#anyway! fuck the trevelyans

[elegeaic]

my two trevelyans are obviously very different but rooted in similar interpretations. the trevelyans are a repressive, controlling, deeply religious family that keeps all of their children on a tight leash in different ways.

alexandra is a golden, beloved child with all the burdens that entails: she's far enough down in the line of succession that she won't inherit her father's title and holdings, and most of her older siblings have already risen up the ranks of the templar order and the chantry that she isn't pressured to join either order. it takes her a while to realize that she is being controlled by her parents, she sides with the mages (mostly because hey, this business with alexius is shady and we can't leave it unchecked) and for the first time is made to feel her parents' disappointment and she begins to distance herself from them

nicolette is a mage and, while her family took advantage of this fact to have someone of influence in the ostwick circle, she has been made to feel like she needs to atone for this fact her entire life. like its her fault and she needs to do everything her parents bid her or she'll never be forgiven for it. she's well aware of their manipulation, but thinks if she bows to it she'll earn their love. she sides with the templars because of it and... firmly regrets that for the rest of her life. she only begins to really grow a spine once they reach skyhold, making it hard for her family to contact her and therefore control her and she has to make decisions on her own.

[ffc1cb]

some parslies from my sketchbook and then some. and then some dill

[headless-horsepossum]

My favorite thing about Solas is how much of his dialogue is the same whether you are romancing him or just have high approval. Like my Inquisitor is a Human Man and I got the fade scene with Solas the second we got to skyhold and the ONLY difference was that Solas didn't Literally Kiss Him. Like he still said 'and right then... I felt the whole world change' in the same tone he says it to a female lavellan. Which is to say. Not a tone you use to your dude friend/boss who you are Normal about.

I love it so much. Ik there are plenty of ways to read it but I choose to interpret him as a closeted bisexual because I think that is the funniest possible thing for an ancient God of rebellion to be

[antiqua-lugar]

there has been a bunch of posts recently about the inquisitor being erased by the narrative and a bunch of posts about how this means that the inquisitor can never come back from "being the inquisitor" and I agree

BUT

like it's not going to happen because in the end this is bioware's sandbox and if they decide that the inquisitor is gonna be in veilguard then the inquisitor is going to show up in veilguard even if you think your inquisitor would let the world burn and good riddance

BUT

one could make the argument that because the inquisitor is a symbol, because the inquisitor is so much larger than life, because the inquisitor as an individual doesn't fucking matter, they can leave, because no one knows who they actually are. like it's not without risks but if lavellan paces out and goes back to their clan (or any clan) is anyone going to find them? do people even know what lavellan looks like? did anyone in this chantry-led, shamlen-run institution even bother to pay attention to their vasillin? when cadash or adaar was the herald of andraste in haven all bull had to do was throw some shitty clothes on them as camouflage. when you get to the winter palace, people are surprised about who the inquisitor actually is.

once you disband the inquisition and peace out, how many people can actually pick out cadash out of a line-up when so much about the inquistion has been about erasing everything about them except some vague "idk some dwarf. i think he's a ginger"? like when josephine interviews you she's not doing it to get the story straight, she's doing it to know what to hide, what to emphasize, how to rebuild your whole identity to someone who is not you anymore.

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan panics.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,751. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 2: Girls On Tour

Living in the house of Bann and Lady Trevelyan, receiving daily news of the next noble you were to be married off to, Trevelyan had quite mastered the skill of having a quiet panic attack whilst not spilling a drop of tea from her cup.

She even had a perfect smile plastered on her face, nodding politely as the other Ladies—Baroness Touledy and Lady Erridge—discussed and chatted and generally talked. Yet she remained silent.

Too occupied, was she, with her in-depth contemplation of the rug. This parlour Lady Montilyet had brought them to had such an excellent rug. So close to the fire, and not a single singe on it. Perhaps it would be swiftly replaced if so! Lady Montilyet certainly seemed efficient!

And this sofa, how comfortable. Trevelyan couldn’t quite find the right way to sit on it, but that was more due to the panic than any fault of the furniture. No, the furniture was trying its very, utmost best to make her feel comfortable.

Impossible task. A Templar? Really? Her mother really didn’t think that information would be at all pertinent?

Trevelyan lifted the cup to her lips. She did not drink.

Former, right? That’s what Lady Erridge had said. Not any more. And didn’t like the title, the Templar one. That was hope, surely.

No wonder the Baroness had called her a ‘curious choice’. Trevelyan herself was certainly curious about how the choice had been made. Lady Montilyet was efficient; there was no way she didn’t know. So, if she knew, then she must know something that Trevelyan didn’t know that would make it perfectly fine for her to be here. Yes. This was going to be… yes.

“Lady Trevelyan?” the Baroness said, the clink of her cup being returned to its saucer snapping Trevelyan back to the present. “Are you quite well?”

Lady Erridge leant closer. “You do look somewhat pale.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Trevelyan lied, “thank you. I was just contemplating… how old this room is. It looks… quite old.”

The other Ladies’ eyebrows creased momentarily, but the rules of society took over, and so they simply nodded through it.

“Lady Montilyet did tell me that Skyhold was ancient,” Lady Erridge said. “Though many different peoples have lived here, so it’s been difficult for them to parse the history. The bricks here could be Fereldan, or Orlesian, or even Elven!”

The Baroness smiled. “As they are still standing, I would not be opposed to calling them Orlesian.”

Trevelyan let out a little laugh that carried a tad too much of her nervousness with it. Though it seemed to pass Lady Erridge by, there was a quirk in the Baroness’ eyebrow.

She was fortunate, then, that there came a knock at the door.

Lady Erridge gasped, and set about tidying her already-tidy ringlets into perfect place. The Baroness made no such movement, and continued to sip at her tea. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and Lady Erridge’s straightened posture fell almost immediately. Lady Montilyet entered, and faced them all.

“Ladies, may I introduce the final of our cohort, Lady Giles Samient of Samient, daughter of Duke—”

They were apparently not the only ones who had heard that name enough, as Lady Samient of Samient, daughter of exactly whom you would expect, strode into the room.

Like her father, her skin was a soft-hued shade of brown, warm in its undertones. This was complimented by a bun of reddish-brown hair, which she pulled away, to fall in tresses around her face. Though her cheeks were rounded, they were not as disarming as Lady Erridge’s were. Sharp eyes and downturned lips gave her a natural look of seriousness. Yet, her gaze was not stinging enough to afford her any kind of ferocity. It was almost… clouded.

But it focused when she saw them. Samient stopped, and did something between a curtsy and a bow. The realisation of this mistake seemed to hit her immediately, but any shame faded away with the same speed, and she continued to her seat.

She had no skirts to shove aside; her outfit was practical and convenient. Black trousers, fitted well. A shirt, loose and comfortable. Neither matched the mud-stain on her boots, and so suggested an overcoat had been shed. And perhaps that she had ridden here on horseback?

Needless to say, her arrival fascinated them all.

“Lady Samient,” the Baroness led, “how wonderful to see you again. You look well.”

The Lady Samient stared down the Baroness for a moment, before her expression calmed once more. “Oh, Baroness Touledy. Val Misrenne?” Her Orlesian accent was not quite as pronounced as the Baroness’.

“That is home, yes.”

Lady Samient replied in a flurry of Orlesian, bewildering both Trevelyan and Lady Erridge beside her. However, it seemed to land, as the Baroness tipped her head back and laughed.

“I quite agree.”

This appeared to settle the Lady Samient greatly, as she shifted more comfortably into her seat. It only served to remind Trevelyan how comfortable she wasn’t.

“It is wonderful to see you are already enjoying one another’s company,” said Lady Montilyet, taking centre-stage of her diplomatic theatre. “This is, of course, Lady Trevelyan and Lady Erridge.”

Courteous nods were exchanged between them.

“Please, allow me to thank you all for coming to Skyhold,” she went on. “I know we are far from most established settlements, but I promise you, you shall not be able to tell. We have everything to suit your needs throughout your stay, and I hope you will come to think of Skyhold as a second home. Anyway, without further ado, there is the reason for your being here—”

“Oh!” Lady Erridge clapped, her curls bobbing with her. She attempted to exchange a grin with Lady Trevelyan, who, for personal reasons, could manage only a grimace.

“—which is, of course, the Commander,” Lady Montilyet continued. “He is quite busy today, but tomorrow, we shall be hosting a gala, at which you shall have a proper introduction. After that, I will schedule time for each of you to spend with him—so that we might accommodate his plentiful duties. I understand this situation is somewhat unconventional, but I do appreciate all of your willingness to participate.”

“Of course, Lady Montilyet,” said the Baroness, with a masterful smile. “We are quite fortunate in this arrangement, so a little patience and effort is to be expected. But the scenery is not so hard, and to see the workings of the Inquisition on its rise to power—a privilege indeed.”

Lady Erridge gasped. “Oh, the Inquisitor! Will we meet—?”

“I am afraid the Inquisitor has recently departed for the Western Approach,” Lady Montilyet explained. “A meeting would have been guaranteed otherwise—perhaps on return. Though I fear the trip will be of some duration; there is much to be done.”

“Oh, naturally. Though I am certainly disappointed. I do so love adventure stories.”

“I believe there will be plenty when the Inquisitor returns. I must ask for more of your patience, your Ladyship.”

Lady Samient stood; the conversation ended. “Are we to walk somewhere?” she asked, despite having just arrived from what was likely a long and taxing journey.

Ever the professional, Lady Montilyet donned a dutiful smile, and curtsied. “Of course. Ladies, if you would follow me, I shall give you a tour of the grounds, so that you might accustom yourselves with the keep. By the time we have finished, your rooms will no doubt be ready for your stay.”

Satisfied, Samient fell in line, as Montilyet opened the door. The Baroness and Lady Erridge followed, the latter with her usual little happy applause, presumably to congratulate herself on living such a pleasant and thrilling life.

Trevelyan, meanwhile, willed her ever-so-slightly shaking legs to work properly. Two feet on the floor, press down, move up. That’s it, that’s all. She followed the instructions to the letter—and she was stood. One foot, in front of the other. Walking.

Into the main hall of Skyhold they went. The place was chantry-like, with its high ceiling, stained glass tableaus, and lollygagging inhabitants doing very little of anything. The throne was a new concept, at least—though Trevelyan had known some Revered Mothers who certainly would’ve liked one.

None of it served to make her any more comfortable. If anything, it was a reminder. Had she a sovereign for every time her parents sent her to board at a Chantry establishment with Templars prowling about, she’d have two sovereigns. Not much, but enough to pay carriage fare away from here.

“Shall we visit the garden first?” suggested Lady Montilyet. Trevelyan gave no objection, and Lady Erridge certainly didn’t, applauding the very idea. A bit pre-emptively, perhaps.

Or not.

Venturing beyond the hall, the little garden that greeted them was, simply put, idyllic. It was bordered by ivy-covered arcades, criss-crossed by stepping-stone paths, and overgrown with shrubs and flowers of such beautiful variety. Though her Orlesian counterparts, well-used to the ostentatiousness of chateau grounds, seemed unmoved, Trevelyan was enchanted. Far prettier a garden than that of a Circle; far wilder in nature than that of her parents’.

Lady Montilyet gave her tour, shepherding them round the arcade. Trevelyan paid attention to very little of her speech, other than that the well was quite old, and the gazebo was nice, on an evening.

Her eyes fled to the garden view instead—and yet, on this occasion, found it obstructed. Lady Samient walked beside her, and with a subtle glance towards her, asked, “Lady Trevelyan?”

“Yes. Of Ostwick.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard of your family, though you are the first I’ve met.”

“Oh. I hear we’re usually quite prolific, and everyone ends up encountering one of us, on some occasion.”

“And today, that is you.”

“I suppose it is. Very astute of you, your Ladyship. I hope I can do my family proud in giving you a good impression of our name.” Trevelyan put on a smile, the best she had mustered yet.

“Were you a mage?”

The bluntness of the question would have surprised Trevelyan, had Lady Samient’s speech not already been so unusually direct.

Still, she stumbled over her answer: “I… am yet a mage, your Ladyship.”

Samient seemed entirely unfazed. “Yes, yes. And what sort of magic did you do, at the Circle? Healing, fireballs, shapeshifting?”

“Oh, certainly not the latter—that’s the purview of hedge mages. I was more clerical, in my duties.” Trevelyan had prepared herself for this line of questioning, at least. “I did my primals, of course, but I largely spent my days working as an assistant, in the storehouses. Before everything fell apart, I had started teaching some of the apprentices. Glyphs and wards, simple spells, that sort of thing.”

Samient’s head tipped. “Do you miss it?”

“I miss... having something to do.”

“I can understand that. I suppose a Commander’s wife would have plenty to do.”

A lithe chuckle escaped Trevelyan’s lips. To herself, she muttered: “Knowing Templars… hardly.”

As they stepped from the arcade into the garden proper, a gasp from Lady Erridge brought the conversation to an end.

“How wonderful!” she sang, hurrying toward an eclectic collection of pots and beds containing varying species of plant life. “What is this?”

“The Inquisitor’s herb garden,” Lady Montilyet proudly informed her. “While travelling, the Inquisitor has collected seeds of almost every variety of apothecary herb native to southern Thedas, and brings them here, to plant. It is helpful to have our own supply.”

“Oh, certainly!”

“Indeed. Though the garden has yet more discoveries to offer. Come, let us wander. ”

True to her word, Lady Montilyet meandered away, with Lady Erridge at her heels. So too did Lady Samient drift off, and Trevelyan was left to examine the foliage herself. It was a fine collection, to be sure. One that endentured a small kind of jealousy in Trevelyan, for her own lack of garden space.

“What is this one called?”

Trevelyan looked up, to find Baroness Touledy poring over the plants as well. Her eyes caught the one the Baroness gestured to—a spiky, brown, twiggy-looking thing—and she said:

“Felandaris.”

“Ah.”

Her answer provided, the Baroness straightened, cane at the ready. But she did not move. Nor did she talk. She simply kept staring at Trevelyan.

And so Trevelyan joined her, knowing well enough that the question had been nothing more than an excuse, and this, now, was an invitation to the true conversation. She was proven right within an instant—for as soon as the Baroness had her in lockstep, she asked:

“What do you know of Templars, Lady Trevelyan?”

Trevelyan took a considered breath. She knew more than was polite to say, certainly. “Why do you ask?”

“Our mutual interest is a former Templar, and so I wish to be prepared for the sort of man he may be because of that.”

“Well,” Trevelyan began, not quite knowing where she was going, “they are…”

Her mind searched for the appropriate language. Preferably, she would give her description without swearing. A difficult task.

In light of this preoccupation, the Baroness guided their movement through the garden. She left a fair amount of distance between them and the forward party, and all by absolute purpose.

“Do not reserve yourself before me, Lady Trevelyan,” she said.

Trevelyan hesitated, but permission had been granted: “They are… strict. Uptight. Rigid in both posture and thinking.”

The latter comment elicited a smile from the Baroness. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

The Baroness nodded, and, making sure her voice was especially quiet, murmured: “You did not know the Commander was a Templar prior to your arrival, did you?”

Trevelyan near-froze, but keeping up appearances was always the imperative—as much as one could manage it. “I, ah…”

“I noted your surprise at Lady Erridge’s exclamation earlier. I wonder, do you know much of the Commander? Besides his potential rigidity, of course.”

“I have never met him, so there is little I can truly say I know of him.”

Though the answer was intentionally vague, Baroness Touledy’s expression exhibited a sense of definite understanding. Affirming the Ladies Erridge and Samient were quite occupied with whatever architectural quirk their guide was introducing them to, she began:

“Commander Cullen Rutherford, as I understand, was born in the village of Honnleath in south Ferelden. He became a Templar in his adolesence—later than they usually have them, so he must have shown some determination. He served at Kinloch, then Kirkwall—and saw rebellions at both during his time there.”

Trevelyan had heard of them.

“But,” the Baroness continued, “as was found at Halamshiral, he prefers not to speak of them.”

Trevelyan could imagine why.

“He much prefers to speak of his work with the Inquisition; I am told he regaled some of the Duke’s soldiers with quite the tale of the Inquisition’s stand at Haven—you know the events I am referring to?”

“Oh, yes. I know of them.”

“That is all the information I have of him, however.”

“I see.” Trevelyan looked to the Baroness, quite grateful. “Thank you, your Ladyship.”

“Well, it seems rather counter-intuitive of your parents to have sent you here to win a man’s heart with no knowledge of him,” she noted. “Though I am sure the Bann and Lady Trevelyan had only your best interests in mind..?”

Trevelyan felt her stare, and hid any reaction. It was bait she knew not to take. Baroness Touledy seemed perfectly kind, but she was yet the Lady of Val Misrenne, and a player of The Great Game by extension. Cards were better kept close to one’s chest. For now.

Lady Montilyet provided an escape: “Shall we tour elsewhere?” she announced. “We have an extensive library, which you are welcome to.”

Lady Erridge’s clapping heralded her agreement, and the other Ladies joined her in following Montilyet’s new path.

But as they returned for the oppressive internals of the keep, Trevelyan took one, last, lingering look over the garden, over the hold, and over the valley. It was beautiful. It was never-ending. It was—

Someone was staring back.

Her eyes snagged on a figure atop the battlements. They were dressed to be noticed, what with the large red furry cape slung over their shoulders, and polished armour beneath. But they did not seem to wish to be. For, when Trevelyan met their gaze, their head turned, and they hurried on their way.

Whoever they were, the disinterest was mutual.

[gaychocolatehomicide]

tell me about your messy inky i’m curious 👀 (if you want, idk if you haven’t talked about your ocs out of shyness or if it’s a Decision™️ but if it’s the former. I Am Giving You Permission)

HI OKAY SO sorry about the wait I had a really busy week (or three) at work but I wasn't ignoring you I prommy

So I have a ton of Inquisitors but specifically the one I was thinking of is Tristan Trevelyan, my terrible terrible boy from the Wrong Answers Only playthrough. The general concept for that worldstate is "what if I just make the objectively wrongest choice in every instance" and I will almost certainly never actually play it (can't bring myself to do some of the choices x.x) but it's a delightful thought experiment, particularly in the "what kind of person would you have to be to act like that in this situation" department. Just to give you an idea: the Warden in that run DOESN'T rescue the dog from Ostagar. It's that bad.

So Tristan! A nobleborn artificer rogue (really he should be a Champion if we were allowed to cross-class spec, but of the rogue options artificer makes the most sense. He's a tricksy bastard and besides, tempest is too messy and assassin is a little too denial-of-the-self-y.), Tristan is at the conclave because his mage cousin was going with the delegation from Ostwick and he wanted to travel. He learned most of his rogue skills sneaking out of the family home to go get into trouble in town, and he is primarily concerned with his own personal comfort and advancement. Mostly, at least before the conclave, he's content to wait. His father is a pretty powerful noble and he's the oldest son so as long as he doesn't do anything TOO heinous, he'll inherit and then he can do whatever he wants. He's twenty six and unmarried, though he's been kinda lazily courting one of the daughters of a noble out of Starkhaven. He's starting to think his father is taking too long to die/retire and should maybe hurry up, and maybe he needs some help... But only if there's no way for it to trace back to Tristan, obviously.

Then he gets caught up in the explosion and survives, and suddenly everyone's calling him the Herald of Andraste, and he really doesn't need his father's estate if he's in charge of the greatest military force on the continent, now does he? Basically the Inquisition offers him power beyond his wildest dreams and he 100% leans into that shit. He is the gaslight gatekeep girlboss king, and he makes every choice directly dependent on growing the Inquisition's power and thus, his own. He goes "yes actually I WAS sent by the Maker in your time of greatest need, I'm here to rescue you from everything. All you have to do is exactly what I say~"

The issue with him is that he's way too smart for his own good, so he always pushes just far enough to get what he wants and no farther. He's incredibly deft at keeping himself out of trouble by not being held accountable for the shit he absolutely did. Did the envy demon at Therinfall get him? No, he's just like that, actually the demon was a little freaked out by his ambition and ruthlessness. Also, he's unfairly attractive. Appearance-wise I like to think of him as one of those ethereally beautiful people that can sometimes happen when one parent is Chinese and the other one is from like central Africa? I'm thinking specifically of a guy I knew in college who could literally knock me out by smiling in my direction. Anyways.

He's a hanging judge except for when the person in question could maybe help him, in which case he takes their stuff and/or throws them in prison. He loves the skyhold prison, it's huge. The only people in that whole place he gets along with are Varric (zero morals but very loyal, exactly Tristan's kind of guy), Leliana (further hardened), Cassandra (cop), and Vivienne (pro-establishment free marcher who sees a lot of herself in Tristan). Solas and Sera both hate his guts, Iron Bull doesn't trust him as far as he can see him (not as far as he can throw him because he could probably yeet Tristan quite a ways, and his suspicions turn out to be confirmed uhhhh rip the Chargers), and Blackwall clocks him as the type of guy that Ranier used to be (but turned up to 11) in about 30 seconds flat. Cole really doesn't understand him at all, and after a few botched attempts to get in his head (Tristan reacts REALLY badly to that kind of thing after the demon at Therinfall, and Cole was there for that so really all the sweet baby is doing is giving Tristan flashbacks while he tries to help) he just decides to drift around helping other people. Dorian... Ok he definitely sleeps with Dorian but he also says homophobic slurs. Which is not ideal for anyone. Bull tries to kinda protect Dorian from that nonsense at the beginning but after the Chargers, well... It's not good. Josephine is briefly delighted by having someone else competent at crowd control, then she gets to know him and treats him much like people treat the Du Launcets in DA2. Cullen isn't really in a place to have much of an opinion, Tristan is way too much like a smoother version of the worst commanders Cullen has had in the past for him to do a lot other than paperwork and panic attack.

So I feel like @the-chantry-sucks-ass's boy Aeryn would meet Tristan one time and be like "ah yes this is a Prophet of God" and Tristan would clock that in an instant, and especially since Aeryn's best skill seems to be killing the shit out of whatever happens to be in front of him. Tristan would take one look at an incredibly dedicated, very capable, very stabby man and go "perfect, mine now." (And from what I understand Aeryn would be pretty into that...)

Images of the terrible boy are forthcoming, I need to make him in the CC and get some screenshots. For posterity.

[oopsallmabari]

oh man id love to hear more about Jim!! how is he involved in da3??? what’s the history with arya… 👀

oooooh tysm for the question! tbh i'm still trying to figure quite a bit of this out lol

to start with the easier question first, his history with arya. jim is one of the older cousins-a yearish older than eric (eldest of the main trevelyans), so there's a 13 year age gap between jim and arya! there's not any particular animosity between the two of them but they didn't get as close as they could have as kids because of the age difference AND because jim and her brothers did NOT get along. arya had a lot of loyalty to eric as a wee child, so as time went on she stopped actively seeking jim out to play/hang out (mainly because eric would pull her away a la 'you don't need to hang out with that unruly unkempt thing we call a family member'). and jim wasn't interested enough to press it since she doesn't exactly like her family. they definitely had a quiet alliance at larger events, though--malik and eric thrived in large social gatherings where arya and jim didn't, so jim tried to make them more enjoyable for her.

jim is in her early twenties when she hears about arya getting taken to the circle--at that point jim is still in the noble life but is chafing at it a lot, so he's one of the most sympathetic to her when the rest of the trevelyans try to erase her presence in the family entirely. he's not unsympathetic to mages, but it's moreso that he hates the strictures that the chantry imposes on life (especially since jim's supposed to be committed to chantry service but is fighting it tooth and nail). she sends a very brief letter, once, to the effect of 'hang in there, kid', and shortly after leaves the trevelyans behind and takes to the seas.

as for how he fits in to DA3: i doooont know for sure yet, and part of that is because i can't decide what worldstate he's in! i think he could get more involved in my cadash or my adaar's inquisition (since they're a little less rules and honor-bound). also, if i make jim a significant part of arya's dai story i will have to write her into my longfic which has enough family complications lmaooo.

i think i'll go with this: in arya's worldstate jim hears that his little cousin is the herald of andraste, says 'huh good for her' and stays far away from the inquisition itself. happens to be in the storm coast looking for easy work post her crew's mutiny while trying to stay the fuck away from the blades of hessarian, encounters arya a couple times and there's a nice little 'glad to see things are better for both of us, kind of' moment, and arya says he's welcome to a room in skyhold if ever he needs a place to lie low. he does briefly encounter cassandra and send her into a confused gay panic but nothing else happens.

in rhea or ikenna's worldstate i think that jim becomes a semi-companion. he's still fucking around in the storm coast to start but is more inclined to ingratiate himself to inquisitors that are so clearly opposed to the chantry's ideals and ideology (arya's not a fan of the chantry and ya she's a mage but she's more andrastian that not. not the case for rhea or ikenna). jim, with no crew, no money, and no prospects says 'hey i'm really fucking good at killing things and am not particularly liquid at the moment, you should hire me' and rhea/ikenna are like 'hell yeah cmon'. cue every single interaction between cassandra and jim being deeply homoerotically charged and kind of antagonistic (jim and cass respect each other as warriors and hot ppl but cass is horrified by jim's general audacity and jim LOVES to fuck with the uptight devout hand of the divine). they are both meant for each other and also the absolute worst for each other <3

[modestempers]

While he used it to his advantage, Nicolette's father always made her feel as though her being a mage was something she needed to be forgiven for constantly, and the only way that she could achieve that was by doing his bidding. Doing things she didn't really want to do, like pursue a political role in the Circle in the goal of one day becoming First Enchanter, if not Grand Enchanter.

[johaerys-writes]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. (If you feel like it, no pressure.) Spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you so much for this ask!! I answered an ask about my favourite fics I've written a little while ago, so I thought I'd do this one for my currently updating fics (the ones I'm currently working on tend to be my favourites anyway haha):

As Fate Would Have It: canon-divergent omegaverse with (stronk AF but reluctant) therapon alpha Patroclus and sweet sheltered fish prince omega Achilles. They argue a lot, they fuck a lot, they argue while they fuck LMAO. Plus supportive fish mom Thetis!!

baby born blue: after not having spoken to each other for a year, Achilles invites himself to one of Patroclus' work trips and makes it everyone's problem 🤣 Modern AU, forced proximity, toxic exes to (even more toxic) lovers. They are both a riot in this one 🫶

Nameless: cowboy patrochilles hell yeah!!!! 🤠 Wealthy ranch owner's son Achilles meets gorgeous and enigmatic ranch hand Patroclus, and a strong friendship and attraction develops between them.

High-Flying Birds: all the scenes we didn’t get to see in The Song of Achilles! Extra scenes, Achilles POV, expansion of canon events, lots of fluff and smut with a generous helping of AngstTM. One of my fave works I've written.

A World With You: the only non-patrochilles work in this list, but I couldn't not include it since it's my longest work yet (and the longest Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan work in the AO3 tag LOL). Novelisation of DAI centered around my Inquisitor Tristan Trevelyan and his relationship with Dorian, lots of action, intrigue and character development as well as my own spin on canon events.

[runningwolf62]

Oh hey, hey Wolf. Remember how the other day you suggested an AU where Ena is the Inquisitor/has the Anchor, and Esti and Brennan are just there along for the ride? One must consider the inciting incident of this, that Esti and Ena split up to better nose around and get information, Esti meets Brennan, and then the two of them go down to Haven to be nosy there.

And then the Conclave explodes. There is talk of one single survivor. All Esti knows is that Ena was up there in the Temple when it blew up. She's dealing with the most profound grief of her life and the only shoulder she has to cry on is that of a human she met four hours ago. And all Ena knows is that she doesn't know where Esti was, maybe she could have gone down to Haven, but more likely she's just - gone. "What do you mean," she asks Cassandra, "that everyone is dead?"

Ena stops the Breach from expanding further, everyone's talking about the Herald of Andraste, but the stories are probably so jumbled that it would take days for Esti to realize that the Conclave's sole survivor is her sister.

This AU concept simply speedruns the angst. Starting right off with it.

Brennan would actually be looking to join the Inquisition, I've realized, because this is the furthest he's ever been from his family, and this will give him something far away from them, money, etc. Like it's a mess rn but if they're taking recruits, he's got experience with horses, he'll be a messenger or stablehand or anything. Like, I think that's something in the back of his mind.

So he's sneaking around to see if they're hiring and also because he's the Trevelyan shame and he wants to be left alone and runs into Esti, who is also sneaking around, and once initial shock wears off, he'd probably offer that she could stick with him because people will assume she's supposed to be there if she's with a human, like, why else would she be walking around openly talking to one? And exploring is more fun with friends, right? And really, he doesn't believe in the Maker anyway, so it might be a bit fun to make fun of everyone.

Brennan is in the middle of a dumb joke, he's been telling them for the past hour to his new friend, (Esti, she'd said, and she likes that he enjoys taking the piss out of everything) and he's making the kinda jokes that are only funny when you're mocking the church that runs everything but you both think is kinda a load of crap.

When the sky explodes. Brennan, when he was in the templars, read a lot to escape. He ended up loving the stars and everything they knew about the night sky because he could always see it and there was so much that was incredible about it.

No book had every described the event happening above them now. The sky is split open, and Brennan has seen wounds. Reminds him of a gash, of split open knuckles, of fights he'd had in training and shallow wounds, of how something supposed to be whole pulls apart.

"What the fuck." He breathes, as he and Esti pick themselves off the ground, immediately having to grab her, "where the fuck are you going, stay here!"

"My- my sister, she was here too, she was up there-"

"Stay here." Brennan drags her back, away from everything, "are you out of you- okay. Fair enough. You're scared, I get it. Esti!" She looks at him, rather than past him like she's gonna bolt for it, "listen to me. I know how things... not like this, but they're gonna look for someone to blame. The last thing you wanna do is be the Dalish they find up there."

Esti blinks and nods jerkily, and Brennan sighs heavily. He didn't want to go back before this anyway. Esti's been the nicest person he's spoken to in the past month.

"And I'll stay with you until we find her, okay?" He offers a hand, "we stick together, deal?"

"Deal, shem."

"Please, Shem is my father's name, call me Brennan." He thinks Esti snorts at that because it's one of the stupidest things anyone's ever said, but as everyone is scrambling about around them in a panic, he's succeeded in one small thing. Keeping either of them from panicking.

He takes a deep breath, "now, what's your sister look like? You came down here, maybe she did too. We'll start where all the Chantry people aren't."

[kiastirling-fanfic]

kia kia kia! for Keenan Trevelyan this week: You attempt merely power, you accomplish merely suffering.

>:]

*Mer* what the fuck

Yeah it's perfect

Rating: Teen CW: anti-mage rhetoric, allusions to trauma from IHW Words: 597 @dadrunkwriting

Keenan was still trying to hide the giddy smile on his face as he made to leave the library. Dorian had definitely reacted positively to him flirting, right? He'd laughed and said something that Keenan thought was him flirting back anyway.

Maybe next time he'd have the guts to ask more directly. But for today he had to maintain some kind of decorum.

It was a high he'd thought to ride all day, but a familiar face waited for him at the top of the stairs and all the butterflies quit their fluttering. It was Grand Enchanter Fiona.

Former. Former Grand Enchanter Fiona.

"Inquisitor. A moment of your time?"

Keenan was disinclined to follow her, in truth. It was hard to look her in the eye and not see red. Hard not to hear her voice and nor recall her begging him for death. Hard to forget her blood on his hands.

But he hadn't spoken to her since conscripting the mages. He'd foisted her on his advisors and not faced her himself in over a month now.

"Lead on."

She took him to the battlements. Solas was blessedly absent from his rotunda, so at least Keenan wouldn't have to bear whatever commentary he might have on the pair of them.

Keenan knew he had changed since Redcliffe. He didn't need Solas to point it out yet again.

"You have my thanks," Fiona began, once they were isolated on the stone walkway overlooking the soldier training in the mud. "Without your aid, I expect it would not have been only the red templars at your doorstep in Haven, but my mages as well. And if not, we would still be in chains. So you have my thanks."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming."

"Just so. You have saved us from chains, but the terms of our... service... to the Inquisition..."

"Are more than you deserve, frankly." Keenan couldn't keep the harsh turn to his voice. Of course this would be what Fiona would ask to see him about. "You sold your mages to Tevinter as little more than slaves, you ousted the rightful lord from his land, you-" Don't say they destroyed the world. That hadn't happened. Not anymore. "You ask me to loosen your leash when the only achievement to your name is being banished from Ferelden!"

"We sealed the Breach! Without the aid of the mages the Inquisition would still be looking for ways to seal it, or be dead without us to help fight off the red templars!" Her ire was a flame, bright and quickly extinguished. "Has that earned us nothing?"

Where the Inquisition might be without the aid of the mages, Keenan did not know. But where the mages would be without the Inquisition was inarguable.

Abominations. Blood mages. Demons. Incubators for red lyrium.

He'd seen what happened when mages as a group did as they pleased.

"You attempt merely power," he scoffed. "And you accomplish merely suffering. If you wanted your freedom, you shouldn't have gotten involved with a magister to begin with."

Keenan turned on his heel. His good mood was long since ruined. He'd have to speak with his advisors, make sure they were all on the same page regarding the Inquisition's relationship with the former Rebel Mages.

"You are not the same man I met in the Gull and Lantern." Fiona's call struck his back like a lead weight.

I know, he didn't say. Of course he wasn't the same man anymore.

"And you aren't the same woman I met in Val Royeaux." If such a woman ever existed.

[faarkas]

tagged by my darlings @aartyom and @nuclearstorms to do this cheeky lil oc game. i love to rate my children.

no pressure tagging @vilkaas @rockerboys @malefiicarum @cptcassian @leefi @denerims @virmire @statichvm @jackiesarch and @reaperkiller !

enjoy the hastily cobbled together banners at midnight when i have work tomorrow. 😭

- picrew

– FAVORITE OC.

salen trevelyan [dai] & verde jack [cp77]

ooohhhhhhh these two blond(e) freckly bitches are the baddies of all time for me. I’ve had Salen since 2017 and he’s remained my biggest comfort oc for some reason. he is literally just some layered bimbo with daddy issues and too much responsibility. 😭 AND VERDE IS JUST….woman of all time. Almost as old as Salen bc I started cobbling her together RIGHT after i saw the fake 2018 e3 demo. :^) But her aesthetic and character and just the way she is (talented artist exhausted and resigned to having to literally fight for her life…SO many different ways) appeals to me. These two and gwen are always on my mind I rly should do more with all of them tbh. they are so special to me.

– NEWEST OC.

megan stern [re]

everybody say hiiii meg. She’s the new baby on the block and if U can believe it….she’s getting shit written about her. Imagine that. The blondies are fuming. Anyway she’s a bit of a spitfire pilot that gets the honour and dreadful task of loving chwis wedfield. She likes pickle flavoured potato chips. (among many many other strange flavours)

– OLDEST OC.

elena lavellan [dai]

The fact that she’ll be 10 years old next year is giving me fucking heartburn. I don’t really think about her so much anymore, but she was the IT girl for a while. She still holds an esteemed position in my barbie playhouse or w/e. But she’s got the chronic pain, the wit, the beauty, the drive, the bravery to keep on trucking. tragically a c*llen romance first and then s*las second.

– MEANEST OC.

vertex [cp77]

ms cuntress supreme. Her and gwen fought for this spot. But Vertex is MEAN, she’s bitter, she’s old, she’s warped, shes a netrunner, shes almost a cyberpsycho if not one already,,,, her and saburo get along. she’s EVIL. But she does have 1 son that she loves :( cuts her up that he’s basically cut her off completely :(

– SOFTEST OC.

kas adaar [dai]

Kas and I who literally had a name change fight today bc his original name (Tibbalt) just wasn’t making sense. But he is one of the kindest, loveliest ocs in my collection. He bakes, he cleaves enemies with his greataxe, he has good advice, and deals with skyholds various issues. He’s a born leader and the ideal inquisitor. He’s a big advocate for peace .

– MOST ALOOF/STANDOFFISH OC.

gwenyth lavellan [dai]

NOW THIS is my most babiest girl. my babybabygirl. She went through a lot as a young girl, basically trained into a 24/7 bodyguard for her clans keeper until the enclave happened. Gwen and being inquisitor…Bad mix. She’s aggressive, argumentative, violent, and shockingly strong. With enough genuine support and socialization she starts to relax and open up a little. And her relationship with Morrigan…..i love valenzo but gwen and morrigan are….Like wow. She mellows out into the aloof prickly bestie they all need. But U still never know what she’s thinking and if she’ll backhand u or not.

– DUMBEST (AFFECTIONATE) OC.

nizana daevarran [bg3]

Shes in love with a morally dubious vampire. Loves garlic bread. She’s a rogue. Last play through she lost both her eyes. BABYGIRL IS NOT VERY SMART. BUT SHES SO PRETTY and likeable. voted most likely to say something dumb.

– SMARTEST OC.

lorenzo vecchioni [cp77]

Even tho Lorenzo presents as the most ridiculous man alive, and acts like it, he is definitely my smartest main oc period. He is literally an engineer. LIKE AJDJFKN He’s still gotta go to school but likes. That’s an engineer right there. He’s intelligent in so many ways. Husband material ‼️‼️‼️

– OC YOU'D BE BEST FRIENDS WITH IRL.

jade faulkner [cp77]

sweet lovely jade and i would get along i think. She’s easy going and willing to get along with almost anybody so. We’d hang out in the garage bc shes a lil grease rat. :3 Also video games. She loves a good game.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! For DADWC: "opia n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable" for Thalia & Samson, maybe? 👀

Hi Gin! Thank you for this prompt; it will likely feature in an upcoming chapter of nightmare au!

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 838

CW: Samson is a creepy sad sack

---

Much could be gleaned by looking someone in the eye. 

Samson did it with every new mageling brought to the Gallows. They teach you that, not to make eye contact with them. Something about not getting attached. But how can you go about, day in and day out with someone, and never give them the one decent courtesy of meeting their gaze?

Besides, you learn a lot. The eyes are the windows to the soul; one of the grifters he’d known in his adolescence told him that. Easier to get a handle on what someone will or won’t give you, if you get that eye contact. Easier to tell what they want. Some of those mages, they just wanted attention, a kind word, a friendly face to tell them it would all be okay. Others wanted tangible things — easy enough to get, in exchange for a little extra from their allotted lyrium bottles. Others wanted things he could never give, and those wore on a man, over the years. Still. The lesson served him well, all the way to army command. His Red Templars needed for the same things the mages did, but perhaps with some more urgency. The extra mile’s worth walking. 

Double-edged sword, though. 

You look them in the eye, and they can see in, too. 

“General?” 

No, no, not yet.

What did he see in Thalia Trevelyan’s eyes? 

Fear, at first. Of course. Every captor knew that look in their prisoner’s gaze. But no, go past that first night in the Skyhold tower. There was the clearing in the woods, the altar to some false god, Thalia up on the dais, looking at him. He’d felt so close to her then. He thought she’d understood his purpose; maybe she’d come to him quietly after all. Until that goddamned speech got all the peasants riled. 

Then he knew he’d have to be clever. 

Her eyes were so blue in the cave. Did she know how they shone? Like the water off the Wounded Coast on the warmest, brightest days. Samson would take her there sometime, right at the magic hour when the sun sinks low and orange and glimmers on the bay. When you can jump off the jagged rocks and plunge down into the depths and the cold will shock you but it’s so welcome after the day’s heat. Her eyes will be on him, and she’ll be smiling shyly, and he’ll convince her they’re alone and no one will see. She can slip out of her clothes, right there on the rocky beach. He’ll help her, a hand on one alabaster shoulder, brushing back her hair, glowing red… 

“General. Please. You’re needed.” Some idiot with a Starkhaven accent. “You awake in there?”

Piss off. Who did he even know from Starkhaven? 

Stupid dream, anyway. The sun didn’t shine at all anymore. 

Back to the cave. Her rejection had hurt, Samson wasn’t too proud not to admit it. But her spunk excited him, the rough and tumble of it, the scramble — oh, how she writhed. Why don’t they all do that? Am I not paying them enough? When she was on top of him, with the dagger. She couldn’t tell through the armor, but he was rock hard under there. 

At least until he’d clapped his fist over her delicate knuckles and tried to force her hand. 

A door banged open; heavy footsteps followed. “General, I hate to disturb you, but we’ve urgent business to attend to. Are you— oh.”

Samson groaned and rolled over, knocking wayward bottles to the floor. The light was blinding. He thrust up a hand to shield it and cracked his achey, burning eyes. A blurry figure stood above his bed, or maybe two. 

He coughed. “Meredith?”

A pause. “Meredith’s dead, General.”

Fuck. “I mean — Mareth.” No, it was the Starkhaven idiot, better known as Rylen. “Where’s Mareth?” 

“You sent him back to the camp to fetch the rest of your things.” Rylen stood there, looking uncomfortable. “You don’t remember?” 

“Of course I remember.” Yes, it was coming back to him now. After the battle, they had quartered in the nearby keep of Comte de la Something. The Orlesian fop had been all too happy to lend General Samson the lord’s chambers, and his victorious battalion had taken up residence with him. 

Well, mostly victorious. 

Samson managed to get an arm on the featherbed beneath him and shoved himself into an upright position. More empty vials scattered. He was in nightshirt only, his other hand clutching the pride and joy of his creation to his stomach, crumpled into a ball. He unfurled the dress as surreptitiously as he could. It looked little worse for wear — a bit wrinkled, stained with sweat and the rest, but nothing a good laundering couldn’t fix. He brought it to his face and inhaled as the silky fabric caressed his cheek. It had smelled more like Thalia last night, but if he closed his eyes, he could make out the lingering notes of her scent. 

[alexsrandomramblings]

Welp, my creating simultaneously existing characters for every race/class combination continues on fram Lavellan to Trevelyan. Though this time, it's three brothers and their cousin.

Don't ask me why I went two warriors plus rogue and mage this round rather than mage/warrior/rogue like with the Lavellan trio. That's just how my brain chose to work.

Also, the Trevelyans are supposed to be this large extended family anyway, so why the fuck not?

[britcision]

So my partner @ekwolfwood got me into Dragon Age Inquisition

I warned you I would become something terrible

SO HERE HAVE A FICLET FROM THE FOUR HERALDS AU IN WHICH TIME MAGIC FUCKERY HAS CAUSED THERE TO BE FOUR HERALDS OF ANDRASTE INSTEAD OF ONE

(It’s fine they unionized early the plot relevant parts are in progress)

Today’s bullshit featuring the talents of:

Corin Cadash - Carta blacksmith sent to the Conclave because the actual smuggler and spy got sick and literally no one else was available, as discrete and stealthy as a bag of loose bells (they/them Problem On Purpose )

Lluciano Lavellan - Dalish rogue and spy sent to the Conclave because in his heart he is a fucking golden retriever and outsiders are suckers for his big puppy eyes (he/him omnisexual disaster)

(Do you see the pattern? Good cuz the other two are Tavi Adaar and Séamus Trevelyan)

——————

Herbs

No one had specifically mentioned what species the healer in Redcliffe was, and Cadash hadn’t expected it to matter this far into the chaos.

The exhausted elf tucking herself back into a corner did not agree. Lavellan did most of the talking, since he was the nice one.

He’d had a bug in his ass since someone had mentioned needing a healer down at the crossroads, and someone else mentioned there was one here, in Redcliffe.

One healer for two settlements was a guaranteed shit show either way, but at least Redcliffe was still tucked in the woods. And apparently not treating one of their most valuable citizens well.

“Look, I don’t care,” the healer finally cut Lluciano off, raising a hand. “The people here barely tolerate me as it is, and that only because their human healer is dead. I’m not looking for a new place to be called a knife-ear.”

Lavellan’s earnest, hopeful smile crumpled almost at once, and Cadash was just glad they hadn’t brought Solas along for this trip. He always seemed to know just what to say to upset vulnerable elves.

They’d heard the derogatory words humans used for elves, dwarves, qunari for as long as they’d known humans. Hell, the Inquisition was the longest they’d gone in their life without hearing most of them.

Lavellan though… well, Lluciano Lavellan hadn’t had much to do with humans until he’d been sent to spy on the Conclave. The fact that even he clearly knew the word was… telling.

“Look,” Corin cut in, stepping forward neatly to dodge Cassandra reaching for their shoulder. Probably specifically to prevent this.

They might not be the most tactful member of the Inquisition, but sometimes straight talk helped.

“Times are shit and you’re a healer. No matter what blood you’ve got in you, it’s worth more than gold right now. You’re under personal protection of the Heralds and if anyone says one word to you at the crossroads, I’ll walk you to Haven myself and let them remember how well their bullshit treats their wounds.”

As far as they were concerned, anyone stupid enough to buy into any of this speciesist crap deserved whatever joys it brought them.

Cassandra subsided back, her lips pressed together in a tight line. The elven healer didn’t look convinced either, though something like a smile danced on her lips.

Lavellan stepped forward again, his hand coming up to hover between them, an offer for her to reach out.

“These are strange times,” he agreed with a slight nod to Corin, “but there is a lot all of us can do to help. I know I’ve been hearing it less than I thought I would. Perhaps this is how we change things?”

The healer hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze flicking from Lavellan to Cassandra, to Cadash and to the Iron Bull. Always back to Lluciano.

Finally she sighed and nodded, glancing around the small house.

“Alright. I suppose I’ll be safer with the Inquisition soldiers around than I am here anyway. But there are some things I’ll need first, for my patients here. I can’t just leave them,” she added, sounding almost bitter.

A damn good healer then. Cadash nodded as Lavellan happily stepped back, all adorable and flushed with success.

“Sure. What do you need?” They could probably find it while she packed, solve the whole thing, bring the healer to the crossroads themselves on their way back to Haven.

It’d give Corin a chance to impress their personal opinion on Corporal Vale. While dropping off some of the other supplies they’d grabbed. Carrot and stick and all.

“Just some herbs,” the healer explained, already turning to the shelf behind her to pick through what she could carry, “elfroot and spindleweed.”

And it meant she just so happened to be looking the other way when Lavellan lit up like a little sunbeam, practically bouncing on the spot in excitement.

And all four of his companions groaning loudly, though the noise grabbed her attention at once.

“I can help!” Lluciano told the now puzzled healer enthusiastically, already digging into his pack.

Varric sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall. Unlike Cadash, he didn’t always bother pushing through the taller people. He didn’t need to to be heard.

“Lavellan picked every elfroot in the Hinterlands on our way here,” he explained dryly while Lavellan pushed his pack into Iron Bull’s hands so he could root in to the shoulder.

How the damn herbs slipped from the top when he’d been grabbing them half an hour ago at most was beyond Cadash. But Lavellan did like when the Iron Bull flexed his muscles.

The healer looked like she was torn between laughing and shock, her mouth opening and closing until she finally settled into a startled laugh when Lluciano dropped double fistfuls of herbs into her arms.

“Is that all? Are there any other herbs you’ll need?” He asked hopefully, looking for all the world like an excited puppy.

The poor healer just stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening and closing.

By the door, Varric snickered.

“We’ve travelled from the Storm Coast to Val Royeaux, and the Herald’s picked every damn plant that even might be useful. Anything you need is in that bag,” he added with a nod to the Iron Bull.

“And the other one hauling every damn scrap of iron and serpentstone out of the rocks,” Iron Bull grumbled good naturedly, because he was a traitor.

Cadash huffed, settling their heavy and clinking pack more comfortably over their back brace.

“And here was me, about to measure you for some nice new gauntlets. I suppose I can put it all back,” they said archly.

Bull chuckled and shook his head, still holding Lavellan’s pack even as he bounced in place, waiting for the healer’s next request.

“Point taken, Cadash,” he said simply, and Cassandra huffed an exasperated laugh.

“Yes, well… that is one more thing we can promise you with the Inquisition,” she told the healer, her usual stiff formality cracking with the release of tension, “the Heralds will personally ensure that you want for nothing that could be foraged from the hills.”

Cadash narrowed their eyes as the healer fell back into shaky giggles.

“Was that sarcasm, Cassandra? Did you forage sarcasm in the Hinterland hills?” They asked mock suspiciously, grinning in triumph when Cassandra rolled her eyes at them.

“It was the only thing in abundance with you, Lavellan, and Varric that was not already snatched up,” she said simply.

The healer shook her head, tension slipping from her shoulders as she gave Lluciano a proper smile.

“Thank you… yes, there are a few other herbs I need, and then I can go. I suppose the Inquisition forces at the crossroads will have an easier time with the supplies I need.” She didn’t sound like she quite believed what was happening.

That was pretty much the normal reaction to a visit from the Heralds though, so she would find herself in good company at the crossroads.

Lluciano dived straight back into his pack, pulling out his various bundles and sorting them as the healer listed the different herbs she needed.

Nothing he didn’t already have in abundance either, as he happily dug through his bulging pack.

The Iron Bull just held it out for him, watching with a fond amusement that was just fucking adorable while Lavellan rooted around, chatting cheerfully about the different herbs and where he’d found each damned leaf.

So what if it was cute. Lluciano was always cute, it was like a fucking curse. Cute, weak ankles, prone to jumping or falling off things.

Catching Varric’s eye, Cadash nodded to the door and the two dwarves slipped outside. Cassandra followed, leaving the elves to their talk.

“It’s about time we headed back to the crossroads,” Corin mused, glancing up at the sky and frowning.

There was a lot that was wrong in Redcliffe, a lot that didn’t make sense and what did was absolutely not good.

Though they were pretty sure Vivienne was going to get a real kick out of what Fiona might have gotten herself into. And how many of the other mages were not on board.

A smile tugging at their lips, Corin stuffed their hands in their pockets. They could see it already; Vivienne’s smug smile, her plans to use the other mages’ discontent.

The complete unawareness that she could have probably actually done something useful for them before joining the Inquisition.

The fact that she could probably gain something by listening to them now. Learn something about the world beyond her circles.

Nope, Vivienne was going to thoroughly enjoy someone else’s plan failing, and Cadash would enjoy watching her try to weave it into all her own plans, blissfully unaware that the discontented mages wouldn’t follow her either.

Sure, a couple wanted to go back to circle life. But those outside, who saw more of the world, would be much less likely to fold themselves in under Vivienne’s plans.

Those now talking to all the other mages who had been pushed to breaking, who’d been living together, hearing their concerns.

They still wanted to reform the circles instead of burning the system down, sure, but that was all part of the system too. And when Vivienne failed to make any of the substantial changes, they’d decide it was because she was wrong.

Not that the system had been designed from the start with all of them in mind, and had channels to turn those who wanted to change the system from within into its strongest supporters.

It was a depressing ass pipeline, but Vivienne was a very intelligent woman. There was a chance she’d work it out before it was too late, if the Inquisition kept the circles empty long enough.

And if she hung around more templars, and mages whose towers were made of something less glamorous than her own.

And if that meant Vivienne travelling back to Redcliffe with them, if only to be smug at Fiona in person? It’d be good for her to spend some time with her feet in the mud.

She could join them all following Lavellan up and down every blasted hill and cranny, scooping up every weed in the fucking Hinterlands. Again.

———————

Because there is nothing I like more in DAI fanfic than Inquisitors who are explicitly and obviously still video game characters, with every stupid and nonsensical thing that entails 😁

Quite a few have been spun off from little side quests or pieces of party banter, and of course none of that would be half so easy without the fabulous work of @missnovelist at the Genitivi Chronicles!

It’s the full transcript, they’ve got most of the way through the main plot so check it out and I bullied them into making a Patreon so if you love this resource as much as I do

(You will the party banter is fucking killer and if your play through is anything like ours those MOTHERFUCKERS will NOT talk to each other no matter how little you fast travel

Vivienne is the villain of Varric’s new series)

Send them a few bucks for this massive labour of love! You get different dialogue options for each species of Inquisitor, for each background, and for half the decision trees so it’s one hell of an undertaking

EDIT: BEHOLD! The masterpost!

[plisuu]

Happy Whumptober! I'm a little late with the sharing, but I decided I'd try to tackle a promptober this year. Days 1-5 are up on Ao3 - mind the tags.

Rating: M

Relationship(s): Cullen x Male Trevelyan, Post-breakup Solas x Male Trevelyan (Queerplatonic)

General Warnings: Whump, Angst, PTSD, Flashbacks, Lyrium Addiction/Abuse, Torture, Captivity, Drugging, Restraints, Body Horror, Graphic Description of Blood and Injuries

Individual chapters contain additional warnings.

Connor Trevelyan is brought back to Skyhold after being rescued from the Red Templars in Emprise Du Lion. His recovery goes less than smoothly, riddled with flashbacks and nightmares as his companions find themselves in a race against red lyrium.

Day 1 below the cut:

Day 1: Safety Net wc: 1057 "But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps."

Connor stirred, his body heavy with exhaustion and… mostly exhaustion. It was a struggle to open his eyes at all. Everything was too bright, too sharp, too painful and heavy and Maker he was so tired. Had he slept? When was the last time he really slept anyway? Time had been a blur, day and night blended into an eternity in the dark, only able to tell the passing of hours by the schedule of the red templars that traded shifts outside the cell door.

Now? The world was blinding, sun scattered over snow and filtered through glass. What did he remember? Shouting, swords hitting shields, cutting flesh, the clamber of armor, the soft glow of magelight, and then pain. Excruciating pain. There was nothing else after that. Before all of that even? Only more pain. He tried to block it out, the hum of red lyrium, blood on stone, on fiber, on steel—his mouth flooded with the taste of it, and he lurched to the side, heaving.

A warm, heavy hand pressed against his shoulder, another smoothed his hair back, and he choked, a sob wracked with pain and sick and fear. Every movement was met with burning strain. He was too heavy, he felt like lead, every movement sluggish, every attempt to get away from those hands was too weak and he couldn’t think, and the room was too damn bright and—

“Fuck. Hey, it’s alright. You’re going to hurt yourself, just breathe, okay?”

The low rumble of Bull’s voice washed over him, so close, and yet…. He couldn’t trust it, shouldn’t trust it. Another dream—or nightmare, what was the difference at this point? But he stilled anyway, afraid of what might happen otherwise. He heard a quiet sigh from the other side of him, a whisper of breath.

“Pain if I don’t obey. Pain if I do, but then it will stop. I can breathe, I can’t break, I must breathe and wait and they will come for me. This isn’t them, they will come. They have to.”

“Hey kid, I don’t think that’s—”

The voice was closer, Conner felt a cool hand on his cheek, the brush of fabric, the shade of a wide brim blocking the sunlight that streamed in from the windows.

“We came. We found you. You’re home. Safe. Skyhold. The Iron Bull is here, and me, and I am not a demon. Solas is coming to help stop the singing.”

The room was silent then, aside from Connor’s labored breath. He considered the words, his surroundings, and opened his eyes, slowly. A pale face peered down at him, a look of focused concern on his features, stringy blonde hair clinging to the frame of his gaunt face, a figure no demon had been able to parse from his memories.

“… Cole,” Connor managed, his voice a hoarse croak. He grimaced at the sound, and then flinched at the pain that the expression caused him, the world beginning to spin as he grew lightheaded from the effort. He sucked in a sharp breath that crackled in his lungs, and agonizing pain radiated through his chest. It was an endless cycle of breathing and pain feeding into each other until he forced his mind to empty, focusing on his fluttering pulse and some silently repeated words of the Chant, inaudible and hardly formed. Eventually, the burning ebbed into a dull ache and Cole pulled his hand away.

“Yes,” The boy finally replied. “I found you, in the Fade, but Dorian found you first, and then Cassandra, and then The Iron Bull. Cullen wanted to be there, but the red made it hard. He will be happy you’re awake, I should—”

“Cole, don’t. Not yet. It will only cause the Commander more pain, to know but not be able to see him.”

The door shut softly, accompanied by the quiet footfalls of bare heels and worn leather on carpet alongside the clinking of bottles filled with liquid.

"Please inform Cassandra that the Inquisitor is awake, though," Solas continued.

Cole nodded glumly before simply disappearing, and the elf took his place, hovering over where Connor lay as Bull shifted to accommodate his presence.

“I can only save you from certain death so many times, Inquisitor,” Solas chided him, the words stern but not unkind, gentle yet guarded, a light jest to conceal the worry. Connor closed his eyes again, trying to will away the pinpricks of tears that threatened to spill. He couldn’t cry, he couldn’t show weakness, not here, not now, not after already having his dignity shattered by requiring rescue. Not after Weston wrung every ounce of vulnerability from him and used it against him. Not after Solas had already quietly left him alone and floundering in Crestwood, unsure of what he had done wrong. He swallowed around the lump in throat and kept his eyes closed.

Solas placed a cool cloth over his forehead and pulled some of the blankets aside, seemingly content to ignore the turmoil that roiled away inside him. All of that was forgotten, however, as Solas began to carefully unwrap bandages from around his torso that were stiff with blood and stuck to the skin in numerous places. Bull helped, murmuring quiet reassurances as he propped Connor up, but most of them were either lost in the pain or possibly in Qunlat, Connor wasn’t sure. All he knew was how much it hurt, and he hissed in pain and tensed, but did not move. He had suffered worse.

“That looks… bad,” Bull grunted.

“There is still red lyrium in the wound,” Solas replied. “It is a miracle we found you when we did, Inquisitor. Any longer and… The infection has progressed quite a bit, but is still manageable. The lyrium’s growth, however, while not as bad as it could be given the circumstances, is not insignificant. It will be difficult to remove.”

Connor didn’t reply. He couldn’t. ‘Looks bad,’ did not begin to cover the gashes and raw scabbing that covered him, angry and weeping, or the faint glow of red that spiderwebbed beneath bruised and mottled skin, spreading from a significant wound in his side that still bled freely. He felt himself going lightheaded as Solas continued to speak, his limbs going slack. He heard Bull swear, and then the world spun and went dark.