just your smile.” He brushed a wet spike of her bangs away from her forehead. “You are more than the face you show the world. I am just as entertained by that foolish joking face as anyone else, but that is not why I love you.”

Her eyes were on her feet. She swallowed hard and smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said airily. “I’m at least eighty percent stupid jokes. The other twenty is bald-faced sexual innuendo.”

Fenris tilted her chin up, but she still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “That is not true, and you know it,” he said, very quietly. “You could try letting Carver know that, as well.”

She inhaled through her lips, then finally met his gaze. Her eyes were bright with tears, and the solemn warmth in her expression only reminded him of all the reasons that she held his heart.

A soft whistle pierced the constant patter of rain, and Fenris and Hawke looked toward the mouth of the cave. Varric had replaced Bianca on his back, and when Fenris met his eye, he waved for them to join him and ducked back into the shelter of the cave.

Fenris quickly kissed Hawke on the lips, then ushered her forward with a gentle hand on her back. “Come,” he said gently. “Stroud and his mustache will be waiting for us.”

She immediately seized the opening for humour, just as Fenris had known she would. “Well, I’ve been waiting to see his mustache too,” she drawled. “Remember the size of it, and the span?” She playfully fanned herself and shot Fenris a mischievous look. “Do you think all Grey Wardens have fantastic facial hair? Stroud’s mustache, Blackwall’s beard...Oh, no, those two Wardens we met on the way in were clean-shaven.” She tutted as they stepped into the cave. “A pity, that.”

“Don’t forget the female Wardens, Hawke,” Varric remarked as they drew near. “Probably not much facial hair among the ladies.”

Hawke scoffed. “Oh come now, Varric, have a little imagination. A bearded female Warden would be my ideal hero. I wonder if the Hero of Ferelden has a beard. Remind me to ask Leliana when we get back to Skyhold.” She slipped past him and knocked on the locked door that led into the smuggler’s den. “Oh, Stroud!” she sang out. “It’s us.”

A moment later, they heard the soft clink of a lock, and the door cracked open. Hawke shifted so the occupant of the room could see her face, and then the door opened all the way.

Stroud stood there with his sword drawn and his customary worried frown. “Hawke,” he said. He sheathed his sword and offered her a sweeping bow. “Fenris. It is good to see you both again, though I regret the unfortunate circumstances.” He offered his hand to Fenris to shake.

Fenris briefly shook his hand as Hawke gestured to Varric. “Stroud, this is Varric Tethras. Infamous author, even-more-infamous arbalist, and our closest friend.”

Stroud nodded politely to Varric. “Master Tethras. I have heard of you, though I’m afraid I’ve not had the time to read your books.”

Varric waved him off. “Ah, who can blame you, given… you know. Darkspawn.”

Stroud nodded again, and his expression grew more serious still as he turned to Hawke and Fenris. “I’m glad you are here,” he said. “The timing of all of this – Corypheus’s attack on Haven, and the disaster with Wardens… it is both serendipitous and ominously bad.” He looked at Hawke. “I was trying to find out more about the origins of red lyrium, as you well know. But I began hearing talk among the senior Wardens about Corypheus – vague whispers, you understand, but enough to make me concerned, given what you had done in his prison.”

Hawke shook her head. “That’s what we don’t understand. How the fuck did he survive? We killed him, Stroud. Fenris cleaved his head from his body, and he was missing two of his limbs before even that. There’s no way he was alive when we were done with him.”

Stroud nodded sadly. “An archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power. I began to investigate, but it was difficult; any information about Corypheus is closely guarded by the senior officers, and my investigation uncovered only clues – no proof. I had not gotten far before every Warden in Orlais began to hear the calling.”

Fenris frowned. “The calling? What is that?”

“It tells the Warden that the Blight will soon claim him,” Stroud said somberly. He turned away and gazed at the table behind him, which was covered with maps and books. “It starts with dreams,” he said. “Then... whispers in your head.” He looked up at Fenris and Hawke once more. “The Warden says his farewells and goes to the deep roads to meet his death in combat.”

“Fuck,” Hawke breathed. Her eyes were wide. “You’re hearing it too, aren’t you?”

Stroud nodded once. “Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire.” He bowed his head, then looked at them once more. “The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker, but… at times, I almost understand it.”

She took a step toward him. “Stroud…”

He held up a reassuring hand. “I suspect that Corypheus is making all the Wardens hear the calling,” he said. “He is a magister as well as a darkspawn, and he speaks with the voice of the Blight. That lets him affect the minds of Wardens, since we are tied to the Blight ourselves.”

“Shit,” Varric said. He looked up at Fenris and Hawke. “That must be how he was making the Wardens in his prison go all weird, too.”

Fenris shook his head in disgust. “Mind control. It is abhorrent.”

“I quite agree,” Stroud said. “And if all the Wardens think they are dying…” He sighed. “If we should fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear.”

Varric groaned and tugged one of his earrings. “And if they’re all scared, they’re going to something desperate. You know, as you do.”

“Precisely,” Stroud said. He paced slowly in front of them. “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before all the Grey Wardens perish.”

Fenris looked up in alarm. “Blood magic? The Wardens are planning to use blood magic?”

“I’m afraid so,” Stroud said. “When I protested the plan as madness, my own comrades turned on me. I was forced to run, and that is when I returned your letter.” He bowed slightly to Hawke. “I apologize for my tardy replies.”

She waved him off. “It’s all right. I knew you couldn’t resist me forever.” She smiled, but her eyebrows were lifted with worry.

“Tell us about this Clarel,” Fenris commanded. “Has she always practiced blood magic in the Grey Wardens’ name?”

Hawke shifted closer and placed a soothing hand on his wrist, and Stroud shook his head. “Not that I have ever seen. She was a good Warden once; among those that King Cailan reached out to before the Blight. But when the false calling began, Clarel stopped listening to the rest of us. She said that only magic could solve this problem.”

Fenris turned away and dragged a hand through his hair, then scowled at Stroud. “She sounds like a Tevinter,” he said. He turned to Hawke and Varric. “Clearly she has allied with the Venatori.”

Hawke winced, then turned to Stroud. “Is it possible that Corypheus is controlling her? Maybe forcing her to do blood magic?”

“Do not try and make excuses for her,” Fenris snapped. “Falling to blood magic is a choice!”

Hawke held up her hands. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Stroud stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “It is hard to say,” he told them. “But I have heard the whispers of the calling myself, and it is only noise: no words, and certainly no commands.” He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Either way, the guilt is hers. Fenris is correct: she made this choice. She is Warden-Commander. She should bow to no one’s word but Weisshaupt’s.” He ushered them closer and pointed at the map on the table. “Grey Wardens have been travelling here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. We will find our answers there.”

Hawke frowned at the map. “All right. Looks like we’re going on another nice long trip.”

Varric huffed. “The Western Approach, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at Hawke. “Sandy. Dunes. Not great for walking. Maybe I’ll sit this one out.”

Hawke snorted and flicked his ear. “As if you could resist coming along. We all know you’re dying to document everything for the book you’re going to write about all this.”

Varric chuckled. Meanwhile, Fenris nodded to Stroud. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention,” he said. “We would appreciate your assistance when it is time to confront this Warden-Commander Clarel.”

Stroud bowed to him. “It is my unfortunate duty to assist in every way I can.” He straightened and looked between Fenris and Hawke. “I understand you are bound by many responsibilities. I will go to the Western Approach immediately and collect what information I can, and I will send it to your spymaster. Please meet me as soon as you can.”

Fenris nodded once more, then jerked his head for Hawke and Varric to follow him out of the cave. Once they were outside, Varric folded his arms and looked up at them both. “Okay, here we go…”

Fenris glared at Hawke. “You cannot think this Warden-Commander is truly being controlled by Corypheus.”

Hawke widened her eyes and lifted her shoulders. “It’s not that crazy an idea! Corypheus controlled the Wardens in his prison pretty directly. We should consider the possibility.”

“A possibility to claim Clarel is innocent, you mean?” Fenris sneered.

“If she is, it would be good for the Inquisition to have the Wardens on our side,” Hawke said.

“And if she is not?” Fenris demanded. “If she chose to ally with the Venatori of her own free will?”

She hesitated, and Fenris took a step closer to her. “A weak mage will take any excuse to build their power. Desperation is the first excuse they will grasp.”

Hawke wilted in exasperation. “Fenris, come on. Being scared that everyone you know is dying is a pretty good reason to be desperate.”

“No reason is good enough to resort to blood magic,” he spat.

“I resorted to blood magic when we were stuck in Corypheus’s prison!” Hawke exclaimed. “Have you forgotten that?”

“Hawke, you spilled a few drops of your own blood to open a lock. You didn’t make a pact with a demon or raise bodies from the dead,” Fenris retorted in equal exasperation. “Have you forgotten the horrendous abomination that Orsino became in his final moments of desperation?”

“We don’t even know what the Wardens are doing yet,” Hawke said. “You’re condemning their Commander without even knowing what they’ve done!”

“Hey, how about we take this argument with us and go meet the others?” Varric suggested brightly. “You guys can fight and walk at the same time.”

Hawke exhaled and smiled at Varric, but Fenris wasn’t finished. As they headed along the path to Caer Bronach, he glared at her. “When we go to the Western Approach, we will see what is happening,” he said. “If there is no direct mind-control involved, then—”

Hawke shot him an annoyed look. “Then what? Are you going to blame all the Wardens for their commander making a stupid choice?”

“Stroud stood up to her,” Fenris pointed out. “The other Wardens could as well.”

Hawke sighed and took his hand. “Everyone is not as strong as Stroud. Or as well-endowed with facial hair.”

Fenris ignored her attempt at humour. “And that remains the problem,” he said. “Mages who are not strong enough to resist the lure of power that they can’t control.” He pulled her closer. “Every mage is not like you.”

She scoffed and wrapped her arm around his waist. “I’m not that special, Fenris. You’d see that if you talked to more of our mages. You should come to the mage tower when we get home. We’ll make you special Inquisitor snacks and everything.”

He huffed skeptically and didn’t reply, and the three of them walked in silence for a time. Then, as they approached the Caer, he glanced at Hawke. “If you find some of those roasted nuts with the Rivaini spice, I will consider coming to the mage tower. I’ll consider it,” he said warningly as Hawke squeezed his waist. “I did not say for certain that I will come.”

She smiled up at him. “It’s an opening. I’ll take it.”

“Aw, a happy ending,” Varric drawled. “I could shed a tear.”

Hawke snickered and released Fenris to scuffle with Varric instead. Two of Leliana’s scouts were waiting at the gate to Caer Bronach, and they saluted Fenris as they drew close.

“Your Worship,” one scout said. “The Lady Seeker, Master Solas, and Ser Carver are waiting for you inside.”

“And that strange boy,” the second scout added.

The first scout looked at her in alarm. “What strange boy? What are you on about?”

Fenris waved his hand tiredly. “Thank you,” he said, and they passed through the gates to go meet the others.

They were clustered around a cookfire talking quietly amongst themselves, and Cassandra rose to her feet as they came near. “Fenris, Hawke. Varric.” She nodded to them, then pointed to a door to the left of the stairs they’d just ascended. “There is a passage that way that leads to the dam and its controls.”

Fenris glanced at the door and nodded. “Excellent. We will move on as soon as you’re all ready.” He glanced between her, Solas, Carver, and Cole. “Any injuries?”

“The usual bruises and scrapes, nothing big,” Carver said. He nodded his head to an elven scout who was standing nearby in discussion with her colleagues. “That’s the lead scout, Charter. She said one of Sister Leliana’s operatives is missing, a fellow named Butcher.” He raised his eyebrows at Fenris. “Should we look for him while we’re out?”

Fenris nodded. “A fine idea. We might as well.”

Carver straightened and gave him a sharp nod that was reminiscent of a salute. Then Solas rose to his feet as well. “I believe we have rested enough,” he said to Fenris. “We are ready to be on our way, if you are.”

Fenris glanced at Varric and Hawke. “Are you two in need of rest, or…?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Varric said, and Hawke nodded agreement. “The sight of Stroud’s beautiful hirsute face always rejuvenates me,” she said. “I’m bright and bushy-tailed and ready to go.”

Carver rolled his eyes, then jumped in surprise when Cole spoke up. “But you don’t have a tail,” the spirit-boy said.

Hawke laughed and slung her arm around Cole’s shoulders as they made their way toward the door to the dam. “It’s just a metaphor, Cole. But while we’re here, let me teach you a lesson in language. ‘Tail’ can mean an actual tail, or it can also mean something a bit more lewd–”

Varric snorted. “Come on, Hawke, you’re gonna corrupt the kid’s mind with dirty talk already?”

Hawke grinned at Varric, and Fenris rolled his eyes. “Consider it his initiation,” he drawled. “Once Hawke has draped the demon in innuendo, he will really be one of the group.”

Solas glanced at him, then looked away with a faint smile. Cassandra huffed. “A rather undignified initiation for the Inquisition, don’t you think?” she said archly.

“Is there some kind of initiation for the Inquisition?” Carver piped up. “I mean, I kind of just… showed up, and you said I could join. Is that what everyone does?”

Varric smirked up at him. “Were you hoping for a hazing ritual?”

Carver frowned. “No. It just seems a bit weird. The Inquisition is a big deal. I just thought there’d be more ceremony.”

Fenris grunted. “I have had enough ceremony, myself,” he muttered.

Hawke squeezed his hand, then drifted over to her brother’s side. “Well, if it’s hazing you want…”

Fenris glanced at her. She met his eye, then slipped her hand through the crook of Carver’s arm. “Too bad,” she said to Carver. “I’m just glad you’re here to help us out.”

Carver’s eyebrows leapt up on his forehead. “Oh. Um, thanks, Rynne. I mean – of course I came to help. It’s, um, a good cause.”

“Yes, it is,” Hawke said. She paused for a beat, and Fenris waited.

Then Hawke spoke again: “Following the most handsome elf in all of Thedas and staring at his ass all day is certainly my idea of a good cause.”

Varric snorted, and Cassandra and Carver groaned, and Fenris simply shook his head. She tried, he thought in amusement. One step at a time.

After all, one step at a time was all anyone could ask for.

[momofantas]

Dead Girl Walking Pt. 2

Dragon Age | Atheva Lavellan x Cullen | Modern AU/Reincarnation AU | 1080 Words | Part One | AO3

“How was your walk today?” Bull asked as Atheva threw her fists into his bare hands. Usually anyone helping her train would need to protect their hands, but Bull was a proud Qunari.

“It was pretty good!” She said between throwing punches. “I met a Mabari puppy on my way to the coffee shop... “ Her pause grew longer as she continued to punch at his palms before finally dropping her fists.

“There was this guy at the coffee shop, though.”

“Oh?” Bull asked with a knowing grin.

“No, not like that. It was kind of creepy. He just stared at me,” she said, shuddering at the memory. “Like, if you’re a fan or something just come talk to me.”

“Ew. Yeah, that sounds pretty awful,” he sighed. “Well, did he follow you?”

“I don’t think so. Even if he did, I think I could take him since I train with the biggest Qunari around,” she said with a grin before throwing a sucker punch at his gut.

Being an elf, she was naturally more quick than he was and her fist connected with his stomach before he could block her.

“Fucking hell, Atheva!” He doubled over for a moment before laughing to himself and reaching out to set his hand on her head.

Her shoulders raised in surprise and she laughed along. “Bull, c’mon! You know you could crush me if you wanted to,” she said as she tried to push his hand off with both of hers.

“As fun as that sounds, I don’t think your fans would appreciate that. And you know how I feel about you calling me Bull,” he replied as he lifted his hand.

“It makes you feel even bigger and more powerful.”

“I meant in public.”

“What, you don’t want to be part of the Inquisitor’s daring team of heroes?” Atheva asked as she feigned holding a bow in front of her.

“You know the Inquisitor’s just a kid’s tale,” he said loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity of the fighting ring to hear them. “No, but seriously, everything you’ve told me about this Bull guy is cool and all, but I don’t want people thinking I’m an ass or have an ego the size of--”

“The size of your hands?” Atheva offered with a smirk.

She managed to dodge his swing and ran past him, pushing herself out of the ring when the radio playing over the speakers in the gym announced that it was midday.

“I gotta go, I’ll see ya later!” She called.

“We’re not done with this conversation!” Bull yelled after her.

Atheva merely raised her hand as she walked towards the girl’s locker room, grinning because she thought herself clever.

She changed out of her work-out clothing, breathing in deeply as soon as she peeled off her constricting sports bra. Her knuckles were pink after training despite the precautions she took to protect them. It made her feel accomplished, however, to feel them sting. It meant she was doing something.

Once she was dressed and her earbuds were back in her ears, she left the locker room and headed towards the exit of the gym. Her phone was her main focus as she pushed through the doors.

“Omw now.” She texted her friend, knowing that she was already late for their lunch date.

She knew they would be annoyed at her being late, they were all much more time-constrained than her and punctual than she would ever be. Even in school, they would chastise her for her lackadaisical nature.

The elf sighed as she thought about the mean welcomes she would arrive to and turned her music up louder, trying to drown the thoughts out of her mind.

She had made it down three blocks before she got the sense she was being followed.

Very closely.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she turned around immediately, an earbud falling out of her ear as her braid threw itself into the stranger’s face.

Behind her, hands now raised in surprise and defense, was a man breathing heavily. His brown eyes were wide and his mouth was open slightly, either to help him breathe or as if he were trying to think of something to say.

A scar ran vertically through his lips, alerting Atheva to the fact that he was no stranger to violence.

“Can I help you?” She asked, irritated at the guy’s approach.

“Atheva…” He breathed. He sounded stunned, as if he couldn’t believe it was her.

“Y-Yeah… Are you a fan?” She asked. If he was, she didn’t want to be too rude. Tabloids ate that shit up, even from athletes.

He didn’t respond, instead studying every inch of her face. If she didn’t feel uncomfortable before, she sure as hell did now.

“Do you want an aut-!”

Her words were cut off as he pulled her into a kiss.

Her knee flew to his groin and her fist connected with his jaw as soon as her mouth was freed.

“What the fuck you freak?!” She screamed, “You don’t just kiss a stranger! I’m calling the templars!”

She rubbed at her mouth while frantically dialing the number to reach the templar’s emergency line. All the while the man was down on the ground, holding both his jaw and his crotch as he groaned.

“N-No, wait… wait!” He mumbled before finally realizing just what she was doing. “Wait!”

He sat up, causing her to take a few steps back.

“It’s me, Cullen! Do-Don’t you remember me?” He asked, his eyes full of genuine confusion and sorrow.

“Is this some sort of joke?” She asked as she raised her phone to her ear. Turning her attention to the voice on the other end of the line she said, “Yes, I’m outside of the “The Grand Game” game store on Laroi and Ghilain and this crazy dude just came out of nowhere and kissed me!!”

“You don’t need to bring the templars into this!” Cullen said, pushing himself up. “I’m sorry, I-”

The glare Atheva shot him was enough. He turned and ran down the street.

“Well, he just ran. But he was a white human male with blonde hair, brown eyes, a scar on his mouth, and he had on a red hoodie and some jeans. Yes. Yes…”

She could not believe this. First being eaten by a dragon, then being attacked by a crazy man on the streets. Disgusting. Val Royeaux was going down the drain!

[lcgacyofages-a]

🗣+ my first thought was Dazbo and Aurora

Send me 🗣+ the names of 2 muses on the blog, and there will be a random conversation written involving them. | ACCEPTING

tagging @chantcftrials too

Everything was going how Sorin had planned it. There were some finer points, though, that needed work. Something Dazbo was more adept at handling than his older brother. All Dazbo had to work out was how to get into the vault to get Aurora’s phylactery.

He left the lecture room, having finished another drab magical debate with old mages who thought they knew better than a young man’s ridiculous theories on magic which went against the typical understanding. That was the problem with the Circle; everyone thought within a Circle, not outside of it and did little to study other techniques (such as the Dalish or Rivaini), viewing it as inferior.

Dazbo glanced up, seeing Aurora headed down the hall towards the library. What she didn’t notice, though, was how a templar’s gaze followed her and it wasn’t a gaze of suspicion. Oh no. Dazbo couldn’t help the amused grin come to his features as he examined the curly haired templar then moved to catch up with Aurora, watching how quick the boy diverted his gaze when he realized someone else was in the hall.

“Aurora!” Dazbo called, causing her to turn. She was young, freckles dusting her cheeks, with wide, bright blue eyes which held a softness to them. While she still had some growing to do, she was pretty, not striking like Zoria seemed to be with others. But it seemed she had struck someone.

Dazbo moved and put an arm around her shoulder, continuing down the corridor with an easy gait.

“So, who’s tall, blond, and curly?” He jested lightly, keeping his voice low so the subject wouldn’t realize he was being discussed. Dazbo watched as Aurora’s eyes widened, a pink hue coming to her cheeks. She glanced behind them then back at Dazbo, opening her mouth to respond then closing it, rethinking her words. Always the cautious little one.

“He, well, he’s one of the templars, obviously.”

Not so smooth, baby sister.

“And his name?”

“Cullen.” She kept his name straight and to the point, almost too much so. Dazbo raised his brows, a smirk coming to his features.

“And how often do you and Cully talk?”

“His name is Cullen and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ah, her cheeks were getting redder. This was good. “We talk in passing but...” She held the tome closer to her chest, looking down. “But that’s it.”

“That’s it? There seems to be more, baby sister.” He needed more information.

“Dazbo, I don’t know...We don’t really...Know each other, so I don’t know why you’re asking such personal questions.”

“Because I’m your annoying older brother, separated or not. It’s my job.” That got a small, amused laugh out of her. He decided to continue. “So. Do tell. I’ll be gone soon and I do want to know more about you and Zoria, after all. We’re family.”

She seemed to consider this, and finally turned to face him as they rounded a corner, leaving Cullen to guard that section of the corridor alone.

“It’s...It’s silly,” Aurora began, looking to the side. “I’ll admit it, I have...I’m well...”

“You have a crush on him,” Dazbo finished, and the remark caused her face to go bright red and she covered her face with the tome.

“Yes.”

“So have you two...?”

“No!” Aurora nearly shouted, pulling the book down to look at Dazbo in shock. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide as she realized how loud she had been. When she realized no one was coming, she let out a breath. “No, of course not. It wouldn’t...It wouldn’t be appropriate! Also...He doesn’t like me.”

“Doesn’t like you?” The disbelief in his voice caused Aurora to scowl.

“He likes Zoria.” With that, she turned and continued on her way, Dazbo standing confounded in the hall.

Well, safe to say this just got even more interesting. Why wasn’t the Antivan Circle this interesting?

[kaoruyogi]

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 21)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 21: Nerves of Shit

A person might have been persuaded to believe that when the Inquisition defeated Corypheus, there would be less work. This person might have been persuaded by those around them, or they might have persuaded themselves. This person would never really know who had been quite so convincing.

Belle might have been this person. She’d been certain that there would be less work dropped onto her desk in the month following Corypheus’s defeat. If anything, she thought the work load might be about the same. It might break even, at best. Never in her wildest speculations did she imagine that her workload would nearly double.

Since Max had returned victorious from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, requests and demands from the Thedosian nobility began flooding into Belle’s office, piling higher and higher every day. And she only got half of them. Nobles from Rivain to Tevinter to the Anderfells began pressing the Inquisition for its involvement or abstention in matters to the north, and every arranged marriage on the entire continent seemed to require some official decree or sanction to sustain its validity. So much work hit Belle’s desk that it was becoming difficult to see even an inch of the dark wood grain that held it all up.

Belle was not the only one for whom the work continued to multiply. Max was still needed all over Orlais and Ferelden, as rifts continued to open and darkspawn began popping up in both expected and unexpected places. Belle never really garnered a full understanding of darkspawn, only the gist that they were unnatural and bad, like sentient zombies. Within several weeks of his victory, Max was already on his way to someplace called “the Deep Roads” to help investigate the cause of a number of unusual earthquakes. He wasn’t a geologist, and he didn’t even know what tectonic plates were—not that Belle was such an expert, but, having lived in Southern California her entire life, she knew a thing or two—so she couldn’t understand why he, of all people, just had to be there.

Leliana had been elected Divine, which Belle surmised was the Thedosian pope, but she still had her fingers in every kind of pie under the sun while her transition was underway. When it came to shifts in social issues, mysterious deaths, or colossal religious reform, one needed look no further for a source than Leliana, or Divine Victoria, as she was to be called. Josephine was just as busy as Belle, dealing with the other half of the deluge of requests and demands. Cassandra embarked on a furious letter-writing campaign to rebuild her order of not-Templars-but-kind-of, the Seekers of Truth. Sera flitted in and out of Skyhold like a devious hummingbird with all her Red Jenny business, occasionally dragging Dagna along with her. Varric turned down bi-weekly requests to return to Kirkwall, and from what little Belle knew of the place, she couldn’t blame him. Cullen went to Edgehall to help the locals establish a new city guard in the wake of a massive pseudo-political upheaval.

The Arl of Edgehall had died, thereafter leaving several interested parties to engage in about ten or twelve years’ worth of infighting and shenanigans that left the Edgelhall Arling without a clear Arl. Hundreds of people died, walls rose and fell, and orphans were misappropriated. In the end, all it took to settle the region was a little elbow grease from Belle, Josie, and Leliana and a series of witty, dad-joke-filled missives to and from King Alistair. A new Arl was appointed with deference to work done to aid Ferelden and the Inquisition, and everyone seemed satisfied with the choice.

Cullen only agreed to help set up the city guard in person after Max did everything short of issuing a signed order. It should have been done by the locals, Cullen contended in his protests. They understood the needs of the people. But Max was dead set on presenting support from the Inquisition after all the organization had done to stabilize the Arling. Cullen begged Belle to accompany him before he left, and he made some good points in his pleas. There was still a little unrest in Edgehall, and it would serve everyone’s interests to have an attaché from the Inquisition visit with the new Arl while Cullen helped with the guard. Belle’s justification for staying was stronger. She had too much work to do in Skyhold. A heavy workload was Cullen’s kryptonite, his opposing element. It never failed to snuff out his resistance in a dispute.

He went to Edgehall without her, dragging his metaphorical feet the whole way. He planned to stay for ten days, though Belle persuaded him that he could stay longer if the new Guard Captain needed help after that.

Belle hadn’t convinced him to go because she wanted him gone. She wanted him near her, but she knew beyond her own desires that he needed to go for the good of the Inquisition and the people of Edgehall. They deserved a city guard trained by the best. Cullen was the best. When he left she smiled and waved him out of the portcullis, miserable as she watched him take a piece of her away. Her heart in his saddlebag. He wrote every evening so she would wake up to his letters, and she wrote every morning so he could fall asleep with hers. It was sweet and disgusting, according to Cassandra and Dorian.

Adding to Belle’s daily misery, on top of the crushing workload and the faraway boyf—partn—Cullen, her MP3 player’s battery finally gave out. It died four days after Cullen left, and Belle panicked. On a strange and silly kind of instinct, she rummaged through the months-untouched luggage encapsulating her former life, seeking her charger. School House Rock and Little Mermaid graphic tees and pair upon pair of yoga pants and denim jeans flew around the room amid her frenzy. Her charger was nowhere to be found. Not only was the micro USB cord missing, but every cord she’d packed seemed to have grown legs and meandered off. Her laptop power brick and cables were missing. Every wall and cigarette lighter plug was gone. Every tiny micro USB or USB-C cable and every miniscule adapter was lost. Belle crumpled and cried that morning. She cried for too long over the deprivation of menial things she could no longer use and could no longer have used. She returned to her duties after a brief eternity, puffy-eyed and lonely, and her paperwork swallowed her for another four days.

She was reading over the fiftieth or hundredth or seventeen billionth marriage contract to cross her desk when her door creaked open. She’d lost track of the time, and a rumble of her stomach led her to believe that someone might have brought her lunch. She flicked a glance at the door with a modicum of hope lifting her spirits only to see Jim standing in the opening. His bland face wore a bland expression of bland trepidation, and Belle’s shoulders drooped. She had come to expect nothing of import from the scout, and he had always delivered.

“Leave whatever it is right here,” said Belle as she placed an absent hand on the lowest pile of papers. Her incoming and outgoing document stacks stood in mismatched heaps in jarring favor of the former.

As she resumed her writing, Jim said something that she assumed was inconsequential, until “Rutherford” and “here” interspersed with the rest of his nothing words. She perked up at Cullen’s surname, though it was unlike Jim to refer to him in such a way.

“He’s back?” Belle set down her quill pen and flexed her hand. She ran her thumb over the groove on the last knuckle of her ring finger in a futile attempt to smooth it away. “He didn’t say anything about coming back early.”

“N-No, my lady. I said that the Rutherfords are here. In the courtyard.”

“Rutherfords?” She overenunciated the S to the point that it sounded like a series of Zs. “Plural?”

“Yes, ma’am. The Rutherfords are here. Your brother is greeting them, since he and his men were training in the courtyard when they arrived.”

“What?” The word came out long, low, and dumb. Jim fidgeted in the doorway. “Rutherfordzzz?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Belle’s expression dipped between perplexed and worried as she stood. She walked toward Jim, knowing she could see most of the courtyard from a spot on the battlements behind him. He opened his mouth, but a flippant wave of her hand and a vague shush shut it for him. Her fingers came to rest in star shapes in a low, rough crenellation.

In the courtyard, someone stood in the way only a twenty-three-year-old, too smart for his own good or anyone else’s, easy breezy brother of hers could stand. Across from him milled a sea of golden blonde curls in varying lengths and styles in front of a two-horse wagon. Two women and a man, cloaked and beleaguered, smiled as they opened and closed their mouths at Spencer. The shorter of the women turned to a man with dark hair and the two miniature humans tucked at his sides. The man reached over to clasp arms with Spencer. Another miniature human, bigger than the other two, emerged from the golden blonde sea with a mop of curls to match his full-sized counterparts.

Belle knew their names without hearing the introductions underway below. The tallest of them was Branson, Cullen’s younger brother. From this distance, they could have been the same man. The miniature human beside him was his son, Alden, born of a mother who died in the days following his birth. The tallest woman was Cullen’s youngest sister, Rosalie. She beamed, making wide gestures at the grandiosity of Skyhold all around her. Then there was Cullen’s older sister, Mia. She smiled a polite and tepid smile, though her head swung about from time to time. Her husband, Marcus, clutched their son, Owen, who had dark hair to match his father’s. Marcus also restrained their daughter, Dawn, by her tiny hand while she attempted to run off to explore, as four-year-old little girls were wont to do.

“Shit,” said Belle under her breath. She marched back into her office, fussing with her hair. “Fuck.” She fussed with her clothes, tugging and smoothing away imagined wrinkles until the garment no longer held its natural shape. “Oh my God. Shit.” She fussed with her neck, digging her ugly, naked nails into the flesh above her high collar while she tried to think of a way out of the inevitable situation into which she was about to be forced.

“M-My lady?”

“Fuck!” She jerked. She’d forgotten Jim. There he stood, staring at the nervous wreck of a woman she’d become in less than a two minute span of silence. Her nerves of steel had gone to shit. Nerves of shit.

“He’s not here,” she said. “They’re here, and he’s not here. I don’t know them. I don’t know if they know about me. What the fuck, dude?” Her voice went whiny, and she stamped her feet. She hated herself in these states of peevish fretfulness. “I’m so bad with siblings. I’m great with parents because, well, I mean, hello? Shit. I-I’m halfway to smart and I don’t have any crazy piercings or anything, and, like, how much more can you hope for at first sight, right? But I’m, like, never as cool as the siblings. They always think I’m a nerd. Big ol’ dork. Shit! And I’m dressed all weird…” She swept her outstretched hands over herself in demonstration. “But I look okay today, right? I look okay?”

“You look l-lovely, ma’am.” The sweat on Jim’s palms became obvious with the manner in which he opened and closed his gloved hands in front of him.

“Thank you. I don’t know why I’m asking you. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. I mean, I should just go down there, right? Just go down. Just, like, introduce myself, right? Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting for another unnecessary word from her accidental sounding board, Belle exited her office through the door she used to get to the kitchen. Cartoon tires screeched in her ears when she stopped a few feet from her tower and pivoted to run back inside. She tore a piece of parchment and set to scribbling.

I know what I said. Come home NOW. Family’s here.

Belle rolled the paper up with the flat of her hand against the desk. She handed the small tube she’d made to Jim, who still stood dumbfounded in her doorway. “Get this to the Commander, ASAP.” She said it like she always said it. Ey-sap. Again, she made for the courtyard. Quiet stretched its vacuous fingers from where she left Jim. “That means now. I don’t hear your fucking feet moving.”

“Ah! R-Right away my lady!” His shuffling feet left a momentary respite in their wake. Cullen would be home soon. He would be there with his family, and he would sing Belle’s praises to his siblings, and they wouldn’t think she was a big ol’ dork.

Nerves and hunger mixed in her stomach, forming noisy butterflies to nauseate her. She had a terrible look on her face while she half-trudged toward Cullen’s family. She thought of all the things she should say, all the things she shouldn’t day, and all the things she didn’t understand. She settled on a simple greeting and hoped the milieu would drum up appropriate topics of conversation.

Belle was not an inconspicuous person. Red hair and a wardrobe composed of bright colors made her less than subtle. She could not sneak up on people from anywhere in their line of sight. It came as no surprise when the Rutherfords spied her coming from halfway across the courtyard. They watched her with furtive glances, still giving their halfhearted attention to whatever Spencer was saying to kill time.

Once they deemed Belle close enough, Rosalie was the first to break with social protocol. She turned her full gaze and her full body toward Belle. Belle smiled, casual as she was able, and waved. “Hi. I’m—”

“Belle!” Rosalie almost shrieked. She squealed as she ran the few short steps toward Belle with her arms outstretched. Belle grunted at the impact of their bodies, and she laughed out of an uneasy blend of amusement and compulsion.

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” said Rosalie, squeezing Belle’s body in a vicelike grip too firm for someone her size. “Oh, I’m so happy! Oh!” Rosalie released Belle to hold them apart at arm’s length. “You are Belle, right? I would feel so terribly stupid if you weren’t Belle. It’s just you have red hair and I could only assume—Oh, but the Nightingale—the new Divine—has red hair too, doesn’t she? Are you the Nightingale? The Divine? Oh dear, I—”

Belle laughed again, this time out of relief. “I’m Belle. You had it right the first time, don’t worry.”

Rosalie squealed again and bounced, sending her long blonde curls into the air for a split second before she wrapped Belle up once more. “Ah, Belle! It is you! Thank the Maker!” Rosalie did not sound like her brother. Her dialect, if Belle had to place it, sounded more like Sera’s.

“It’s very nice to meet you, too. You must be Rosalie, right?”

The youngest Rutherford sibling pulled away again, aghast. “Oh no, I forgot to introduce myself. Ohhh…” She fretted and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Yes. Rosalie Rutherford.” She released Belle altogether to curtsey. She took Belle’s hand in the way someone must have told her women of high society take other women’s hands. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Dolan.”

Belle curtseyed in answer, a gesticulation she’d never liked much. The practice of appearing both benevolent and unyielding was made exponentially more difficult by bending. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rutherford.”

Rosalie giggled and blushed. Though she and Cullen shared a nose and some of their expressive features, she looked most like him when she blushed. Her eyes were blue, and the rest of her face bore a delicacy foreign to the other Rutherfords. “I’m about as far from a lady as a woman can get. Nowhere near your stature. But thank you.”

It was all Belle could do not to guffaw when the young woman mentioned stature. Everything Belle had was made up to suit the needs of the Inquisition. Leliana’s suggestion that Belle’s background be left vague enough for gossip to spread was adopted without argument. Rumors flew about her being the bastard daughter of King Maric, half-sister to King Alistair. Some people assumed she was the last child of a noble house in the Free Marches, adopted by a new family to keep her safe from the murderous intent of the unknown assailant still at large in Thedas. The Inquisition did nothing to quiet this scuttlebutt, and not even the drunkest noble would forget his manners enough to ask.

Rosalie’s blue eyes widened. “Oh!” She turned and waved behind her, motioning for the rest of the family to join them. “This is my brother, Branson,” she said.

Branson leaned forward, took Belle’s hand, and kissed her knuckles. Belle pressed her lips together to stop the amalgam of emotions from flying out of her face. He also had blue eyes, and they watched her as he stood. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Dolan.” His voice was like Cullen’s, but not like Cullen’s. The pitch and cadence were different, and he had the same dialect as Rosalie.

Branson ushered his son forward. There might as well have been neon lights flashing over the kid’s head, buzzing and screaming their proclamation. This was what Cullen looked like when he was nine years old.

“This is my son, Alden,” said Branson.

Alden had an endearing confidence about him. Swagger. He mimicked his father, taking up Belle’s hand and kissing it. “Pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He bowed too deep, wobbling a little to keep his feet beneath him.

Belle bit back a grin and gave him an exaggerated bow in return. “I’m very pleased to meet you, too, Ser Alden.” The boy snorted. “And you, Branson.” The father smirked. Belle looked anywhere but at that smirk.

“This is our sister, Mia,” said Rosalie.

Mia stepped to the forefront, the matriarch of all that remained of the Rutherford family. Her married surname was Welles, but her face and build ensured she could never be mistaken for anyone but a Rutherford. Despite being shorter than Rosalie, Mia was by no means a short woman. Her hair hung behind her in a braid that peeked out from behind her cloak when she curtseyed. The movement was not a practiced one. Mia held none of the puffery or bluster displayed by her siblings. She had a fire and a humor in her chestnut eyes and a boldness in her carriage that communicated to anyone looking at her that she had seen what the world had to provide to people in her position, and she was undaunted.

“I’m glad to finally meet the woman who’s stolen my brother’s heart away,” said Mia in a voice more robust than her sister’s. She had a coyness in her grin that set Belle at ease by a small margin. She swept Belle into a gentler hug than Rosalie had provided.

“I’m thrilled to meet the sister that helped shape the man whose heart I may or may not have stolen away,” said Belle. The two women shared a short laugh, and Mia backed away.

“This is my husband, Marcus.” Marcus shook Belle’s hand, and they exchanged pleasantries. “And these are my children, Owen and Dawn.”

Owen had his father’s hair and his mother’s nose. That Rutherford nose. It unified the family, leaving Marcus looking a bit out of place. The boy took her hand and bowed a little. Belle appreciated the gesture from the shyest of the young cousins.

Dawn, every inch of her the picture of her namesake, tottered up to Belle. She looked back at her father for approval. When he nodded, she said in the smallest caricature of a little girl’s voice, “It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to be friends?”

Belle melted. She let the flow of her newly liquid body drop her into a crouch, as close to eyelevel as she could get to the sweet girl. She put a hand on her chest in an embellished gesture of shock. “Friends? You want to be my friend? Me?” Dawn nodded. “Thank you! Let’s be best friends, okay?”

Dawn giggled like a golden windchime before slamming back into her father’s leg to grip it tight. Belle stood. “You’ve all met my brother, Knight-Captain Spencer Dolan.” Spencer thumped a fist on his chest and bowed, wide smile displaying his orthodontically perfect teeth. Belle remembered that smile studded with silver braces and lime green rubber bands, somehow still charming.

“Yes,” said Rosalie. A timid and predatory grin took hold of her expression, all too familiar on the faces of people looking at Spencer. “We’ve had the pleasure.”

Belle rolled her eyes to herself. “He told you that Cullen’s not here, then?”

“Yup,” said Spencer. “I told them he’s in Edgehall on Inquisition business. I also told them I’d be happy to keep them company until he gets back.” He pointed his smile at Rosalie.

Belle rolled her eyes at him then. “Thanks a heap. I just wrote to him before I came down, and he should be back sometime tomorrow. I’m sure you’re all exhausted and probably about as hungry as I am right now. If it’s okay with you, I can have someone get your things and stable your horses, and I can take you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?” asked Mia. She overenunciated the S to the point that it sounded like a series of Zs, and Belle smiled.

“Yes.”

*****

“This is too grand,” said Mia, neck craned as her eyes fluttered over the intricate details of the room Belle chose for her and her husband. A Bann vacated only days before, and it was rather grand, indeed. Belle placed Branson and Rosalie in somewhat smaller rooms nearby, and they seemed happy enough for the space.

“It’s just grand enough, in my opinion,” said Belle. “You came a long way, and you’re on vacation.” She sang the final word, coupling the impromptu tune with her vacation hands—loose cha-cha fists swung in time with a couple awkward bobs of her head. Marcus snorted, and Mia looked at her like she was nuts. Owen had already taken a seat by the massive window and opened a tired book, and Dawn ran in itty bitty circles over the round rug in front of the fireplace.

Belle began to second guess her impulse to give the Rutherfords the finest the Inquisition had to offer. She’d done something like this before, and she watched an entire family shift its estimation of her from sweet to snobby. Buying a block of rooms in Las Vegas, a place Belle abhorred for nearly every reason people loved it, so her boyfriend’s family would be happy had backfired. They didn’t understand the gesture or her reason for making it. It wasn’t meant to show them that she had so much money or so much privilege that she could do something extravagant, but to show that she was willing to spend so much or use her pull to make them feel special.

“We can’t accept such generosity,” said Mia, too serious for Belle’s comfort.

“Well, I-I could only put you in so many places, and I won’t have you sleeping in the servants’ quarters or the barracks. I just—I meant no offense. I just wanted to show you how important it is to me that you feel comfortable with us. You came a long way, and you’re Cullen’s family. Hence—” Belle put her hands up, helpless against her own logic. “Grand.”

“But we don’t want special treatment. If this room is needed—if we’re displacing someone of greater importance, that is—we’d be happy to sleep elsewhere.”

“No, no, no. You’re not displacing anyone. And if you were, well, frankly, most of these people could stand to be taken down a peg or two. In any case, you are important. You’re very important, and I want you to be as comfortable as I can help you be while you’re in our home, as big and weird as that sounds. I won’t force you to stay in this room, but I’d be grateful if you would.”

“I like it in here,” said Owen. His voice was soft, but his tone was firm. Hallmarks of a boy who was an introvert not because he disliked people or because they made him nervous, but because he believed nothing should be said when it didn’t need to be said. His uncle hadn’t had a hand in raising him, but he’d turned out a bit like the man anyway.

Marcus cleared his throat. “We’d be delighted to oblige, Lady Dolan.” He gave her a cheeky bow. Belle smiled.

“You’re sure?”

“We are.” Marcus said it. Mia didn’t look it.

“Awesome. And please call me Belle. I still have a bit of work left to finish for the day. Do you mind if I send someone up with some lunch for you when I stop off in the kitchen?”

“Send someone up?” asked Mia. The couple glanced at each other.

“Yeah.” Belle was already walking out of the room, her urge to flee betraying itself in her harried strides. “Yeah, I’ll just have someone bring something up in a couple minutes. I’ll let you get settled for a little while, but I’ll be back for dinner. Okay? I’ll see you in a bit.” The door closed behind her, and her gut fell into her feet.

She fucked it up. Fucked it all up. She was certain as she walked down to the kitchen to make a sandwich and have food sent to Cullen’s siblings that she’d done everything she could to fuck it all up. They hated her. They had to. She was a spaz and a half. Who could abide a spaz and a half, especially a spaz and a half that was shtuping their estranged brother? No one in their right mind, that was who.

Belle stewed in her perceived failure for the rest of the day. It made her work more tedious, it made her snippier with scouts and messengers, and it made her bowls irritable. She still felt green when she left her tower to meet the siblings for dinner. What a feather it would be in the cap of her horrid first impression if she shat herself right there at the table.

Spencer had already made his ass right at home next to Rosalie by the time Belle arrived. Belle glared at her brother as she sat, and he flared his nostrils at her in a silent wisecrack. Branson and Marcus stood when Belle moved toward the table, and sat when she sat. She did her best not to allow her queasiness to manifest on her face as dinner was served. She needed everyone to enjoy the roasted goose, not think she was trying to poison them all with fetid fowl. In their mercy, the Rutherfords ate it. They heaped meat and vegetables onto their plates and thanked Belle and the Maker for the food. Belle smiled and watched, and she took a bite or two while everyone fell into conversation.

The group’s discussion flowed easily after the first few tense moments. The topics were perfunctory, filled with surface information most of them already knew about one another. Belle and Spencer bounced off each other, as they had always done. Branson, much to Belle’s surprise, kept pace with them, matching wit for wit at every opportunity. Rosalie tittered and giggled through it all, dropping in a few key words in a few key moments. Spencer watched her too much, and Belle kicked him under the table. Her swinging feet only served to embolden her brother, however, and every time she connected, he smiled broader and charmed the youngest Miss Rutherford harder. Belle wasn’t concerned with Rosalie’s virtue. She could handle herself from what Belle knew of her. Belle was more concerned with what might happen if Cullen caught wind of their flirtations.

Across the table, Marcus and the children laughed and ate, participating in the chatter and rabble when they saw fit. Belle knew the least about Marcus at the beginning of the evening, and she knew the most about him by the end of it. He had been a member of South Reach’s city guard when the Rutherfords fled there from Honnleath. He became a farmer only after Mia agreed to marry him, which she refused to do for years because she believed her siblings were too young. Meanwhile, Branson wedded and bedded another young woman in secret, and she was pregnant within a matter of months. Marcus was quite animated when he told the story of Mia throwing up her hands and saying, “Fine, I suppose I can finally marry you,” much to the delight of her affectionate sister. Everyone at the table laughed.

Except Mia. Belle watched throughout the meal, and Mia never crossed over from courteous to jovial. She wore a lukewarm smile for two hours. She picked at her food, moving it around the plate like a child trying to convince her mother that, yes, she had eaten her broccoli. No one else seemed to notice, or no one said anything. Belle, situationally self-absorbed as she was, wondered if she had done something wrong. Maybe it was their greeting, or maybe it was the room. Maybe Mia hated goose and was too polite to say anything. Whatever the reason for Mia’s reticence, it plucked at Belle’s anxiety until she couldn’t eat either. It was all she could do not to leap up and flee the table to wreck the communal privies.

The party parted with cordial farewells. Belle prayed to God and whoever else might be listening that Cullen could repair whatever she had done to offend Mia. She returned to her tower dejected and ill, despite the seeming success of the dinner. She set about the work she’d shirked to meet the siblings and dine with them, and she worked until the growling in her gut shifted from sickly to hungry and a headache began to blossom in her right temple. It was late enough that the cooks and kitchen workers would be gone for the night, so she made her way across the battlements and down the stone steps. The brisk night air cooled her airways with each breath, and the cold splintered and spread to her nerve endings to make her shiver once. She enjoyed the sensation. It made her feel tangible.

A small gasp startled her when she opened the kitchen door. She jumped, bringing one hand to her chest and bracing the other on the table beside her to keep from falling. Mia hovered over a semi round loaf of bread with a large knife sticking out of it. One of her hands sat on her chest, the other braced against the table. The two women stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide and bodies mirrored, until they let out a cumulative breath.

“I’m sorry,” they said, their voices overlapping.

“I’m sorry,” Mia said again. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I know I shouldn’t be here, I only—I can leave if—”

“No, no! Please stay. I just came down to do what it looks like you’re doing. Do you mind if I have a slice?”

“Of course not. It’s the Inquisition’s bread, after all.”

Mia cut the loaf and handed a piece to Belle before taking one for herself. They bit into the dark and doughy bread in unison, each chewing in silence. Belle distracted herself with the flavors rolling over her tongue and with thoughts of why she’d never liked pumpernickel before coming to Thedas.

“I have trouble eating food I didn’t have at least a hand in making,” said Mia. “I’m not accustomed to being served.”

Belle hadn’t considered that. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t considered much in the way of how Mia must have felt. She and her husband, children, brother, sister, and nephew had all made the journey from South Reach to Skyhold with the probable intent of seeing Cullen. They’d left their lives that were so different from Belle’s only to be greeted by a stranger upon their arrival and left alone in strange rooms that must have been alien when compared to the repose of their family home. Belle knew the feeling too well, and her guilt weighed heavier for it.

“I had trouble eating when I first got here, too,” said Belle. “It took a while for me to get used to it.”

“But I’d imagine you’re well accustomed to eating food prepared by other people. I feel silly even bringing it up.”

Belle recalled four star restaurants, then she recalled McDonald’s. “Not in the way you’d think. Don’t feel silly, though. I feel terrible for not even thinking about it. That was really thoughtless and ignorant of me. I apologize.”

“Oh no, don’t feel bad. It’s only—” Mia paused for a long while. She looked at the floor as if the words she’d thought to say had fallen onto the smooth cobble. “You know, I thought I had a good idea when I told everyone we should come and surprise Cullen. It’s been so many years since we’ve seen him, and he was finally writing more, and the Inquisition did so much to keep us safe. Perish the thought that he might not have wanted to see us or, Maker forbid, that he might actually be away when we arrived. Such is the nature of surprises, I suppose. Surprises and my silly, stubborn brother.”

“I know he would have wanted to be here. He loves you all very much. He’s been talking about when we might have time to come and visit you.”

Mia smiled. “He loves you too, you know. He writes about you more than he writes about himself sometimes. I suppose that’s why Rosalie thought she knew you so well.”

“She probably does.” Belle laughed, and Mia’s smile widened. For the first time since they’d met, peace settled over them. “I should have been more hospitable when you arrived. It’s just I’ve been overloaded with work since Max—I mean the Inquisitor killed Corypheus. That and I was terrified none of you would like me without Cullen here to sort of soften the blow of…well, me, I guess.”

“Nonsense.” Mia spoke with her mouth full before shuffling some of the chewed bread to the side. “You’ve been very hospitable. You’ve already fed us twice. Three times.” She held up what was left of her slice of bread. “And you gave us nicer rooms than we ever thought we’d see in our entire lives. The room you put us in is nearly the size of our entire house! It’s a bit daunting, honestly. How does one person take up all that space?”

“I think their egos take up most of the space.”

Mia chuckled. It was a pleasant sound that reminded Belle of Cullen’s laugh. Three soft chuckles, lined up and spread out. “I can only imagine. But I appreciate everything you’ve done. For us and for my brother. He sounds different in his letters now than he did a year ago. Not that he was writing much a year ago. I’ve had to search halfway across Thedas for that man more than once, but this is the first time in years I’ve felt like I won’t have to do that again.”

“I’m really glad to hear you say that,” said Belle.

“So am I.”

They left the kitchen with fond good nights uttered between them. Belle’s fears, although still heightened and vibrant with every thought of every possible outcome of the rest of the visit, began to dissolve. By the time she shed her clothes and laid down for the night, she almost looked forward to the following day. Cullen would come home, and she would see the joy on his face when he reunited with his siblings and met his niece and nephews. Belle thought of all their faces, picturing them in the soft light of a Hallmark world or a holiday commercial for something other than Lexus SUVs topped with ungainly bows. They would share stories and be a family, and she would see every kind of love that Cullen had to offer. It would be beautiful.

Then Cullen would kill Spencer.

*****

[talesfromthefade]

Kandersgiving 2017

Day Two: First Kiss

@teamblueandangry

“It’s a gilded cage, how can you not see that,” the younger boy huffs, dragging a frustrated hand through his long strawberry blonde hair.

“Anders,” Karl tries patiently in the same calm as anything voice he always uses, which only seems to rankle the other boy still further.

“You come when you’re called. They tell you to jump, you ask how high, and what does it get you? A pat on the back? Extra library and research privileges? You’re still stuck here, living and dying in this tower,” Anders continues, pacing in front of the bed where Karl sits listening, watching, waiting for him to wind down a little, for an opening. “Is that really what you want? Don’t you ever dream of anything else? Of something more? Of getting out of here,” he asks, shaking his head, before finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside his mentor to stare blankly up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“I’ve never known anything else,” Karl admits softly, carefully sliding to lie down across the mattress beside Anders. “Nothing I can remember, at least. I was only four when they brought me here.”

Anders falls quiet for a moment, and in the otherwise empty and silent dormitory, listens to the steady breaths of the mage beside him, shifts onto his side to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, and slowly allows his own to match his pace.

“I’m sorry.”

Karl shakes his head. It’s not Anders fault, besides he’s not sure whether that being the case is such a bad thing: to have no recollection of what was lost, what might have been, the way Anders does. It’s fortunate the First Enchanter is so patient and has such a soft spot for the younger mage. There’s not many that could have made as many attempts to break out without being forced to take the brand.

“You’ve not tried to run away for months now,” Karl muses thoughtfully, brow furrowing a little at the realization.

“Everyone knows Irving told you to take me under your wing. I’m not giving Greagior or the rest of them a reason to come after you when I’m gone.”

It’s a thoughtful sentiment. Probably even a sincere one, Karl thinks. Still, he can’t help but feel there’s something more, another reason for the lack of any recent escape attempts Anders isn’t saying. Or perhaps this is simply wishful thinking, chancing a sideways glance at the handsome boy beside him.

“What do you want, Anders,” Karl muses thoughtfully, rolling over, blue eyes searching the amber ones that meet his. “What are you running towards when you escape? What do you dream about?”

“I want to be free,” Anders replies plaintively. “Free to, I don’t know… “ he shrugs frustratedly. “No. That’s not true. All I want is a pretty girl. A decent meal. The right to shoot lightning at fools,” he corrects himself, grinning at little at the sheer ridiculousness of his last request. “I just want to live, to choose a life for myself the way anyone else can.”

“Templars, the Chantry, they’ve taught everyone to fear us. Nobody even questions it anymore,” Anders bitterly. “They slap a collar on anyone with even a hint of magical ability. We are all Maleficarum and Abominations waiting to happen. But we’re not. Not all of us. You would never– but you’re just as trapped here as the rest of us,” the blonde whispers as sorrowful amber eyes brim with unshed tears.

“Marina is pretty.”

“What,” Anders ejaculates, utterly bewildered.

“Apprentice Amell is a pretty young woman,” Karl offers softly, no longer daring to look at the other boy.

“I- No. I mean, yes, she is, but… that would just be strange. I mean, she’s a friend. She’s more like a- a sister,” the blonde protests. “That’s really what you got out of all of that,” Anders manages, shaking his head. “That I need fixing up with someone?”

“Do you?”

“No! And, anyway, even if I did, I could- I can manage it just fine, myself.” Karl nods, though Anders doesn’t look much comforted by the gesture.

“I just don’t see how I can change or fix any of the rest of it,” he admits ruefully.

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I know,” Karl nods again. “I would, though,” he confesses softly, finally dragging his eyes back up to meet Anders’, which suddenly feel as though they pierce right through him, see everything he’s tried so hard for so long to keep contained, hidden, even from himself. The things he dreams of, the ‘something more’ he longs for… or, more accurately, someone. “You deserve freedom, happiness,” he continues, forcing himself to continue to meet those passionately fiery and rapidly widening amber eyes. “Love,” he whispers, his throat seems to constrict, tongue swelling and threatening to tie over the word.

“You would give me that,” Anders whispers.

“Anders,” Karl whispers, swallowing. “I would give you the world, were it within my power to.”

“I don’t want the world.”

“Of course,” Karl nods, rolling back onto his back to stare up at the ceiling once more, doing his level best to ignore the sudden weightless feeling in the pit of his stomach and clenching in the space where his heart should be. “Just the right to shoot lightning at fools, right,” he tries, but the words are far too stiff to convincingly pass as the causal, teasing tone he’d aimed for.  Maker, but he’d known better, hadn’t he? Whatever had possessed him to think…

“Karl?”

“Yes,” he manages to choke out, letting his eyes slide closed with a silent prayer to spontaneously melt into the bed beneath him.

“I- um,” Anders stammers uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I’m not- that is… well, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a pretty girl.”

He doesn’t dare open his eyes. He’s not even sure at this point that he’s breathing as he struggles not to get his hopes up, heart hiccuping in spite of himself. “Oh? An ugly one would do, then,” he teases with a hollow chuckle.

“Karl.” There’s a hand on his cheek, warm and soft, a thumb wiping away a tear he’d not even realized had escaped. A rustle of the quilt and slight squeak from the frame as the other boy shifts, and Karl still hasn’t opened his eyes, but he knows, can feel Anders’ arm and its warmth where it rests propping him up as clearly as if it were an extension of himself. He swallows again, feeling his Adam's apple bob with it. “Karl,” Anders calls again, voice infinitely softer and more patient than Karl has ever had the occasion to hear him use. “Look at me? Please?”

He does. And Anders is just where he knew he would be, hovering just above him. A breath, then another pass wordlessly, blue eyes watering, longing to look away and simultaneously lacking the willpower to do so. Whatever those bright amber eyes are searching for, Anders seems to find it, suddenly breaking into a dazzling smile. Karl has only scant seconds to appreciate it before the younger boy lets the hands that had been supporting his weight go out from under him in favor of falling on top of him and crushing his lips to his. His name, a breathless whisper on Anders’ lips as they finally pull apart, has never sounded so good.

[dalishious]

3 for Varric and 2 for Iron Bull?

(Inquisitor + Companions Ask Meme)

Varric #3: “Did your Inquisitor approve of Varric’s stories? Did they read any of his books?”

Exiting Val Royeaux, Varric could tell the Inquisitor was a tad more high-strung than usual. The elf found no joy in their shopping trip, that was for sure. Varric decided to take it upon himself to give her something else to think about. “You know Inquisitor, you’re one of the few people I’ve ever met who hasn’t immediately asked me for details about Hard in Hightown.”The Inquisitor responded in turn. “Why would I, when I have never read it?”“Wait,” Varric stopped, “Seriously?”“It seems you’re not as famous as you thought, Varric,” Cassandra poked at him.“Do you just not like mysteries, or…?”“Varric,” The Inquisitor pulled her mouth back in amusement, “I am a Dalish First. I spent my time reading about magics and elven history, not works of fiction. Where would I even get such a book?”“I don’t know, you said you read The Tale of The Champion,” Varric shrugged.“Yes, our tradesmen do bring books back with them to share with the clan from time to time,” she explained. “A book detailing a heroic fight against templar oppression is very exciting.”“Well, Hard in Hightown has some excitement of its own. You see, Donnen Brennokovic of the Kirkwall Guard is chasing after the mysterious death of the Magistrate–”“No offence Varric, but a fictional story glorifying human guardsmen holds no interest to me,” She uncharacteristically interrupted him with a flat voice.“I see,” he said, as the group began walking again. “Well, to each their own.” The Inquisitor only nodded. “You could always ask more about the Tale of the Champion?”“Well, since you mentioned it, please do tell me about the Duke again.”“Right,” Varric rubbed his hands together, “So, as you know, it all started with a mysterious elven woman came out of nowhere…”

Iron Bull #2: “How did your Inquisitor react to the Chargers? Did they utilize them as allies or leave them to Bull?”

Iron Bull and his Chargers had claimed Haven’s tavern as their own that night. Their laughs, cheers, chants, and banging tankards could be heard from anywhere in the village. Amaris found the noise difficult, herself, but did her best to minimize her wincing from her table off to the side. She would have preferred to be in solitude, but at such an ungodly hour in the night, unless she wanted to curl up with a lowly candle, the tavern was the only source of strong light. The way they carried on reminded her of a rambunctious family. And yet, they were all so different.That was when one Charger in particular caught her eye. An elven woman with pale blonde hair. Krem, the Tevinter man and a few others were cheering her on as she downed a large mug of ale. She slammed her mug down and everyone threw their hands up, while the man next to her slumped forward in what must have been defeat. Just like that, she turned her head, and Amaris felt a tiny flutter from how beautiful she was. Beautiful… And Dalish. There was another Dalish elf here. Amaris threw her book down and nervously approached the woman, eager to talk to her, even if only for a moment.“Dill macaw Aneth ara, lethallan. I see you too wear the vallaslin of Dirthamen,” she greeted, referring to the bright green ink on the woman’s face.The woman looked Amaris over, and smiled. “The Herald of Andraste worships the Creators? How blasphemous,” she mused.“I am not the–Oh,” Amaris realized she was being sarcastic, “Apologies, I suppose I am so used to having to say that every five minutes.”“I imagine.” “I am Amaris of Clan Lavellan,” she extended her hand, “Of what clan do you come from?”“Boss!” Iron Bull’s booming voice came, and he soon took a seat at the stool between them. He himself was nursing a large cup of alcohol. “I see you’ve met Dalish here. She’s a mage, like you.”“Of course I’m not,” The Dalish called Dalish waved at him, using the same tone as she did previously for sarcasm.“If you are–sorry, if you were theoretically a mage, why are you not with your clan?” Amaris asked, but Iron Bull answered for her.“Dalish don’t have templars, so they can’t have too many mages in a clan at once.” Amaris was a tad annoyed; she had recently heard the same falsities from Vivienne. “Bull, that is not true. We…” But she trailed off when she saw Dalish’s face from behind him; that of anxiety. Whatever true reason she was away from her clan, it was not something she wanted to talk about. As much as Amaris wanted to correct Iron Bull, she did not want to make her fellow elf uncomfortable. “…That is, my clan, and most of the clans I know of love our mages. I am sorry to hear your clan was different, Dalish.”The blonde elf nodded, what looked to be in thanks for one thing but actually another. “Huh,” was all Bull said, and took another sip of his drink. Amaris was thankful he was clearly intoxicated, otherwise his proven to be keen Ben-Hasrath senses would have no doubt picked up on her rather poor, stumbling lie.“If you will excuse me, I think it is time I attempt some sleep,” she excused herself. “Perhaps we could talk more later, Dalish?”“Anytime, not-Herald.” Dalish winked at her, and Amaris felt her ears and cheeks grow warm. She nodded, and grabbed her book as she excited the tavern.

(I know this question was about all the Chargers, but I feel like Amaris would really connect with–and have a small crush on–Dalish in particular. Also, it’s an excuse to do some gymnastics around that BS retcon DA:I threw at us, lol.)

[icefrozendeadlyqueen]

Twisted Creed: Chapter 20 - Unwanted Company

A/N: The instrumental song was posted to youtube by Ubisoft Music UBILOUD - Music By Austin Wintory. Assassin's Creed: Syndicate.

It's call "Men Have Become Monsters". You should check it out~

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I have never felt so sure about anything in my life before. This is the reason I was given this position in the first place not to rule, but to become a voice for the people of London. I have decided to be just that without a reason before; however, now I have more than one reason to do it. The Templars will curse the day they decided to cross me. I don't take that lightly. I might fall as a woman in their little perfect world, but I am so much more than that.

I have tried time and time again to be just like them; however, even I know that children are pure. They become cruel living in this world. The Templars haven't offer London prosperity. They have offered that within their ranks, not to the people.

I have been patience more times than I can count. I have been trying to push my duties past me; however, I am a Templar and their offense can't go unpunished. I'll punish those that have done the people wrong.

A breeze hit her petite skin warning her of the change of weather. It brought her out of the racing thoughts she had. The idea that the people she swore secrecy to had stabbed her on the back. When she wasn't looking at all, the idea of being betrayed hasn't sunk in yet. Those different people with the same title, but each of them having their own purpose. She should have been more careful. She is always careful. First, their betray then second, adopting those children.

What was going through my mind? They remind me of her.

I keep forgetting not everyone is my past. She is my past.

Why can't I let it go... Family.. they are family, and they shouldn't be left behind or forgotten.

There isn't any sound as she walks. She walks without a destination with the sinking emotions. They are surfacing to her features. They look trouble much more than usual. She is never an open book; however, today seems different that any other day. Why can't she forget the racing memories? Why does London look so similar to the past? Why does it keep remembering her of what she has lost? It comes and goes without any announcement.

She stops for a short second. A deep breath for the first time in so long. Everything stop for a short moment, she takes this time to see her surroundings. London will always be a fascinating place for her. It grows with wonder and beauty. It shows so many sides of one simple coin. Both sides can't live without the other. The rich can't live without the poor while the poor can't live without the rich. Some riches are enough to live, but some others are addictive enough to kill for them.

"Lady Rosaliana" she sighs heavily listening to her name. The dried tone in which her name was pronounced makes her regret turning around. There he was laying on a wall. He tried to look appealing, but there is no way he can manage that. She bows respectfully turning back around; however, her path was cut short by another man.

Great, I have to deal with him. Yes, I know him pretty well. I haven't pay much attention to his dying attempts to capture my attention. I really am not interested in the man. He is just a man. You can find men like him everywhere. No matter the continent, no matter the time period, and no matter the time. There are always men like him spread all over the globe. Men that believes a woman is lucky to catch their eye. Honestly, I feel lucky if he leaves my sight.

She sighs heavily holding back "What's the hurry? We could chat" She rolls her eyes at the man in front of her. He is cutting her path which is very irritating. She glares up at the man speaking to her. He chuckles at her glares "A pretty face like yours, shouldn't wear a look like that" She holds her knuckles white they turn as her anger wants to come out. Even if she wants to let go, to show them what pain really feels like. She takes a deep breath to collect herself before turning back to look at him.

I would really want to crush their skull on the pavement, but then again...

that's not really ladylike, is it? If I do that now I would have to kill innocents too. I can't do such a cruel thing to them. Take a deep breath Lady Rosaliana.

A smile lingers on her lips as sweet as she could manage. Her pink lips slightly press together. She holds back the words she wishes to speak. If she flips now, there is a probability they will die. The thought crosses her minds much more than it should "What is it, Boron? I have matters to attend too. I am a very busy person as you must know" She speaks in a hurry not because they are two of them.

She wants this over and done. She can think of a hundred things to do than to be standing in front of this man. He is the last person she thought could still be in London; however, she has been getting surprised this couple of days, so she shouldn't count him or anyone else out. It bothers her that from anyone she could stumble with. It had to be Captain Boron. Why couldn't it be Lucy or the dead body of Mr. Ferris.

She knows this to be some kind of trap because the only walkway is the alleyway. All the other path are cover by men. They are probably guards that work for Boron. Rosaliana walks past the man, and to her better judgment into the alleyway. She would prefer an open space than a lonely path. She has walked many, but this is childish of Boron. If he knew that an alleyway is the perfect place for her, she will be able to kill all of them without killing innocents. She couldn't have thought of a better option. She had keep control for a long time.

It's such a shame I have to break my oath now. I promised them I wouldn't. I would keep behaving and thinking just like a Templar; however, that oath is becoming harder and harder to keep.

She stops in her tracks. She glances up to the buildings between the alleyway. They hide the atrocities that will occur in a few minutes. There are some people that should never cross me, but they aren't alive to tell the tale. Rosaliana turns around seeing Boron and his man enter the alleyway "You have ignored all my letters, Rosaliana. It's Captain Boron now. I have been promoted to Captain" he speaks of all that he has done for London. He speaks of all the words he spills on the papers. He speaks of the words and his feelings. He wants to know something that I am not sure it exist in me.

Rosaliana watches Boron with boredom in her eyes. She fixes the cloak covering her long blonde hair. She really wishes to be somewhere else. Even in a Templar meeting than this "Captain Boron" Rosaliana rolls his name sharp with enough of it to dry out an ocean. He stops walking to glanced at her "How many times have I told you? 20 or 100? I am not interested in anything you have to tell me. You are and will always be beneath me" She speaks with a tone as cold as ice "If you die today, I wouldn't weep a single tear. You are as useless and disappointing as your father" This words might have hurt much than anything I have said before.

He needed a reality check. Glad, that I let that out there without trouble. He isn't much of a man anyways.

[witchyangels]

A Day at the Tower

This is Ariel Surana (yes, she is based off Ariel from the Little Mermaid XDD) *points to first picture* She’s my latest warden, but the plot bunnies in my head tell a different tale for her... And we all know who Cullen is. 

I wrote this little thing out, a bit between Ariel and Cullen at the Circle before, you know, shit hit the fan...

Soooo, here’s the little bit I have for them... If you’re waiting for more on The Life and Times of Prince Alistair Theirin and DAO: Restart, I promise you I’m working on the, this just wouldn’t leave me alone... The plot bunnies are active X’D

So, um, yeah, here ya go X’D

A frustrated huff left the red-haired elf as she tried to reach for the book Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons, but her fingers could barely touch the edge of the shelf. A groan left her as felt her arm grow tired from the effort. Dropping her arm, she rolled her shoulder. Where's Jowan when you need him? she thought with a frustrated sigh.

Biting her lip, she took a quick peek behind her, before she pushed up the sleeves of her robes. Slipping out of her shoes she hitched up the skirt of her robe as she raised her leg.

She was getting that book one way or another! She needed it for her paper that was due just the next day! One little passage was all she needed to back up what she was writing.

Grabbing the edge of a lower shelf, she started to pull herself up. She stretched out her other hand and almost had the book in her grasp...

Until an armored hand grabbed the book off the shelf. Her mouth dropped at the sight, before a throat cleared behind her, causing her to look over her shoulder.

A blonde and curly-haired templar stood behind her with a slightly amused expression. “Um, is this what you wanted, Surana?”

A big grin came over her face as she jumped down. “Yes! Thank you, Cullen!” She reached up to take the book, only for him to hold it just out of reach, causing her to pout.

“You should have asked someone to get it for you.”

“I almost had it--”

“You could have gotten hurt.”

She rolled her teal-blue eyes. “I was fine. I do it all the time,” she stated only to receive a sigh from the young templar.

“Ariel...”

She held back a smile when he finally used her name. Why was it only when he felt like scolding her? “What? There's not always someone available to help! And I can't move those chairs to save my life.”

Cullen rubbed his forehead, looking as exasperated as ever by her behaviors. “You know there are rules--”

“Oh, relax, nothing happened.”

“This time.”

She crossed her arms as she blew her bangs out of her face in annoyance. “That was one time--”

“You were banned from the library for a week.”

“But I wasn't climbing.”

“...You made five shelves fall.”

“Okay, but no one got hurt, and there was nothing on the shelves yet... I still say that that was Senior Enchanter Sweeney's fault-- ”

A small chuckle left him before he stifled it. Ariel bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling. Ah-ha! Point one for Ariel.

Before he could say anything, she snatched the book out of his hand, stepped onto her tiptoes. Still being too short, she pulled down on his shoulder and successfully left a quick peck on his cheek, before it turned the shade of pink that she had grown used to seeing on him.

Cullen looked at her, his jaw slacked and his lips moving, trying to find words. She gave him a mischievous smile. “Thanks for getting me the book, Cullen!” she said before skipping off, leaving the poor templar blushing in her wake.

“Maker's breath...” he mumbled as he rubbed a gloved hand over his face. His hand hid the goofy smile that was spreading from cheek to cheek.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but he loved her teasing and playful nature. How he could always tell when she was up to something...

“Rutherford, there you are.”

Cullen came to attention as the Knight-Captain of the tower walked up to him. “Knight-Captain.” he saluted in greeting.

“The Knight-Commander wishes to speak to you. Come.” Cullen followed without question.

Cullen walked up to  Greagoir's desk and saluted in greeting. “You wished to see me, Knight-Commander?”

“At ease, Ruthorford.” The older templar sat at his desk, looking over documents that required his attention. He barely glanced up when Cullen moved into a more relaxed stance. “You have settled in greatly at Kinloch Hold in the past months.”

“Thank you, ser.” He felt pride at hearing those words. He had worked greatly to become a templar and to be where he was.

“You have been present for how many Harrowings since you've been here?”

“Seven, ser.”

“Ah, yes, I was thinking that was it.” Greagoir leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin in thought. “I believe it is time for you to take on a more crucial role in the next Harrowing. You are aware of Ariel Surana, correct?”

Cullen's eyes widened before he tried to cool his features. “Yes, ser.” Did Greagoir know about his infatuation with her? It was only a crush, but any sort of strong connection with the mages was greatly frowned upon.

Templars had to live by the Order and for the Order. If deep bonds were formed between the templars and mages, it could compromise them if they ever need to take down the very mage they have grown attached to.

“Good, then you know she is also a favorite of the First Enchanter,” Greagoir continued with a slightly more tensed tone. “He believes she is ready to face the Harrowing.” He stood from the desk and began pacing. “What I want from you, however, is crucial...”

He paused and turned to Cullen. “If Surana fails to pass the Harrowing... you, Cullen Rutherford, will strike the killing blow. You will stand there with your blade, ready to strike if the moment calls for it.”

Brown eyes widened before Cullen bowed his head and saluted. “Understood, ser...”

“Her Harrowing will be in three days, so prepare yourself, Rutherford. Dismissed.”

With one last salute, Cullen left for the Chantry, finding himself in need to pray...

For both Ariel and for himself...