#and varric can scale them better than anyone

[mythalism]

thinking about that new varric voiceover lore video and about the evanuris and their connection to the archdemons… the fact that all of the evanuris other than ghilly and edgar are “gone” supports this i think. we also have since seen that mural in Solas’s minrathous hideout that shows a dragon being bound in chains by elves. then the mention of “ghilan’nain’s archdemon” threw me off a bit when it first came out but i think ive made sense of it.

each evanuris has their own dragon… but can also BE their own dragon. maybe they learn the dragon form by binding a dragon? thetes a codex about it being a “form reserved for the gods”, maybe it involves absorbing a high dragon soul or something? im thinking of Solas’s dread wolf form post-inquisition described as “draconic” and “winged” and “scaled” in tevinter nights, and we can pretty safely assume it became that way after he absorbed mythal’s soul/power. we also know flemythal can BE a dragon but also has a dragon bound to her will, which she gives an inquisitor who drank from the well. if morrigan drinks, she can learn the dragon form as well, but only after defeating that dragon. we don’t know the details of how she learns it, maybe it’s some combination of the well + fighting the dragon + being flemeth blood? if someone remembers that scene better than me, please lmk because i always have my inquisitor drink so i rarely see it. there’s also the line from Mythal “a soul is not forced upon the unwilling” which is maybe relevant here? this is honestly the part we know the least about.

but in terms of the evanuris and the archdemons, we know a bit more. first, we now know only ghilly and Edgar are left. the others are “gone”. gone forever? maybe not. but they’re not in the prison, so we have to assume they got out. we also know that Mythal wanted urthemiel’s soul, and it was the reason she sent Morrigan with the warden and Alistair.

we know that blights happen when the darkspawn find an “Archdemon” underground and infect it with the blight. it then leads the darkspawn to the surface. this suggests that Archdemons are normal dragons sleeping/trapped within the deep roads until they are blighted by darkspawn. we also know that the forgotten ones were trapped in the "void" by fen'harel, and that they represented the "maligned aspect of the elven pantheon", things like "disease, terror, spite and malevolence" (lucanis lovers... this might be relevant). most people have assumed for years that the forgotten ones are the archdemons.

we also know blighted creatures can body-hop into any other blighted creature nearby, making them incredibly difficult to kill. this is why only grey wardens can kill an archdemon, because the “essence is drawn into the sacrificial grey warden, killing both” (per the wiki) but im not sure if there is any elaboration on exactly why/how? maybe origins scholars will know more but the wiki is vague. the dark ritual, however, which uses blood magic somehow cures urthemiel’s soul of the taint and allows kieran to be born untainted but containing two souls. no fucking clue how that works. lmk if anyone has thoughts LMFAO

anyway back to the evanuris. we also know now thanks to veilguard marketing that the evanuris are behind the blights and have been orchestrating the blights in some way. but then the question is how have they been doing that from their prison?

so now what im wondering is if whatever apotheosis godhood process made the evanuris into the evanuris involved binding dragon souls and learning their form in the process. this explains why the evanuris can shapeshift into dragons but also seemingly have control of several dragons (we see ghilly commanding several, only one is referred to as "her archdemon"). considering the evanuris have been clearly separated from the archdemons, and assuming the archdemons are the forgotten ones, perhaps the archdemons that the evanuris bound are the forgotten ones and the evanuris absorbed both their souls and their power? we know they fought a war and than fen'harel ended it by locking them away. but i wonder if absorbing the forgotten ones power was a goal of the evanuris, and that fen'harel stopped them by locking them both away. how the forgotten ones fit in is definitely one part im stumped on.

but im thinking that the evanuris are the old gods, at least mostly, and they spoke to the magisters sidereal and bid them to enter the black city. this then released the blight into thedas, obviously, and commanded the darkspawn (one of the gameplay vids uses this language; that ghilly is "commanding" the darkspawn) to hunt down their dragons/the archdemons/the forgotten ones, whatever the fuck they are, and when the darkspawn give the archdemons the blight, it gives the evanuris the ability to body hop into them via their blight powers. then, they've effectively escaped their prison, even if they had to leave their elven bodies behind. however, clearly some sort of power/sentience gets lost in the process, because the archdemons do not use magic the way the evanuris do. but perhaps its a price they're willing to pay for freedom and revenge?

this explains why the rest of the evanuris are gone when ghilly and edgar break free, as well as why those two still have elven bodies and and an archdemon - because they did not have to shawshank redemption their souls into a blighted void dragon/forgotten one creature in order to escape. it also explains why mythal wanted the old god baby ritual done so badly, as that would be one of her children's souls who was purified within her grandson (not that it'll matter in veilguard lol) and that she was able to get back. it also explains why solas was so upset at the warden's plan in inquisition, a plan which was given to them by corypheus. considering corypheus probably met the evanuris when he breached the black city (whether he knew it or not), and presumably learned blight magic from them (body hopping) and then wanted them to find the other archdemons "in some bizarre attempt to preempt the blight". while the wardens think finding and killing the archdemons will prevent blights, solas clearly knows that it will NOT and actually says finding them "could make everything worse". this would make sense if the act of finding them is what allows the evanuris to then possess them and break free. it also could suggest that separating the forgotten ones in the void and the evanuris in the fade was an integral part of his fade-prison-veil-creation-coup scheme. he was trying to keep them apart.

what it still does not explain is what the fuck the forgotten ones are or how they play into it, because im just extrapolating. it also doesnt explain what the fuck is going on with the void, which is relevant because that is where the darkspawn originally came from.... even though we know the blight originated in the black city with the evanuris??????? whats crazy is solas could have told us all of this and yet he insisted on being a little shit and keeping his mouth shut. anyway hope u enjoyed my yapping

[for-the-dales]

Chapter 5: Varric

Chapter 1 (Leliana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

          Varric never minded much just sitting and watching the world pass by, as long as the world was interesting. At the present he was sitting on a bench with his back against a wall while tuning up Bianca. He watched as the activity in Haven ebbed and flowed around him. Thedas’s second weirdest company got back from the Hinterland this morning after spending a week running all around those hills. Mother Giselle had been nice enough, didn’t want to execute the Herald on the spot. Small improvements. Even didn’t think she should be jailed for the rest of her life just for being a mage. Honestly the woman was a bit of a radical.

           The killing bad guys who hurt innocent people, hunting down supplies for refugees, and even closing rifts became a little routine while they had been in the Hinterlands. It got a bit monotonous. The fun part was watching everyone try to get along. No one knew each other really, not even the original group from Haven. Varric hadn’t met Chuckles until they both got caught up in a fight together in the aftermath of the Breach. Varric knew Cassandra of course, but they weren’t exactly the best of friends. Throw in some very weird Dalish elves and a woman accused of being the worlds last and best hope, and you’ve got yourself a party. The two new elves in their party kept muttering back and forth to each other in elvhen, which put the Seeker on edge. The Herald tried to keep the peace by insisting that the twins speak in common, but Solas almost ruined the whole thing when he agreed because, “Your pronunciation needs work.”

           The big elf reminded Varric a little of Fenris when he almost ripped the mages head off. It made him a little homesick.

           Just then Varric saw the Blessed Lady herself walking back to her cabin. She was smiling and greeting people along the way. She exuded a calm energy that was desperately needed around Haven. Having a potentially world ending catastrophe kill all of your religious leaders only two weeks ago could have that sort of effect on morale. She reminded Varric a little of Elthina. Or maybe what Elthina should have been. When she came close to him, Varric noticed the small crease between her eyes that she was trying to hide. When she got to the door of her cabin he saw her shoulders sag just a little before going inside.

           Varric set Bianca aside and stood. He supposed even holy saviors needed pep talks occasionally, and if Varric had one talent it was convincing people to do things. Sometimes it was convincing them to give him money or information, but with his friends it was usually just convincing them they weren’t in as bad a spot as they thought they were.

           Varric knocked on the door to her cabin and only had to wait a moment before the Herald was opening the door. She looked a little tired, but when she saw who it was she smiled and stepped aside so Varric could walk in. She’d managed to make the place pretty cozy. Small candles were clustered on almost every surface with a large cluster on either end of the mantle opposite the door. On the mantle were eight small wooden figurines. They had simple designs on them, but they were still beautiful. The largest one looked kind of like a dragon and had a single red candle lit in front of it. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace and Varric thought he might actually have to take off his coat to keep from passing out from the heat.

           The Herald noticed him sweating and said, “I’m not used to the cold. I don’t think I’m built for it. May I?”

           The elf held out her hand and Varric gave her his coat. She wasn’t wearing her armor so he saw her hands for the first time. The vallaslin were broken up on her fingers by several dainty gold rings, some were all woven together.

           “I didn’t think Dalish got vallaslin past their faces.” Varric commented while he sat down at the small table she had one side of the little room.

           “Most don’t.” She hung his coat on a knob next to the door and walked over to get some water and cups from her bedside table, “Only priests get more extensive ones. The more extensive the tattoos, the higher rank the priest.”

           She set the water and cups on the table and sat across from the dwarf, “Tea?”

           “Yes please.”

           She reached across the table to grab a small wooden box in the center, opened it, and grabbed two blocks of tea out of it. She put a block in each cup, poured water in after, and then took hold of the cups. After a moment Varric could see the water begin to bubble and steam rise out of it. She handed Varric his still warm cup and said, “I apologize, I don’t have any milk or sugar.”

           Varric waved her off, “That’s alright. It’s not stream water or cheap ale, so it’s an improvement to what I’ve been drinking the past few days.”

           Varric took a sip and was happy to discover he had not been falsely optimistic. It was good, tasted a little like berries. The Herald took a sip of her tea before setting it back down and looking up at Varric, “So what can I help you with Mr. Tethras?”

           Varric chuckled, “Nothing.”

           Varric wouldn’t say the Herald looked shocked; maybe mild confusion would be more accurate. He continued, “You looked stressed and I decided to swing by to see if you needed to chat. Do you?”

           The Herald leaned back in her chair and took another sip of tea. Finally she sighed and nodded.

           “Okay then, lets start with names. Mr. Tethras is my father, everyone just calls me Varric.” Varric took a sip of his tea, “And, if you can believe it, in all the hubbub I didn’t catch your name. Cassandra and Solas call you Herald, the twins call you Rajha-whatever, but I don’t think I’ve heard someone use your actual name once.”

           The Herald looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding, “I think you’re right.” She extended a hand across the table, “Ellana of Clan Lavellan.”

           Varric took her hand and shook it, “Nice to meet you Ellana of Clan Lavellan, been nice fighting with you for the past week.”

           “Likewise.”

           “So, you said that the twins are part of a different priesthood from you, right?”

           “Yes.”

           “So how did you meet them? You seem to know them pretty well. Do you all serve in one place or…”

           Varric wasn’t trying to pry- no that was lie. Varric was always trying to pry. He wasn’t trying to be invasive. However, he was really curious about these Dalish that seemed very different from the ones he had met. Daisy would get a kick out of them.

           Ellana smiled and said, “No. We all live at different temples. I met them when they were much younger. I was sixteen when I first joined the priesthood, and the twins arrived a few weeks after I took my vows. They had been orphaned, and they were only nine years old. I had been having a hard time settling into temple life so the Raj’ha’haren at the time assigned me to look after them while they got settled. She thought it would be good for all of us. She was right, as usual. Helping them get settled helped me to understand my own place in the temple a little better. I wound up practically raising those two. When they were seventeen they decided that the priesthood of Mythal wasn’t for them, and they went off to join different temples. I was invited to both of their initiations. I was so proud.”

           Ellana smiled to herself and took another sip of her tea. The smile only lasted a moment before the small crinkle appeared on her forehead again.

           Varric put his now empty cup down, “They’re your kids.”

           “As a priestess of Mythal I have had a hand in raising many children who came to our temple… but yes. Those two were special.”

           “And now they’re here.”

           “And now they’re here.”

           “Well shit, that can’t be easy.”

           Throughout the conversation Varric could see Ellana relax bit by bit, but now she almost slumped forward.

           “It’s not. I was the one who volunteered to take this risk. To come to the Conclave. After everything happened, I understood that I needed to stay and help; I had accepted the dangers because I needed to. But they don’t have to be here. They can go home. Be safe.”

           “You could tell them to leave.”

           “They wouldn’t listen, and I’d probably offend them. As much as I worry, they are both extremely capable. I just wish Sahren would stop picking at Cassandra. She’s uncomfortable enough as is. And Mythal give me strength if Rasa tries to pickpocket Leliana one more time. The Nightingale might actually have them killed.”

           “Or recruit them.”

           That got a chuckle out of her. While Ellana made Varric some more tea he asked, “So, what’s the scariest thing right now? Other than the obvious possibility of death and dismemberment.”

           “Well other than that.” Ellana handed him his tea, “I suppose it’s all the walking on egg shells. I’m not ashamed to talk about my people or my beliefs, as I suppose you’ve guessed by now.”

           Varric nodded an affirmative as Ellana continued, “But I’m still so nervous constantly that if I don’t mix in the right amount of deferment, agree just enough that ‘sure, maybe your goddess sent me’ that they’d get a little too frustrated and…”

           “They’re not going to kill you.”

           Ellana sighed and her shoulders slumped, “I know, but you didn’t say it had to be a reasonable fear. I’ve seen what humans will do when elves get a little to elvhen for their tastes. It rarely ends well. I was talking to Josephine the other day and bless her she was trying to talk to me about my people and ask questions, but she had so many misconceptions drilled into her brain. Scary ones. Is it terrible that I don’t always want to have to be the perfect elf? Back home I am a leader among my people, but I’m a leader on my own terms. They know me, and I can be myself. I was the youngest priest in a very long time to be chosen as Raj’ha’haren, and that didn’t come without a lot of hard work. But does Cassandra care? Does Cullen? No. They’d rather I stayed quiet about the whole elf thing and focus only on the Breach. Afterwards they can look back on their elf friend and clap themselves on the back about how tolerantthey were with her.”

           As she had been talking her voice had gotten louder and angrier. When she finished she realizer her volume and took a deep breath to compose herself. Varric could see her walls going back up as she said, “I apologize I shouldn’t have-”

           “Bull shit you shouldn’t have. It’s okay to vent. It’s okay to be pissed about this whole situation. And I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you and say that you shouldn’t worry and that you can be completely yourself, because you’re right, you can’t. But I will say I think you may be giving our compatriots too little credit. She may not seem like it, but I think Cassandra wouldn’t mind having an honest debate with you in your down time about religion. Maybe invite Mother Giselle and Josephine; it might be good for both of them. And don’t back down when they get frustrated, push through. You should also really introduce Sahren to Cullen because once they get past the obvious differences I really think those two would get along. And let me handle Rasa, they’re a decent thief, but they could be better.”

           Ellana smiled at him. A real smile. Not one of the smiles she shot at refugees who thanked her that exuded benevolence. Not a small one while speaking to Cassandra that worked hard to present her as non-threatening. No, this smile was a little crooked and made her eyes crinkle just slightly. She finished her second cup of tea and said, “It makes sense that Rasa isn’t a decent thief, it’s not what they trained to be.”

           “And what exactly did they train to be?”

           “A master assassin, they were visiting me from Antiva when I left.”

           “Wait what?”

Chapter 6: https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/187109071729/chapter-6-solas

[theheraldsrest]

“Inner circle receiving/giving gifts”

‘Tis the season, you know? -Cabot

Cullen

 He’s that type of person who has been with a group for a long time, but still doesn’t know what to get anyone. His main gift to people are sturdy and powerful weapons. Receiving a gift, he’s quite humble about it and accepts it, unless it’s from Sera. His favorite gift, though, would have to be receiving a weapon made just for him, a new cloak, or even a box of baked goods from home. If romanced, he’d either still get them a weapon but with etching on it saying “Andraste’s Blessed” or he would get them something so simple, yet so meaningful such as a piece of necklace with a small chess piece tied to it. He's such a mess if you get him anything, keeping it with him or putting it somewhere he can see at all times.

Josephine

 She tries to get everyone such fine gifts: cloaks, clothes, candies, and cakes. She tries to make the gifts perfect for everyone. When receiving a gift, she absolutely adores it, complimenting details and designs, thanking her friend over and over again. Her favorite gifts are new parchment, quills, ink, a new writing stand, and the little cakes from that one shop, oh dear she really should write a ‘thank you’ note to them- If romanced, her gift is all she can talk about for the rest of the day, or if she can’t talk about it, admiring it. She also gets her love their own signet ring and tickets to the opera, "since you loved it so much last time!"

Leliana

Oh she knows EXACTLY what everyone wants, you can bet on it. She knows what everyone is getting and for who and if there is something in particular they want. Even if it’s impossible to get, she finds a way, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t add her own little touch to it, a simple Inquisition emblem for each of her closest allies and friends or even a feather tied to it. Get this woman shoes. Honeyed wine is also a plus. Hums in delight with each gift, thanking everyone, including Cole as she opens a box with a nug in it. 

Vivienne

She does what she believes is a service to the inquisition by giving everyone an outfit that actually looks presentable. If not an outfit, at least a specifically made piece of jewelry for everyone. Get her anything exquisite and she’ll be pleased. Of course, you get her something so simple as a tome of magic, she’ll be delighted and gushing over it.  

Varric

Most of his gifts are jokes. Bull gets a shirt the size of his man boob upper peck, Solas gets a paper smiley face, Cassandra gets ANOTHER fully edited chapter of Swords & Shields, etc. It’s people’s expressions that are the best gift he could receive, he says. If you wanted to get him a gift, look no further than giving him a joke right back. Seriously though, he does appreciate those, along with some new improvements for Bianca, a new coat, or even new boots. He’s a simple man with simple needs.

Cole

Four words: Get. This. Boy. Puzzles. Really, anything is fascinating, but puzzles just seem to keep his attention, to a point where he’ll have other people do it but listen to how they solve it. As for giving gifts, it’s...questionable. Varric is wondering why his son his boy Cole gave him a candy wrapper until he explains that he heard Varric say he needed help ‘wrapping up’ his story and Dorian is trying to contain his laughter when he connects the dots between him having said that he was quite ‘cheesy’ to the cheese Cole left him. 

Solas

Sweet and simple, a small charm that he made to keep people safe. Everyone (including Sera, Dorian, and Vivienne) has a special one made specifically for them, some for magic, some for strength, and some for protection. Politely declines most gifts as he didn’t really request anything, but for some he does keep, such as books from Josephine and a new staff from the Inquisitor. He might have not asked for anything but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want anything. Painting supplies and some old artifacts are enough to have this old man grinning from ear to ear. Especially given to him by his Vhenan, he would be so joyous over such little things and a little surprised over how well his love knows him. You have no idea where he kinds an old ancient piece of elven jewelry that he gives to you as a gift, but he’s very excited to explain to you it’s value and the history behind it.

Cassandra

Someone help her, please. She doesn’t know what to get anyone or what anyone likes. In the end, she settles on just getting everyone war horns. Some appreciate the thought, some are never able to find them after receiving them, and others have theirs taken away immediately because they won’t stop blowing them at midnight cough SERA cough. For gifts, if you want to make this woman happy, just get her some new armor or even a better fitting sword. Romancing her, she actually tries to find something meaningful for you, such as a shield with your emblem on it, sturdier than any you’ve ever used even if you don’t use a shield. You have also come to learn that if you want to steal this woman’s heart, just get her romance novels and poetry.

Iron Bull

Ale. Beer. Alcohol. That’s his gift to everyone. There’s nothing more to say, he just gets every alcohol and then challenges them to a drinking contest. He’s happy to receive armor, weapons, potions as gifts, you know the usual stuff, other than the shirt Varric gives him. Romanced, whatever you give him, he holds it in high honor. A dagger? He’ll use it for everything. A new eye patch? He wears it all the time, barely ever wearing his old one. Armor made from dragon scales? Everyone is surprised to see him trying to keep it clean. As for giving, you have two options. One, he gives you his old eyepatch along with a dragon’s horn, saying he “has his eye on you.” Your other gift is rope, to which he hints at making you his gift later.

Dorian

He’s never really had many people other than his family that he could give gifts to, nor did he want to give gifts that said “I’m doing this because I have to.” So he went with gifts that said “I tolerate you” such as rings that he enchanted himself to help them in battles to come. He would never admit it, but it did bring him some joy to get gifts that weren’t just clothes and jewelry like he usually got. Instead, he took it in stride with everything he received, even the box that had an angry buzzing emitting from it from Sera, her only response being “Throw it downstairs when Egg is being annoying.” If in a romance, he frets over what to get you. Nothing too gaudy but also nothing too simple, he wants you to know that he cares but not make it overwhelming. He finally settled on giving you his family amulet. He jokes about you returning it in disdain but is actually really pleased when you keep it. That said, he’s only very excited when he finds out that you got him several books of rarity that delve deeper into magical studies.

Sera

Those who accept her gifts take it with caution. Most of the time it’s harmless jokes, others it’s close to almost getting hurt The bees, they’re everywhere. You don’t even have to look far for a present for her. Hell, send her a bucket and she’ll think it’s the best thing in the world before filling it and placing it over a door. In a relationship, it’s still all jokes. She gets you a crude model of Corypheus’s head with a dumb expression or her own artistic rendition of her naked body. Anything you get her that is meant to be sentimental rather than joking, she’s all “Pfft, you’re such a lovey-dovey person. You’re gonna make me puke, Inky!” When in reality, she loves it and keeps it on her at all times.

Blackwall (Thom Rainer)

You bet your ass that he made little wooden carvings for everyone. Leliana receives a raven, Solas receives a halla, etc. He doesn’t deny any gits, but does mention quite a few times how he really doesn’t need anything. Doesn’t stop people from getting him new Grey Warden armor or even some weapons. When romanced, he makes sure to add even more detail to the carving he makes for you, little things that only you and he can recognize, such as how he drew a little griffon on the bottom or how he painted it your favorite color. You can see the twinkle in his eye when he sees that you got him some new wood carving tools and/or his own personnel Grey Warden emblem.

[thecryoftheseagulls]

Logan Hawke the dragon has a new favourite treasure... a wizard.

ty for the prompt, anon!

I’m doing a few short fics this week to celebrate the 10th anniversary of Dragon Age 2 coming out. Happy anniversary to my favorite video game, here’s a little mhanders fic for y’all!

a dragon’s treasure

[also on ao3 here]

It’s not that Logan Hawke actually wants to find a princess at the top of the tower, it’s just that princesses, or at the very least fine ladies, are generally the ones who get imprisoned in such a way. On account of the sexism, mostly, but also the wealth.

So when he arrives at the base of this newest tower (they’re just popping up out of the ground like crocuses in springtime these days, he might need to get Varric to look into that) and calls up the usual spiel of hallo up there, would you like a rescue, ma’am, he is taken aback by the fireball lobbed down from the tower window. It hits him square in the chest and fizzles out harmlessly. Logan doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m not a damsel!” a deep voice shouts. A wizard with blond hair and a scraggly beard appears in the window, and leans out far enough that Logan begins to fear for his safety. He shakes a fist down at Logan. “And I have no riches, nor family to provide them, to reward you for your services, so you may as well be on your merry way!”

Logan cocks his head. “But you are being kept here against your will?” he shouts back.

The wizard crosses his arms over his chest and glowers down at him.

“Momentarily!”

Logan manifests his wings and leaps into the air, flapping his way up to the window. At this height, he can get a better feel for the magics woven into the tower’s stone -- dampening spells, meant to suppress magical ability, rather than the usual entrapment and warding spells he finds in these places. It’s a testament to the wizard’s magical ability that he was able to create a fireball at all under the weight of this magic, let alone cast it through the barrier and hit Logan down on the ground.

But, as ever, the magic woven into these towers has no effect on a dragon.

Logan grins, stretching his wings out to their full wingspan, as he hovers at eye level with the wizard and enjoys the shock on his face.

“Impressive bit of magic there with the fireball,” he says cheerfully. “Would you like a bit of assistance with your entrapment, or should I just wait around until you’ve freed yourself?”

The wizard wordlessly gestures at the air, where Logan can feel the wards extend a foot or two away from the stone. He swoops closer, landing lightly on his feet on the wrought iron rail with a hook on the end that extends from the bottom of the window frame -- standard install on these towers, mostly to taunt longhaired princesses and knights who carry rope. He feels the wards shiver over his skin. It feels like flying through a cloud: cold, but effortless.

“Well...” the wizard says, taking a step back when this brings Logan very, very close. He sounds a little breathless. Also, he has a very nice nose. Sharp. “I’d be a poor escape artist if I didn’t seize an opportunity when it presents itself.”

Logan cranes his neck to see around the wizard and into the tower itself. It’s a dismal sight: bare wood floors, a small cot, a desk with a few sparse sheets of parchment, and a single shelf with perhaps four books on it. No comforting touches at all. If Logan hadn’t believed the wizard when he said he had no wealth or family, he would now -- all the damsels’ towers are far nicer than this. To a dragon, especially, it looks barely habitable.

 Logan takes a deep breath and feels smoke trickle out of his nostrils. 

“How can I be of assistance?” 

“Stay right there, I just have to…” the wizard spins on his heel and crosses the room to the cot, snatching a tiny embroidered pillow off the bed and clutching it to his chest. “All right, I’m ready.”

Logan looks him up and down, at the tattered clothes the wizard is wearing, and his apparent lack of any other belongings. He hops off the iron rail and does a roll mid-air, shifting to his full draconic form. His bright blue scales flash in the sun. He stretches one forearm in through the window and picks the wizard up carefully in his talons, placing him on his back between his neck and his cerulean wings.

“Sure that’s everything?” Logan asks, beating his wings to stay in place by the window. His voice is deeper in this, his true form, as deep as a rockfall in mountains. “My services also include optional setting-of-towers-on-fire.”

“No need,” the wizard says, letting go of Logan’s neck to fling a fireball into the room himself. The wards, of course, offer no resistance now that the wizard is on the outside of them.

“Nice,” Logan says, and turns away when the fire catches hold. All that wood in the room will burn hot and fast. “Hold tight, wizard.”

“My name is Anders,” the wizard huffs, gripping Logan’s scales with his knees and wrapping his hand around one of the spines on Logan’s neck.

“Logan Hawke,” Logan returns, soaring up above the cloud cover so that they’re out of sight of anyone on the ground who might come looking for an escaped wizard.

“Your family name is Hawk?” Anders asks, sounding baffled.

“Humans seem to like it when you have a second name. My father thought it was amusing,” Logan says, as he’s said to everyone who finds out he’s a dragon named after a bird.

“Hm,” Anders says. He falls silent for a while -- Logan assumes he is watching the clouds pass beneath them, and the farmland and forest far below that can be seen when they pass over a break in the clouds. Eventually, he asks, “And where are you taking me, Logan Hawke?”

Logan turns his head to fix one bright blue eye on the scrawny, powerful wizard shivering on his back. He hums, grey smoke drifting out his mouth and nostrils.

“Home with me, I think,” He can feel Anders tense on his back, grip turned tight on Logan’s spine. Logan faces forward again. “Get a good meal into you, maybe a bath, some new clothes. And then perhaps you can tell me something about these tower-builders before I let you wander off back into the world, treasure.”

Anders is slow to respond, and when he does, his voice is quiet enough that the wind nearly snatches it away. “All right, then,” he agrees.

Logan grins wide, and feels his flames lick at the back of his teeth.

It will be a few days before he realizes he's called the wizard his treasure so soon.

[jawsofhakkontranscript]

Ameridan’s End: Assault the Jaws of Hakkon

(Previous quest - On Ameridan's Trail)

Main questline: Ameridan’s End: Assault the Jaws of Hakkon

This is the first part of "Ameridan's End" questline.

Characters involved: Svarah Sun-Hair, Lace Harding, Bram Kenric, Gurd Harofsen

Preparations are in place to wage assault on the Jaws of Hakkon and search for Inquisitor Ameridan.

Part 1: Speak with Svarah Sun-Hair

Svarah: When you are ready, you have our blades, Inquisitor.

Dialogue options:

Special: Hakkon connects to Ameridan. [1] (If both “Storvacker Caged” and “What Yet Lingers” have been completed.)

General: Let us begin the assault. [2]

[1] Special: Hakkon connects to Ameridan.

PC: You said that the Jaws of Hakkon first tried binding their god in mortal form hundreds of years ago?

Svarah: What of it?

PC: In our search for Inquisitor Ameridan, we learned that he came here to fight a great dragon 800 years ago… A dragon that came from the mountains with Avvar warriors to attack the lowlands.

Svarah: (Laughs.) Your last Inquisitor must have fought well to stop Hakkon himself! [3]

[3] Subsequent dialogue options:

Investigate: This is all right with you? [4]

Investigate: Does this happen often? [5]

[4] Investigate: This is all right with you?

PC: You're not bothered by the idea that our Inquisitor killed your god?

Svarah: He didn't kill him. That would have been easier. Whatever fight your Inquisitor finished, the Jaws of Hakkon started. I find no fault with a warrior defending his people. [Back to 3]

[5] Investigate: Does this happen often?

PC: Do the Avvar gods take mortal form on a regular basis?

Svarah: No. The gods belong in the land of dreams. Whether it is their wish—or some augur's—that brings them here, battle-tears will be shed. The skalds say the Lady of the Skies took mortal form when Tyrdda Bright-Ax first led the Avvar to the mountains. They say many things about Bright-Ax and the Lady. [Back to 3]

[2] General: Let us begin the assault.

PC: I'm ready to attack the Jaws of Hakkon.

Svarah: Good. They will pay the blood-price for what they have done.

(Kenric and Harding enter the Thane's hall.)

Svarah: Your skald and your scout are here. We can plan the assault.

Kenric: Oh, I like the sound of "skald." It's more dramatic than "professor."

Harding: (Coughs.)

Kenric: Yes, well. Everything we've found about Inquisitor Ameridan suggests that he never emerged from that Tevinter fortress.

Svarah: If that is where your Inquisitor defeated Hakkon, that is where the Jaws of Hakkon must perform the rite to free him. [6]

[6] Dialogue options:

General: We can stop them. [7]

General: Or hopefully not. [8]

General: We have a target. [9]

[7] General: We can stop them.

PC: Inquisitor Ameridan saved the lowlands from an Avvar invasion. We cannot do any less. [10]

[8] General: Or hopefully not.

PC: Ideally, we stop them before that. I'd rather not fight an Avvar god if we don't have to. [10]

[9] General: We have a target.

PC: Good. We know where to strike. [10]

[10] Harding: You really have no problem with us killing your god?

Svarah: Gods cannot be reborn until they die. (Laughs.) Hakkon needs a good rebirthing.

Harding: If you say so.

Svarah: With its ice-wall melted, the fortress is open to attack. We must strike soon, before our foes recover.

Harding: They're already trying. I've got most of our forces defending the shrine from Hakkonites who want to restore the wall. [11]

[11] Dialogue options:

General: We're going to take losses. [12]

General: I'm open to ideas. [13]

General: A siege seems unlikely. [14]

[12] General: We're going to take losses.

PC: The fortress was built to be defensible. It's going to cost us a lot of people to take it.

Svarah: Why? [15]

[13] General: I'm open to ideas.

PC: If anyone has suggestions, now is the time.

Svarah: What gives you fear, Inquisitor? Is this not the battle you wanted? [15]

[14] General: A siege seems unlikely.

PC: We don't have time to drag siege equipment through the forest to take down those walls.

Svarah: A siege? Bah! We have no need of rock-throwers and rams. [15]

[15] Kenric: I am no warrior, but with Lady Harding's forces defending the shrine and no way to breach the walls...?

Svarah: (Laughs.) Lowlanders. Why not climb the walls?

Harding: Your warriors can get over those walls before the Hakkonites stop them?

Svarah: This is not a war, Stone-Daughter. This is a raid. We strike at night, clad lightly. We climb the wall and open the gate from inside. [16]

[16] Dialogue options:

General: We are in your debt. [17]

General: I guess this is our plan. [18]

General: Let's move. [19]

[17] General: We are in your debt.

PC: If Stone-Bear Hold can open the gates, we would be grateful.

Svarah: The Jaws of Hakkon have been bugs in my bedroll for months, Inquisitor. We owe you thanks. [20]

[18] General: I guess this is our plan.

PC: Well, then. Unless anyone has something that sounds easier than climbing the walls...?

Svarah: I would not offer what I could not give. It will be done. Perhaps my climbers will earn themselves a legend-mark! [20]

[19] General: Let's move.

PC: Agreed. How soon can we attack?

Svarah: As soon as the sun sets, Inquisitor. This will be a good night. [20]

[20] Harding: Inquisition forces will feign weakness near the shrine. That will draw some of them away from the fortress.

Kenric: Not too many, I hope.

Svarah: Yes. Save some for us!

Harding: (Nods.)

Part 2: Assault the gate.

(The Inquisition’s soldiers and the warriors from Stone-Bear Hold gather in front of the gate of the Tevinter ruin.)

Parve: Right, Inquisitor. Hask and I will climb over.

Hask: I'll be there to catch Parve when he slips.

Parve: 'Course you will. You'll be behind me, after all.

(These two are the same Avvar men who participated in the Test of the Lady - the climbing contest used for settling disputes - that took place when the Inquisition first arrived in Stone-Bear Hold - see “Avvar Allies” main quest.)

Hask (to Parve): 'Ware the guard.

Parve: I've got him.

(The Avvar sneak ahead and start climbing over the walls of the fortress. Meanwhile, the Inquisition leads the assault from the front to distract the Hakkonites.)

Male Hakkonite: There! It's the lowlanders!

Female Hakkonite: Kill the Inquisitor! Death to her/his hold, for Hakkon's glory!

(Storvacker joins the fight.)

Party comments:

Varric: Storvacker, good to see you again!

Dorian: And we have a bear. Hooray!

Sera: Eat them, not us! Got it?

Cole: I'm happy to see you, too!

Svarah Sun-Hair: Greetings from Stone-Bear Hold, you shit-eating goat-lovers!

(The climbers continue scaling the walls.)

Parve: Watch your grip. It slips a bit.

Hask: Bah, you can't grip anything more challenging than your mother's teat.

Parve: (Grunts.) I was aiming for his throat. We'd best hurry.

Hask: Nicely done.

Parve: Be ready, Inquisitor!

(The gate is opened from the inside by the climbers from Stone-Bear Hold.)

Hask: Lady take you, goat-lovers!

Parve (to the Inquisitor): As you please, Inquisitor.

Hask: I'd not tarry. More will be coming.

(Walk through the gate and defeat the Hakkonites defending the battlements.)

Party comments:

Cassandra: The Avvar were true to their word!

Iron Bull: Nice work, Stone-Bear Hold!

Blackwall: Your Avvar friends pulled it off!

Varric: Our Avvar friends came through!

Svarah Sun-Hair: We have your back, Inquisitor! Fight well!

Part 3: Find Inquisitor Ameridan’s resting place.

(Walk towards the Tevinter ruin.)

Party comments:

Cassandra: No sign of the dragon. It must be in there.

Cole: She doesn't want to be him. He doesn't want to be chained. Tied together, wracked and raging.

Solas: The ritual must be underway. There is a great deal of magical energy coming from the bottom of the crater.

(There are ice wards in the field between the gate and the main building. If destroyed, they freeze everyone in the vicinity.)

Party comments:

Dorian: Watch the wards! We can't afford to be slowed down!

Vivienne: Watch out for the ice wards! We cannot let them slow us!

Sera: Pissing freezing magic!

Solas: Beware the wards! They will sap your strength!

(An ice ward is destroyed.)

Party comments:

Cassandra: The ward is destroyed!

Iron Bull: How do you like that, frosty?

Blackwall: That should end the wards!

Cole: You can't freeze us!

(Enter the Old Temple. The interior is covered in frost.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: This frost is magical in nature. If we do not make haste, we will freeze to death.

Cassandra: This cold is magical in origin. It will kill us if we do not hurry.

Sera: We stay here, our bits will snap off. Get moving.

Solas: The cold is magical. It will kill us if we do not hurry.

Cole: This isn't real, but it still hurts. We have to be fast.

Dorian: Even colder than usual. This is magical. We need to keep moving.

Varric: This isn't natural. We'd better hurry, unless you like freezing to death.

(Stay by the fire to warm up.)

Party comments:

Sera: Better, right? Might even keep our toes.

Iron Bull: (Grunts.) Cold's not so bad here.

Varric: The cold isn't so bad here.

Cole: Yes. False cold, but the real fire keeps it away.

(Gurd Harofsen begins the ritual.)

Party comments:

Varric: We should probably hurry. There's no good kind of crazy ritual chanting.

Vivienne: They are performing the ritual. I suggest we hurry.

Solas: We must hurry. The ritual to free the spirit of Hakkon is underway.

Dorian: Sounds like they've already started the ritual. Best hurry, then.

(Gurd chants the Song of savage Hakkon.)

Sing the song of savage Hakkon, born in battle, bloody bladed.

Wintersbreath to wrack the lowlands, cold to cut and kill the hated.

Meet the might of Mountain-Father, crush the creed of Korth the callow.

Leave the Lady lost and lonely, scour the skies of spirits sallow!

Gurd Harofsen, called the Cutter, wyvern-slayer, lowland-bane

Begs of Hakkon, bring his body bloody blessings, cold and pain!

(The chant ends.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: The barbarian is allowing himself to be possessed by Hakkon!

Solas: The Hakkonite leader is calling the spirit of Hakkon into his own body!

Varric: Harofsen's summoning Hakkon into himself!

Dorian: He's summoning Hakkon into his own body!

Cassandra: Is he insane?

Iron Bull: Who does that? That's a terrible idea!

Blackwall: He's mad!

Sera: Don't care. Stupid gets arrows.

(A dragon can be seen in the distance.)

Party comments:

Sera: There's the dragon! It's... frozen or something?

Cole: The dragon. She's stuck, still, a statue. Hakkon is angry inside her.

Varric: There's the Hakkon dragon! At least it's not moving yet.

Iron Bull: There's the dragon! Long as it holds still like that, we should be all right.

(The fight begins. Gurd continues the ritual while being protected by Hakkonites.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: Hakkon is invulnerable until we disrupt those around him!

Solas: We cannot harm Hakkon until the ritual is disrupted!

Cassandra: We must disrupt the ritual first! Then Hakkon can be harmed!

Dorian: We have to take out the others! We can't hurt Hakkon until they're out!

(Gurd summons the spirit of Hakkon into himself and transforms into a revenant.)

Gurd: Face me and die, Inquisitor! Your predecessor could not stand against me. You shall fall as well! I am the cold bite of winter! I am Hakkon reborn! Death to the lowlanders!

(The revenant casts powerful ice spells.)

Party comments:

Sera: Ranged, right? Too cold up close!

Cassandra: The cold is worse near the creature!

Blackwall: The cold gets worse the closer you are!

Iron Bull: Careful! Cold's worse up close!

(During the fight, the revenant freezes the braziers as he loses health.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: He's putting out the fires!

Varric: Watch yourself! He's putting out the fires!

Dorian: The damn thing's dousing the fires!

Solas: Be careful! He's dousing the fires!

(Next quest - Ameridan's End: Talk to Ameridan)

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1033]

It would be romantic and the height of foolishness to say she would know him by touch alone. But after all these years — perhaps these friends she’s made have worn off on her. Maybe it’s Varric and his soft, worn heart. Maybe it’s Cassandra and her burning one. Maybe it’s Cole and his painful delicacy. Maybe it’s Malika and her youthful will. Maybe it’s all of them at once.

It maybe foolish, but it is true.

Ellana does know him by touch alone. And she would wager he knows her, too.

Anyone else and Ellana would stiffen and strike, turning from limp and pliable blood to furious bone. Elbows and nails, tendons and ligaments. Ellana’s experienced enough, now, to know how to turn the sleep muddled haze of deep-hot-breathed-night into a maul in the heart. She’s lived through too many assassinations — attempts at them, anyway — not to.

Ellana can go from dead asleep — not even dreaming or in the Fade — to fully awake and battle ready in less than a breath. She’s been taught the quickest ways to go from prone and vulnerable repose to mid crouch, body strung like a bow, and hands ready to fly like arrows.

But she doesn’t.

Maybe it would be more accurate to say she knows him by intent, rather than touch.

Ellana is stirred from the depths of sleep by the shifting of blankets and the dip of the bed as his weight slides in behind her. Cold air slides in with him and makes her curl up, frowning even as the heat of his body next to hers makes up for the infraction.

His fingertips, rough and blunt, slide over the back of her neck. Her hair is pushed out of the way and Ellana mumbles incoherently as she slides back towards him. Astra, somewhere at the foot of the bed, shuffles awake and pads around to jump off and make a mess somewhere else in the room.

It’s the intent, Ellana thinks. It isn’t the touch, but the intent.

Or maybe the weight and gravity of his presence alone.

Ellana allows herself to relax, mind stretching languorously as she starts to feel herself drift back to sleep.

The Iron Bull breathes out, a slow exhale as he settles himself in. There’s the low scrape of one of his horns against the headboard and the annoyed huff of air as he slowly repositions himself.

Ellana waits, patiently, for the moving to stop. She can feel his elbow graze her back for a brief moment as he draws the bedding higher over himself.

She listens to his breathing as her mind half-heartedly thinks about saying something. She has to leave at dawn. Ellana hasn’t seen Bull in almost a month. Their schedules have been in gross misalignment due to the Inquisition being incredibly understaffed with the current rush to get things in place for the march into the Arbor Wilds.

Bull saves her the trouble.

His low voice sounds as tired as her head feels, muddled up and hazy and hot like a fever that goes down to the bones.

“If you get hauled back here because you got food poisoning eating Rocky’s field rations don’t come looking to me for pity.”

She kicks him. It’s clumsy and Bull lifts his leg to trap hers underneath his. The weight of it burns against her skin. Ellana is not averse to it. She pushes her leg until she can maneuver her foot to rest between his calves.

She doesn’t have much of a comeback besides that. She settles with lazily raising a hand and tossing her hair directly into his face. She hears him sputter, fingers raising to lightly pull and tug as he settles the mass of hair away from his face.

“Goodnight,” She says, face mashed into her pillow. - “Better than a bog unicorn. Not as good as a cat. Somewhere in between that,” Bull concludes as he watches the new nugalopes get sorted into the quickly expanding stables.

Ellana leans her cheek on her palm as she watches the procession of waddling, cumbersome looking creatures from the ramparts above. “I don’t understand your scale of judgement. You can’t ride a cat. And most things would be better than an undead horse.”

“Bog unicorn,” Bull insists, a laugh and a smile practically pouring out of every syllable. Ellana rolls her eyes skyward.

“Bog unicorn,” She acquiesces.

“The cat,” Bull begins to explain, “Can be trained.”

“And the nugalopes can’t? What’s the use of bringing them on then?”

“To please our spymaster?” Ellana sees him shrug out of the corner of her eye. “The nugalopes are mostly a joke. I think. Better than the bog unicorn because it has a pulse and doesn’t smell like rot. But I don’t think we’ll be getting these things to do tricks.”

“As if we could get the other creatures that carry various members of the Inquisition hither and yon to do tricks.”

“The harts play fetch.” Ellana turns to give Bull her most suspicious look. Bull grins down at her. “You think I’m lying to you, Wolf?”

“Fetch? With what? With sugar cubes?” She asks. “Are you sure that you aren’t thinking of mine, specifically? That’s because you gave him bad habits. You’ve taught him to be peculiar.” Ellana turns her gaze back down to the stables below. “Poor Dennet. He signed up for horses. Now he’s got an entire menagerie of creatures.”

“He’s handling it rather well, all things considered.” Bull says. He’s watching her for something.

Ellana scratches her nail against the stone.

“You’re wondering if I’ve taught Astra anything else.”

“You’re giving too much power to a cat,” Bull says. “Next thing you know the creature’s figured out how to hold hostages. Namely myself.”

Ellana smirks. “You’d let a cat hold you hostage?”

“I’ve let a Wolf do worse,” Bull points out amicably. He leans in close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Though usually it’s only because I ask very nicely.”

She shoves him with a small burst of magic that makes him laugh.

“You’re being particularly bold today.” Ellana turns to face him. “Dare I ask?”

“Wolf’s always been daring.”

“And look at the sort of trouble it’s gotten me into,” Ellana shakes her head, “is this something that’s going to come around to get at me later? Is a harried messenger about to come running up to me, sounding very apologetic, with marching orders for something that will make me want to curse you?”

“Maybe,” Bull says. “Or maybe it’s a nice day and I’m enjoying your company. Stranger things have happened.”

Ellana narrows her eyes at him, and then leans around him to squint at the stone walls opposite them.

Her mouth flattens as she watches the great contraption of wood and steel get moved into position.

“Tell me you got permission for that,” Ellana asks.

“For what?”

Ellana transfers her glare from the trebuchet to Bull.

Bull offer her his hand. “You want first go at seeing how far a stuffed nug can fly if you sew on some wings?”

Ellana slaps her hand into his palm, his fingers squeezing around hers as she lets herself get dragged off.

“I’m there for observational purposes,” Ellana says to him, “If anyone tries to blame me I had no idea about any of this until you dragged me into it. And the only reason I’m not taking this straight to someone of some authority is because you’re the first name on my contract and I’m under orders.”

“Orders to have fun?”

“Orders to look the other way when you lot get up to mischief.”

[sasskarian]

Fanfic Authors Tag Game

Tagged by @marblesarelost

AO3 Name: Sasskarian

Fandoms: Lord. Uh. Star Wars (Legends EU and canon, though I tend to cherry pick what I like). Dragon Age. Mass Effect. Elder Scrolls. Crimson Peak (one completed fic, one WIP). Witcher. Arcana game. When the Night Comes. Cosmere/Sanderson works. Mercedes Thomspon. Black Jewels series. Good Omens. Haven.

Number of fics: 27, not including my Scrivner or Drive folders

1. Fic you spent the most time on: At this point, I’d say it’s a toss-up between my Hollywood/Noir/Murder Mystery AU of Dragon Age, Glitterverse, and my Jaal/Ryder romance, Home. 

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Honestly? Probably the Arcana fic I’ve started three times and thrown away every time. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my Voiceverse fic but not actually writing it. 

3. Longest fic: Technically, my longest fic is a collection of tumblr prompts, totalling 38k. My second longest work but longest proper fic is Glitterverse, at 30k.

4. Shortest fic: He Might Like That, a Mandalorian ficlet. Din reminiscing on how mandokarla Cara Dune is, and Cara being oblivious. 

5. Most hits: Shakarian Smut that’s been under construction for like a year. (I want to rewrite it, I just never... seem... to actually get to it) at 4.2k. Current fic that’s still up would be the kickoff to Home, Come to Me, at just under 4. 

6. Most kudos: Come to Me, at 342

7. Most comment thread: Glitterverse at 48

8. Fave fic you wrote: Oh man. Don’t do this to me. >< How can I choose between my bi disaster hollywood!Hawke (Glitterverse) and my overly-romantic Orlesian au Isera (Fairbanks)

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: There are definitely a few. Like... most of them. Mostly the Shakarian smut-- now that the OT3 of Garrus/Shepard/Thane is my canon-- and I want to expand on the Crimson Peak fic. My girlfriend and I had the great idea of mashing together Crimson Peak and Rivers of London, and having Nate end up associating with Nightingale at some point. 

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

New Fairbanks:

“I’m sorry,” Isera says, blinking slowly at her advisers. “Can you repeat that but… make it make more sense?”

Leiliana sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What part of this is difficult to understand, Inquisitor?” Josephine makes a noise somewhere between amusement and resignation, and Isera narrows her eyes at the way Cassandra and Cullen are very carefully not looking at one another. “Your presence is not required at the evening meeting.” 

“My presence,” she says, “is not required? Me? The Inquisitor?” 

“That’s correct.” Cassandra nods once, decisively, as if to say and that’s that. “Your evening is yours to do with as you like.” Something twinkles in her eye, something that suddenly and sharply reminds Isera of the look Varric gets right before he gets into mischief or starts bullshitting in the hopes of distracting her. 

“...you’re up to something,” Isera says, accusingly. “I know you four are up to something.” 

Witcher, with my beloved heart-sister @suspendnodisbelief​:

“Even now, I hear them at the gate, crashing against it to make their way here,” Calanthe announced, and Jaskier quoted verbatim in a recitative cadenza. “You must go now, both of you. Renfri, will you help me guard them as they make their escape?”

“Fight a swarm of all manner of dreadful monsters, alongside a Queen who has matched me cut for blow? Oppose Death itself, and cry our defiance against the endless night?” Renfri’s bladed arms glistened red and wet in the dim tavern light, and the black pits of her eyes sparked hotly with the joyous violence of distant stars. “Why, Calanthe, I thought you’d never ask.” “Jaskier, give Mousesack my order to hold the tavern behind us as long as he can, by any means he can.” Calanthe stretched and limbered open her enormous brazen wings, and the tavern seemed to distort and expand around them all, making room for her. Every feather was a sword, and her lashing tail now more closely resembled a whip tipped with steel teeth, striking embers in the air and sending red cinders flying every time it cracked. 

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm, attempting to pull him along, before realising Geralt still couldn’t detect where he was. For all that Jaskier wasn’t simply passing through Geralt, as though not a solid object, Geralt still seemed impervious to his touch, and pulling on him was like pulling on a mountain in hopes it would budge.

Crimson Peak sequel:

Nate never set out to be a ghost hunter. 

Bollocks, William would say, in that lounging, charmingly-arrogant way that was all flattened vowels and half-swallowed consonants. Your mam and pap bein’ who they’d be, what else could you be, Nathe? 

Glitterverse:

“Anders, if anyone in this group deserves a punch…” Varric trailed off, hands hovering over Hawke’s prone form like he was afraid to touch her. “Hawke, come on. Wake up.” 

His hands finally settled on brushing Hawke’s hair away from her face and Cassandra hissed as she stepped around for a better view: Hawke’s thin wrists were covered in angry red marks, some already darkening to purple. The bruising was grotesque in the stark magelight, no softer than a crime scene tech’s flashlight, and it took Cassandra several blinks to dismiss the intrusive image of Daniel’s bruised, broken face highlighted by a similar harsh light months and months ago. 

Distantly, a door opened and the chattering of the party drifted down the hall for a moment, a reminder of where they were. “We need to go,” Cassandra said, armoring her heart back in her training, stopping the sideways slide from sorrow over Daniel to Hawke with brutal pragmatism. Mourning and memories were luxuries she couldn’t afford right now; there would be time for falling apart once they were safe. “Either she wakes or someone carries her, but Bartrand will kill us if we don’t get out.” 

When neither man moved, just stared at their friend so pale in the dark, Cassandra hissed again. “Tethras, move your ass!” 

Shakarios:

There are a few days, Garrus marvels, when the universe is still able to surprise him. Usually it’s in bad ways, like a thug having more firepower, or Grunt’s grenades having a dud at the wrong moment. Having Cerberus drones appear out of goddamn nowhere.

This moment, though, where the artificial sunrise of the Citadel skims pale fingers over the curve of Shepard’s waist, gentle and lovely on the freckles and scars life has left on her, is glorious. Thane’s dark eyes blink at him sleepily from the other side of their Commander, mouth already curved in invitation. “How long’ve you been ‘wake?” Garrus asks through a yawn. 

“A while,” is the soft reply. “It is a rare pleasure to see her at peace.” Delicately-scaled green fingers reach for his own, stroking with what Io would call intent. Garrus’ throat flushes, heat crawling up from his chest, at the memory of just what those soft fingers can do.

Tagging, no pressure: @aban-asaara​ @systlin​ @shetanshadowwolf​ @thebisexualmandalorian​

[contreparry]

For DWC: Oats for Fenhawke? Or something with Orana?? :D

I’m not that great of a Fenhawke writer, but I can definitely write some Orana! Here you go, for @dadrunkwriting!

Lady Hawke had a lute in her quarters.

It wasn’t exactly in her quarters, more like her private library where she hosted her friends (her particularly close friends, Orana noted). The library was filled with objects that Lady Hawke treasured: strange little journals full of scribbles from Messere Tethras, Chantry pamphlets from Brother Vael, Lady Merrill’s halla carvings, Lady Bethany’s letters, Guard Captain Vallen’s notices, Lady Isabela’s model ship in a bottle, Messere Anders’s manifesto, and... and the lute.

It was Fenris’s lute more than anyone else’s, even Lady Hawke’s. The others played it, true, and with varying degrees of success. Messere Anders, for all his wit and jovial conversation, was all clumsy thumbs, while Brother Vael made for a competent, if by-the-books, musician. But it was Fenris, silent, stern Fenris, who gave the instrument its soul. Whenever he took it in his calloused hands, cradled the rounded wooden body and held it close, Orana took the opportunity to linger in the shadows of the doorway to Lady Hawke’s library to listen in on the beautifully bewitching music that poured from his fingers and through the lute. Orana took longer setting out the things for tea or supper, or took her time in taking them away. She dusted the spotless shelves within the library, rearranged the ornaments and knickknacks on the shelves, brought in fresh flowers from the garden, all for the excuse to listen to more of Fenris’s golden playing.

He had never played back in Tevinter, in Ma- in Danarius’s household. He was The Wolf, The Hound, Danarius’s creature in all things. Orana knew better than to cross his path, and she watched him from the shadows, much like she did now. But back in Tevinter she watched in fear. In Kirkwall, she watched with wonder. Who would have thought that Danarius’s guard, shadow, assassin- that there was this softness within him? That he was capable of bringing the world to a stand still with his playing?

Orana should have realized that, for all that softness and artistry, Fenris still had that bit of The Wolf within him. She should have realized that he was always watching.

“Do you play, Orana?” Fenris asked one afternoon as Orana brought more flowers from the garden- wild oats that had somehow blown into the garden, orange and yellow zinnias, deep red hollyhocks, and several golden sunflowers. Fenris’s question caught Orana so off-guard that she dropped the old bouquet of flowers (chrysanthemum, roses, sweet alyssum) on the table, and she nearly dropped the vase as well.

“N-no, Messere Fenris,” Orana stammered out after she fumbled with (but caught) the now empty vase. “I- I do not play.”

“But you wish to,” Fenris stated. He always did that now, stating his observations. Orana liked that much better than when he watched the world a few steps behind Danarius, but it was still unnerving to see that cool green gaze assess her. It made her feel small.

No. No, she was not small, not unimportant! Fenris was only making an observation, and he looked now, waiting for an answer. Orana drew in a shaky breath and poured fresh water from a pitcher into the vase.

“It... it doesn’t matter if I wish it or not, Messere,” Orana replied, trying to keep her voice measured, trying to erase the longing she felt in her soul when she looked at the beautiful lute with its polished wood and lovely strings and elegant carvings. Oh, to play, to make music like Fenris could, to bring such life and joy and magic into the world! But she couldn’t, she hadn’t the talent, it was obvious, she wasn’t good enough-

“Besides,” Orana tried to laugh as she shoved the freshly cut flowers into the vase, “I hardly have the time to play! There is far too much work to be done, and I-”

“Come here,” Fenris ordered, and Orana shrank down. Oh, he was angry, wasn’t he? But she glanced through the pale fringe of her bangs at Fenris, at his face, at his eyes- and they weren’t the cold eyes of a hunter, or the dead eyes of Danarius and all he touched.

Fenris’s eyes were soft, the way they always were when he played.

“If you wish to learn to play, I can teach you,” Fenris offered. “It would be... pleasant... to teach someone a skill that doesn’t involve killing.”

Orana hesitantly stepped forward. “You are certain?”

“Never more certain. Sit down, we will practice chords,” Fenris said, and Orana eagerly sat down for her first music lesson. When Lady Hawke arrived in her library, nearly an hour later, Fenris had coached Orana through basic fingerings, two scales, and chords.

“Oh, good,” Lady Hawke said cheerfully, announcing herself with a broad, toothy grin. “I think I’ve got another lute up in the attic, might have been Mother’s when she was a girl. My dear uncle managed to hide away a few things before he lost the manor completely.”

“Oh, Lady Hawke, I couldn’t-” Orana protested, but she clutched the lute closer to her body even as she protested. A lute of her own? It was like a dream!

“Nonsense, instruments need to be used,” Lady Hawke insisted.

“And you need to practice,” Fenris added. “Remember, stretch your fingers and hands, your wrists as well. You needed my assistance, Hawke?”

“Yeah, heading down to Darktown to fetch Anders before we go see what Varric needs us for- oh don’t make that face, Fenris.”

“Hmmph,” Fenris grumbled as he stood. “Practice the scales and chords you learned today, Orana. We will work on a song next time. Lead on, Hawke.”

“Goodbye, Messere Fenris, Lady Hawke!” Orana squeaked out, still clutching the lute to her chest. Even after they both left and Orana was alone in the library, she still held the lute. She cautiously plucked one string, then another. One note, another, a chord, another chord. It was clumsy, dull sounding, not quite the glorious, perfect flood of music that poured out when Fenris played, but each sound thrilled Orana to her very bones.

Each wobbly, imperfect note was hers, and that made it all the more perfect.

[chupacabrasmustdie]

OMG, how quick

Because I think Varric would have some sympathy for him, even though Samson doesn’t want pity. It also seems to me that Samson’s past with mages (and Maddox) and his general attitude to Chantry could also win over a few people. There are some fics, when it turns out that in the Inquisition there are a few mages that Samson once saved. What do you think about this? Take your time: D (2)

If I can add something to these conversations about Samson - I have an AU in my head in which it is not Cullen or Samson who becomes the commander of the Inquisition, but Cassandra - which means that there is a free place for a person with a templar specialization in the team, if you know what I mean. Why not for a gentleman who knows both mages and templars very well? His personal quest could be about Maddox, and I personally prefer Samson’s average look from da2 over inq and what a mess he is.

Hey so first of all: thanks for the asks!

I apologize ahead of time if there are any glaring mistakes / incoherences in what follows x— as I said in my earlier reply, it’s been a long while since I played Inquisition, and my knowledge of the lore is probably very faulty by now. Even when I played the game, I had favorites among the companions… and others I didn’t take with me as often. 

Also, I’ll be focusing on the main cast and ignoring the Jaws of Hakkon and Descent DLC, because I couldn’t be bothered to play them and am therefore in no position to run my mouth. 

ANYWAY!

I think the people most susceptible to feel sympathy for Samson are the ones who have history with him, or a similar background… or just such a different take on reality that they can overlook his obvious Villainy™ lol

I agree with you, Varric would probably feel for the man, if only because they met in Kirkwall (bonus point if Hawke was left in the Fade and Samson can serve as a reminder to Varric). I think Blackwall and the Iron Bull could relate to him, both because military background and shitty deeds committed in the name of a greater cause (or just plain guilt, cough Blackwall cough). Cole, too, might be able to overlook Samson’s most problematic actions, because who better than Cole can understand Trying To Help And Doing Harm In The Process?

If we’re looking at this like a “from warm and cozy to cold shoulder” scale, I think Josephine would fall somewhere in the middle; she’s pragmatic enough to appreciate whatever Samson might bring to the Inquisition, should he choose to, but I don’t know that she’d feel much sympathy for him. 

Even though they’re mages, I’m not sure Dorian and Solas would get along well with Samson. Solas would probably be curious about what Corypheus has been up to, but I think he’d have little sympathy / interest for the fate of the red templars. And I feel like Dorian and Samson really don’t have much in common at all so it would be a bit of a cultural clash.

Then I feel there are characters whose views and backgrounds conflict too strongly with Samson’s actions to allow for respect and friendship (at first). Sera would fall in this category, I think; whatever sympathy she could muster for the red templars’ fate, she would not forgive farming red lyrium out of people. Pro-Chantry characters like Cassandra and Leliana would obviously have A Lot Of Thoughts about Samson’s actions; so would Vivienne, because of her views on Circles and Templars.

The fun part of fandom’s what-ifs is connecting the dots canon ignore, though, and all these interpersonal « obstacles » could absolutely be overcome, in the hands of a good writer. Nudge, nudge.

As for the 2nd part of your ask - I’m 300% in favor of Samson redeeming himself by working to help the Inquisition; not because I like the Inquisition (there’s honestly so much to unpack about it) but because I care one hell of a lot about Samson and want him to have the best years he can have, and rotting in the inquisition’s dungeons is not gonna accomplish that. Being one of the Inquisitor’s companions sounds like a good option tbh. Although I have to politely disagree, not on him being a mess, but on his DA2 skin being overall better - whether his DA:I appearance Fits My Type™ or started it *hides pictures of sad, balding, middle-aged fictional men*… I dig it.

Sorry again for taking so long and thank you for dropping in with Samson feels 💜

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

OC Interview!

featuring my girls, Melanthe, Eden, and Aisling!

Tagged by @schoute, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I’VE WANTED TO DO ONE OF THESE!!! Thanks for the tag!!!!!

Tagging @coptix! (frick yeah Luna Hawke!!!!!) And also @markuilleam (no pressure tho lol)

Rules: Answer the following questions as your OC of choice.

I couldn’t pick just ONE, so I said screw it and went with my main three!

1. What’s your name?

Melanthe Ashirill Lavellan. [She grins and bows low and dramatically.] How do you do? [She glances at her sister.]

[Eden clears her throat.] Eden Lavellan.

[Hawke smiles pleasantly and crosses her legs.] Aisling Mariann Hawke.

2. Do you know why you are named that?

[Melanthe shrugs.]

Hawke: No.

Eden: A friend suggested it, I thought it sounded nice, and that’s what I’ve gone with ever since.

3. Are you single or taken?

Hawke: I gave an angsty Tevinter elf my heart, and I hope he keeps it forever.

[Melanthe cackles.] Always the romantic, aren’t you Hawke? As for me… [She pulls an ivory wolf’s jawbone pendant out from under her tunic and waves it around.] Yep.

Hawke: You…went with Solas?

[Melanthe nods.] Yep. The resident egghead Fade expert is mine. And my dear sister is in love with the Commander!

[Eden blushes slightly.] He’s…he’s nice.

[Hawke and Melanthe elbow Eden playfully.]

4. Have any abilities or powers?

[Eden holds up a glowing left hand.] Mel and I have the Anchor. It lets us open and close tears in the Veil.

[Melanthe high-fives her sister with her own glowing hand.] Yes! And we can make tiny holes in the Veil to kill demons sometimes!

Hawke: I’m a mage, specifically a spirit healer with force mage training. It’s pretty cool. Eden’s a mage as well.

Melanthe: And I’m good at poking hundreds of holes in people via a truly epic assortment of knives. [She winks.]

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

[The three women exchange puzzled glances.]

Hawke: Run that by me again?

Melanthe: I don’t remember killing someone by that name. Nor do I remember any bartenders with that name. Maybe…eh. Nah.

6. What’s your eye color?

[Hawke raises an eyebrow.] You mean to tell me you can’t see it? Blue.

[Melanthe leans in close to the interviewer for a moment.] Gold, but not the same shade as my sister��s. Mine’s better.

Eden: I’m not inclined to disagree.

7. How about your hair color?

Hawke: Black. Like obsidian but, alas! Not as shiny.

Eden: Just..dark red.

Melanthe: Like drying blood!

[Eden makes a face.] Mel, please.

Melanthe: Okay fine. Going with Hawke’s mention of shiny rocks, how about garnet red?

Eden: That is better, yes.

8. Have any family members?

[Hawke suddenly finds the floor most intriguing. Melanthe perks up.] Oh, lots! There’s the twins, Tessa and Feyrand--they’re older than me--Iolanthe’s younger than Eden, we’ve got an even younger brother who has a habit of disappearing and we’ve got cousins galore! There’s Kahris, Maralah, Saelethil…not to mention our clanmates! They’re family too.

Eden: My friends are my family, too. Hawke, Fenris, Cole, Cassandra, Solas, Varric, Sera, Blackwall…the whole inner circle, really.

Interviewer: What about you, Hawke?

[Hawke jerks her head back up.] Oh, sorry. Well… [She coughs into her fist.] I have Fenris and my ducklings, and the Lavellans. That is…all.

9. Oh? How about any pets?

Melanthe: Too many.  There’s my palomino horse, I call him Corvo, Eden’s got a hart named Red Velvet, a halla named Evune, probably a dozen different birds, three hamsters aaaaand a rabbit on top of that-

Eden: In my defense, they were mostly rescues.

[Hawke points behind her with her thumb.] There’s an undead bog unicorn in the stables. And a giant nug. And as for me? My mabari Birch is all I need.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

[Hawke deadpans.] Red lyrium.

[Melanthe grimaces.] Oh, I feel you there.

Eden: Stuck-up ancient Tevinter morons who blow things up and then monologue villainously.

Melanthe: Oof, true! Also the Chantry. The Chantry can go- [She spews a long string of obscenities that just about rivals a sailor’s cursing.]

[Eden nods thoughtfully. Hawke’s eyes glint with mischief.] And the TEMPLARS as well, especially the ones who were in KIRKWALL working for MEREDITH-

[Cullen hollers from the next room.] I heard that, Hawke!

[Melanthe and Hawke high-five. Eden shakes her head.] Hawke didn’t mean you, ma atish’an.

Melanthe: Oh yes she did. [snickers]

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

[Melanthe leans back in her chair, putting her legs on the table.] Stabbing. Drinking. Kissing Solas. Pranking everyone in Skyhold, the usual trouble.

Eden: Painting, reading, gardening. [A timid smile slowly spreads across her face.] Singing, or playing the harp.

Hawke: Now that you mention it… I write poetry, and sometimes turn them into songs. Journaling is also something I like, and pressing flowers, and-… [Her gaze strays to the wall.] Yeah, that’s about it.

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

[The three women glance at each other, at the interviewer, then back to each other.]

Melanthe: Pfft. What kind of question is that?

[Eden toys with a bracelet.]

Hawke: Oh no, of course not.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

[Hawke grabs a champagne glass from the end table next to her, and sips it.] Me? Never!

Melanthe: I heard you used the Arishok’s skull as a flowerpot.

[Hawke nearly spits her drink everywhere.] Who told you that?

[Melanthe simply winks at the interviewer.]

14. What kind of animal are you?

Hawke: A dragon. Guarding my treasure hoard~

[Melanthe wiggles her eyebrows.] A sssssslippery sssssssssnake!

Eden: Sorry sister, you’re more of a mountain goat. You’re everywhere you shouldn’t be and you consume an unholy amount of whatever food’s available.

Melanthe: She’s a barn owl. Or a cat, maybe?

15. Name your worst habits?

Hawke: Fenris says I’m a bit overprotective of my friends. Too loyal, too stubborn, too willing to risk my life for others, I “involve myself in the affairs of others” too much, or what have you. But I’ll let you in on a secret: I used to ignore the vast majority of the mail I got when I was a noblewoman of Kirkwall.

Eden: I stay up late reading fiction when I should be dealing with all my mail and- [she lowers her voice.] Sometimes I skip war meetings.

Melanthe: I run exclusively on caffeine and volatile emotions.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Hawke: Eden.

Eden: Hawke.

Melanthe: Iron Bull, Cassandra, Blackwall, Cullen, Leliana, Josie, Tess, Feyrand, Krem, Sera, Solas, Vivienne, Cole, Dorian… [She grins wickedly.] But not you, sister. I’m still taller than you.

Eden: Not if I wear heels.

Melanthe: Not if I stand on Bull’s shoulders!

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Hawke: Mm, straight.

[Melanthe considers this a moment, then shrugs.]

Eden: Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m into…that.

18. Do you go to school?

Hawke: My parents taught me a lot.

Melanthe: Dalish don’t really have school.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

Hawke: I’d like to, yes.

Eden: Marriage? Absolutely, but kids I’m not so sure of.

Melanthe: To be honest I haven’t thought about it. Too busy stabbing demons and undead and corrupted templars and whatnot.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Hawke: Do lovers count as fans?

Melanthe: HEY SOLAS! ARE YOU A FANBOY?

Solas, from the other room: Am I- what?

Melanthe: He’s a fan of the Fade. And me. But be serious, very few people in Skyhold AREN’T fans of me. [She winks.]

21. What are you most afraid of?

Eden: Spiders.

Hawke: Corrupted spiders.

Melanthe: Bears.

22. What do you usually wear?

Eden: Simple Dalish robes.

Hawke: I inherited a bloody awesome coat from my dad complete with belts, a bright red sash, and some shoulder armor. With bonus knee protection, because you can’t protect your knees enough.

Melanthe: I’ve got a sick coat, made of phoenix scales, ring velvet, Highever weave, with lazurite details. I’ve got other coats made of varghest scales, dragonling scales, and gurgut webbing.

23. What one food tempts you?

Melanthe: CHOCOLATE. What kind? Doesn’t matter, it’s MINE.

Hawke: Ham that tastes of despair is okay, but there’s enough despair in the world, and not enough lemon cheesecake.

Eden: …cinnamon rolls.

24. Am I annoying you?

Melanthe: Nope. I’ve got aaaall the time in the world.

Hawke: After all the people I’ve dealt with, it’ll take a lot more to be annoying.

Eden: You’re not a fussy Orlesian noble. You’re doing just fine.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

[Hawke gestures for the interviewer to continue.]

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Hawke: I was an apostate, then a refugee apostate, then a noblewoman apostate, then the Champion of Kirkwall, and now I’m little more than a fugitive, so truth be told, I’m not sure.

Eden: a Dalish First turned Inquisitor. I…don’t…really know?

Melanthe: High class for fancy parties and fancy murders, low class at the tavern.

27. How many friends do you have?

Hawke: About ten.

[Melanthe snorts.] Um, almost a whole castle’s worth.

Eden: My inner circle, plus the ducklings, plus the animals… [She tries counting them, but loses track.] As many friends as I need.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

Hawke and Melanthe, in unison: Lemon meringue is the best.

Melanthe: Chocolate is equal.

Eden: Pies of all kinds are good. I wish we had them more often.

29. Favourite drink?

Melanthe: Whiskey.

Hawke: That peach liqueur I used to buy in Hightown.

Eden: ….hot chocolate?

30. What’s your favourite place?

[Hawke smiles wistfully.] I have many, but the place I like best is wherever Fenris is.

Melanthe: Awww!!

Hawke: And somewhere we’re not being attacked all the time.

Melanthe: I’m rather fond of that little oasis in the Western Approach. And the Wounded Coast. Storm Coast was pretty, too.

Eden, softly: I liked the Emerald Graves.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Melanthe: We’re all dating someone at the moment. And we told you that.

32. That was a stupid question…

Hawke: We all say dumb things sometimes.

Melanthe: Some people more often than others.

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Hawke and Melanthe: Ocean.

Eden: Lake.

34. What’s your type?

Melanthe: Type of what? Blood? Weapons?

Eden: Preferred type of magic?

[Hawke tries not to laugh and fails.] Broody and sometimes glowing.

35. Any fetishes?

[Melanthe smiles brightly.] Stabbing demons.

Hawke: If you think you’re going to get an answer to that, think again.

[Eden squirms and twists her bracelet around her hand.] Next question, please.

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Melanthe: Wait….indoor camping is a thing? What is it with you shems and constantly coming up with new nonsense?

Hawke: Pillow or blanket forts, I think.

Eden: …..outdoors?

I stayed up SO MUCH LATER THAN I SHOULD HAVE writing this, but heck if it wasn’t awesome!

[roguelioness]

Moving On

It has been two months after the final defeat of Corypheus - eight weeks after he left, twelve weeks since he broke her heart - when her friends begin to prod her to “move on”.

Strangely, it is Sera who tells her first. Strange Sera, with her new, slow-blooming affection for Dagna, who shows her sympathy. “He's an arse, yeah?” She is brutally blunt, and Lavellan welcomes it. “Got not guts, that one. Who walks away without a word?” Sympathetic Sera, who wraps her arm awkwardly around Lavellan's shoulders. “You're better than him, you know that right? Deserve better. Bet he's off falling arse first into the Fade.” and Lavellan knows she means well, but her heart clenches at the words as a new fear washes over her. Did he leave her because she did not understand the Fade like he did? But she wanted to learn, didn't that matter?

It is Dorian who gives her the final push. He arranges an evening in the tavern, and several drinks later he departs with Iron Bull, giving her a cheeky wink and a meaningful nod towards the dalish youth sitting opposite her.

Loranil.

She tries to make conversation, listens to him talk enthusiastically about what he's seen (he's just returned from Haven, he says, helped clear up the mess, assisted in finding anything that could help the Inquisition hunt down the Venatori that remained). She nods, and listens patiently - or attempts to - but it becomes painfully clear that he is far too young for her. Not in age, but experience. She has faced horrors that he could not even dream of. She had made decisions that have affected entire states, dabbled in the politics of nations.

He will never see her as anything but the Inquisitor. So she leaves him with a smile, and bids him to pass on her well wishes to his clan.

Josephine, sweet Josephine, gently points out that a change of scenery might do her good. So Lavellan leaves for Wycome both eager and fearful of seeing her clan - for her face is bare now, and there are so many harsh truths within her that she does not think she can spill. She does not want to ruin them the way she has been ruined; at least not this first time she is seeing them.

Clan Lavellan is well settled, she's pleased to see, but Deshanna is- not unhappy, but certainly discomfited to see her face bare.

“It was the mark, I think,” Lavellan lies at first. But Deshanna has known her since she came out of her mother’s womb, red-faced and screaming, and is not fooled. So late at night, she curls up in the Keeper's aravel and spills all the truths she has learned.

She wants sympathy and understanding, a shoulder to cry on. But Deshanna is very disturbed.

“It might be best if you leave,” she cautions carefully, unable to meet Lavellan's eyes. “If what you say is truth-”

“It is!”

“Strange truths from a strange man who is no longer with you, da'len. If it was indeed the truth, would he not have stayed by your side after his hand removed your marks? Perhaps he was sent by Fen’harel to test your devotion to the Creators. Why would any man who claimed to care for you leave you, especially after he-” the Keeper gestures to her face. “After he removed your vallaslin?” Deshanna shakes her head sorrowfully. “I remember the day you chose to receive your vallaslin, da’len. You were young, and so proud. And now-” You have changed, hangs in the air, and Lavellan does not dispute it, for it is the truth.

Her time with her clan is- different. No longer is she the careful, cautious First they knew. Once again, her experiences have molded her into someone that the rest of them cannot understand. They cannot even begin to understand her. She has seen too much, learned very many new things, and she can’t help but question the stories she’s been told since childhood.

The differences between her, and the rest of her clan, grow more painfully obvious by the day. The word cursed is never mentioned, but it becomes clear that the Keeper thinks she is not someone who will bring good to the clan.

And so she is rejected.

Again.

Just over a week into what was meant to be a month-long stay, she leaves her clan. This time, it feels final.

There is a hot, bilious bitterness in her belly.

Everyone is surprised to see her back so soon in Skyhold, but thankfully no one asks about it. In a drunken stupor several days later she lets the truth slip out to Dorian, who sympathizes with her in vino, and the two of them make loud, drunken curse-toasts to her Keeper and his father.

It makes her feel better. Marginally.

She tries, she really does. She is tired of the loneliness that awaits her each night in her bed. She wants love - or at the very least, someone who can help her repair her damaged heart. But this “moving on” feels very elusive.

She can’t seem to find anyone. Cullen is handsome, yes, and she knows her advances would be well-received by him. But there’s a niggling voice in the back of her head that reminds her that he was a templar, and though she knows he is no longer one of them, she also knows that he will never be able to accept the full range of her mage abilities. He deserves someone who is- someone like Cassandra. She thinks they would make a good pair.

Dorian is with Bull, Varric is still thinking of Bianca, and Cole- well, the lad is like her son, and she pushes that thought out of her mind with a grimace.

Which leaves her with - Blackwall.

He is familiar. Their conversations are never forced, and he has a gentle manner about him. He is courteous and kind, and always mindful of her feelings. For a time, she thinks he can understand her, perhaps more than most. He- he knows what it is like to be changed. They both now lead different lives than the ones they had in the past.

And one night, her mind silenced by wine, she takes him to bed.

It is- he is still kind. Still gentle. Reverential, but in the wrong way. He doesn’t touch her as though he’s afraid she might vanish. His fingers are thicker, his palms rougher. When he brings her to peak, her heart doesn’t sing.

When he hilts into her, it feels wrong.

He leaves her bed before the break of dawn, and she curls up and weeps. Though it is not his fault - he certainly did nothing wrong - she feels dirty, and she cannot scrub her skin hard enough.

It is when she stares at herself in the mirror, skin almost painfully red, her face scattered with a plethora of freckles that she had never quite noticed before- it is then that she understands.

She will never find anyone else.

It makes her want to break things, so she does. The crystal decanter - a gift from some noble or another - shatters in the fireplace. She sweeps the contents of her desk to the floor.

Sets the sheets on the bed aflame. Watches them burn to ashes.

It is her advisors who help clear up her mess. Leliana and Josephine quickly squash any rumors, but Blackwall has heard enough to form his own - not incorrect - suspicions. He is still graceful when she breaks off what they had, and she cannot help but feel more than a little bit of regret.

There is nothing for her to do but to drown herself in her work, so she does. She enters the Deep Roads, learns secrets both terrible and awesome. She travels to the Frostbacks, meets with the Avvar.

Meeting Ameridan disturbs her more than she’d care to admit.

She does not want to die alone.

She fights yet another would-be god, and slays him. When she returns to Skyhold, she has been given a new name - Godkiller.

It is a title even Leliana cannot dispel, and it seems to be what tips the scales against the Inquisition.

There is an Exalted Council. She recognizes the sycophants and the cowards for what they are. She doesn’t mince her words when she addresses them. 

Doesn’t care to.

She knows she’s dying. The mark will kill her.

But it seems a peaceful death is not meant for her.

There are qunari in the Winter Palace, and she must solve yet another crisis. But this one-

This one, has him.

A name she hasn’t heard in two years. A name she thought she would never hear again.

Whatever the qunari planned - that becomes secondary. She has a new quest - a very personal one.

She has to save him.

It is a long, twisted path. There are so many ruins, magnificent structures that show her what her people were in the past. Buildings so wonderful they defy belief. She wants to read every tome that remains in the Shattered Library, but she can’t. There’s no time.

There are so many qunari. There is a dragon. There is a particularly vicious saarebas.

At last, all that remains between her, and him, is a mirror. She walks through the eluvian.

Makes her way towards him.

Sees him - Solas, but not Solas, he is powerful, too powerful, he is like a god…

He tells her the truth, at long last. Two years she has waited for the answers to her questions, two years she has waited for him to tell her the truth, and now she is here, bloodied, bruised, broken, and she wishes she had never heard it.

But it strikes her. Solas. Fen’harel. The Dread Wolf. He Who Hunts Alone.

She laughs, hysterically, at the large eluvian in front of her that has gone silent after his departure.

The Dread Wolf has ruined her; if she cannot be with him, then she, she too-

Hunts alone.

[gremlinquisitor]

Varric & Hawke (or Varric/Hawke, if you like): 31. “How do we keep getting into these situations?” “Eleven years of friendship and I still don’t know.”

for @dadrunkwriting and @diemarysues. I had to fudge the number of years for the timeline, but I think we’re okay. c:

~950 words, Varric & Hawke, no ships, good for most ages, one dead dragon

Read it here on AO3

ko-fi

There’s no stopping him, because at this point he thinks he can’t be stopped. Varric’s heard the story of how they met Flemeth at least five times by now, which is the only logical explanation for why Hawke strolls forward, staff in hand, and tries to talk to the dragon.

“I delivered your necklace!” He waves his staff over his head, and Varric can hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh, Hawke, no. That’s not the same dragon!” Daisy calls out to him as if that will make any difference at all. That she can tell the difference between two dragons is a discussion for another time, preferably one with no dragons present for comparison.

Predictably, the dragon does not thank him for running someone else’s errand, and instead chooses to scream so loudly that all of them - Varric, Hawke, Daisy, Choir Boy and Broody - are knocked back on the ground.

And then comes the fire.

The fight is long and messy, and when it’s over the ground that’s not covered with dead dragons glitters with crushed glass from potions, crunching under their feet when they approach the body of the great beast. Everything smells like wet or blood or burning, with bushes still crackling along the path they took to get here. Varric can already feel where his shoulder is going to stiff in the morning.

Choir Boy - pristine armor splattered with red and one end of his heirloom bow blackened - sets a foot on one of the legs, bracing himself to start pulling out arrows. He doesn’t stop muttering the whole time he works his way back towards the tail, and Varric can’t tell if he’s praying for the dragon, or about the dragon. Not that it matters either way; it’s definitely dead. But if anyone could pray hard enough to get a high dragon sent to the Maker’s side, it would be him.

Broody is sitting off to one side, already wiping down his sword and glaring at the body like he expects it to come back to life, and Varric can’t blame him. A fight that long, it almost seems strange that it’s over, and there were a couple times when he thought that this would be what he spent the rest of his life doing.

“Hand me a flask, will you, Merrill?”

Varric steps carefully over the bulky tail, setting Bianca on his back only after he’s sure the damn thing won’t twitch. Hawke and Merrill are by the head, and even if he’s positive the dragon’s dead, he isn’t about to walk past its face if he doesn’t have to.

“How do we keep getting into these situations, anyway?” He calls out as he strolls along beside the beast’s spine, picking up coins that could have come from their pockets, or from some other unfortunate soul that visited the Bone Pit earlier.

“Eight-- years of friendship, and I still don’t know,” Hawke replies, not without a considerable amount of effort for a man with nothing left to kill for the moment.

Varric rounds the curve of the dragon’s shoulders and comes to a stop at the sight before him. “Maker’s breath, Hawke, what are you doing?”

Hawke is standing a still-steaming pool of blood, elbow-deep in the side of the dragon’s neck. Daisy is next to him, pushing corks into flasks of what can only be even more blood, then setting them gently in her pack.

“We can make runes with the blood--” Hawke grunts, and there’s a wet snap from inside the dragon. Its jaw twitches and all three of them hop like spooked cats, Choir Boy yelling something from the other side.

Hawke pulls his hands out, some fleshy bit caught between them, and if the blood was steaming, this is billowing, almost invisible through all the white that rises from it into the cool evening air.

“And this is the fire gland. That merchant at the Gallows will give me a pretty penny for it, I bet.”

Varric opens his mouth to ask how Hawke even knew that that would be there, but thinks better of it. The man loves dragons. Some things don’t need to be more complicated than that.

Hawke casts about for some way to preserve the thing until they get back to the city, smiling gratefully at Daisy when she holds up an oilcloth. After a moment’s consideration, he strips off his bloodsoaked gloves and sets them in the cloth as well, rolling the whole package up into a ball and stuffing it into his own pack.

“Anything else you got on your shopping list? Scales, horns, teeth?” Varric sighs. He regrets the question immediately as Hawke’s eyes light up and hustles over to the dragon’s head. A puff of smoke comes out when he tries to peel back the upper lip, and he pulls his hand away, shaking his bloody fingers before sticking them in his mouth. Choir Boy makes a face, and Varric hates to admit that he’s pretty sure he’s making the same one.

“Maybe we can come back tomorrow when it’s cooled?” It’s one of those Daisy suggestions that is somehow brilliant and a little mad at the same time. With people sure that they’ll die out here, it’s unlikely anyone will loot the body overnight, but Varric doesn’t relish the idea of day-old dead dragon, either.

Hawke is pouting, but he hums and nods, gesturing with his head towards the path back to the city. Broody is already there waiting for them, shuffling and impatient, though he looks at Hawke’s hand with concern when they approach.

The walk back to Kirkwall is an enthusiastic replay of the battle courtesy of Hawke, complete with arm-waving and roaring, under a starlit sky.

[ramblinganthropologist]

The deal

Summary: Avery Hawke is a strong fighter, but she needs an edge. At the Bone Pit, at a dead dragon’s side, she finds just what she’s looking for. Question is, is it worth it?

---

There was something about killing a dragon that really got the blood pumping. Or… maybe that was just the blood loss talking. It was kind of hard to tell.

“You hanging in there, Hawke?”

Varric was talking – she was pretty sure it was Varric. The lump before her was too big for Anders and not deep enough to be her brother Moses. Since Chewy and Dog couldn’t talk, that left the number one dwarf in her life. Amazing what logic could get her.

“Yeah, I’m- “Her knees buckled. “Shit… ok… probably should walk that one ba- “

Strong hands caught her, already tingling with healing magic. Getting healed was a strange sensation, like your blood boiled and froze at the same time as it knit flesh together and kept you from dying. Avery never really got used to it, and that was saying something. As a warrior, she needed healing a lot.

The magic was definitely concentrating on her midsection… guess she hadn’t missed that claw swipe after all.

“You’re lucky it didn’t disembowel you, Hawke.” Anders’ worried face came into view, under-eye circles and all. He hadn’t been sleeping well thanks to the colds going around Darktown as of late. At least he hadn’t lost too much weight, but it wasn’t like he had any to spare. Honestly, he was a bag of bones with feathers – not that she could talk as a bag of bones with armor attached – at best.

But damn if he didn’t do the healing thing better than anyone she knew.

“I almost cleared it.” It was getting easier to talk as her faculties returned to her. She could see now and had more feeling in her limbs. The familiar static charge of it returning was never pleasant, but she kept still. If she moved, something might need to be broken in order to repair it. “Least it’s dead.”

A dragon. It had been an honest to the fucking Maker’s ball sack dragon and she had gone toe-to-toe with it. There was no way the guy who had hired them on was going to believe her, but that didn’t matter as long as he paid. More importantly, she had won against a fucking dragon. That was the main takeaway that got her lack of blood bumping.

Anders shook his head as he allowed her to stand. “She’s going to be just fine, Hawke.”

“Of course she is.” Moses’ deep voice carried over the crackling of fires beginning to douse. “Well, you going to help me see if there’s anything good here or what?”

Avery nodded as she gave Anders a little wave and hopped over to where her brother was kneeling by the corpse. Truly, it was a massive thing – all covered in oily scales and scars from battle. The muscled tail made her wince as she stepped over it – that one had hurt. Honestly, she was lucky she hadn’t broken a rib with that one.

Moses didn’t look impressed, but he never did. “You get us into the weirdest shit.”

“Hey, whatever gets us closer to the 50 sovereigns.” She whistled a happy note as she pulled a knife from her boot. “You know magic shit, think we can get anything for the scales from your guys?”

If not, her guys would be more than happy to take some actual fucking dragon scales off her hands. Rich people loved that shit, considered it a collector’s item now that the ancient beasts were apparently not dead. Long live the Dragon Age, especially if it got her paid.

What, she was a practical woman. So sue her.

Moses shook his head as he peered closer. “Get me a sample and I’ll let you know. It’s too hard to tell when it’s still on the hide.”

Leave it to a mage to give her the dirty work. That was fine, Avery was used to butchering hides from Lothering. Her knife made quick work and soon a scaly patch was deposited on a nearby rock so he didn’t get bloody. Her brother nodded as he went over to inspect it, leaving her with the hole she had created.

Even though the dragon was dead, warm blood still made her fingers slick as she worked. It was strange – part of her had thought a dragon’s blood would be… special, maybe? But it was red, just like every other living thing’s blood was. There wasn’t anything magic about it, though she wasn’t an expert on that. Magic was more her brother’s thing.

Still… there was a lot of blood.

“Going to need one hell of a rain to clear all this up. I don’t envy the vultures trying to peck through that hide.” Varric carefully avoided a puddle of blood as he continued to check for any non-dragon valuables. Behind him, Anders and Moses were discussing the potential value of a sample. “Seems like you left them an opening, though. Always knew you were an animal lover, Hawke.”

Avery normally would have had a smart remark in return for that, but her mind was other places. Mainly, in the bleeding hole she had created in the dragon’s side. The blood was beginning to seep into the dry ground, turning it a rusty color. Normally, she didn’t really notice blood – she got covered in enough of it to not really care other than worrying over pissing her sister off when it came to laundry. But something about this was… different. Was it the smell? It didn’t smell any different, at least by her account. Didn’t look different either – red and sticky and shining when the sun broke through the dirty clouds above the Bone Pit.

But… she couldn’t stop. Her hand started to reach down.

“Hawke?”

She snapped back to reality. Varric looked concerned, and that was never a good sign. He hadn’t alerted Moses or Anders yet to do a concussion check on her, so it wasn’t that bad. At least she could play it off as exhaustion as she offered him a lopsided grin.

“Guess I was still getting my senses back from healing. You know me and magic don’t get along great.”

The dwarf nodded, and some of the concern left his face. “You and me both. I finished checking around here, how about you go on the other side?”

Other side… right. Avery nodded as she broke from the dwarf and hopped over the muscular tail that had almost snapped her in two. The other half of the dragon was just as muscular as the first, but this one had the benefit of the head staring at her. Once ferocious eyes were sightless now, reflecting the overhead sun. The mouth still bore its fangs, though one was cracked and another lay on the ground.

That’s why you don’t bite rocks – bad for your teeth.

“Well, I’ll be taking this…” She ducked down, picking up the abandoned fang and placing it into her pouch. That brought her close to the beast’s head, and for a second, her blood froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen light glimmer in the dragon’s eye, much as it had when it had first spotted them in the pit.

It didn’t move, though. Probably wouldn’t have been able to with a severed wing anyway.

“Must’ve been a trick of the light.” Avery shook her head as she leaned against the dragon’s side. “Fuck, you hit me harder than I thought. Maybe I should go for that extra healing after all…”

Even though it was dead, it was still ridiculously hot. Not enough to burn, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant. Part of her wondered if that would help speed up decomposition, but other than that she had no clue. They didn’t exactly teach dragon anatomy – or much of anything for that matter – in Chantry school.

But damn… it was big. And hot.

Maybe because she was still recovering from the fight, but Avery leaned hard into the dead dragon’s side. It didn’t fight her, didn’t even poke her. The scales were laid too well, its hide too strong for that. Even her knife had had some trouble getting through it, but it had with some effort. There was no doubt about it, this was the kind of beast that legends were written after and ages were named for.

And they had killed it.

“Shit, are we going to have one hell of a story for Bethany when we get home.” She chuckled low, patting the creature’s side. “Of course, she’s going to worry like crazy if I give her the full details. Guess we’ll keep you whipping me with your tail between the two of us, ok?”

She swore she saw the glint again from the eyes, but it was no doubt a trick of the light caused by a shift in the clouds. It was dead – no way it would let her sit on it like that otherwise. Still, even a dead dragon was a dragon, and she was sitting on it. Talk about badass points.

Well… maybe not so much as she realized she was way too close to a puddle of blood.

“Gross… first you try to kill me, then you bleed on me?” Avery shook off her boot as she stood to the side, checking to make sure there was no extra blood on her dirty armor. Luckily for her, the wound was to the side – it was still trickling blood that shined in the light as it pooled. A puddle had begun to form in a crack, too deep to dye the earth yet.

Something about it…

Avery frowned as she looked around. Off to the side, she spotted it hidden in some grass, glinting in the light. Quickly, she scooped it up before anyone would notice. She had seen her brother throw it there after draining the contents, the lyrium long evaporated with only the faint smell of the air after lightning strikes to remind her what had once been inside.

A few seconds later, and the bottle was full of red, thick liquid she stored in her pouch with the tooth. Her timing couldn’t have been better, as the crunch of boots on dirt alerted her that she had company. Avery knelt at the side, pretending to check, guessing from the length of the shadow who was standing by her.

“Need more?”

Moses was good for providing shade on a hot day. “We’ll take a few more scales. Once dried and mixed with herbs it’s good for a few things.”

A few moments later, and that was pried off too. “Guess I can sell the rest then. Somebody in Hightown will wanna buy this shit, make a glove out of it or something for their great grand brat to make them think granddad killed it.”

Honestly, she didn’t care what they did with it. They could make a dildo out of the hide for all she cared as long as she got paid. Besides, she had pried a few scales off to keep in her collection once they had stripped part of the hide. She had what she needed.

The vial of red, however, was her real prize.

“Probably.” Moses gave her that look. “You’re on bed rest when we get back to Gamlen’s. You don’t have work tonight anyway.”

She didn’t – but that was besides the point. Avery hated being told what to do. However, she’d let it slide this once. She had bigger fish to fry as they started away from the corpse, heading back to the city to deliver the bad news. Maybe it was that trick of the light again, but she swore the beast’s eyes glinted when she glanced over her shoulder to its corpse.

That was never a good sign, but when had she ever believed in omens?

---

That night, the house was quiet.

Below her, Bethany was fast asleep. Somewhere in the small house, her mother and uncle slept too. Moses was lost to the fade, and Carver snored. Fuck Carver, but that was besides the point as she stared up at the ceiling.

Avery wasn’t used to sleeping at night. Thanks to her work bouncing drunks out of the Blooming Rose, she was normally wide awake at this hour. So was Chewy for the matter, but her dog didn’t seem to mind the early night. She was fast asleep on the floor, her little leg kicking in a dream.

She kicked Carver and he stopped snoring. Good dog, best friend.

Avery sighed as she sat up, once again glad that she was too short to hit her head on the low ceiling. The rickety ladder creaked as she made her way down to the floor, tiptoeing her way past the sleeping dogs gathered there. Once she was sure everyone was asleep, out she went into the main room.

Her armor was propped up on a rickety stand she had cobbled together weeks prior. It needed cleaning badly, but she wasn’t in the mood for that. Instead, her hands found her pouch and retrieved the contents. She found her seat, staring down at them in her hand.

Two shiny scales, a broken tooth… and the blood.

“You two should be worth something tomorrow.” She frowned as she rolled the vial in her hand. “I dunno about you… I’d say the circle but then they’d ask where I got it from.”

Anders hadn’t wanted any either, she remembered that much. Maybe in the morning she’d ask Moses?

It was a good idea, but… Avery decided against it as she glanced at the contents through the glass. By now, the blood should have been a clumpy mess. What was the word, coagulate? It should’ve done that by now, she knew that much from bleeding and making other people bleed. Was dragon blood different? Maybe it was the fact she had it corked up? It certainly still looked like blood when she gave it a shake, but…

Her hand twitched towards the stopper. She blinked, not even realizing it at first. Yet she didn’t back away. Instead, out came the cork and with it followed the faint metallic tang of blood. Some of it had collected on the cork, and it dripped onto her hand. Right then, it was a spot of darkness in the gloom of the unlit room.

Curiosity hadn’t killed her yet, so she raised her hand up to sniff at it. For being old, it was still strong. Not eye-watering bad, but it was there. It wasn’t rusty either. Definitely… she wasn’t sure, hot maybe? Made sense, the thing breathed fire and all. If she did that, she’d expect her blood to be hot too.

Wonder what it would taste like…

That was the thought that snapped Avery back into focus as she stared at the uncapped vial. Even if she wasn’t a mage, living with enough of them had taught her drinking strange things was a bad idea. It was how they got templars after all – though, that was with lyrium instead of blood. Still, nobody liked a Templar, especially not her.

Besides, there were countless old stories about the bad shit that happened when people went toe to toe with a dragon. Even if you won, you were never the same, sometimes prone to fits of violence or savage strength. You were cursed, some people said – changed, other mentioned. It was in the blood, that was always the common thread that linked these tales together.

It was in the blood.. and she had a vial of it.

Now, if Avery was a smart woman she would’ve corked the damn thing up and tossed it outside the city in the morning. She would have gone back into the room, back to bed, and tried her best to sleep off whatever dumb thought had entered her head. The problem was… she wasn’t. And she was very curious.

Her father had often said it was her downfall. Boy, he didn’t know the half of it.

As she looked into the contents, those old stories whispered back to her. Strength was something she needed, especially against bigger opponents. Even at her best, she was tiny. You could pick her up and throw her if you really wanted to do it. She wasn’t like Fenris or Aveline – they had the muscle to stay put.

Not like her. The dragon’s tail had almost taken her out before she’d gotten a good swing in.

Even though there was no light in the room, Avery swore she saw it in the blood as she swirled it in the vile. Maybe magical creatures like dragons carried a bit of it with them. Hell, maybe there had been more lyrium left than she thought. It could have been a trick of her vision, but... it was dragon’s blood after all. Should she expect something normal?

“I guess this is the point we work out a deal.” She swallowed hard, unsure as to who she was talking to. A heavy presence weighed on her, reminding her of the Bone Pit and pressing into the dragon’s side. “Just checking, you’re not going to possess me or anything, right?”

There was no answer, and she hadn’t expected one. There was just a faint bubble that came when she swirled the contents. The presence still weighed down, almost choking her. She could almost feel great eyes upon her, waiting to see what she did next.

Well, she was never one to disappoint a crowd. With a solemn nod, Avery tipped the glass back and opened her mouth. Instantly, her throat closed and it threatened to bubble out her mouth. She closed it at the last second, but a little bit still leaked through her lips.

Her entire body felt on fire as she fought to keep from spitting it out. She had tasted blood before, but nothing like this – it was practically burning her mouth, full of venom and rage that tried to claw out her throat. It wanted out, and it wanted that badly.

Avery didn’t let it, though. Instead, she fought the pain and the bile as she swallowed a little. It burned as it dribbled down her throat like acid, trying to eat its way through. That left room, so she swallowed a little more. The acid kept bubbling, fighting her, begging for her to stop and spit it out.

But she didn’t. Down it went, bile and all as her eyes streamed and her stomach heaved. It immediately tried to fight its way out, clawing at her belly from the inside in a last ditch effort. She couldn’t think, all she could do was keep her mouth shut and not let it win. Her entire body was burning up as she leaned hard on the arm of the chair, pain coursing through every limb as the dragon made one last stand.

And then? She hit the fucking floor like a lightweight at the Hanged Man.

---

“Hawke, are you sure?”

“No doubt about it…”

Soft, deep voices were the first think Avery noticed in the burning haze. It was a lifeline for her to cling to as she floated amid the fire, wishing for it to stop. There was water dripping somewhere – a drop of it hit her palm. It felt like paradise that all too quickly evaporated as she tried to exist.

A soft whine to her side drew her attention. That was Chewy, no doubt about it. Dog was too quiet for that sort of thing. A nose bumped up against her hand, wonderfully cold and soft. There was soft fur to go with it, a port in the storm amidst the hell she found herself in.

Was she hurt? Had the house caught fire in her sleep?

Someone was at her side – their hands weren’t big enough for Moses, and she had recognized the voice. It was Anders, sounding beyond concerned. It was the tone he took when he had a dying patient in front of him and he was doing his best to keep them among the living.

That… wasn’t promising.

“Tilt her head up, I’m going to give her some water to wash it out with.”

Someone – probably her brother- carefully moved her upper body into a siting position. Gentle hands carefully opened her mouth and cool water rushed in, extinguishing the fires. Something inside hurt though…

“Her teeth already changed…”

“Given the amount she drank…”

It was too hard to focus after that as they let her lay back down. The burning had returned full force, and Avery felt herself drifting away, sinking under the lava. Strangely, she didn’t mind if she never resurfaced. Weird as it was, she was growing used to the sensation of being burned alive.

That… again, not a good sign.

---

The next time she woke, Avery could open her eyes.

From the looks of things, she was in Anders’ clinic in Darktown. At least, that was her guess as she glanced around. It wasn’t her uncle’s house, and it smelled like herbs. Given how dark it was, it kind of narrowed things down. Besides, she had mopped those floors enough to know every crack in the uneven ground.

Next to her, Chewy stirred. At the sight of her mistress, her great tail wagged and her booming bark sounded in the clinic. It brought with it the sound of feet at a lightning fast pace, and the door swung open.

Anders stood there, half dressed and looking as though he had just gone to sleep. At the sight of her, his shoulders sagged in relief. Then they straightened as he crossed the small room and started to check her over.

Always a healer.

“I see you’re conscious.” He held her wrist as he checked her pulse. Avery didn’t know much about that, but the look he was giving wasn’t a good one. “Your heart is beating like crazy…”

Her mouth was too dry to answer – her tongue was stuck to the roof. He must have seen that because he nudged a cup of water towards her. Avery all but fell onto it, swallowing half of it in one gulp. The last of the fires burned out, and she sighed in relief as she leaned back, closing her heavy eyes.

“What the fuck happened?”

Had she been hurt worse than she thought during the dragon fight? Her memories were a blur as she sat there, trying to piece it together. It couldn’t have been, given she wasn’t wearing her armor. She didn’t see it either – if Anders had to take it off, it would have been in the corner. So… after that.

Shit. Maybe the house had caught fire? Was Bethany ok?

“I should be the one saying that.”

A voice crackled like a thunderstorm through the room. Avery picked up her aching head and glanced over. A man was filling the doorway, giving off less than friendly vibes. Moses was only wearing the pants he slept in, too. It still had to be night – or he had never gone to bed.

He entered the room and Anders stood to give him space. He took the only chair in the room, though it wasn’t for his comfort. If anything, it saved her neck from having to look up at him through the talk. What could she say – he was a big guy and she wasn’t.

No doubt about it… not happy.

He at least took a breath before he started. “What the fuck possessed you to drink that much dragon blood?”

Avery’s memory snapped back to focus of the vial that had rested in her hand. It was gone now, probably smashed to bits when she had dropped it. Just thinking about it made her head hurt, but he wanted an answer. At least her tongue was slowly working.

“I… shit.” She groaned, holding her head. “Can’ talk, everything hurts.”

“You drank enough to kill a fully grown man three times over.” A fully grown man she was not so… not good. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Avery wasn’t really thinking anything then, except about how much her head hurt. She rested it on her knees, stomach churning all the while. The room was spinning now and throwing up still sounded like a great idea.

But ugh… that would bring it up her throat, and that hurt too.

“Hawke, I don’t think she’s strong enough for this yet.” Anders had his healing voice on. “Her heart was practically beating out of her chest before you came in.”

Was that the constant thrumming she was feeling? Her entire body pounded in time with a too-quick tempo that made everything feel hot. She wasn’t burned though, she knew that enough from experience. Burns felt different, somehow less and more painful than what she was going through at the same time. This was… wrong.

“She’s going to have to get used to that.” His voice rumbled through the room. Then it faded as the room grew impossibly hot. Avery would have thought the room was on fire, but she didn’t see any flames. Instead, it all focused on her as her back went rigid.

Everything hurt.

“Hawke, watch it!” Anders’ voice was sharp as she lunged forward, holding out both his hand and staff at the same time. Avery bashed into the solid wall of his barrier, a snarl erupting from her throat as she held her sore head. She wasn’t bleeding – barriers didn’t do that – but that just made her want to rip her brother’s throat out more.

Then she saw herself in the reflection of the spell.

“What the fuck?”

It was her, but it wasn’t her. Sure, her teeth were a little sharp, but the snarl she was giving off showed what she would’ve called honest-to-the-Maker fangs. They were far smaller than the dragon’s, but no doubt they were just as sharp if she got the chance to bite someone.

Her eyes were what really got her. They were still blue, but there was a red tinge around the edge. That wasn’t nearly as important as her pupils. Last she checked, those had been round. These reminded her of a cat’s exposed to the light.

Or a dragon’s. The dragon they had fought had had slit pupils. She had remembered them staring at her, clouded over with death, as she had collected its blood.

Moses approached the barrier, face explaining nothing. “That’s what happens when you drink dragon blood.”

Anders’ barrier shimmered as it faded. He was soon checking her pulse again, long fingers pressed against her wrist. She could practically feel the magic in his veins, trying to match the tempo of her too-fast heart.

“You’ve become a reaver.” He said it so matter of factly she would have laughed if she wasn’t afraid she’d cut herself on her own teeth. “It’s a condition where pain is going to give you a boost of power. What just happened seemed to be your first one.”

He straightened up, taking away his magic fingers and their cooling presence, leaving her to the lava running through her veins. “I knew a reaver back in the Wardens. Senior Warden Tabris was a beast on the battlefield when he activated it. It’s thanks to him that you’re conscious right now.”

Remind her to send a nice thank you letter to Vigil’s Keep when she was able to afford some paper and the postage…

Avery used her tongue to feel her new fangs – they were big alright. “So basically if I’m a masochist I can fight better?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it better…” Anders frowned. “More like… unpredictably powerful. But it’s hard to control. Tabris often mentioned it was hard to keep his head during a fight when it activated.”

Moses was still giving her that hard look, but it didn’t bother Avery in the slightest as she looked down at her hands. There were claws there now, sharp enough to put a hurting on somebody. What could she do with those, she wondered as she took them in.

What could she do with that kind of power?

In the back of her mind, Avery knew she probably should’ve been worried. After all, she had heard those stories. The fact there was truth behind their tales should have left her begging mage for a way to cure her. After all, they never ended well. The subject either went insane and killed everyone, or their recklessness caused them to die in some horrifyingly painful way to serve as a story of why seeking power was a terrible idea.

But she wasn’t a story. She was a woman with a shitty sword who needed 50 sovereigns to get on an expedition.

“Well, guess that’ll make a few Templars piss themselves if they get a little too close next time.” She shrugged – oww. It wasn’t oww enough to activate her new power, but it still hurt. Apparently there was an oww threshold before that started up – good to know. She’d hate to stub her toe and go into full blown rage mode.

Guess she would need to learn what set it off. You know, so she didn’t accidentally take out the Blooming Rose when she took a cheap shot from a handsy drunk. She needed that paycheck after all, and she liked the workers there. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt them, who else would she talk to?

Anders shook his head as he fought back a yawn. “You’re staying here tonight. I want to make sure there’s no side-effects.”

He’d be lucky if he could keep his own damn eyes open at this rate…

“I’ll watch her. You go back to sleep.” Moses turned him in direction of his bed. Before the other mage could argue, he added, “I’ll wake you up if we need your expertise. Now get to bed before Justice takes over.”

The floorboards creaked as Anders disappeared, leaving Avery and her adopted brother behind. She sighed as she leaned back, closing her throbbing eyes for a few moments. The worst was yet to come, and she knew it.

Did she deserve it? Maybe. But she wasn’t about to apologize.

Moses didn’t say anything at first. He just sat there as the candle flickered in the darkness of the clinic. Avery listened to it with eyes closed as her body continued to throb. All she could hope in that quiet moment was that it wasn’t permanent. All that pulsing made it hard to focus on important things like wise cracks and making people bleed, or at least it did at the moment. Maybe that would get better with time.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that right?”

His voice was level, but she could imagine his burning eyes. It was an old insult, so it shouldn’t have hurt. Something about him saying it though was enough pain that she was amazed her new power wasn’t activating. Apparently, it was only the physical stuff that made that happen. She was having quite the night, learning all these things.

Moses continued in the silence. “I thought you were dead. You were thrashing about with blood all over your face. For all I knew you bit your tongue off.”

“It wasn’t like I knew that was going to happen.” She was surprised at how quiet she sounded. Normally, Varric wrote she had quite the booming quality. Right then, she couldn’t bring it up. Maybe that was a side-effect too.

He shook his head, light bouncing off the smooth surface. “Why the fuck would you even think to do that? Who thinks drinking a strange substance is a good idea?”

Templars?

Avery shrugged her aching shoulders as she rested her pounding head on her knees again. “I don’t know, ok? It just… when we were back at the Pit I just… felt something. I don’t know what, I just did.”

She could still feel that presence if she concentrated hard enough. It weighed down the room, crushing out any sensation she could have felt in the moment. Had she opened her eyes, she would have looked for the eyes.

Those eyes were always going to be on her now. Maybe that was part of the deal.

Next to her, Moses sighed. “That’s probably the most reasonable thing I’ll get out of you on it.”

“It’s all I got, man.” She sighed. “I gotta apologize to Bethany when I get home, don’t I?”

If he had seen her like that… shit. She was going to have to make a lot of apologies over the next couple of days.

“She thought you were dead.” His tone was flat. “So yes, an apology would probably be appreciated.”

The chair and floorboards creaked as he stood. “I’m going to get more water. Just try not to throw any blood up, it’s hard to tell what’s yours and what’s the dragon’s.”

Coming from a blood mage, that was a bad thing.

Still, Avery kept that to herself as she listened to Moses head off. The room grew quiet, but the pressure remained as she felt her body throb with the new power. Maybe it would always be there, a reminder of how stupid she actually was.

But she would take it. With that throb came possibility. It was a worthy trade.

“Looking forward to working with you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she turned over while her stomach rolled. “Don’t fucking make me take that back, asshole.”

With that, she steeled herself for what was no doubt going to be an uncomfortable night and even worse days to come. She was going to need that resolve when facing her sister and friends after they found out what she had done. Her head already hurt at the thought, though that might also have been a side-effect.

All she could hope was that it was going to be worth it. After all… that blood had been fucking nasty. The least she could get out of it was a boost.

[crossdressingdeath]

The Inquisitor is in such a shitty position though?

Like, if you think about it, the Warden and Hawke both have a choice throughout the game (even though it doesn’t show up in gameplay for obvious reasons): they can walk away. If they want to, there is nothing stopping them from getting up and leaving except their own morality and common sense (aka “I live here and want to continue being able to do so”). You even see a bit of it at Redcliffe: the Warden can choose to leave the town to its fate. They can straight-up fuck off and abandon people because they want to, or they don’t see a way to win, or because they don’t think it’ll help, or whatever reason you can think of. They can decide “I’m not doing this”, and no matter what your companions say you don’t have to listen to them. They can try to convince you, but at the end of the day the choice is yours. Hawke doesn’t really get the same option to leave people to their fate (not counting just not doing side quests once they’re started), but 2 is on a much smaller scale; for the better part of each act, Hawke could conceivably argue that they aren’t abandoning anyone by leaving the city. They don’t have to stay; hell, if they wanted to they’ve probably got enough cash by Act 2 to bring all the companions to Ferelden with them!

The Inquisitor... doesn’t have that option. Right from the beginning, if you ask what happens if you refuse, you’re pretty much told that if you don’t play nice and help the Inquisition they’ll allow the Chantry to do what they like to you. And it is allow; the Inquisition is the only thing protecting you, so revoking that protection is basically saying “Here, take them”. You’re basically told outright “If you leave, you die”, and while the position they’re in isn’t really the advisors’ fault, the fact that they don’t offer any sort of assistance in getting somewhere safe is basically saying that they will let the Chantry have you if you try to leave. It’s not “We’ll help you find a safe place to stay until this is over with”, it’s “You will stay with us or else”. In any case, that’s a death sentence at best. The most the Inquisitor could hope for is a quick death (unlikely, since it’s, y’know, the Chantry), and everyone in that room knows it. Honestly, one of my biggest problems with the advisors in the early game is how little they seem to care about how they’re basically threatening to throw an innocent person to the wolves to get their way, world at stake or no. I get why they’re doing it, but... I feel like Josie at least should be just a little perturbed about their actions.

In the early game there are a couple more places where you can make it pretty clear the Inquisitor isn’t there willingly, too. Like, in your first conversation with Bull at Haven, he’ll bring up the Inquisition’s leadership (or lack thereof), and the Inquisitor can offer to lead because, and I quote, “I’m here whether I like it or not”. And then again, when Josie asks your opinion on whether you’re chosen or not, you can straight up ask if what you say will actually change what they tell people. It’s pretty telling that Josie doesn’t actually answer; saying that she can’t tell the Inquisitor because they haven’t decided on an official position makes sense at first, but it loses ground when you remember that if the “Herald of Andraste’s” belief in their status would even have an impact on the decision, she... could have said so. Her phrasing almost feels like it’s a case of “As long as your position matches ours, your opinion matters”, but she’s too nice to actually say it.

I mean, sure, it’s only a couple of lines, but... those are pretty fucking bitter lines. The Inquisitor is basically saying, more than once, “I’m well aware that I have no choice in this”. And everyone else just... kinda ignores it? Even Varric, the one person who bothers to ask how you’re doing pre-Skyhold (and that’s a topic for another post). But yeah, everyone either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that the Herald of Andraste, if they showed any hesitance, was basically threatened into playing along.

Then you get to Skyhold. And... yeah, you can probably all see where I’m going with this, but I’m gonna say it anyway: There is no way for the Inquisitor to say no here. The advisors bring you up in front of the whole Inquisition, name you leader, and give you a fancy sword. There’s no prior discussion, not so much as a word of warning. They just do it. You can even say you don’t want it straight out; it doesn’t change anything. They’ve decided you’re going to be the Inquisitor, so that’s what you’ll be. This entire scene reads like a trap, whether the advisors know what they’re doing or not (and Leliana, at least, almost certainly does). You don’t put someone (especially a mage or non-human character, especially especially a non-human mage) out in front of everyone like that if you want to give them a choice. No, the decision was made, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.

And what might be the worst part is, after that... you can’t complain anymore. There aren’t any other places where you can comment on not wanting to be doing this. It might be the devs assuming the Inquisitor would be cool with it after that, but... I don’t know, it feels more like giving up to me. Like, they know there’s no way out until this is done, so they give up on fighting it and just try to do the best they can to get this done quickly. And then even after Corepheus is dealt with, the Inquisition keeps going. For an unwilling Inquisitor, that would pretty much be hell: you’ve done the job, and you still can’t leave. Like, an argument could be made (again, especially if you’re playing a non-human/mage/both) that they’re too scared of what might happen to them (or their people, especially for a Dalish Inquisitor) to walk away. A lot of potential Inquisitors are from groups that have been oppressed by the Chantry, remember, and the Chantry isn’t known for its wonderful treatment of people who belong to said groups that have helped save people, even ones who have helped save all of Thedas (Ameridan was turned into a human noble by Chantry propaganda, Anders was hunted down by Templars post-Mother despite the Right of Conscription superseding Chantry law, Hawke and co. (if they sided with the mages) were forced to flee the city and scatter to the winds after saving it several times, etc.), and despite changes in leadership the risk would still be there; the Divine no longer wanting to oppress people doesn’t mean that the people under her aren’t going to go against her; the Templars have done this multiple times. Even outside the lore we’ve had multiple cases of Templars especially breaking the rules to attack people. It’s entirely possible that the Inquisitor stays on because they’re genuinely afraid of what’ll happen if they don’t, or (perhaps more likely) out of an unwilling acceptance that no matter what they’re always going to be the Inquisitor in the eyes of the people, and they might as well do whatever good they can with that.

I mean, at the end of the day, the Inquisitor has to lose an arm before they even get the chance to get out of the Inquisition. That says a lot.

[jamiedodgerart]

the fade is a liar sometimes

aka, a really long post about how mal hawke survived dragon age inquisition. warning for big but kinda vague spoilers for dai and mentions of alcoholism

ok full disclosure i dont know how he survived the fade. but im thinking the nightmare like. didnt wake back up in time to block the way through the portal, and so never caused the Do I Kill The Warden Or Hawke dilemma. cos. that was kiiiiiiiinda bullshit. 

i had to pick between alistair and mal. and i really didnt want mal to be actually really dead bc at the time of here lies the abyss he’d be in a really shitty place, mentally, and i didnt want him to just! die! without resolving that! so i gave canon the finger and concocted a convoluted plan to give mal a better ending

background, after the events of da2, he ended up leaving kirkwall and fuckin’ around in the woods for a bit. i imagine he was helping refugees get out for a little while, until anders showed up and convinced him to help groups of renegade mages/circles on the verge of winning their independence. at this point he was pretty sick of the world at large, didn’t know what he wanted or where he was going to go next, and let himself be (guided? directed? pushed around?) by anders, drinking himself into oblivion and generally feeling like garbage. he fell out of contact with most of his remaining friends and began convincing himself that he was guilty for the explosion, by trusting anders (he’d suspected something was wrong with the ingredients anders was asking for and confronted him about it, but trusted him and helped him by distracting the grand cleric)

i rambled about this on my private twitter but mal and anders... ended up not being a great fit for one another and past me said it better than present me can

eventually, the inquisition came into being and grew in power. anders, still being a wanted man and mal too by association, avoided the inquisition’s patrols pretty easily. but stories started to spread about the inquisitor and his... particularly creative justice. see, pica really likes choices that have some poetic irony to them that also focus on rebuilding (he had alexius work for the mages, stuff like that), generally avoids executions, and is pretty chill with mages. the inquisition is also independent of any government, really, and is about as impartial as you can get in thedas. so when mal gets word from varric that corypheus is back, a problem, and something they need mal’s help with (that is also, in his professional opinion, his fault), he gets an idea.

he heads to skyhold, meets pica (who read the tale of the champion, asks varric questions about it constantly, was expecting a hero, and was not expecting the hero to be a depressed alcoholic) and iunno here lies the abyss happens with the aforementioned edit of no one important dying (i guess i could kill alistair and preserve a kind of important turning point in pica’s character with an added bonus of giving mal another thing to have survivor’s guilt about but i dont think i could go through with it. imagine the emotional toll. pica could get that change some other way anyway) mal by this point has gotten to know pica fairly well and has found what he’s heard to be true, and gives him a proposition

(i would like to add now that while ive read asunder, until i looked it up just now i didn’t remember where it sits in the timeline relative to da2, and it wasnt super clear to me just how much each of the two events affected the mage/templar war. so some text in sketches might be inaccurate, historically)

so you can imagine that anders is Pissed Off by this development, but justice is kinda like 

cos like. pica Is a real actual authority figure. who is down to dispense some quality justice esp re mages. and is coming at it from a “yo i know you meant well and you did kinda have a point but you also killed a lot of people so there does have to be Some kind of consequence of that”

(but neither of them are at all happy with mal turning them in)

anyway the trial ends up including a full investigation of the events in kirkwall, as well as the events at the spire (cole, rhys, and evangeline all give their testimony) and it’s more a straightening out of what was up with the whole start of this shitshow anyway, cos the confusion and misinformation about it is probably the worst part. 

pica finds anders guilty and sentences him to community service, which a lot of people disagreed with. pica thinks it was a GREAT IDEA though because that community service comes in the form of anders teaching the inquisition mages about healing magic!! something that anders is good at, loves doing, and can actually help people with!! why are we still fuckin about with herbs when there’s magic!!!!! this also has the added bonus of making mages less scary to the general populace- chuckin’ fireballs is a lot more alien and intimidating than healing up a broken arm, yknow? it can help mages seem more human and good for society than they were, separated from the public in towers.

anders is still a prisoner, though, which hes super not happy about, and part of his sentence is also that dagna gets to study him. he and samson are in grudging solidarity in the face of tolerating her extreme cheerfulness. and maybe he gets a cat too. i wonder if he and samson could talk about how shitty the chantry is re: lyrium addiction in templars? its obvs not on the scale of mage shittiness but it could be an interesting discussion

see in the grand scheme of things mal really didnt do all that much. he was duped by a lover into doing something he 100% would not have done if hed known what was actually going on. i feel like the most anyone could bust him on was aiding and abetting. and maybe helping hide an apostate. mal was found, as pica informally put it while distracted by looking at a transcript of a kirkwall templar’s testimony, “kinda guilty? just like. if ur asked to help blow up a chantry dont do it again” but cassandra elbowed him really hard and he said “look ok your sentence is, fuck, i dunno, work for the inquisition. what do you wanna do”

that was not what mal was expecting and he didnt have an answer. and pica looked at him and said “ill give you some time to figure it out, ok. just. take care of yourself, man. u look like shit” which got him another elbow, which he returned to cass with equal force

anyway. mal is now officially Not Guilty in the court of the law. which fuckin sucks bc that assessment does absolutely NOTHING to stop his shit brain from keeping being guilty about everything. so he tries to quit drinking, fails, and just has a rough time in general, while also sometimes visiting anders in prison. which probably really doesn’t help.

ENTER WARDEN-COMMANDER OF FERELDAN, MADRANA “MAD” TABRIS, AND HER PARTNER/GF/ADULT SUPERVISION EMMARIE “EMMY” COUSLAND

(you may also know mads as hester, as i called her in previous playthroughs. hester’s not a really elfy name and shes grown far enough away from her namesake that i felt a change was warranted. also emmy was created by @1500birds. i love her)

thats them (mads then emmy) so mad tabris, legendary fighter, unkillable blight-ender, bather in darkspawn blood, and general bottle covey is looking for a challenge. its been like ten years since shes had an actually hard battle to win and she’s near skyhold, and she’s heard that mal hawke, another legendary fighter, is also in the area. oh and some cadash guy. hes apparently good too. also, she’s looking for some way out of the whole grey warden death sentence thing. shes not keen on dying unless she’s killed, ydig, and apparently skyhold’s doing a lot of groundbreaking research these days

she and emmy swing on in to skyhold and finds that hawke is, well, a mess

important background. mads is not good at dealing with other peoples’ emotions. so shes not really equipped to deal with this. emmy, however, is kind, has nerves of steel, loves to help people, and is Very equipped to deal with this. and so the two of them adopt mal. (even though hes older than both of them.) 

theyve got really, really different ways of trying to help mal. emmy is a great listener, and understands survivor’s guilt and the lost-all-my-family brand of trauma pretty well. she helps him sort through all the shit that’s happened to him and offers a lot of support. and hugs. by god shes a hugger. also theyve got a symbiotic cuddling relationship bc emmy is always cold and mal is always warm, so they platonically nap together sometimes. mads is unfortunately too wriggly and pointy to be a good cuddler :’( she squeezes in the mix sometimes anyway though and it’s uncomfortable but nice

mads’s method of helping mal is in her area of expertise: getting out pent-up negative emotion by fighting. for a long time, mal has internalized a lot of shit, and mads is really good at annoying him into either yelling or punching out that shit. shes doing it out of concern for his well-being, she swears, and not because she takes joy in pissing people off. she does but thats not the point. it’s not a perfect strategy but it does help a lot

unfortunately for her, sometimes mal can be downright vindictive when drunk and angry, and can hit on the few things she’s insecure about

(i would really love to make a post about mads sometime, cos she ended up being a lot deeper of a character than i originally intended. i really just wanted a really sharp angry lady who fought with the subtlety of a brick to the face, and ended up getting that plus bravado covering up a whole host of insecurities. i feel like i should finish dao before writing it up though ahah)

(what mal said is also not totally accurate- mads cares very much for emmy. but yknow how when things get heated it doesn’t really matter if they’re really accurate anymore- they just have to be close enough to get a reaction, ydig)

anyway! the two of them together help mal get his life back in order- he cuts down and eventually quits drinking, starts taking better care of himself, and gets more of a handle on life. i guess you’re probably wondering where varric is, right around now. so am i mal pushed away a lot of people close to him after da2, including varric. but varric kept looking out for him (lying to cassandra to protect him, using his network of contacts to keep an eye on where he and anders were operating). when mal comes to skyhold i think he’d try to avoid varric out of guilt- yknow how when it’s been a really long time since you’ve talked to someone, and you know you should have called them back, but you never did, and they kept asking how you were, and you want to be in an actually good place before you call them back, but shit keeps happening, and it’s been like two years since youve said anything to them, and then you see them and do some serious acrobatics trying to stay out of their sight so you don’t have to confront their honest interest in your well-being that they have no right to still have after so long with no word from you, and you have to make it seem like you havent been avoiding them because that would be rude, and really it’s just easier to be constantly vigilant of where they are and make sure youve got plausible reason to be leaving casually yet quickly

well mal did that. emmy had to physically bar his way from escaping a room once when varric came in, and dragged him by the scruff of the neck to talk to him. varric was painfully understanding and ended up hitting it off nicely with emmy

so! someday mal gets a job. specifically, pica gives him one. because he still owes the world some community service. with his experience as a hunter and highwayman, he becomes a scout!

whoaaa color

more specifically, mal becomes a... specialized type of scout. some idiot who shall not be named but whose name sounds a whole lot like pica cadash gave him command of a small squad of scouts, heavier armored and armed than average inquisition scouts but not heavy enough to count as infantry soldiers. their job is to dismantle highwayman and rogue mercenary bands, in whatever way necessary. so! originally this was supposed to mean sneak attacks on their strongholds or whatever, but mal talked with him about his own experiences with crime (mostly that most people in his crew back then were in it out of necessity, and needed money to support family) and the squad kind of became. really heavy recruiters. it became kind of a joke that the inquisition would take anyone- and they would! practically any skillset could be used in an organization as big as the inquisition, and at this point it was still growing

like. barely any exaggeration here

so that’s where he is pre-trespasser! thank u for reading and if youve got questions or want to learn more PLEASE ask i lov my ocs and love talking about them

i want to add that in @1500birds‘s latest playthrough (miranda trevelyan, a pro-chantry mage cullenmancer) mal rags on cullen endlessly

that was supposed to be the playthrough where he survives the fade, but then bran realized that miranda would kinda hate mal and would 100% leave him behind

[heartslogos]

the declassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [32]

(702): My new roommate looks like a troll. Or a serial killer. So if I disappear, show this text to the cops.

(904): It's a combination of amazing uncoordination, bad luck, and sheer determination to cause destruction wherever I go.

“It’s about Cole,” Maxwell supplies helpfully as Evelyn examines the message. “Someone thought it would be smart to put Cole up in the barracks. You know. Four to a room? Bunk beds? A general lack of much privacy? You get real up close and personal with your roommates?”

“Oh,” Evelyn says. And then she groans. “That was me. I think.”

“You think?” Maxwell’s eyebrows raise as he points at the text Rylen forwarded to him. “Evelyn.  They think Cole’s going to murder them in their sleep. There’s more to this text conversation after this.”

“First of all, why do you have this text convo?”

“I told you, Rylen sent it to me.”

“Why does Rylen have it?”

“Because Leliana sent it to him.”

“And why does Leliana have it?”

“Because the cadet who sent it used an Inquisition issued phone to others in the Inquisition on their Inquisition designated phones, which everyone knows gets monitored because it’s in their signing contract. And Leliana makes sure to flag any sign of dissent or dissatisfaction so we can work on making sure our people are happy and not getting ready to turn on us or something. Yes, yes, I know. It’s a terrible invasion of privacy, but listen. It’s an Inquisition issued phone, Lyn. That’s like if you watched pornography on a work computer. Everyone’s going to know because everyone knows that shit gets tracked.”

“Max. I’m seriously concerned right now.”

“And also someone texted a screenshot of it to Rylen about half a day after the initial conversation. Because, you know. He’s pretty well liked and rubs shoulders with enough people of high rank that he could get something done of someone actually gets murdered in their own room. Why did you have Cole assigned to general living quarters?”

“Varric thought it’d be a good idea to help him socialize and get acclimated to people,” Evelyn says. “I…might not have been paying as close attention as I should have. That’s, admittedly, on me. In my defense, he was telling me these things while we were on a helicopter ride over a recent incursion zone and it was very, very loud. Things were still on fire.”

“I can’t believe you got Varric to go to a recent fight zone,” Maxwell claps Evelyn’s shoulder, “Good on you, making him be proactive. Normally he’ll only go after everything’s gone down so he can gather research for his latest novel or whatever.”

“That and he thinks that if he goes during the fight or before a fight he’ll somehow make it worse off than if he hadn’t been there at all.” Evelyn shakes her head. “Anyway. He, we, someone, thought it’d be a good idea to help Cole get used to being around other people. And maybe get other people used to being around Cole.”

“You probably should’ve warned the people he was going to be rooming with. You know, there are other people you could’ve had him room with. People who kind of know him but could know him better. The Chargers. The Valos-kas. Sutherland’s crew.”

“Who’s Sutherland?”

“Oh. Right. You’ve been away. Edric’s adopted some twenty-somethings with ideals in their eyes and optimism in their souls,” Maxwell smiles wryly, “A balm to Edric’s world weary soul, I’m sure. I think he thinks that they’ll somehow counteract Malika.”

“Malika is plenty idealistic and optimistic.”

“You’re thinking on the wrong scale. Think more chaotic versus lawful. Are we going to move Cole?”

“If things don’t improve, I’ll have it taken care of. Hopefully things work out though.”

-

“You’re so down on yourself,” Malika says. “Come on. You’re a big, handsome, smart brainiac of a guy. You’re published. You’re considered an expert in your field.”

“Malika, I’m practically the only one in my field,” Kaaras points out.

“That’s only because everyone else is retiring or dead. Of all the upstarts you’re the best one!”

“Malika, I don’t know if you’re helping,” Max says.

“You don’t cause destruction wherever you go,” Mahanon says, not looking up from his phone, penlight clamped between his teeth as he checks the map on the phone to the physical blueprint in front of them, circling things and making annotations in pencil. “And is anyone here going to help me? Or am I the only one with any intention of doing any work?”

“I offered to hold the light,” Maxwell points out, “You said no.”

“You couldn’t hold a flashlight straight if I nailed your hand to a wall,” Mahanon retorts.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” Kaaras says, “It means a lot coming from you.”

“Real destruction is my sister and our cousins on an all nighter,” Mahanon says. “At best you rank at a hindrance and an inconvenience. Usually you’re an amusement and a distraction.”

“My self esteem is…confused right now. Is this a good thing? I can’t tell when you say it like that.”

“It is whatever it is. Malika, send pictures of the blueprints back to Herah and Leliana at command, I want a second opinion. Maybe ask the Iron Bull. He’ll be able to ask Rocky for me.”

“I can just text Rocky directly.”

“Rocky’s never had his phone on his person in his life.”

“Oh right, true.” Malika gets up on her toes, holding her phone as high up as she can to get a good picture. “Anyway Kaaras, you’re amazing. Don’t be so down on yourself. You can’t have this many people who like you and be terrible.”

“It’s not about people liking me or not.”

“That’s an entirely different issue of yours we’ll have to tackle another day.”

“It’s about the fact that I’m a social blunder on legs,” Kaaras sighs, broad shoulders hunching. “It’s like all the good genes went straight to Herah and I got stuck with the left overs and the faults. I walked into an automatic door. And then I broke the automatic door. And then I gave someone trying to help me a black eye. None of it on purpose! How can you explain that? You can’t!”

“The universe wants to take you out,” Mahanon says. “Consider that a compliment. Some higher power has deigned you too dangerous to exist.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“Neither are you, Trevelyan.”

“Let me hold the flashlight!”

“What, so you can wave it around at everywhere but the blueprints I’m trying to read? Unlikely.”