#as does the thought of it becoming a whole thing with the amaranthine wardens

[crossdressingdeath]

Alistair: I see. At least the Hero of Ferelden is still here, and alive. That's something, right? Asterius: Try not to look so disappointed. Alistair: I'll get over it, I'm sure.

They're a little platonic divorced. I have no idea if this option only shows up if you spare Loghain, but as it is it feels like everyone else is standing there very awkwardly listening to this. Oghren at least has some background for what's going on between these two, but poor Anders hasn't even been formally recruited yet and Mhairi clearly holds the Warden in the highest respect; it's an interesting start to their time with the Wardens to learn their new commander has just a bit of beef with the king.

[allisondraste]

Temperance (19/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:    Home is where the hurt is. 

Notes: Just a brief trigger warning for some trauma sympmtoms discussed.  Take care of yourselves!

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

The Fereldan Countryside, 9:31 Dragon

Cold, morning air pricked Liss’ skin as her eyes flickered open, blinking away the darkness of sleep.  She shuddered even beneath two heavy blankets, warmed only by the memory of the night before that made her face burn hot and her stomach flutter.  It could very well have been a dream. Her imagination was fairly vivid, after all, and it was not uncommon for her to dream about kissing handsome men under the stars.  Those dreams, however, had ceased since the night her family died. She only had bad dreams now.

No, kissing Alistair wasn’t a dream, nor was him holding her afterward, sharing his warmth until she fell asleep.  Perhaps he had fallen asleep, too. She couldn’t remember, but she could still smell him in her hair and on her clothes, and her lips still tingled with the memory of his.  A smile twitched at those same lips as she sat up and stretched briefly before drawing the blankets back up around her. Damn the winter for existing.  

Looking around the makeshift camp, she noticed Alistair standing near the horses, still as a statue, staring off in the distance toward Amaranthine.  Remnants of smoke clouds lingered in the sky. What had the Wardens done? Were they all right? She supposed Alistair probably wondered the same.

Liss rose to her feet and walked over to him, footsteps intentionally loud so as to not startle the jumpy man.  Closing the distance, she slid her arms through his and clasped her hands over his abdomen, pressing her cheek against his back.  He tensed beneath her touch, spine stiffening and he held his breath.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, pulling away from him quickly, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t.  Not exactly,” he answered with a heavy sigh as he turned to face her, pointing toward the smokey sky, “That’s Amaranthine, isn’t it?”

Liss just nodded slowly and watched concern wash over Alistair’s face, knitting his brow and causing his lower lip to tremble.  Maker, was he going to cry?

“Well,” he announced very suddenly, wiping at his eyes with a thumb and index finger that he brought together to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He sniffed and continued, “It’s probably just… a funeral pyre to destroy all the rotten darkspawn corpses. Can’t leave them just lying about. That’s how you get diseases.”

“Ali,” Liss soothed, placing a hand on his cheek.

Alistair put his large hand over hers, which she had never thought to be small until now, and squeezed it briefly before dragging it down and away from his face and letting go.  He brought his eyes up to look at her, and the expression shattered her heart. She knew what that look meant, where it led, and that she had nobody and nothing to blame but her own impulsive self.  Instinctively, she took a step back from him.

“Liss, I’m so… sorry,” Alistair said.  It was an introduction, a preface to what he actually wanted to say.

“This is about the kiss, isn’t it?” She stole the gut punch from him.  If she said all the things first, it couldn’t hurt her as much. “I knew I should have asked.  It was a dumb, careless idea. I’m an idiot.”  

“Yes, I mean no...um.”  Alistair huffed and tried again. “What I mean to say is: Yes. This is about the kiss, but no you’re not an idiot.”

“Was it bad?” That was a dumb, pointless question that just fell out of her mouth.

“Maker, no. No! It was very nice,” he answered waving his hands frantically and then settling, “But it shouldn’t have happened.”

”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just horrible at reading people sometimes.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped and let his hand fall to his side. “You didn’t overstep. I…enjoyed it, but it was wrong.”

“Why?” She hated the hurt in her voice but was unable to stop it.  She laughed to brush it off and added, “It was just a kiss.”

“No it wasn’t, Liss.” Alistair dropped his head, “It meant something.”

“Is it so bad for it to mean something?”

“Yes.” He brought his eyes back up to hers again. The word was hard, cold, even in his sympathy, that he might as well have thrown an icicle at her. “It’s just - ”

“I understand,” she said just as coldly, and moved to start packing up her things if only to keep him from seeing her cry. “It is pretty obvious that your heart is elsewhere.”

“Liss,” he muttered and she snapped her eyes up to him causing him to look away.

“No, I get it.” She laughed angrily, and it wasn’t even Alistair she was mad at, not really. “It’s hard to move on from something special.  Sometimes you waste years and years of your life trying to fill that hole, but nothing ever does. Nothing even comes close. Maybe you even start to realize that you’re not really you without that person, and that your best memories are with them.  Only now, they’re gone, and the thought of that person makes you unbearably sad. So you shut it out, you make jokes, and you convince everyone you’re fine, but you’re not. You’re miserable, and the only person who can fix it, the only one in the world you want to see, isn’t there.”

Liss began to roughly ready her horse, and continued, “Maybe you end up kissing a good friend on a whim for comfort. It’s nice and warm and you feel whole again, but it’s just for a moment because surprise, you’ve somehow now made yourself feel ten times worse than you did before, damned for even trying to be happy.”

Alistair blinked at her silently and frowned. “I didn’t tell you about any of that.”

“I never said it was about you,” Liss answered through her teeth and climbed up onto her horse, “Come on.  We can talk about this later if you wish. Right now, I just really want to see my brother.”

Painful, awkward silence hovered over them as they made the final leg of their journey to Highever, and Liss was haunted with the immediate echo of the things she’d said.  Out loud. She squirmed in her saddle and focused every ounce of her energy on not thinking about it, yet she still thought about it anyway. About him. Nate. It finally happened.  Years of hiding and hurting and it all came out just like that. They were feelings she didn’t need. Especially not as she was about to face home for the first time since… well, everything.

As soon as they reached the city gates, Alistair parted with Liss to pay his respects to Duncan as she made her way to her family’s castle.  She stood at the gates for what felt like an eternity, staring up the length of the large wooden doors while her stomach twisted into increasingly intricate knots.  A warrior stomach, it was, braided for the battle to come.

“I’m ready,” she said with a deep breath, nodding to the guards who pushed open the doors and held them for her to enter in to the courtyard.  It was quiet and empty, as it was in the winter, the only signs of life were the soldiers that lined the battlements. She passed another pair of guards through another set of doors to reach the main hall, large, open, and warm.  It was filled with the sound of chatter and servants milling about at their jobs.

“Lady Cousland,” one woman exclaimed, clearly recognizing Liss, though Liss could not return the recognition.  “We were not expecting you.”

“My apologies,” Liss answered, “I know it is polite to send word ahead.”

“No matter,” the woman said, “The Teyrn is in the middle of a meeting with some representatives from Amaranthine, but I will let him know you are here.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Isobel, milady.”

“Thank you, Isobel,” Liss said with a smile, “You can tell the Teyrn that I will be wandering the halls.  He’ll have to find me.”

Isobel eyed her curiously, likely due to the complete deviance from etiquette, but bowed anyway and left to retrieve Fergus.  Liss remained in the main hall for a few moments, breathing and taking in the scenery. It looked as it always had, smelled as it always had, and sounded the very same.  Yet it was a different place entirely. Everything that had once made it home was gone. Liss did not know what to make of it, nor if it could ever feel like home again. Tears burned in her eyes at the thought of all that Howe had taken from her.  

She tore away from the main hall, not wanting to be seen were she to lose her composure, and ambled up a flight of stairs that led to the living quarters.  A mistake, she knew, but the only relatively private place in the castle. Her chest tightened, breath becoming panicked and shallow as she approached the door to her room.  Each time she blinked she could see pools of blood on the floor. She heard screams and smelled iron, remembered Oren and Oriana’s lifeless faces. It was all her fault. Thoughts raced and swirled in her head. She should have stopped it, done more, died trying.  All the things she’d only revisited in nightmares were crashing down on her all at once and she was suffocating.  

Liss passed by her own room frantically, unable to even look at it, opting instead to turn down an adjacent hallway, the guest wing, running until she reached the very end.  She turned to face the door immediately to her right, the last room in the hall. It was Nathaniel’s, or at least the one he had used during his summers there. How many times had she run down that hall to hide, to be comforted, to see her friend? How many times had she gone into his room when he wasn’t there just to feel closer to him, or just because it felt like the safest place in the world? Of course her feet carried her there now.  It only made sense.

Grabbing a torch from the wall, she pressed down on the door knob gently, hand shaking, and let herself into the room.  It was dark and cold from too many vacant days, but otherwise the same as she remembered it, perhaps the only place in the castle untouched by recent events. She hung the torch in an empty sconce and moved to examine the rows of dusty books that lined the shelves. Most were boring, standard-issue texts on the history of Ferelden, tactical manuals, and refuse from Aldous’ collection.  One book stood out, however. It was smaller, leather bound, and crammed between two volumes of Brother Genetivi’s writings. She pulled it out and examined the cover as she kicked off her boots. Fereldan Myths and Folklore.  

She’d read the book many times over, of course. It was nothing new, but perfect for keeping her mind busy until Fergus came for her.   She climbed up on the bed and sat, back straight against the headboard. As she fanned through the pages, she frowned at the sight of a page that had been folded down at the corner.  It was one of the shorter tales in the book, a chilling legend called “The Baroness of the Blackmarsh.” Her heart fluttered as she noticed charming little letters in black ink, straight and sharp-edged, cluttering the margins at the sides.  Nate.

The tale was simple.  It warned travelers of the Blackmarsh to be wary as they wandered through, making sure to think of the Maker, place Prophet’s Laurel under the tongue, and carry a vial of Lyrium to ward away the demons that whispered in the dark.  Supposedly people who passed through the Blackmarsh reported hearing voices, seeing faces of the dead in the water, and becoming tangled in trees that grabbed at their clothing like gnarly, jagged hands. These events were blamed on a wicked baroness who practiced blood magic to maintain her youth and beauty.  The Veil was bound to be thin in such places after all.  

Liss glanced over to read Nate’s notes at the side.

“Not the whole story.  Baroness was well-loved by her people after she saved them from a dragon.  Something bad must have happened.”

She smiled.  Leave it to Nate to take a folk legend seriously.  Then again, hadn’t he visited the Marsh? Perhaps there was more truth to the myth than it seemed.  She scanned her eyes over the rest of the page, noting another brief message at the bottom.

“Liss, if you read this while I’m gone, I’m not being too serious, so stop thinking it.”

Liss flinched and read the words again.  How dare he presume what she was thinking about him, even nine or more years ago, whenever the stupid note was written.  And how dare he assume she’d pilfer through his things. She may have invaded his personal space on a regular basis, but she drew the line at pilfering. Arse.

Still, the smile that curved at her lips deepened and tears dripped onto the page as she ran her fingers over the writing.  The droplets startled her, and she reached up to wipe them from her face, unaware that she was even crying. Maker, she missed him, and it was easier to breathe just admitting to it.  She missed him.

“There you are,” a familiar voice rang out, causing her to start.  She looked up to see Fergus standing in the doorway, a sad, knowing grin on his face, “I should have known to look here first.”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Yes, actually.”  Fergus stepped into the room to stand at the foot of the bed, tracing the wooden footboard with the fingertips of one hand.  His other arm hung unusually limply at his side. Had he been hurt? “If I knew you were coming, I would have greeted you at the gate, and you wouldn’t have had to face the castle alone... or hide in here to find some little shred of Nathaniel to comfort you.”

“That’s not - “

“I may not be as smart as you, but I’m not an idiot.” Fergus moved over to where she sat on the bed and rested his big, heavy hand on her head, shaking it slightly and causing her head to move around.  

Liss grumbled and slapped his hand away. “I came with a friend, a last minute kind of thing, or I would have written ahead.  Believe me when I say I would have much preferred by glorious return home to not have ended with me a pitiful weeping mess, but I just don’t think there’s a way around it.”

“There wasn’t for me,” he said with a sigh, staring blankly off into the air, “That’s what it takes to get past it, I think.”

“It’s good to see you, Fergus,” Liss muttered weakly, not really wanting to spend the entire visit with her brother stuck in the past. “How are you?”

He laughed and shook his head, looking back at her.  “As well as I can be, considering. And you?” He winced and grasped the limp arm.

“I’ve been better,” Liss replied absently, setting the book aside and sliding to her feet.  She grabbed his arm and examined it through the sleeve. A bulky spot rose up under the material just by his shoulder, a bandage.  “What happened to your arm?”

“You won’t believe it,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“So it’s a good story, then?”

“Depends.” His grin was so wide she could count his teeth, not that she wanted to.

“Well, go on.  Out with it,” she said dryly, sitting down on the edge of the bed “Lest I die from suspense.”

“Well, I was in the Coastlands, on my way to see what was going on in Amaranthine.  I’d heard nothing from the Arlessa, Warden-Commander -- whatever she is-- for weeks, and that pillar of smoke was concerning.”  Fergus paced about in front of the bed, gesturing emphatically. “On my way, I was cornered by some bandits, well… they weren’t actually bandits.  They were some men who’d escaped the fire and darkspawn in the city, who were just desperate for money.

“Anyway, one of them managed to slash my arm and knock me from my horse.  I fell to the ground and hit my head. I was dizzy, and my ears were ringing.  I thought I was done for.”

Fergus paused and looked to Liss expectantly, and she obliged him with a response.  “Don’t you know how to defend yourself? Mother would be so very disappointed.”

Fergus rolled his eyes, but continued with the same level of enthusiasm.  “It didn’t take long for me to notice the men had stopped their attack, and the one who landed the blow to my arm was on the ground clutching a wounded leg.  The others were yelling at this Grey Warden, blaming him for the loss of their families and livelihoods.”

Liss leaned forward, chin in her hands.  “A Grey Warden?”

He nodded. “A Grey Warden.  One of the men tossed a dagger at him, but then another Grey Warden showed up, this mage who made roots come up from the ground to shield her comrade.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m serious.”  He shook his head and she believed him.  “The men called her some unkind names and she was going to attack them, but the other Warden stopped her and began to talk to the men, sympathize with them.  He said he understood and vowed to make it up to them if they’d give him the chance.”

“Mighty noble of someone they just tried to murder,” she said tapping her chin.

“Well,” Fergus said, dropping his gaze to the ground as he kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, “You know how Nate is.”

Liss’ breath caught in her throat, a noticeable, horribly embarrassing gasp escaping her. She would have sworn her heart stopped for a moment. “Nate?”

“Yes!”

“A Grey Warden?”

“Mhmm.”  Fergus nodded and continued on to explain how Nathaniel had landed among the Wardens’ ranks, how he’d returned believing his father had been murdered and his family disgraced for no reason.  How he believed he needed to avenge them, but decided to just gather some of his family’s belongings instead, and how he’d been captured and branded a thief for doing so. He would have died had it not been for the Warden-Commander.  

“That’s good,” Liss said half-heartedly, “I’m glad he’s not dead.”

Fergus stared at her skeptically for a moment before speaking.  “That’s it? I can’t say you’re as excited as I thought you’d be.  Still pissed he never wrote?”

“I’ll always be pissed about that.  How hard is it to write one damn letter?”

“Pretty hard, depending on who you ask.”  Fergus tried and failed to lighten the mood.

“I miss him,” she said, her voice cracking, “And I want him to miss me too.”

Fergus pulled her into an embrace and squeezed tightly, sighing into her hair.  “I think you should tell him that.”

“Why,” she asked sharply, voice muffled by Fergus’ shirt, “So he can ignore me for another nine  years?”

“No, you idiot,” Fergus said with a frustrated laugh, “So maybe you can be happy again.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Fergus,” she rasped, tears falling freely and dampening his shirt, “I forgot how.”

“Me too, Sis.” He kissed her hair.  “But we have to try.”

[kunstpause-archive]

📚 from the fic ask c:

I am gonna do this for The Hands of Fate Are Your Own bc it’s the thing that is the most recent and most persistently on my mind.

So five facts:

1. The first draft of the story is over two years old and it went in a massively different direction back then. I wanna post some ‘what if’s’ and outtake chapters on day bc damn things have evolved… It had a “magic made them do it” trope chapter that I personally found hilarious but that didn’t fit into the story anymore after a rework

2. This is the first of three stories we have planned. Part one is finished. Two is in the middle of the rework and three was half finished before we started reworking stuff so that one will probably have to be written totally anew.

3. All of this more elaborate writing actually started bc @elveny, another friend of ours and me dared each other to write a short story/chapter in the most cliched romance novel style ever. Elveny’s original chapter ended up in her Solavellan story as far as I know, mine is actually still in this story, though in a more serious version and slightly less over the top.

4.  We threw out 150k words that were already written earlier this year bc we had an idea when Elveny was at my place for a relaxing writing weekend - and it spiralled. It went like this: “Wouldn’t it be super bad/fun if..” - “We are not really contemplating that, we are just doing a thought experiment…” - “We are doing that, but it’s just one small change, how much rework could that be?” - “Fuck!”

5. In the original first draft Cassia was a blood mage. Her story went vastly different and certain romances never happened. Though I wrote a very short “20 years later” epilogue (which actually spawned the whole disaster that is her now canon relationship…)

And bc why not: Five headcanons

1. Cassia has always idolised her twin sister. She never took her father’s “Why can’t you just be more like Adriene” as something negative because she always asked herself the same thing.

2. Carver and Bethany are actually the ones that got all the common sense in their family. Bethany is tough as nails when she wants something and Carver actually turns into the level headed, responsible Hawke in his time with the Wardens in Amaranthine. When my warden leaves for finding a cure for the taint he becomes the new Warden Commander.

3. Cassia loves bright colours and dressing up in things that draw attention. She grew up constantly hiding and trying to be as unremarkable as possible and the more distance she has to her parents, the more she does the exact opposite.

4. Cassia has a perfect poker face when she doesn’t care or even dislikes a person. But she is completely incapable of actually straight up lying to people that she cares about. The only reason she can keep some of her secrets from the people that she loves is because they are not asking the right questions.

5. I actually wrote one of the DAI multiplayer characters into this story at a later point. They have a super minor role but I have a super extensive headcanon for them, backstory, early life, career and how they ended up in first Kirkwall and later Skyhold. 

[bisexualryder]

Okay dude i’ll bite, can i know more about your trio wardens au ? Like how did they meet ? Who did they romance ? What happens to them after dao ? In da2 ? Dai ? (Sorry im just a huge fan of ocs and i love the wardens)

Ahhh, first off - thank you for asking! I’m happy to gush about my trio of idiots wardens :D Secondly - don’t apologize for asking! I love talking about my OCs, I’m just bad about keeping up with posting and such lately (but hope to fix that soon, especially if I make this extra sideblog). ANYWHO, gonna jump in and apologize now if this gets long, lol.

—

SO I’ll hit romance first since that’s quicker and easier. Rylee and Ise (eventually) become a thing - they’re married by the time DAI rolls around. Typical grumpy asshole falls in love with ray of sunshine and doesn’t want to admit it at first. She tries to play it cool and ends up playing it too cool until she gets some help from the couple companions she befriends (mostly Zev, since Sten doesn’t care that much, but he offers his insight on what qunari do). But they don’t actually, like, really become a romance-y thing until after ghoul!Tamlen shows up and oof that one is painful.

Eleri I… don’t know yet, to be honest. She was a re-imagining of my old Cousland, who romanced Alistair, but with Eleri I’m actually leaning a bit more toward Zevran. But uh, still not sure yet, I’m mad indecisive on this one. tbh even Nate is in the running for her *shrug emoji*

On to the rest!

DA:O

They don’t all join the standard way, I guess, but they do all meet at Ostagar. Ducan officially recruits Rylee and Isethari, Eleri recruits herself, lol.

Rylee is recruited first. Standard Tabris origin there and it’s on the way to Ostagar that they plan to stop and see the Dalish elves and that’s when they find Isethari half-dead in the middle of the woods (it was sheer luck, really). Duncan sends Rylee, carrying the nearly-dead Ise, to the camp and goes to investigate the area. Other than Rylee wandering around the Dalish camp like an awestruck idiot, most of the Mahariel origin is the same. Rylee stays behind in the camp, though, when Ise and co. are sent back to the ruin where they run into Duncan. Once they leave, Rylee earns herself the duty of ensuring that Isethari doesn’t run on their trip to Ostagar, bc let me tell you Ise is not happy about leaving without finding Tamlen.

Now for Eleri, she escapes the castle with only her mabari after her parents sacrifice themselves to buy her time to get out. She manages to make it to the stables for her horse and rides as hard as she can to Ostagar, desperate to find her brother. When she basically gets told that he’s out scouting and she likely won’t see him before the battle, she asks about the wardens and is pointed toward Duncan. At that point, she goes up to him like: “I just slaughtered my way through an army of men trying to assassinate my family. I have nothing left but this dream, please.” He asks clarification, she provides, he eventually agrees and sends her off to gather the other recruits and report back with Alistair. It’s at that point she meets Rylee and Isethari, who are hanging around close together by the quartermaster (after Rylee nearly kills Daveth for hitting on that one woman, you know the one). 

From there up until the start of the fight, it progresses as it normally would in canon. They all get their quest, go out into the wilds, etc. etc. And once they survive the Joining, they have a pre-meeting meeting thing. Alistair and Eleri join the meeting as per canon, and Duncan assigns Rylee and Ise to the remaining warden forces. So from there, canon-typical for Eleri. Go to the tower, light the beacon, get almost killed and then saved by Flemeth, etc.

Rylee and Ise, however, have a much more trying experience. Rylee takes a genlock to the face (claws? blade? idk lmao) for Ise to protect her - this being around the time they can see the battle is going south. Duncan’s already been killed at this point and Ise starts to panic (she hates fighting as it is) and manages to half convince, half drag Rylee from the fighting and they flee the battle to the nearest town (naturally, Lothering). They end up meeting up with Eleri and Alistair (and Morrigan) again and explain what happened from their perspective and then work with Eleri and Alistair to come up with a plan of action.

Eleri takes up the role of warden-commander (since Alistair and Ise don’t want to lead and everyone knows Rylee leading is a Very Bad Idea™).

Uhhh, key highlights of what they do I guess would be:

Sided with the Mages

Irving saved, Uldred dead etc etc

Put Bhelen in power

Branka’s killed

sent Dagna off to study ofc

Sided with the Dalish against the werewolves

two elves with one being Dalish and the other violently racist made it a simple choice for Eleri to lessen a headache later (she had way too much else to worry about than argue with them)

Helped Redcliffe and saved Conner

demon killed w/Jowan’s help (he does the ritual and Morrigan is sent in to yeet the demon out)

Isolde’s alive

side note: didn’t poison the Urn

Anora rules w/ Alistair

Loghain alive & recruited as a warden (recruited post-final fight)

Alistair still performs the ritual with Morrigan

Awakening

Not too much of note here. Rylee is the one that finds Nathaniel, though, and it does not go well for him. It’s only Ise that stays Rylee’s hand from killing him. When they bring him to Eleri, she immediately recruits him when she realizes it’s her old friend. He’s still pretty ticked, but softens about the whole thing a bit when he realizes Eleri is around.

With more wardens, they’re able to more easily protect the Keep and Amaranthine. And the Architect does live (much to Rylee’s great annoyance).

DA2 & DAI

Sometime in here is when Rylee and Ise get married. They have two ceremonies - one in the Denerim alienage to honor Rylee’s culture and then again when they find Ise’s clan outside Kirkwall.

Hawke and co. do run into Ise and Rylee in the Deep Roads during the expedition (as they are canon with Ashley Hawke, there’s not a twin to save). BUT the two of them help Ash and crew gtfo and back safely to Kirkwall. Turns out they saw Bodahn on their way into the Deep Roads to investigate and got a tip to keep an eye out for some lost members of the expedition (the whole leaving suddenly without them thing didn’t sit right with him).

Later on, in that mission where you run into Nate? Eleri’s with him, though doesn’t actually advertise herself as the warden-commander while chatting with Ash. Ash isn’t dumb, though, (not always, at least) and gets a feeling Eleri might be kinda more in charge than she was told. So when wardens start disappearing, she takes a chance and makes contact. It ultimately pays off when Eleri sends Rylee and Ise to help the Inquisition.

During the events of Here Lies the Abyss in Inquisition, it’s Rylee that stays behind to buy everyone time to escape. And, much like when Ise was taken from her clan, she has to be dragged out - this time by the Inquisitor herself (Olivia, for the record) - kicking, screaming, and utterly sobbing that they’re leaving her wife behind.

BUT because fuck canon, Rylee survives and kinda wanders around the raw Fade until she finds another open rift. This ends up dumping her into the ass end of Orlais somewhere and it takes her a while to make her way back to Skyhold, but dammit! She and Ise do get a happy ending. It does take a while though, it really does. And for that duration, Ise doesn’t leave Skyhold for anything after they get her back there. Resigned, more than anything, she usually perches on an empty wall away from the hustle and bustle of the main areas near the stables. She also doesn’t eat much, only what small bits that Cole brings her.

As for Eleri, she - along with Nate, Velanna, and Sigrun - are searching for the cure. And I really haven’t thought much beyond that.

MAN this got long, I hope you don’t mind! I had a lot of fun thinking about this and gushing a bit about my girls and what they do :D So thank you, again, for asking! One day, I think I plan to write something detailing their journey from start to finish in DAO and maybe beyond, but it’d probably be a series of drabbles? I struggle with long fics and flowing from one chapter to the next, but maybe.

[thenugking]

Name: Magdela Ainsley. Usually known as Mags.

Gender/Pronouns: Cis woman, she/her.

Class/Specialisation/Skills: Dual-wielding rogue. Technically a ranger but in actuality she just owns a pet bear. Mags’ main Thing is being good at trap-making.

Race: Human

Nationality/Hometown: Fereldan, from a farm in the northwest of the Hinterlands.

Age/Birthday: Born August 9:06 Dragon, and 23 during Origins

Religion: Grew up Andrastian, without really thinking about it. Still Andrastian, but more aware of other religions now and trying to learn more about the Creators so she can teach her daughter about them.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Love Interests: Zevran. They get together half way through Origins after an awkward conversation about thinking they’re not good enough for each other, and are married just after Awakening. She’s also had a Celebrity Crush on Anora since she was a teenager, and gets very awkward when she actually meets her.

Family: The family from Kajana’s Human Commoner Origin mod. Parents Torrence and Nansie, older sister Mairi and younger brother Bhradan. Mags is very close to her siblings, who’ve spent a lot of time reassuring her through insecurities and anxiety attacks. During Awakening, Mags and Zevran’s daughter Issella is born.

Friends:  Mags is friends with all of her companions in both Origins and Awakening, except for Sten, whose opinion of her is that she is, impressively, not quite as useless as he first imagined. Other than Zevran and her sister Mairi, Mags’ closest friends are Alistair, Leliana and Oghren.

Enemies: Mags doesn’t really have any personal enemies in Origins (she dislikes Loghain, but he’s more Alistair’s enemy), mostly because she’s worried that maybe she’s wrong about everything, and everyone else is right?? In Awakening, she quickly makes a lot of enemies because a lot of people want to kill or kidnap her daughter. With all the individuals who wanted to hurt Issella either dead or having apologised, Mags’ enemies are now just the Chantry, the Wardens and the Crows as a whole.

Pets: Her bear Moira, and the mabari, who Mags named Calenhad. She’s incredibly proud to have a mabari imprint on her.

Backstory (Out of Universe): I created Mags because I needed to see a hero was like me - someone who’d be pushed into an adventure and then immediately have an anxiety attack. Someone who, sure, might develop a little bit more confidence over the course of their story, but would remain anxious and fairly dependent and very much Not a leader, but who was allowed to be a hero anyway.

Backstory (In Universe): Mags had a fairly mundane life before the Blight, working on her family’s farm and regularly visiting friends in the local village. The most interesting thing that happened was when one of her traps killed a black bear. Mags discovered the bear had a cub, and adopted her due to guilt over killing her mother.

Biography/Game Decisions: Mags generally tried to help people, but also deferred to other people whenever she could. She dealt with Connor by going to the Circle, at Alistair’s suggestion, where she at first agreed to help Greagoir clean the tower of demons, since he said there was no way anyone could have survived. After meeting Wynne and discovering this wasn’t true, she tried to save as many mages as she could. 

When Sten attacked at Haven, Mags didn’t fight back and told him he was welcome to take control if he wanted. Sten declared the party were going to Orzammar, to find the Archdemon in the Deep Roads, but other than Shale, the party refused to follow because they wanted to find the Ashes, liked Mags more than Sten, or just thought the whole idea was silly. Sten and Shale left the party to travel to Orzammar, where they were refused entrance because the king was dead and they didn’t have any Grey Warden treaties.

Shale helped find Sten’s sword while Mags found the Ashes, killing the cultists because destroying the Ashes would be blasphemy. They reunited outside Orzammar, were Shale and Sten rejoined the party. Mags tried to stay neutral to Orzammar’s political issues, but as it became clear that she needed to help choose a king, she sided with Harrowmont, since at least he didn’t want her to do something illegal, and Alistair agreed that he seemed nicer. She sided with Caridin over Branka, because seriously Branka, what the fuck. In the Brecilian Forest, she cured the werewolfs and brokered peace between them and the Dalish, on the advice of her party.

Mags never hardened Alistair, and they were both very happy to let Anora be queen. While Mags wouldn’t have objected to making Loghain a Warden, and wanted him to live for Anora’s sake, she left the decision to Alistair, who killed him.

Mags didn’t want to pressure Alistair to do Morrigan’s ritual, but was also unwilling to let him die fighting the Archdemon, and was able to throw grease traps at his feet if it looked like he was about to make the final blow. Which, since I didn’t want the story to end with Mags’ death, meant that soon after her miraculous survival killing the Archdemon, she discovered she was pregnant.

Between Origins and Awakening, she went back to her parents’ farm with Zevran and wrote to the Wardens asking if they had any advice about having a baby with the soul of an Old God, and whether the darkspawn would be after her kid?? The Wardens responded by sending Orlesian Warden-Constable Palorn Kader to help Mags manage Amaranthine, with orders to get the baby off her, bring it to Weisshaupt for study and kill it if deemed necessary.

With Mags being heavily pregnant, Palorn handled Awakening’s main questline. Meanwhile, Mags held court for the arling and tried to deal with Bann Esmerelle’s conspiracy. Esmerelle was assisted by a Crow named Veni Arainai, sent to Ferelden to kill Zevran, who suggested waiting for the baby to be born, then kidnapping her and holding her hostage to make Zevran and Mags surrender. Eventually, Palorn and Veni both decided that kidnapping babies is maybe bad actually and also their organisations suck, so they apologised and long story short, they all become friends. Mags’ daughter Issella was born a couple of weeks before the Darkspawn attacks on Amaranthine and Vigil’s Keep.

At the end of Awakening, Mags defended the Keep after Palorn and most of the other Wardens left for Amaranthine. They met up in the Dragonbone Wastes and came to a group decision to spare the Architect, provided he stayed away from Mags’ child and made reparations to the Dalish for killing Velanna’s clan.

Worried that it wouldn’t be long before they and their daughter were threatened by other groups of Wardens, Crows or Darkspawn, Mags and Zevran left Ferelden with Issella soon after the end of Awakening, only staying around to get married, and for Mags’ family to meet Issella. Wanting to know about Issella’s abilities and unable to contact Morrigan, they went to the Tellari Swamps to seek out the witch of the wilds rumoured to live there. They were accompanied by Anders and Veni, who wanted to join the running away plan to escape from templars and Crows. 

Mags, Zevran, Issella and Calenhad are currently living in the Tellari Swamp, where Yavanna is teaching Issella magic, and how cool dragons are. Mags and Zevran occasionally leave the Swamps to visit towns outside, and they’re sometimes visited by Veni and several other former Crows, but they so far remain hidden from the many people who might harm Issella.

Personality: Mags’ biggest trait is her insecurity, but as time goes on she becomes more willing to stand up for her beliefs and tries her best to do what she believes is fair and right. As Arlessa of Amaranthine, she puts a lot of effort into protecting farmlands and villages, relating a lot to the difficulties faced by Freemen outside of cities. She also does her best to learn about different cultures and beliefs, beyond the homogeneous Andrastian society she grew up in, particularly after discovering she’s going to have a half-elven child. While she’s socially awkward, she will chatter on endlessly once she’s comfortable with someone. Mags is a proud Fereldan, with a great respect for Ferelden folktails, the Theirin bloodline, and most importantly dogs.

Appearance: Mags is tall, skinny and gangly. She’s covered in freckles.

[haledamage]

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: As they left the Blackmarsh, less gloomy and haunted but still mud and swamp and mud, Cait had plenty of time to reminisce on all the ways she hated being right.

As they left the Blackmarsh, less gloomy and haunted but still mud and swamp and mud, Cait had plenty of time to reminisce on all the ways she hated being right.

She bit her tongue against the complaints and curses that still stewed in her mind, though. There was no use in angering their new companion, and Cait didn't know how he'd react to her hurling insults at his home.

Cathain was proud of the diversity of those she'd traveled with since she'd become a Warden, the different points of view she had gotten the chance to understand. Mages and templars, dwarves and elves, qunari and golems, and at least two men who had actively tried to kill her and whom she now counted among her most staunch supporters.

Justice… was something new. To put it lightly.

Kristoff had probably been a handsome man in life, but he'd clearly been dead a few days in bad conditions when Justice had been forced into his body. Now, there was no way to deny or pretend he was anything other than a walking corpse. His face was sunken, nearly skeletal - especially around his nose and jaw - and he looked too delicate to be able to move under the weight of his armor. His clouded eyes glowed faintly blue from the strength of the spirit within. Cait had to suppress a shudder whenever he looked her way; she had the distinct feeling that he could see into her soul and was taking her measure.

But Kristoff had been one of hers, or would have been, and she could feel him buzzing in her blood as clear as Nate or Oghren. So she had accepted Justice's offer to help, and now one of her Wardens was a spirit. An actual blighted Spirit of Justice. Wonders never cease.

With the death of the Baroness, they'd cleared the miasma from the marsh. The air was lighter, the sun finally penetrating the canopy. Conversation flowed easily again, and Cait's head finally started to clear.

"Is this what it's always like for you?" Nathaniel asked in something akin to awe. "Can you go anywhere without saving cursed people and fighting ghost dragons?"

Oghren cackled, answering before Cait had a chance, "I could tell you some stories. The Commander attracts trouble like I attract the ladies, heh heh."

"So you must live a very boring life," Anders muttered dryly.

Cathain bit her lip to stop from laughing. "He's literally been married twice."

"Are you serious? Him?"

All she could do was nod, silent giggles shaking her shoulders.

Anders shook his head. "I need to rethink my whole life now."

Oghren didn't hear them, though. He was in storytelling mode, waving his arms wildly as he spoke. "What do you want to hear about? When she found the actual physical remains of the Chantry prophet and had to fight a high dragon and the cult that worshiped it?"

"That dragon almost killed me."

"When she found a Paragon in the Deep Roads from the time of the First Blight?"

"I was just trying to find your wife."

"When she cured a werewolf curse?"

"Technically, the werewolves cured themselves. I just mediated."

"When she won a duel with Ferelden's greatest general and single-handedly ended a civil war?"

"It was hardly 'single-handed'."

"Cait!" Anders laughed. "Andraste's flaming knickers, just take the blasted compliment!"

Cait shut her mouth with an audible click of teeth, stopping any more denials from pouring forth. "Maybe I do attract trouble. Explains how I got stuck with you lot."

"I always said life would never be dull with you around," Nathaniel said fondly. "If only I'd known how right I was."

Anders threw an arm over her shoulders. "I bet Denerim is insufferable. Is that why you moved out to, what did Wade call it - 'Turnip Keep'?"

Cait leaned against him, thankful for once at his attempted levity. "Ugh. It's like everyone in that city forgot my name the moment the archdemon died. I didn't even kill the blighted archdemon."

"Tell you what," Anders said with a poor excuse for a wink, "next time you have to go to Denerim, I'll go with you! Everyone will be too busy scowling at the mage to even notice the Hero of Ferelden!"

Cait pulled away from him so she could look up at him, searching his face to see if he was joking. He wasn't. "Anders, that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Does that mean I get to call you Caitie yet?"

She laughed, feeling better than she had in days. "Don't push your luck."

-------

"Do you… eat?" Cait cringed at the way it sounded, but could think of no more polite way to phrase it.

If Justice was offended, he didn't look it. Or maybe he just hadn't figured out facial expressions yet. "I require neither sleep nor sustenance. I will keep watch over your camp through the night."

It was tempting, the idea of a full night's sleep, but… "I'd like someone to take watch with you. We were ambushed on the road less than four days ago, I'd like an extra pair of eyes on the trees."

"You do not trust me." He said it plainly, again not offended, just observing.

"I don't know you," Cait corrected, "though I don't think you mean us harm. But regardless, I'm not lying to you. We lost most of a day's travel because I got injured. I don't want to be caught unaware."

Justice stared at her, unblinking. She fought the urge to look away. "Very well," he stated, and then he didn't acknowledge her anymore.

“I'm going to go gather firewood." Cathain stepped into the forest before anyone else tried to talk to her.

She wasn’t that lucky. She was barely into the deep woods when she felt Nathaniel join her. She couldn’t hear him, but she knew he was there. “I hope you don’t think you’re being subtle,” she said lightly.

“We need to talk,” he growled, right behind her.

“I know we do.” She didn’t turn around, wading further into the underbrush. “And we will, after dinner. Right now we have work to do.”

“Caitie, please, will you just stop.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a halt.

Cait whipped around toward him and stared at that point of contact. She tested his grip, but it held firm. He wasn’t hurting her, but she’d have to hurt him to break free. She looked up at him, then back at his gentle but implacable hold on her arm. She tried reaching for calm, but all she found was anger. “Let me go, Nathaniel,” she warned, voice low.

He stepped closer, trying to intimidate her with his size alone. “Did you know you only call me Nathaniel when you’re mad at me?”

“Did you know that the last time a man grabbed me like that I broke his nose? Let. Me. Go.” She took a step toward him, crowding him even though she was several inches shorter than he was. She met his eyes, jaw set in a clear challenge.

Nate blinked first. He released her wrist and she rubbed at it, even though he hadn’t left any mark at all. He backed up a step. “You are the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

“So I’ve been told,” Cait said bitterly. Her hands were shaking. She clenched them at her sides until they stopped. “I know what I am, Nate. I don’t apologize for it. There was a time when you found that attractive.”

“Maker help me, I still do,” he snarled. Her eyes widened at that confession, but he didn’t give her time to think about it. “It isn’t like you to run away like this, Caitie.”

“How would you know what I’m like?” She hissed and stepped forward, getting in his face again. “What makes you think I’m the same person I was when you left? That either of us are?”

Nathaniel grabbed her by the shoulders. He looked like he wanted to shake her until some sense fell out, but he didn’t. Softly, he said, “I don’t expect you to be. I just want a chance to find out for myself.”

Her anger faded. Without it, she felt cold. Tired. “And what if you don’t like what you find?”

“Is that what you’re scared of? Caitie, there’s no way you could change so much that I wouldn’t still--” he cut himself off abruptly, but Cait knew how that sentence ended and it hit her like a blow to the chest. “I’d like us to be friends again. I thought we were.”

“We are,” she whispered. It didn’t feel sufficient. She thought back to their talk not even a week ago when they left the Vigil, and added, “You have never been ‘just’ anything.”

His smile was a sweet and beautiful thing. “Neither have you.” Moving slowly, giving her plenty of time to refuse him, he lifted his hand to touch her face. She leaned into it.

Her eyes fluttered shut against the intensity of his pale eyes and her whirring thoughts. “Do you ever wish I were something… else? Softer? Less aggressive, less angry?”

“Does this have something to do with that talk we had over the fire?” Nathaniel asked quietly. Cait could feel his breath on her skin as he spoke.

“Yes. And you didn’t answer my question.” This felt familiar, this closeness, like sneaking away from their families to have a few moments they didn't have to pretend. He was taller, broader, older than he had been then, but his eyes were the same. So was the way he looked at her.

His hand brushed over her cheek and into her hair, cupping the back of her head and gently coaxing her to look at him again. “Never. If you were, you wouldn’t be you. If I had the choice of every man and woman in Thedas, I would still pick you every time.”

Cait touched his face, tracing the stubble on his jaw; he was going to have a full beard by the time they made it back to the Vigil at this rate. “I have obligations.”

“I know.”

“Things I have to take care of before I can even consider any kind of personal commitments.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Cait whispered, and her voice broke. There it was. The truth under all her excuses, finally out in the open.

“Shhhh, I know.” Nate traced his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m here. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

She grabbed onto the front of his armor to drag him down to her level and pressed her lips to his.

She hadn’t meant for it to be anything more than that, but his hand clenched in her hair and tilted her head back just so. She made a tiny, hungry noise in the back of her throat and he surged forward, pulling her flush against him, and any hesitations Cait still harbored flew right out the window.

They kissed like they'd waited eight years for it. Every ounce of loneliness and longing and pain from nearly a decade apart, all the frustration and anger from the last month poured from them and into each other in a desperate and almost violent meeting of lips and tongues and bodies.

Too soon, they had to break apart to breathe. Cait finally took the opportunity to run her hands along those glorious shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch and shift under her touch. Nathaniel had one hand splayed across her hip and the other still tangled in her hair and his eyes were dark and warm. Cait would burn the whole blighted world to ash if he asked it of her, if it meant he'd keep looking at her like that.

He pressed his forehead to hers and she took several deep, calming breaths. She wanted to kiss him again, but was much too wound up and emotional for that to lead anywhere except her tent. Cait had a lot of things she wanted to say to him; she wished she knew where to start.

When she did finally speak, it wasn’t to Nate. “Enjoying the show?”

"We were just wondering if you'd be back with that firewood before sunrise," Anders said casually. He appeared from around a tree about ten feet away and leaned against it. "How did you know I was there?"

"I can literally feel you in my blood. I couldn't ignore you, no matter how much I wanted to. Give it another month, maybe two, you'll feel it too." As she spoke, she pried herself reluctantly away from Nathaniel. He let her go, but didn't let her go far.

"That is a very interesting fact and also a clever way to change the subject," Anders' grin was sharp and lethal.

She sighed. "I'll be right there with your blighted firewood, okay?"

"I'll head back to camp with Anders. I doubt we'd get anything done otherwise," Nathaniel said. Before she could react, he turned to her, tipped her chin up, and kissed her, quickly but very thoroughly. Then he walked away before she could find anything to say in response.

Anders rolled his eyes in a way that reminded her abruptly of Fergus, an affectionately annoyed, brotherly expression. "Right, well, I'm going back to camp. You might want to fix your hair or something." He waved and left.

Cait didn't think they needed firewood. The heat from her flushed face would be enough to keep them all warm tonight.

-------

Justice was perhaps an even worse conversationalist than Cait had anticipated. He answered any questions asked of him without rancor but also with as few words as possible. He offered no questions in return except those he deemed necessary, about maintaining the campfire or what he should be keeping watch for while the others were sleeping.

They were barely an hour into first watch and she could already tell it would be a long night.

She watched him from across the fire. He was unnaturally still, unblinking, no shifting or breathing or any of the other tiny movements people made without noticing. And when he did move, it was never all at once. She watched him watch a bird bouncing in the trees above them, and Justice moved only his head to track its movement, the rest of him still as the grave.

When the bird moved past him to the point that his head couldn't turn farther, he abandoned his pursuit and turned back to the fire. His clouded, glowing eyes met hers.

"This must be very strange for you," she said softly.

He studied her in silence, so long that she thought he wasn't going to answer, before saying hesitantly "…It is. In the Fade, the world changes around you constantly. But not here. I can close my eyes and know that when I open them again, things will be as they were."

Justice closed his eyes then, and Cait felt as if hers were just opened. His silence wasn't due to coldness as she'd first thought; he was simply overwhelmed, absorbing and observing everything. He was listening to every word they said to pick up its nuance. He was watching the birds in the trees and the flowers along the road, seeing colors he'd never seen before.

A wistful look passed over his face, and his lips curled up in the first smile she'd ever seen from him. "Is that the wind? It feels good on my face."

"When we get back to the Keep, I'll take you up on the roof to watch the sunset," Cait said, her voice rough with emotion. "Colors like you wouldn't believe."

He looked at her, staring again with those soul-piercing eyes. "I would like that. Thank you."

The silence felt more comfortable when it settled again. Justice turned back to the forest, watching the leaves rustle in the breeze, the little family of deer that walked close to their camp, the pop and spark of the campfire. Cait let her eyes wander as well, trying to look at the world through fresh eyes, like she was seeing it for the first time.

"You have a question for me." Justice said eventually. Cait didn't know how long had passed in silence. "Ask."

"What kind of man was Kristoff?" It felt rude to ask, but she had to. "He was supposed to be one of mine. I was supposed to be responsible for him. I feel guilty that he died because I wasn't here."

Cait bit her lip to stop more words from pouring forth. It was more than she'd intended to say, but she meant it. What happened to Kristoff, to the Wardens at the Vigil before it had been hers, would not happen again.

"You care about the people under your command."

She shrugged. "They're my family. We protect each other, take care of each other. And I failed at that with Kristoff. Now I just want to make sure he's remembered. It's the least I can do."

Justice smiled at her, a real smile. It was more charming than she'd have expected from a corpse. "I think I understand." The smile disappeared all at once, as if it had never been there. "Kristoff was… very proud of his position as a Grey Warden. He looked forward to serving under you. He hoped to have the opportunity to help people. That's why he went to the Blackmarsh. He recognized the magic involved and thought he could help."

"He probably could have, if The First hadn't got to him. No one expected talking darkspawn," Cait mused.

Justice ignored her interruption. "He loved his wife. Her name is Aura. I do not have much basis of comparison, but I think Kristoff was a good man. I... mourn his loss."

He said the last as if surprised by his own words. After a moment, he added, "What of you, Commander? Are you a good man?"

Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man, a nasty, familiar voice whispered in her mind. Cait ignored it and didn't bother to correct Justice about her gender. "I try to be. I believe everyone makes good choices and bad ones. I just try to make more good than bad. It's the best any of us can do."

Justice held a hand out toward her, hesitant and awkward. "I think if I am to be trapped in your realm, I am glad it is you I travel with."

Cait clasped his hand. It felt like shaking two hands at once. One was cold, clammy, very clearly and disturbingly the hand of a corpse; the other was firm and almost hot enough to burn, the energy of the spirit within. "I hope I prove worthy of the trust you've put in me, Justice."

"The fact that you wish to prove yourself at all means that you already have."

-------

"Whaddya think he meant?" Oghren asked suddenly. It was early afternoon on the brightest day Blackmarsh had probably seen in decades. He'd been silent since the Fade incident the day before, walking at the middle of the group with his eyes on the ground.

"Welcome back, Oghren!" Anders exclaimed. "I was starting to think you'd gotten stuck in the Fade after all!"

"Go kiss a nug."

"What did who mean, Oghren?" Nathaniel said with the patience of a man with two hot-headed younger siblings.

"That… darkspawn guy. The First. He said 'The Mother' had sent him to stop you," at this he pointed at Cait, "from aiding in 'his' plans. Whose plans?"

That jogged something in Cait's memory. "The one we met at the Vigil said something like that too. That I had arrived 'just as he foretold.'"

"So whaddya think he meant?"

"Nothing good," Cait muttered. She picked at a loose thread on one of her gloves distractedly, trying to think.

"It means there's something out there more dangerous than these intelligent darkspawn," Nathaniel said darkly. "Maybe the source of them."

"Maybe two sources? Whoever 'he' is on one side, and this Mother on the other?" Anders spoke with his hands as much as his words, miming two angry hand puppet darkspawn that crashed into each other and exploded.

"And Grey Wardens in the middle." Cait crossed her arms over her chest to keep from unraveling her gloves entirely. "At least it seems to be localized. No talking darkspawn or creepy grub things at Soldier's Peak or in Denerim."

"Are those the only other places that have Wardens?" Anders asked. He wasn't normally interested in the inner working of the Grey Wardens, but he looked very curious now as he moved to walk next to Cait.

"In Ferelden, yes." She counted on her fingers as she spoke. "Alistair is still a Warden, no matter how much he hates me or says he quit the order when he married Anora. Loghain and a few visiting Orlesian Wardens are at Soldier's Peak, trying to help the Drydens turn it into something useful. We're the only active Grey Wardens in Ferelden right now."

"That's... kind of depressing actually."

Cathain laughed. "I find it refreshing. Five whole Wardens in Amaranthine? Another four or five within a week's travel if we need them? It's an embarrassment of riches."

"I feel like that explains a lot about why you are the way you are," Anders gave her what was starting to be a familiar brotherly grin.

Cait put her hands on her hips, pretending to be offended. "And just what way am I?"

"Beautiful and charming," he teased. "A picture of courtly grace. Certainly not the kind of woman more likely to punch you than smile at you."

"I think you just have that effect on women, Anders," Nathaniel muttered.

Cathain laughed along, but in her head she was already drafting all the letters she needed to write. How was she supposed to say 'darkspawn civil war' and then convince Anora and the First Warden both to not send an army to Amaranthine?

[impossible-rat-babies]

DA 20 questions!

I was tagged by @acepavus! Thank you darling!

I’m gonna tag: @apostatetabris, @dirthara-mama, @wicked-eyes-and-wicked-hearts, @star--nymph, @red-wardens, @vvakarians, @trans-aloth, and anyone else who wants to do this! Sorry if I’ve double tagged you all!

--

01) Favourite game of the series?

I gotta go with Inquisition. I love all the maps and the characters I’ve gotten to make through the games. It’s a beautiful game.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

I saw art of Dorian around and figured out he was from dragon age and that he was gay and I was instantly hooked on wanting to play the game. I hadn’t ever seen a video game before with a gay man in it and I was desperate for LGBT content and validation. Dorian has been immensely important to me in helping me realize my identity.

03) How many times you’ve played the games?

I’ve played origins all the way through four times I think. I’ve played da2 three times, twice with my main Hawke and then another Hawke. I’ve played inquisition at least six times with Darva and I’m playing Dimitri for the fourth time. I’ve played that one the most by far.

04) Favourite race to play as?

Elves! I love the elves of dragon age so much

05) Favourite class?

Dual wielding rogue by far along with archers. Rogues are one my favorite classes ever. I do have a soft spot for mages and warriors thought

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

I try to make little sorts of different choices. I’ve both allied/conscripted the templars and mages before on different little games and I’ve both banished and kept the grey wardens. I’ve never put Gaspard on the throne himself, but I’ve done all the other ways Halamshiral can end up. I’ve only ever not drank from the well once and the was because I was playing a human. I try to mix it up a little each play through for variety sake. Plus I love Calperia’s story so much more than Sampson, so I do side with the templars on occasion. But I am a mage loving gay.

07) Go-to adventuring group?

My Origins go to gang for Eth is Shale, Wyne and Alistair and Slivayn is usually Wyne, Shale, and Zevran. DA2 is a whole grab bag of people, but I usually have one mage, one warrior and a rogue + my mage Hawke.  My crew for inquisition depends on who I’m playing. Darva mainly roles with Cassandra, Vivienne and Dorian while Dimitri runs with Iron Bull, Sera and Solas.

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Dimitri and Darva are at a big ole tie with Eth coming in second place. Dimitri is my ever evolving kiddo mainly bc I play a TTRPG with him as my PC, but Darva is like that comfort character where I truly see myself in. Eth is my precious little complicated warden child who I revisit on occasion because I forget how much I do enjoy origins.

09) Favourite romance?

Oooo it’s a hard tie between Bull and Dorian. Dorian was really like that gateway--along with dragon age in general--into me making gay characters explicitly and having them represent me. He made me feel okay with who I am and seeing that blatant love between men was something I had never seen. It was kinda the same with Bull, but he was also like that shattering of men having to preform to a certain degree of manliness to be seen as valid. Bull is manly af, but he loves the color pink. Masculinity doesn’t have to be as society defines it.

10) Have you read any of the comics/books?

I have read the Magekiller comic, but that was about it. I wanna read the books, but having the energy to do it. Does reading the TTRPG book count? Or the World of Thedas books? lolol

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

I haven’t read any of the main book tbh

12) Favourite DLCs?

I loved the Return to Ostagar DLC. That one was full of a great atmosphere and just generally quite sad. I liked Mark of the Assassin best out of the DA2 DLCs because it was humorous as well as having good drama going on. A very fun time even though it was a bit of a pain. Trespasser is probably my favorite DLC for Inquisition mainly because of the run through the elvhen ruins at the end of the DLC to get to Solas. It’s throwing everything you have because this is the end at the enemy and I love that.

13) Things that annoy you.

Ehhh most of my annoyance come from the lack of mlm romance options in the game and the treatment of characters like Sera and Sandal who are coded as neutroatypical. But, most of my qualms come from fandom and the rampant homophobia, transphobia, racism and white-washing everyone does. Ya shitty fandom.

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Ferelden, personally.

15) Templars or mages?

Mages as always.

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

I have multiple characters across two world states, my canon one being Eth Tabris, my dual wielding rogue warden who romanced Alistair, Bryn Hawke, my force/blood mage, who romanced Fenris and Darva Lavellan, my dual wielding rogue who romanced Dorian. I also have other Lavellan's that go along with Darva like Fisk and Livonah. Then I have an alternative world state with Slivayn Mahariel, an archer rogue who romanced Zevran, then Farlan Hawke, my two handed warrior who romanced Anders, and then Dimitri Enallasani, my mage elf who romanced Bull. Dimitri only has Daniel as his other sort of important character.

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

Eth named her Mabari, Witt, after her brother who was sent to the Circle when she was 16. I cannot remember for the life of my what Bryn named his Mabari, rip. Darva ends up with a Mabari in Kirkwall just named Da’len. Slivayn named his Mabari Tamlen after his clanmate and lover. I can’t remember what Farlan named his Mabari, RIP. Dimitri has an Anderfels Hart he raises later on named Ghilan after his Keeper’s old Hart and he has a great horned owl named Falon who he rescued.

18) Have you installed any mods?

Nope! I play all my games on console, so no mods for me. I do want to get a good gaming computer after I graduate from college so I can indulge in some mods for Dimitri and Darva and learn fly cam. I would really like to have Dimitri’s vallaslin in the game and more dalish outfits for my kiddos. Alas, I am stuck with what I have for now.

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

Wanting to become a Grey Warden wasn’t something Eth thought about wanting or not wanting. She was ready to die for having saved Shianni and that would have been enough. She kept her safe and that was her duty. Duncan thought she was worth the risk and she accepted that if this was going to be her new duty, it was going to be her new duty.

Slivayn didn’t want to be a Warden at all. Duncan had to conscript him and even then he hated Duncan for a long, long time. He didn’t get to see if he could save Tamlen at all so he was intensely grieving and he was torn from the only home he had ever known. Ostagar was his first experience with humans who weren’t out to kill him and his family.

20) Hawke’s personality?

Bryn is firmly in the Purple Hawke camp, but strays into Blue on occasion. Farlan is a firm divide between Red and Purple.

21) Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

Yes, omg yes. My quizzies have their own color palettes I work off of. Darva alternates between Bear Fur + Plush Fustian Velvet + Infused Vyrantium Samite + Blue Vitriol and Great Bear Fur + Darkened Samite + Silk Brocade + Blue Vitriol. Dimitri’s changes from Snoufleur Skin + Drakestone + Darkened Samite + Higher Weave to Great Bear Fur + Darkened Samite + Dragon Scale. aka, Darva wears a lot of deep browns, blues and greens and Dimitri is a lot of reds, blacks and oranges.

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

Eth wishes she would have done more to keep Shianni safe along with the rest of the Alienage. Her biggest regret is that she allowed what happened to happen.

Bryn wishes he could’ve saved his family. He covers up a lot of his grief with humor and deflection, but he hurts a lot for what he did. Part of him wishes he had done better with his mother, but he wouldn't admit it.

Darva wishes he could’ve saved his father; he knows he was only fourteen and that he would have gotten himself killed, but at times he thought that a better fate than having to deal with his mother and her all encompassing, smothering grief. 

Dimitri wishes he could’ve saved his clan. He goes over what happened as much as he can, trying to piece together what he could've done to save his family. It’s his life’s biggest regret.

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

Oooo could Darva being trans be one? Idk, that's a headcanon that doesn’t much go again canon. Biggest one for him would be him leaving the clan at 18 and traveling around Thedas. 

Dimitri’s whole origins and magical usage is a big middle finger at the canon for the dalish inquisitor considering he is sort of his own sect of elves who are drastically different than their southern counterparts.

24) Who did you leave in the Fade?

Ooo Darva leaves Alistair in the Fade because I can’t bear to leave Bryn behind, rip. But Dimitri ends up leaving Loghain in the Fade. I can’t give up my Hawkes.....

25) Favourite mount?

Me personally? I love the Pride of Arlathan mount. Darva mainly uses that mount and it’s his favorite. Dimitri loves his horse, the Amaranthine Charger. But, later on he gets his Anderfels Hart--which is a sandy colored breed of Hart that is larger and tougher than others of it’s breed. They bond with only one rider in their lifetime and will stand their ground, full of as much conviction as the elves who originally bred them.

[houseaeducan]

Not from the ask meme but what’s your aeducan’s relationship with sigrun like?

!!! I think about them… Daera doesn’t spend much time in Amaranthine or with the Wardens after Awakening (she deserts shortly after) but her and Sigrun actually do become quite good friends and I think stay in touch for some degree for years later. They have very compatible personalities as well as the shared point of being dwarves on the surface and the feeling of not really being able to return to Orzammar (which Daera technically can, but.. feels like she can’t). At the same time though, Daera does have a level of guilt for her own past ignorance and how she knows she would have thought about Sigrun or any of the other casteless friends she’s made since her exile. So I think that guilt is still sort of present in her relationship with Sigrun and can make things a LITTLE weird sometimes. Daera also did choose to spare the Architect which is another, much more obviously present point of contention between the two. While she did manage to persuade Sigrun to come around to her way of thinking, it is still something that I think comes back up when the two come back on other things.

Daera also assembled the Awakening crew search for the cure to the taint with her, and around that point I think she ends up admitting to them about the dark ritual she did at the end of the blight (this is Daera’s darkest secret because she like. certain. that doing this is going to cause some kind of old god abomination to cause a new blight and end the world). This ends up basically causing an escalated rehashing of their argument about killing the architect where Sigrun is completely furious at daera for doing something so selfish when so many people have done so much to defeat the darkspawn and honestly nearly ends their friendship. Eventually they are able to make amends and move on from it (especially after daera finally learns that she did not actually start an apocalypse) but it A Whole Thing with them for a while

[captainderyn]

“You're not alone” for Ruinel and Leliana? :) (or anyone else you feel like!)

Thank you for the ask! I’m sorry this took forever for me to get to!

(A series of letters found in Warden Commander Ruinel’s studies by a pair of young Grey Wardens, who knocked over an old tome that spilled loose these papers. Shortly into reading these personal accounts they were cornered by not the Warden Commander herself, but by her lover, Leliana.)

Leliana, 

My love, I know why you’ve gone and I know that your following something far greater than the two of us but I miss you. Vigil’s Keep has been far more difficult than I could have ever intended. Recruiting the Wardens is the least of my troubles, gaining their respect less than that. They end of the Blight is still fresh, they all know what I’ve done, or at least the parts of it they want to know. 

There’s an energy about this place, I can’t help but think it’s the remnants of the Howe’s, after all hearing what Rendon did to Baraneth’s family…it puts a taint across this whole area. Something is going to happen, I can feel it. I just wish that you were here to face it with me.

But you must have received one of the royal wedding invitations, I doubt even you would be able to lose the Denerim ravens. I do believe that the only say Baraneth or Alistair had on them was their signatures. At least I will see you there, right?

Ar lath ma, vhenan, 

Ruinel 9:31 Dragon

–

Ma vhenan, 

The Wardens have settled well into Vigil’s Keep and things are..looking up. I wish you were here to see it with me. I’ve found ways to take blood magic and use it for good, the last of the scars except for the worst from the Blight are mostly faded. I’ve even got one of the older mage recruits teaching me some blade tactics to combine with my staff and magic. Anything to keep up with the recruits, I suppose. 

They’ve begun asking about you, some of the original Wardens. The newer recruits have just started making up stories, some of which are wilder than some of your tales I’d wager. They want to know where you are. I want to know where you are. Nights are lonely without you. Nights are when I can’t keep my thoughts from straying from you. I miss…It’s lonely…I’m tired of being alone. 

I don’t know if you’ve heard but Bara and Alistair have secured Shianni has a bann of the Denerim Alienage, you know the city elf woman we met? It might not seem like much but there are changes being made in the Alienage from what’s reached me here. It looks as though the same can be said for mages in the future, Bara writes saying that she’s fighting the bannorn tooth and nail. 

Ar lath ma, 

Ru 9:34 Dragon 

P.S. I heard about Revered Mother Dorothea’s ascension to Divine, I assume that means good for you as well. You know I don’t ascribe myself to the Chantry, but congratulations may be in order. 

—

Leliana, 

I know you last said you were in Kirkwall and I pray to the Creators that you are not there now. Word has just reached me of what happened with the the Chantry, the slaughter…

I can’t help but think that that is somehow my fault. Anders was my responsibility, he was one of my wardens. I’m the one that was there when he took on Justice and I’m the one that let him leave. I didn’t try to go after him. 

Venhendis! He should have spoken to me, I told Anders he didn’t need to turn away completely! If he had reservations or aggravations with the Chantry he could have turned to m e. I always heard stories of him in the Calenhad Circle…but this. This is something else entirely. 

If one of my wardens can snap then how many others will follow? How many others will I fail? How many other will feel too intimidated to approach me?

I…I don’t know if I can keep doing this alone. I’ve found myself slipping again, questioning things I thought were now set in stone. I just need you to be out of Kirkwall, please tell me you are out of Kirkwall. 

If you are gone…I don’t know how I should keep moving onwards. 

-Ru 9:37 Dragon

—

This may be the last time I write to you for a long while my love. 

Baraneth’s letters have been becoming increasingly dark as of late and I worry about her. It’s even to the point where Alistair himself writes to me saying that he doesn’t know how to help her any longer. 

She’s told me that her advisors have been becoming increasingly adamant about needing an heir and have begun speculating as to why after almost a decade of ruling there are yet to be any royal babies being doted on. She claims that she is somehow failing her duty to Ferelden and I fear from the paths her mind wanders down that if she does not get away from the politics of it all that she will not be getting away. 

I’ve found some leads on a potential cure for the taint that poses the trouble, and I’ve proposed to her that I go and search for it. Despite being the queen she’s adamant that she is going to join me and I am not able to tell her no, not after all these years. Nor would she listen to me. 

Laurel will be taking over my duties in Amaranthine for a time. I do not know where this search will take us, but I pray that we find something. 

May this raven find you swiftly vhenan, 

Ru 9:40 Dragon

—

To whomever this letter may find, 

Whispers have reached my ears of a plague of the mind sweeping through the Orlesian Grey Wardens, and yet no one will tell me whether my own charges, those in Ferelden, are affected as well.

I am returning as swift as I can from the furthest reaches of my search beyond the edges of Ferelden’s maps. Do not allow the Wardens to fall, it will bode ill for us all if that is to happen. 

-Warden Commander Ruinel Surana 9:41 Dragon

to Leliana/Sister Nightingale only, 

My love, I believe we have found the cure. But it is hardly in it’s finished stage and while I beg Bara to return with me the stubborn woman insists she must stay and find the true cure. And yet she gives me leave to return to my Wardens just to ensure their safety. If she falls I will have a friend and queen’s blood on my hands. 

Leliana, I hear whispers of the Calling in my mind again. It has been years since I have last heard it and I don’t know what to do. It’s always there, loudest in my dreams and I have to wonder…though it is so soon..it cannot be my time to go into the Deep, can it? We had another decade ahead of us, one where we could be together. 

I can only hope that this Calling passes, but on these paths I have never crossed before I am entirely alone and I do not know if I am going to be able to face the long road back. and I hope to find you when I return. Just tell me that my sister is okay, tell me that you are okay. 

Ru 

–

Ru, 

You’re Wardens are safe, they are afraid and hearing whatever this false calling is that haunts all the Order but there is none of the hysteria that struck the Orlesians. They have faith in you and that you are returning. 

But you, I worry for you my love. It is not your time, this calling is wholly false, just as it whispered in your nightmares after the Blight. You are not alone, and I am waiting here for you. 

Come home to me. Safely. 

-Leliana 9:42 Dragon

[faerune]

20-30 for nelia! 💖

what do they hate being teased about? are they teased often? Her naivete/lack of knowledge about things in the broader world given that she grew up so sheltered in that tower (books can only do so much). It's too a point where she'll pretend to know certain things and Leli/Alistair will quietly poke fun at her about it and she's like I KNOW THINGS LOTS OF THINGS (like how to set them on fire).

did they have any fears growing up that they’ve since conquered? The sad thing about a lot of Nelia's childhood fears is a lot of them were rooted in true risks to her given that she's a mage (and an elf at that). She hasn't conquered them completely they just have...morphed into a fear of powerlessness instead of fears about a demon under her bed ready to snatch her up.

do they have a fear they want to conquer, but haven’t yet? Nelia rarely acknowledges her fears and when she does she looks at them as common sense/things that protect her from succumbing to the risks she's feared her whole life (being killed by templars, being possessed, etc.). If there's one thing about her Nelia will always turn things into something useful even her fear. It just drives her to be more powerful and knowledgeable in both magic and things like politics.

how do they show fear? sweating, shaking, blankness, anger, etc? Anger! Anger is something she can do something with. Often, her hands do shake but her nails are always clenching into the palms of her hands or into the wood of her staff whichever is available to her at the moment.

do they have a short temper? what’s most likely to set it off? God yes she does. Mostly when people do something to offend her big ass ego. There are a few things that set her off genuinely esp during the story like the elves being trafficked, meeting Ignacio in Denerim after becoming a little attached to Zev and learning more about what happened to him as a child, the blood mage you can kill in the Broken Circle, etc.

do they get scared easily? does loud noises, shouting, etc, scare them? Not really but sometimes she's a little sensitive to loud noise and the bustle of the city at first just because it's a lot all at once and she wants to see everything.

what are they most passionate about? what could they debate about for hours? Magic. Magic. Magic. Magic theories, magical technique, magical history. History in general she also loves! Books too! She has a particular soft spot for elven history in her later years because it's interesting to her and she feels like she never really got to be An Elf in all the good ways like being part of that community and history.

what do they never, ever want to speak of, ever? Her parents/family. From what little she remembers of how she came to the circle, Nelia sometimes thinks it's better she has forgotten them.

do they have kids? do they want kids? if so, how many? Nelia is good with kids (lots of experience with kiddos in the tower) but I'm not sure she ever considered having kids. Mage children are obv given away and then Grey Wardens can't have children. Once she settles in Amaranthine as Arlessa and Commander with Zev though...those thoughts start to creep in. I'd like to say they adopt a child eventually but just one!

is there something they’d like to change about themselves physically? I don't think so! She's a little insecure about her body at first when she starts looking at it through the lens of someone who has feelings for someone and wants to be intimate with someone (a few passing flings in the Circle that never got to that point and Zev). Nelia has always just seen her body as....A Body...something that gets her to point A to point B and holds her ~extraordinary~ brain. That being said, Zev does a lot to boost her confidence.

is there something about their personality they want to change? In her earlier years? No not much. Nelia really thinks she's the shit. In her older years when she's ruling Amaranthine and commanding the Wardens, she becomes a lot more wise and less impulsive. She tries to listen a lot more instead of barreling ahead with whatever she thinks is the right path and she wishes her younger self would have been more wise, thoughtful, and considered things before jumping into things.

[shannaraisles]

A Rose By Any Name - Chapter 3

In which King Alistair meets his ten prospective brides, and very nearly manages not to put his foot in his mouth. Banner created by the superb @kagetsukai.

[Read on AO3] OR [Read from the beginning]

For your convenience, here are the face claims for the ladies you are about to meet.

The feasting hall in Denerim Palace was loud, hot, and far too crowded for Alistair's peace of mind. He didn't like these overly done-up occasions at the best of times. Every so often in the course of a year, Eamon insisted on throwing a few feasts that were just an occasion for every arl and bann to invade the palace and watch the king like a hawk for any sign that he might possibly be about to suddenly turn Blighted and start the next civil war. Every time, Alistair found himself stuck in a room filled with people who couldn't bear the sight of him on the throne mingling with people who praised him to the heavens with no actual clue of what it was he did every single day.

Of course, there were a few people here who didn't want to see him fail. Fergus Cousland, for one; despite the tragic circumstances, both Alistair and Fergus had risen to their respective seats at the same time, in the same chaos, and both were within a few years of one another in age. They had somehow managed to become good friends, despite the miles separating Highever from Denerim. And Fergus was not the only ally Alistair could call on if necessary. In this room, he could count six others who had always supported him, right from the start - Arl Bryland, Bann Teagan, Bann Sighard, Bann Alfstanna, Bann Gallagher Wulf, and of course, Bann Shianni Tabris. She might need as much support as he did, being an elf among humans, but he was rather proud to be able to call the acerbic elven leader of Denerim his friend. Other banns and arls were, at best, fair-weather friends - Ceorlic sprang to mind - acting mostly in their own interest, or the interest of whomever had paid them off. Still, he had an ace up his sleeve this month that would see some of them hand back whatever Eamon had paid them to promote the Orlesians as soon as she made herself known.

Alistair grinned into his cup at that thought, almost belligerently looking forward to the reaction when Dem made her entrance. The Bannorn seemed to have forgotten that she was still very much in existence, thanks to her long absence. This should be fun.

"Don't smirk, Alistair, it does nothing for the appearance of nobility you wish to exude."

The grin dropped from the king's face at the sound of his uncle's voice. He lowered his cup, turning to greet Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde, feeling a prickle on the back of his neck at the false smile bestowed on him by a woman who had hated him since he was a child.

"Uncle, Lady Isolde," he said, inclining his head to them both. "I was under the impression this was supposed to be a party?"

Eamon sighed, shaking his head. "You must make a good impression this evening, Alistair," he said sternly. "If you do not, all the ladies may choose to leave in the morning, and then where will you be?"

"Engaged to the most suitable choice, of course," Isolde answered in her cold way. "Only a fool cannot see that Marguerite De Montefort would be a fine addition to this court."

"Sadly, Lady Isolde, I was raised among dogs," Alistair reminded her, inwardly rather pleased to see her wince. Yes, it was petty, but he didn't have much opportunity for getting his licks in before she did generally. "A little foolishness is to be expected, I understand."

"Alistair." Eamon's voice was low; a warning not to push his luck.

"Oh, don't worry, uncle," he assured the arl, tilting his cup toward the man. "I do solemnly promise not to lick any of them unless they ask me to."

It was worth playing the idiot just to see the look of neutered outrage on Isolde's face, but something better was coming. The herald slammed his staff hard against the flagstones, calling for the attention of the gathered nobles to announce the next guest, and Alistair was delighted to have a front row seat, as it were, to the visible reaction of his uncle and aunt as the name was absorbed.

"Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of the Grey, Demelza Tabris, Hero of Ferelden!"

The murmur of surprise, dismay, and interest made Alistair's grin reappear as he watched the color drain from Isolde's face. The arlessa had never been very good at schooling her expression; given the way she glanced at her husband, it was a very good bet that Eamon hadn't told her Dem was in town. Eamon himself had drawn his lips into a thin line, disapproval radiating from every orifice. Or was it consternation? Dem being in town was one thing; Dem being present for the bride-finding events was quite something else. Infinitely pleased by the fact that his friend's mere presence was enough to discomfort his uncle, Alistair turned his head to take a look at her himself, choking back a low laugh. Well, she had said she wouldn't show up in armor.

Dem had presented herself in a simple shirt and trousers, her unruly hair bound up to deliberately display her pointed ears. She was armed, too, secure in the knowledge that no one was going to ask the Hero of Ferelden to surrender her weapons even in the presence of the king. Two daggers on her back, two at her hips, and Alistair was fairly sure she probably had a pair tucked into her boots as well. She ambled easily among the milling nobles, offering insincere smiles to those who deigned to acknowledge her. For those she considered worth her time, however - Teagan, Fergus, Alfstanna, Wulf - her smiles were genuine, and she paused to greet them on her way past, finally fetching up in front of Alistair with a lazy grin.

"Did I miss anything important?" she asked without ceremony.

Alistair chuckled. "Dem, you are something important," he pointed out, clasping her arm cheerfully. "Shianni's around here somewhere."

"Oh, I know," she assured him. "She's good at not being obvious." There was a pause, just long enough to be insulting, and she turned her gaze onto the arl and arlessa beside him. "Eamon, Isolde."

"Warden-Commander," Eamon responded in a tight voice, offering the bare minimum of a polite bow as Isolde bobbed the shallowest curtsy she could get away with.

"How is Connor these days?" Dem asked them, going straight for the kill. She hadn't liked Isolde right from the start, and Eamon had done nothing to endear himself to her in the aftermath of the Blight. "I heard he returned to Redcliffe when the mages were given sanctuary there."

Isolde gasped, her hand rising to her throat, but Eamon simply clenched his jaw before answering. "I understand he is doing well," he said without emotion. "I believe he passed into full mage-hood not long ago, under the auspices of the new College."

"Wonderful." Dem smiled brightly. "It's so good to know that he's been getting the care and guidance he needs, isn't it?"

"I ... Yes, my lady," Isolde answered weakly. "Eamon, I believe Bann Golde wished to speak with us?"

"Ah, yes." Eamon inclined his head to both king and commander. "Do excuse us."

"A moment, my lord." Dem held out a hand to prevent their leaving. "I know I am just an elf, but I do believe it is courtesy to ask your king's permission to leave his presence. Or do you not extend courtesy to your king? Arl Eamon?"

Alistair felt himself gulp, his eyes flickering to Eamon and Isolde as banked fury crossed his uncle's eyes for a brief moment. He'd never enforced those rules on his uncle, but he had to admit Demelza might have a point. Eamon treated him like a child most of the time. A reminder that Alistair was actually his king was probably long overdue. The arl stiffened, offended no doubt at being jerked up short by an elf, just as he was offended to have been saved by an elf and had to rely on the same elf to save his country shortly afterward. He turned to Alistair, his glare only just held in check.

"May we have your permission to withdraw, your majesty?"

Alistair gaped, startled out of that astonished stare by the sensation of one small booted foot pressing hard onto his toes. "Uh ... yes, of course, Arl Eamon. Arlessa Isolde."

"Thank you, your majesty." Each word seemed to take huge effort for the arl to say, but he managed it, bowing properly this time before drawing his wife away and into the crowd.

"Maker's breath, Dem," Alistair breathed to the tune of his friend's laughter. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"Oh, relax," she chuckled, patting his arm. "He acts more like a king than you do. Someone should bring him down a peg or two."

"I'm the one who has to live with him," Alistair pointed out mildly, though he could feel himself beginning to smile at her unrelenting cheer.

"So kick him out of the palace," was her simple solution. "He's got his own house in the capital, make him live there."

"That's ... he's been very helpful," he attempted to reason, but in his heart, he knew she was right. He sighed. "Where have you been, anyway?"

Demelza grinned impishly at him, snagging a cup from the table behind her. "I've been admiring the view in the vestibule," she informed him. "There are a lot of pretty faces out there. And some very interesting shapes, too. If I wasn't a taken woman, you might have some competition."

He blushed, laughing quietly at her outrageous commentary on the whole thing. Then his smile faded as he realized what it was she had actually said. The princesses and ladies were waiting in the vestibule to be announced. He really couldn't get out of this now. As if answering that sense of dread suddenly knotting in his stomach, Cormac appeared at his elbow.

"The ladies are ready to enter, your majesty," his secretary said quietly. "If you would take your place?"

Alistair sighed, nodding to the man. He eyed Dem worriedly. "Don't leave me alone," he muttered in a hopeful tone as she grinned at him.

"As your majesty commands," she answered, turning to escort him to the throne on the dais, opposite the wide entrance doors. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

His friend's enjoyment of this farce was just a little inappropriate, he thought as they moved toward the throne, reaching up to scratch underneath the heavy press of the crown on his head. I really should get someone to make a lighter version of this. He had that thought every time he had to wear the thing, and yet had never quite got around to having it done. Eamon had insisted on the crown tonight. In all honesty, Alistair despised wearing the thing, but he'd given up fighting that fight. He always lost it, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe the headache would be worth it this time, he reflected, reluctantly seating himself on the throne that still didn't feel as though it belonged to him. Maybe having a headache would keep him from saying anything awful to the ladies about to be presented to him.

He glanced to the herald at the far doors with brief nod, steeling himself for what was to come, aware that Dem had leaned herself comfortably against the tall side of the throne. Her presence, it seemed, was enough to keep Eamon from moving to take up position on the other side. Alistair swallowed a faint smile. He appreciated that his uncle was doing his best, but it was good to have Dem around. She reminded everyone that they wouldn't be here without the two of them.

The heavy staff of office banged loudly against the flagstones, drawing the chatter to a close as the herald began his announcement. "Your majesty ... Warden-Commander ... lords and ladies of Ferelden ... I present His Majesty's guests!"

The great doors swept open. Alistair felt his stomach drop with icy uncertainty at what they revealed.

"Lady Marguerite Ocativie De Montefort, daughter of the late Duke Prosper De Montefort, lady-companion to the Empress of Orlais!"

The woman - he assumed it was a woman - walking toward them was a veritable confection of pale blue ruffles and bows, ridiculously wide hips, gloved hands, and a mask that covered the entire face, connected to a strange squared-off hat and veil that hid her hair. The expression painted on the mask was supposed to be serene, but Alistair's immediate impression was of some kind of monster eyeing him up for dinner.

"Andraste's mercy ..." he muttered under his breath, swallowing as Marguerite reached the bottom of the steps to the throne and offered him a florid curtsy. He could feel Dem grinning behind him as he rose to greet the woman. "Lady Marguerite."

"Majesté," she answered, her breathy voice sounding hollow and echoing behind the mask. "So kind of you to invite me to partake."

It took a moment for him to decipher her accent. Was she actually trying to sound more Orlesian? Shaking himself, Alistair offered her a hand to help her rise, trying not to shudder at the sharp tips on her glove as she touched him. Maker's breath, the woman has claws.

"I ... trust your journey was ... pleasant?" he heard himself ask, groping for something safe and small-talky to say. He only had a few minutes before the next one was announced; just a few minutes to get an impression of each one, and this one was already being mentally crossed off his internal list. One, she was Orlesian; two, she was aggressively Orlesian.

"Oh, it was terrible, majesté," she informed him, blue eyes behind the mask not even focused on his face, but on the crown atop his head. "Your guardsmen were in such a hurry, I have barely had time to catch my breath."

"I am ... sorry to hear that, my lady," Alistair said carefully, steering her toward Eamon and Isolde. He happened to know for a fact that Maguerite De Montefort had refused to leave Orlais until the last possible moment, and the guards sent to escort her had hated every second of it. Let Isolde handle the complaining. She'll enjoy it. "It is to be hoped you will find something to love in Ferelden."

A coy, affected laugh erupted from behind the mask. "I think I already have, majesté."

His smile was more of a grimace, aware that the majority of nobles in the room deeply disapproved of her mere presence in Ferelden. A clumsy attempt to flirt with him when he couldn't even see her face was not going to win her the crown she couldn't seem to take her eyes off.

"That is, uh ... good to know, my lady." He couldn't hide the relief on his face as Eamon bowed to him, though. "Lady Marguerite, may I present you to Arl Eamon Guerrin, and his wife, Arlessa Isolde? They have kindly offered to chaperone you for this evening."

"Lady De Montefort, it is such a pleasure to see you again," Isolde said smoothly as Alistair transferred that claw-like grip from his hand to Eamon's. "Your late father was such a good friend of my own dear father's."

"Ah, Lady Isolde, how do you stand this country?" Marguerite answered as the king excused himself. "It is so dull!"

Dem was still grinning as Alistair sat back on his throne. "One down, nine to go," she murmured impishly, handing him a cup.

He took a deep drink. "Maker, I hope the others at least have faces."

"Trust me, they're all very pretty," Dem assured him.

He was going to have to take her at her word on that one; she had spent the last half hour or more enjoying the view in the vestibule, rather than mingling with the nobles he'd been having to endure. Bracing himself again, he caught the herald's eye.

"Lady Amandine Liane Orrick of Tantervale!"

After the horror of Maguerite, almost anything would have been an improvement. Alistair had not been expecting the improvement to be quite so ... Sweet Maker, she's lovely.

Amandine of Tantervale was a lithe young lady with winsome eyes so dark they were almost black, possessed of beautifully warm golden-brown skin that seemed to glow in the light from the chandeliers high above. Her deep chestnut hair was bound in an uncomplicated braid that fell over her shoulder; her gown was in satin red, the Free Marches style of a fitted short bodice and generous skirt, long dappled sleeves. Her curtsy was simple, without performance, and her smile as he raised her to her feet took his breath away.

"Lady Amandine," he said, forcing himself not to stutter over her name. "Welcome to Denerim."

"It is a great honor to be here, your majesty," she told him, and even her voice was warm, the friendly cadence more than enough to make something deep in his stomach flip over with interest. "And in such unusual circumstances, too."

Alistair felt himself laugh at the playful way she said that, changing his mind about who he had intended to deliver her to. She didn't deserve to be stuck with Ceorlic all evening. "Yes, well ..." He cleared his throat awkwardly as he drew her toward the gathering of nobles to the left of the throne. "I would hope it isn't too awkward for you."

"Not at all, your majesty," Amandine assured him. "I find the experience far more entertaining than watching cattle drovers losing control of their herds in the middle of my city."

That was a mental image too good not to grin at. "Perhaps I should visit Tantervale sometime," he suggested in amusement. "Purely for comparison's sake."

"I am sure you would be very welcome, your majesty."

Smiling, rather charmed by her easy manner and beauty, Alistair paused, inclining his head to her before catching the eye of Arl Bryland. "My lady, Arl Bryland will be your escort for the evening," he told Amandine, pleasantly surprised to find that her smile did not cool when bestowed upon the arl. Perhaps she isn't faking it. "My lord, I am placing Lady Amandine into your custody for the evening."

"A pleasure, your majesty," Brylan replied, bowing as he took Amandine's hand into the crook of his arm. "How do you find Ferelden, my lady?"

"A little chilly, my lord, but it is winter," Amandine answered him as Alistair stepped away.

He caught Dem's eye as he mounted the steps to the throne. The elven Warden was grinning again, toasting him with her cup even as she handed him his own.

"Better?" she asked teasingly.

"Better," he agreed, chuckling as he sat down again. "If I had to choose right now, I know which one I would propose to."

"Just as well you don't have to choose right now, then, or you might start a cat fight out there," Dem snickered, taking the cup from him again as he nodded for the third time to the herald.

"Lady Callista Maritza Thekla Andrasteia Grizelda Damaris of Nevarra!"

Who turned out to be a decidedly buxom woman not much younger than Alistair was, with bold caramel eyes and a wicked little smile that looked him up and down and declared to the entire room that she definitely liked what she was seeing. Her mustard yellow gown was in soft velvet, with a bodice that didn't so much draw attention to her ... assets ... as serve them up on a flouncy lace doily. Her curtsy was short and to the point, and she was already rising as he descended the steps to her.

"Lady, uh ..." Alistair swallowed, feeling the tips of his ears burning as he desperately tried not to look further down than her chin. "Lady Callista, you ... you seem to be ..." He forced the whimper not to emerge, and gave up. "Welcome to Denerim."

"I am truly delighted to be here, your majesty," Callista informed him, her accent as rich and promising as her form suggested it would be. She seized his arm, pressing the back of his hand a little closer to the very edge of her neckline than he was entirely comfortable with. "And may I say how delighted I am to find that Ferelden's king so very much more handsome than his portrait suggests?"

"Uh ..." At a loss for words, and still trying not to look down, Alistair floundered, unable to think of a single thing he could possibly say while moving to present her to her chaperone of the evening, the matronly Arlessa Elayne.

He'd never been flirted with quite that enthusiastically before; she had him stumbling over his tongue with barely a momentary effort, knowing perfectly well that he did not have the first idea where to look that wasn't her generously displayed cleavage or that naughty-eyed gaze of hers. Every part of her strategy seemed designed to inform him that no other woman would be quite as much fun in bed as she was. It was almost a relief to walk back to the throne and Dem's knowing smirk, but he couldn't help glancing back toward the voluptuous Nevarran woman once he was sat down.

"Plenty to hold onto there," Dem murmured, making him choke on his wine.

"I was trying not to think about that," he spluttered, hoping he hadn't dribbled on his tunic. Not the impression I'm supposed to be making ...

"Why not?" his friend commented, sounding far too happy for his peace of mind. "That's obviously what's on her mind. Make sure you lock your door at night."

Alistair gaped at her. "D-don't ... no," he said firmly, turning back to the doors. "No, I'm not ... No."

"Lady Rosamunde Darvelle of Gwaren!"

Wiping his mouth, he spared a brief glare for the elven rogue leaning against his throne, and turned his eyes forward once more. Another bold-eyed woman, though more modestly presented than the last, nonetheless Rosamunde carried herself like a queen already. Fereldan to her toes, she was just a little intimidating to Alistair. This was someone who knew his history, and came from Loghain's part of the country.

"Lady Rosamunde, welcome," he said as warmly as he could manage, not entirely sure he was comfortable with the expression in those bold cinnamon eyes of hers. "Please, rise."

She took his hand, meeting his gaze with forward assumption. "Your majesty," she greeted him in return. "Thank you for inviting me."

"It is always a pleasure to have fellow Fereldans here at court," he answered, instantly wincing at his own turn of phrase.

"Do you not consider all these arls and banns Fereldan, your majesty?" Rosamunde asked, a brittle edge to her tone that flustered him immediately.

"No, I mean, yes, that is ... I meant to say it is a pleasure to have you here," he managed awkwardly. "Not that it isn't a pleasure to have everyone else here, too, of course." He only just kept himself from looking over his shoulder to Dem, mentally screaming for someone to rescue him.

"I can understand your reticence, your majesty," Rosamunde allowed him as he steered her to the corner of the room he was most uncomfortable with. "It is, of course, difficult to discover true Fereldans among our countrymen these days, since the death of our champion."

"Our ... champion?" Alistair asked hesitantly. He had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming.

"The sense of true patriotism in our land has fallen dramatically since Loghain fell," Rosamunde informed him, apparently without malice. But if she meant no harm, why say it at all? He'd been the one to wield the sword, after all. And he had to endure presenting her to Anora.

Who didn't give him a moment to speak. "Rosamunde, how wonderful to see you," the former queen declared, taking the woman's hand into both her own and completely ignoring the king himself.

"It is an honor, your grace, to see you once more in the capital," Rosamunder responded, her voice suddenly much warmer for a disgraced ex-queen than it had been for the king she supposedly wanted to marry.

Alistair did the only sensible thing he could do - he bowed to them both, and got as far away as he could as quickly as he could. He didn't want to hear them discussing the one and only execution he had performed with his own hands.

As deserved as Loghain's end had been, it had never sat particularly well on his shoulders that he had taken the head of a true hero. For all the man's faults toward the end, he had delivered Ferelden from the Orlesians with King Maric. The fact that he had died a traitor at the hands of the angry young man his best friend had never once openly acknowledged as his son stung Alistair still. Though it had felt right at the time, in the months following he had been forced to confront the fact that he had acted out of a wish for vengeance, not justice. There had been no need for Loghain to die like that; indeed, Dem had been given the option of inducting the man into the Grey Wardens. Yet the grieving anger that filled Alistair at that fateful Landsmeet had not allowed for any shades of gray. He'd looked at Loghain, and saw the man who had killed Cailan, Duncan, so many thousands of others, in his paranoia and hubris. He'd wanted Loghain's blood spilled in payment for Duncan's life, for the fact that he now had to be king in place of a brother he'd never known. It had been revenge, not justice, and it had taken him years to accept what he had done. Whole populations across the country had not agreed with the execution. Apparently Rosamunde of Gwaren hadn't forgiven him for it, either.

"Let me guess," Dem mused as he sank back onto the throne. "She has views on Loghain?"

"And an ally in Anora," Alistair told her quietly, his expression solemn. He'd never told Dem about his regrets over this particular issue, knowing she had wanted the teryn dead as vehemently as he - perhaps more so, given the way he had sold her family into slavery.

"Beats me why you invited Teryna Tight-Knickers to this shindig in the first place," his friend pointed out in a mild tone. "Or let her stay a Teryna, for that matter."

"We took enough away from her, Dem," Alistair said sadly. "She showed her hand, and she lost."

"Without any grace," Dem reminded him, but she subsided at a glance from him. "All right, I won't provoke her. Just ... don't marry her pet, all right?"

Alistair sighed, leaning back on the throne. "I hope the others are less ..."

"Less?"

"... everything," he groaned, taking a deep breath as he sat upright once more. He signaled the herald for the fifth time.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Felicita Amelita Braulia Salome of Antiva!"

Unconsciously, Alistair sat straighter at the announcement of a princess, instantly feeling like a fraud. The young woman now making her way from the wide doors had been born into royalty, lived her whole life as royalty. He was just a bastard. But who was wearing the crown in this equation, he reminded himself. There was no suggestion of even a glimmer of gold on the beautiful woman approaching the throne, not even a glimpse at her ears or her neck. Actually ... He focused his eyes on her as she drew closer. No, there was nothing ostentatious about her at all.

Thick black hair caught into silver thread cages on the sides of her head, a trail left to curl down her back and over her shoulders; golden-brown eyes that seemed to be smiling of their own accord; smooth skin whose color put him in mind of the gently tawny coat of his favorite mabari in the kennels. Her gown was modest; a deep red bodice with puffed sleeves that ended at the elbows in a cascade of white lace, over a black skirt that skimmed the floor with each step.  She was calm, poised, just as Amandine had been, offering no challenge in her smile as she lowered into a smooth curtsy before the dais.

Alistair almost tripped over his own feet in his rush to help her rise, feeling like a fool before he even opened his mouth. What came out of his mouth did not help that feeling.

"That's a very ... long name you have, Princess Felicia Ame ..." He trailed off, feeling himself blush as she raised a brow curiously. His lips moved silently as he recounted her name in his head. In years to come, he could never quite pinpoint what had possessed him to continue. "Welcome to Ferelden, Princess Fabs. Do you mind if I call you Fabs? Because you're ... fab ..."

He heard Dem snicker behind him as his voice trailed into silence. The princess' wide mouth was twitching toward another smile, betraying the hint of a dimple in her left cheek.

"That is a very familiar thing to do with a person you have just met, your majesty," Felicita told him. At least he was on firmer ground with her voice; he'd had to listen to Zevran talking far too often to get lost in the intricacies of the Antivan accent. "I was not aware that, in Ferelden, strangers are welcomed with pet names."

His mouth dropped open. "But ... didn't you come here to marry me?" he asked, a little bewildered, silently thanking the Maker, Andraste, and whatever other handy gods were out there that no one else could actually hear him talking to her yet. Dem didn't count.

The princess tilted her head. "I do not know you, your majesty," she reminded him. "Nor do you know me. If this month allows us the means to change that, perhaps I may wish to marry you. But you really shouldn't show such partiality on the first night. You may offend your other guests."

"I wasn't saying I want to marry you -"

Alistair abruptly shut his mouth. She had a good point there. I really have to stop just talking for no good reason. Pulling himself together, he cleared his throat, turning to lead her across the room to where Fergus Cousland was grinning at him. No doubt the Teryn of Highever could make a reasonable guess at why his king was blushing like a beetroot - Alistair's ability to make himself sound like an idiot when he didn't think before speaking was close to legendary among those he called friend.

"Princess Fa - Felicia, may I present Teryn Fergus Cousland, who will be your escort for the evening," he eventually steeled himself to say as they reached his friend. "I believe you have already met?"

"Indeed we have, your majesty." Fergus bowed to the princess. "Princess Felicita, it will be an honor to escort you this evening."

"Thank you, Teryn Cousland." The princess smiled as her hand laid gently on Fergus' arm, releasing Alistair from her grasp. "And thank you, your majesty. It is a pleasure to visit Ferelden."

Alistair felt the last of his inner strength crumble. I didn't even welcome her to the country. He sighed, bowing to her with resigned defeat. "Ferelden is very pleased to have you, your highness."

Stepping away, he walked smartly to the dais, circling around behind Dem and the throne, and sank down into a crouch, the crown hanging from one hand as he cradled his head in his arms. He might even have been groaning; he was too caught up in his own idiocy to notice. A familiar callused hand touched the back of his head.

"This is a disaster," he whimpered into his arms, feeling Dem crouch down beside him.

"It'll only get worse if you hide behind here for the rest of the night," she pointed out gently, stroking her fingers over the back of his head.

It was oddly comforting to have her do that, transporting him back to those first awful days after the Battle of Ostagar, when she'd comforted him during his outbursts of grief over losing everything in the course of a single night. Despite all the hardships, he sometimes wished he was back there in those times, when it had been just the two of them against the whole world. At least then he had known who his friends were, who he could lean on safely. And he wasn't in a room with several women who wanted to marry him. Correction, four women who wanted to marry him, and one princess who apparently had the ability to make his brain disengage from his tongue just by saying hello. And there were five more waiting to be presented. He groaned again.

"All right, Longshanks," Dem said sharply. "Get up, sit on the throne, and do your duty. The Alistair I know doesn't hide behind big bits of metal just because a pretty girl got him so jumbled he forgot how to speak properly. You're the king. Act like it."

He raised his head, surprised to hear her actually say aloud that he was better than this. He knew she felt that way, of course, but it was surprisingly reassuring to hear her say it. Taking a deep breath, he put the crown back on his head, wincing as the familiar weight sparked off the familiar headache all over again, and rose with her.

"I can do this," he said, nodding to her as she patted his shoulder. "Yes. I can do this. I just ... have to stick to small talk."

"The smaller, the better." Dem smirked, stepping back to allow him to come out from behind the throne and take his seat yet again.

Only five more to go, Alistair reminded himself. Halfway there. He raised his chin, nodding to the herald who was eyeing him worriedly from the door. I can do this.

"Lady Leona Charing of Starkhaven!"

Presenting a calm face to the beauty walking toward him, Alistair was struck by the contrasts she presented. Her skin was sepia, the mellow-brown shade of the faded portraits that hung in the long gallery - portraits he always wanted to reach out and touch because of that clouded warm quality - yet her hair hung bright about her face and shoulders in delicate waves of tawny-gold. Her expression was serene, yet her gown was elaborately made, yellow and red brocade trimmed with crimson velvet. She curtsied like a queen, but he was pleasantly reassured to note the nervous uncertainty in the midnight depth of her eyes. He wasn't the only one wary of this entire situation.

"Welcome to Ferelden, Lady Leona." Get that out there right from the start this time. "I hope you have found your quarters comfortable?"

"Very much so, your majesty," she answered, her voice so soft he had to strain to catch her words. "I've yet to grow used to the climate. Starkhaven is a much warmer place to live."

"I have heard that," Alistair agreed, relieved that she, too, seemed to be focused on small talk. The weather was a much safer topic than handing out familiar pet names to complete strangers. "But the summer here is very pleasant, I can assure you."

"I am glad to hear it," Leona admitted, glancing curiously about the room as he drew her toward Bann Teagan. "I must admit, 'tis an honor to be invited to Andraste's birthplace."

He floundered for a moment. The last thing he had expected was a comment on the religious mythology surrounding Denerim. "I believe the sisters at the Chantry are highly educated in the mythology surrounding Andraste's origins," he offered, groping for something to say that wouldn't seem trite or dismissive. "Should you wish to speak with them about it, I am sure something could be arranged."

"That is very kind of you, your majesty, thank you."

Alistair felt his ears burn at her smile, genuinely pleased to see the nerves in her ease off at a small gesture of kindness. "Uncle, may I present Lady Leona. My lady, this is Bann Teagan Guerrin, who has offered to be your chaperone for the evening."

"A pleasure, my lady." Teagan bowed to Leona, offering her his arm. He did, however, cut a brief concerned glance in Alistair's direction. The momentary break down had not gone entirely unnoticed, it seemed.

"Thank you, Bann Teagan." Leona's hand left Alistair's perhaps a little too quickly, but at least she didn't look as though there was a frightened nug hiding behind her eyes any longer.

Alistair pretended to ignore the concern on his uncle's face, inclining his head to them both as he headed back to the throne. He seemed to be doing a lot of walking this evening, he realized belatedly. Wasn't the point of being king that you didn't have to do all the walking yourself? Still, that one had gone reasonably well. She was pretty. Void, they were all beautiful, but some certainly caught the eye more than others. Despite himself, he found his gaze flickering toward Lady Amandine as he settled on the throne, forcing himself to nod to the herald once again.

"Lady Ceridwyn Isolde Ardvale of Kirkwall!"

Isolde? Alistair felt Demelza stiffen at his shoulder, both of them glancing toward Eamon and his wife before the appearance of the latest guest grew their attention away. Lady Ceridwyn could have been Dem in human guise - taller, certainly, but possessed of the same fiery, unruly hair, almost transparently pale skin, and cheeky green eyes. Her gown was green satin and gold, in the Free Marches style, but she walked like a woman more accustomed to wearing pants. And she bowed before the throne.

"Evening, your majesty," she greeted him with a cheerful flicker to her gaze as he rose to join her at the foot of the dais. "The viscount sends his regards."

For the first time all evening, a true smile crossed Alistair's face as he took the hand of a prospective bride. "I'm sure he does," he said warmly. "How is Varric settling in to his new position?"

Ceridwyn's grin was bright and unstudied. "He's giving all the old Orlesian families absolute fits," she informed the king rather gleefully. "Insisting on them paying their taxes upfront and on time so the repairs to the city can be made in good time. The Guard Captain shouts at him a lot, too."

Alistair snorted with laughter. "I can imagine." He'd never met Aveline, but from what little Varric and Isabela had told him about the woman, he could well imagine her berating the new viscount for any orders she disagreed with. "I'll have to send him my regards."

"He likes letters, so I hear," Ceridwyn assured him. "Incidentally, I'm not here to marry you. I've got my eye on Highever."

Alistair's sudden laugh echoed around feasting hall, drawing the open speculation of just about everyone around them.

"I probably shouldn't admit that I am deeply relieved to hear that, my lady," he answered her with another genuine smile, drawing her toward Bann Tolveyn. "Alas, he already has duties this evening, but I'll do my best to throw him in your path as much as I can." See how Fergus likes being the bait on the hook.

"I'll be eternally grateful, your majesty." Ceridwyn tipped him a sly wink, looping her arm through Tolveyn's elbow before Alistair had a chance to introduce them. "You're the valiant protector of my virginity tonight, serah?"

The elderly Tolveyn looked like a nug caught in a bear trap, casting a slightly panicked look toward his king. "I ... yes, my lady," he managed, patting her hand on his arm as though she was a daughter or granddaughter. "Bann Tolveyn of Dragons Perch."

"It's a pleasure." Ceridwyn nodded cheerfully to Alistair before turning her full attention to her elderly chaperone. "What do I have to do to get a decent drink?"

Chuckling to himself, Alistair shook his head as he returned to the throne, catching Dem's curious smirk with a grin.

"I'll tell you later," he promised his friend, far more relaxed than he had been half an hour before. Kirkwall manners were some of the friendliest he'd ever come across; it was going to be a pleasure watching Ceridwyn Ardvale lay siege to Fergus Cousland's avowed chastity.

"You'd better," the elven Warden warned him in amusement. "Haven't seen you laugh like that for years."

"Trust me, the wait will be worth it," he assured her, smiling as he nodded to the herald at the door, raising his cup to his lips. He took a mouthful, turning his eyes to the door ... and his cheeks bulged, lips pressed tight together in an attempt not to spit his wine across the dais.

"Lady Maria Eduarda Manuela of Rivain!"

Lady Maria hesitated on the threshold of the doorway as an unkind ripple of laughter swept through the hall. She was beautiful, like all the others; skin the shade of bronzed umber, shy dark eyes that widened at the laughter, black hair caught in ringlets about a sweet face, her gown pink satin and white. She was also ten years old.

"Sweet Maker, they sent a child," Alistair breathed, frozen in place. "Who sends a child to be a bride?"

He had absolutely no idea what to do, ashamed of the Ferelden nobles and their guests for laughing, though their volume did not rise as time went on. He didn't need to look to know that the reason they weren't getting any louder was because Dem was glaring at them. Only a few faces in the crowd were not smiling - Fergus, Teagan, Alfstanna, Shianni - people he knew were more angered by the way the girl was being received than amused by the fact of her arrival. And the longer he hesitated, the longer the amusement around him seemed to grow.

A swish of skirts caught his attention, rescuing him from his paralysis. Princess Fabs was moving, walking swiftly to the doorway to curtsy to little Lady Maria. As he watched, the laughter died on the lips of the nobles around them, aware now that the royal guest in their midst had better manners and a greater sense of dignity for everyone around her than they had just displayed. It was no surprise to see the Antivan ambassador beaming, as though his favorite granddaughter had just displayed a remarkable skill before the unworthy host around them.

As Alistair rose from his seat, intending to go and greet the little girl at the door and feeling a fool for freezing in place at the unexpected turn of events, he saw Lady Maria smile hesitantly at the princess, taking her hand as the Antivan royal rose to her feet. The two advanced toward the throne together, hand in hand, the princess doing more for the little lady's confidence than any reassurance he could give, he was certain. But he kept moving, choosing to join them in the midst of the feasting hall, redeeming himself a little with the bow he offered to little Lady Maria before moving to one knee before her.

"Welcome to Ferelden, Lady Maria," he told her, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. "I apologize on behalf of my court. They appear to be too deep into their cups to have recalled their good manners. I am sure they will do their utmost to make you feel welcome in your time here."

The little girl glanced up at Princess Fabs, who squeezed her hand encouragingly as she smiled back. Then she turned her shy eyes onto the king she had been sent all this way to meet.

"Thank you, your kingness," she said, her voice tiny in the wide space.

Alistair felt himself grin at the new title - it was certainly far more charming than your majesty was ever going to be. Casting aside the thought that anyone was ever going to convince him to marry a child, he let his thoughts run to his mouth.

"Tell me, Lady Maria," he said thoughtfully, leaning a little closer as though sharing some deep secret, "do you like puppet shows?"

The pretty little face in front of him lit up hopefully, stiff ringlets bouncing as Maria nodded, too shy to say another word. Alistair's grin warmed further.

"I do, too," he told her conspiratorially, delighted when she almost giggled. "May I escort you to see the puppet show on market day?"

Another nod, this time just a little bit awed that the King of Ferelden not only liked puppets, but wanted to take her to see some. Alistair nodded back to her.

"That's decided, then," he said, raising his head to look up at the princess standing with them, startled to find her smiling at him with more warmth than she'd offered when she'd presented herself. "Your highness, would I be an awful cad if I asked you to take Lady Maria under your wing for the evening?"

"I should be delighted, your majesty," the Antivan woman answered. "The bond between Antiva and Rivain is one I treasure, and I shall very much enjoy Lady Maria's company."

Alistair felt a sense of having passed some kind of test, an unexpected thrill of achievement. He nodded, pleased with the outcome of what could have been quite ugly, rising to his feet to take Maria's other hand in his as he moved to escort them both into the care of Fergus Cousland. The Teryn's frown had relaxed into a smile with the salvation of the situation, and he, too, lowered onto one knee to greet the Rivaini child warmly as Alistair bowed and returned to the throne.

Dem's expression was about an inch away from declaring bloody murder on the entire room. "Who," she demanded in a low hiss as he arrived in earshot, "who laughs at a scared child? How dare they?"

"Easy, Dem," he tried to mollify her. "She's in good hands."

"That Antivan has more sense than everyone else in this room put together," the elven rogue fumed, drumming her fingers on one of the hilts at her hips. "Most of your precious ladies laughed, too, you know."

"Who didn't laugh?" he asked curiously.

"The Starkhavener, the Kirkwall girl," Dem answered smartly. "And your princess, of course. Looks like we cut your list down to three, because if you marry anyone who laughs at a scared child in public, I will defenestrate you, Longshanks."

He blinked. "You'll what?"

She smirked at him. "Push you out a window," she translated. "Good word, isn't it? The Inquisitor's one-eyed Qunari taught me that one."

"So if defenestrating is pushing someone out of a window, does that mean fenestrating is ... putting a window in them?" Alistair asked, genuinely fascinated with this meandering bit of useless information.

"I guess so." Dem laughed suddenly. "See, I don't just stab people. I fenestrate them."

He snorted with laughter, turning to sit himself down on the throne once more. "Two more to go," he sighed, catching the herald's eye.

The man looked mildly horrified by the behavior of the nobles himself, but he did still have a job to do. He pulled himself together, slamming the heel of his staff on the flagstones to call for the attention of the gathering.

"Lady Delphine Octavie Tabouillot of Orlais!"

Who was, even Alistair had to admit, a vision. What was also immediately obvious was that she knew it. Easily the youngest feasible prospect so far, she flounced joyously into the hall, preening under the gaze of so many turned in her direction. Another blonde who displayed herself in deep red, she wore no mask unlike her fellow Orlesian, her shoulders left bare by a neckline that indecently skimmed her breasts. Her gait as she walked seemed designed to draw the eye to the bounce in her bodice. Alistair swallowed nervously. He already had a feeling he was going to be under siege from one of the ladies already presented, and it looked as though this one might join in.

"Majesté," she declared as she dropped into a fulsome curtsy at the base of the dais, rising even before he had the opportunity to stand himself. "It is such an honor to be invited to your country!"

Well, at least she's excited, Alistair mused to himself, trying to ignore Dem's poorly disguised snickers behind him as he stepped down to take the Orlesian girl's hand.

"It is a ..." He hesitated as she enveloped his hand in both her own, batting big brown eyes at him hopefully. Maker's breath ... "Uh, you are very welcome, Lady Delphine," he managed, his eyes scanning the hall more out of panic than a real desire to look at the thinly-veiled disapproval on the faces of his court.

"I hope very much to be honored with your presence during my time here, majesté," she added, a comment that put her firmly in the besiegers section of the prospects all around him. "A king should always be handsome, don't you think?"

"I-I ... I can honestly say I have never looked at a king and reflected on his handsomeness," Alistair fumbled, trying to extract his hand from her grasp as discreetly as possible while gesturing to Bann Ceorlic. He couldn't escort her anywhere while she was breathlessly clinging to his fingers and being just a little too eager for his company.

Delphine laughed, and to his surprise, it was a husky, sultry sort of sound that fell from her lips, immediately catching the attention of certain parts of him he did not want her to notice. "I am sure that, in such cases, you are the handsomest man in the room, majesté."

"Uh ... thank you, my lady. Ah, Bann Ceorlic." Alistair had never been so pleased to see the crotchety old patriot in all his life. "May I present Lady Delphine? My lady, Bann Ceorlic will be your chaperone for the evening."

The brief flicker of distaste on the girl's face told him everything he wanted to know about her. She wanted a crown, and the fact that he was only a decade older than her seemed to have decided in his favor. Alistair neatly placed her grasping hand onto the old Bann's arm, bowing as Ceorlic drew her away from the dais. Let Ceorlic bore her into wanting to leave.

"She seems friendly," Dem commented as he thumped down onto the throne, automatically handing him her own cup as he groaned under his breath. "Might want to stay away from closets around that one."

"I'm not going to go into a closet with her," Alistair defended himself, only a little gruffly. Between them, Delphine and Callista might drive him to lock himself in a closet entirely alone and refuse to be extracted.

"Don't worry, Longshanks," the elven Warden assured him with an audible grin. "I'll buy you a chastity belt, how about that?"

"I'll wear a chastity belt when you convince Monster to wear one," he countered, abruptly chuckling at the thought of her studly mabari even considering consenting to such a thing. "I hope he knows he's to stay away from Lady this time. She did not enjoy having puppies."

"If she's in the kennels, I am not taking responsibility for Monster rutting on her," Dem shot back with a grin. "Besides, with him boosting the population, you'll be able to give all your runners-up in this marriage contest a pup to take home."

"I would never send a mabari to Orlais. The very thought!" Alistair gasped exaggeratedly, signaling to the herald for the final time. At least this last one was Fereldan. "Be nice, this one's from your arling."

"Lady Ciara Trevithic of Amaranthine!"

Dem rolled her eyes. "I haven't visited my arling for about four years." She did look up curiously at the name, though. Trevithic was one of the banns who had actually supported her during the disaster that had been the Architect and the Mother.

The girl that entered was the youngest bar one of the ladies who had presented themselves, only just old enough to be considered marriageable among the nobility. She was a picture perfect Fereldan woman; fresh faced, cream skin touched with rose, blue eyes, long thick waves of honey-brown hair. Garbed in blue and green, she didn't smile as she curtsied, seemingly more shy and worried than any of the others had been prepared to show. It must have been her first visit to any noble gathering, Alistair realized, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl as he reached to help her rise.

"Welcome to Denerim, Lady Ciara," he told her, meaning it a little more than he had for anyone but little Maria thus far this evening. But then, Ciara was barely more than a child herself, for all her beauty and trained grace. No wonder she looked so frightened of everything around her. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, your majesty," she answered, the barest tremble in her voice betrayed by the gentle quiver of her hand in his. "I have never been to the capital before."

"Then I hope you find yourself at home here before too long," Alistair assured her. He glanced briefly to Dem, a subtle shake of her head telling him not to even think about making her an escort for the evening, and gently began to lead the girl on his arm toward the reassuring presence of Bann Alfstanna. "Though I doubt we can compare to the familiar sights of Amaranthine."

To his relief, the girl at his side smiled faintly. "There is beauty everywhere, your majesty," she offered in her shy way. "You simply have to look for it."

Unbidden, a memory stirred in Alistair's mind - of a single rose in the midst of the chaos in Lothering, just days before that village was razed to nothing by the Blight. He smiled in answer, inclining his head as he gently transferred her to Alfstanna's care.

"Very true, my lady," he agreed. "Please, enjoy the evening. Bann Alfstanna will  take care of you."

"Thank you, your majesty."

As he turned away, Alistair could feel that smile lingering on his lips, just barely aware of the curious eyes that followed him. His gaze found that of little Lady Maria, watching him solemnly over the rim of a cup that appeared to have been filled with milk. He winked at her, his smile deepening to a grin as the little girl giggled, tucking herself a little closer behind the dark skirts of the Antivan princess. Well, at least one of them likes me, he reflected, returning to the throne for the last time as the herald slammed his staff against the stone for silence. All eyes turned to the king as he raised his cup.

"To Wintersend!" he declared, listening to the echo of their voices as they toasted him and each other. His stomach growled, his ears burning as Dem snorted into her wine. Well, it had been a long day, and the smells wafting from the kitchens were not helping. "Ah ... shall we eat?"

Monster chapter is over! And I will not be producing chapters this long on a regular basis, I assure you. ~chuckles~

[lavendervcined]

LITRIU headcanon dump from her old blog 

♡ : Does your muse have any birthmarks or scars they get embarrassed about others seeing?

This one’s a tough one because the answer is simultaneously yes and no? She’s not exactly shy about her body, unless you’re attempting to TOUCH, in which case there’s a whole other set of problems.

She’s covered in scars, large and small. A life like a Ranger’s, it’s gonna happen. There’s a large imprint of teeth on her hip, which is from a wolf during a spat while she was first training her abilities with animals. You have to end up as ‘alpha’ in every beast’s mind for them to respect you. This doesn’t mean abuse, or intimidation, it means respect and partnership. Well, that one wolf didn’t feel like giving respect. Problems, however? Yes.

There’s a long score from a knife down her chest, from shoulder to hip along the right side that she’s not a fan of. The scar wentHYPERTROPHIC, making it red and incredibly different from the rest of the skin along her body.

Most other scars are very faded and hard to discern, between her many freckles and tattoos. (tattoo headcanon wip)

Birthmarks? There’s a line that looks a lot like an arrow on the back of her neck. She’s not embarrassed of it, but she very rarely shows it off, usually leaving her hair unbound and loose.

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even if you can’t see one of the pack, they’re there. one or more of the beasts is almost always NEAR the ranger, lurking where they can’t be seen if they’re not outright at her side. she’s earned their loyalty, and that’s how they show it.

ambushing her is rarely a successful tactic.

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litriu keeps her hair very long. it’s her only point of vanity, the only thing about her appearance she takes a lot of pride in. due to the risk this can pose in a fight, she tends to braid spikes, either metal or bone, into the locks, to make a nasty surprise for anyone who tries to grab her by it.

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headcanon meme -- Friendship, Celebration.

Friendship is difficult, for the Ranger. She knows she’s abrasive, and it’s hard for her to let go of her anger at times to connect to people. When she does try, it’s generally either hesitant, and awkward, or blunt and direct, depending on who it’s with. Being soft, being vulnerable to another person in any capacity is enough to make her at least slightly anxious- but she is willing to try, more than some would expect.

Her friends are everything for her, and she would kill for, and die for, anyone with that title in her mind. Litriu considers friends part of her Pack, end of story. They’ll often find gifts left for them- wood carvings, amulets, or something that might be of personal value, that Litriu will never address having given to them or not, avoiding any broach of the subject. She’s gruff to most people, but there’s a noted lessening, a warmth that’s usually absent towards those she’s deemed a friend.

The elvhen warden isn’t one for big celebrations. She’s more likely to leave in the midst of one, before anyone can even notice she’s gone. However, little celebrations, between friends, or spur of the moment things?

A thrilled tackle at a successful mission.

A whoop of laughter at something well done.

After the Archdemon’s death, once she woke from the final blow, you bet your ass she tackled every single one of her companions, whether they were close or not.

But that big celebration in Denerim? She probably only stayed as long as she absolutely had to, and then vanished to a rooftop somewhere, to rest, and think everything over.

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IS YOUR CHARACTER MORE LIKELY TO ADMIRE WISDOM, OR AMBITION IN OTHERS?

One without the other leads to a massive lack of balance, and the possibility of not being able to get anywhere well, but she would admire wisdom more than ambition. Ambition is easily twisted to something dark, and dangerous. Just look at Howe. Wisdom, even in a person without ambition, can be used, to help, or to hurt- but hopefully the former.

HOW EASY OR DIFFICULT IS IT FOR YOUR CHARACTER TO SAY “I LOVE YOU?” CAN THEY SAY IT WITHOUT MEANING IT?

It is INCREDIBLY hard for Litriu to say ‘I love you’ to anyone that’s not one of her Pack. She doesn’t know how to be soft, a lot of the time, though she tries. Litriu shows her love, more than she says it- in soft smiles, in companionship, and in showing the loved ones the things she finds incredible in this world. It’s in how she’ll defend them from anything, till her last breath. It’s in how she watches them, especially when she thinks they’re not looking.

She could never, ever say it without meaning it.

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

Litriu is very attuned to magic and spirits, due to how much time she’s spent around mages, and within the Forest of Shadows (the meta for this will come later, I swear). She can feel magic in the air, when it’s been cast, though is never able to discern the type, or the caster.

As for spirits- all things have them. The most prominent example of her skill for this is how she knows, when wild places accept a person, or not, when she ‘hears’ the forest sing for someone, or it goes silent as they walk.

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VANILLA FUDGE RIPPLE: A STRENGTH HEADCANON.

Litriu is a person who is as strong as dragon bone, unbreaking even under the harshest of circumstances. It seems, at times, that she can bear anything, and that it won’t touch her, beyond the grave, angry exterior she always seems to have. Her sharp tongue and her daggers can handle most problems she faces, and if they can’t, she can usually reason out a different tactic, and execute it. This strength was borne of the fact that she is not the kind of person who knows how to give up, or to lose.

WHITE RASPBERRY TRUFFLE: A WEAKNESS HEADCANON.

She’s closed. It’s so hard for her to connect to people, after the Blight, and it’s worse after Amaranthine. Even when she wants to, there’s a hesitation, a wariness, and it’s all surrounded by her anger. She doesn’t know how to get close, and in a lot of cases, she doesn’t feel the desire to.

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

Softly states: in my personal canon, Litriu DOES find a cure for the Taint, and thus is able to cure herself, and any Warden who wishes it at this point tbh. She understands that the Wardens are necessary for Blights- and she doesn’t want them disbanded or destroyed, but believes that it shouldn’t be a death sentence, not always. Were there another Blight in her lifetime, there’s a serious chance that she would undertake the Joining again.

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Litriu enjoys learning about the habitats of the world, and the stars more than almost anything else.   ( Aside from any information on animals she can. ) If she meets a muse with knowledge on these subjects, whether they know the same things or different, once he warms up, she’ll be asking questions, and debating- or, even sharing her own knowledge.

She still enjoys learning about anything she can, honestly. The share and spread of knowledge, to her, is an INCREDIBLY important thing.

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

Litriu loves to carve things out of wood. Little pieces of stories, symbols. She’ll often leave them to be found by the next person, or give them to people she cares for as tokens. She’s been doing it since she was 13, so at this point she’s rather skilled at it.

Sometimes she’ll lay stones into the carving, if she’s feeling particularly artistic.

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For the most part, Litriu doesn’t eat meat. She’ll do fowl, like quail, chicken, turkey or duck. Fish, she’ll eat as well. But everything else, she’ll refuse for the most part. It can be a little hard to eat the beasts you talk to. She doesn’t begrudge anyone else eating their meat, or hunting, she just wants no part of their spoils herself.

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Fun fact! Litriu’s Hogwarts house is Gryffindor, and her patronus is a greyhound.

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Litriu will take almost any tactic to avoid killing animals, being who and what she is. When and if it becomes unavoidable, or if one of her own animal companions is killed, she will take the time to give them funeral rites, speaking to the spirits and the bodies with as much respect as soldiers give to their friends who have fallen. If she doesn’t have the time to do it at the moment the fight ends, she will return to do it as soon as possible.

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Litriu tends to compare everyone she sees to animals, after a brief period of observation. It’s almost never an insult, as she sees the good in all beasts, and less so in the two-legger varieties of people. It’s a compliment, in her own way, but she’ll very rarely voice this comparison- only if she actually trusts the person in question.

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

The former Warden is incredibly curious, and has a heavy desire to learn about almost everything she encounters. She likes to have discussions that provoke thought, she likes to read and learn, to observe and watch to learn that way too.  As she’s gotten older and more ornery, this trait has been somewhat buried, but it still exists. 

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Litriu is best in hand-to-hand or bladed combat. She works with a dagger and a short sword, or no weapon at all. She has a fighting style derived from watching wild animals as they fought, on top of the training she received both while with the Dalish and with the Wardens. She has a style of fighting similar to the fox she is named for- darting, and rapid movements, in and out of an opponent’s reach, and dealing a blow every time she saw the chance.

Depending on her foe, she’ll change on the fly, and has been known to mimic wolves, mountain lions, or vipers.

If ever disarmed, she’s not afraid or unable to use her teeth, if it comes to it.

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

The ‘Ranger’ class was sorely overlooked, I felt, while playing dragon age, and so I fleshed it out and conceptualized it myself a great deal, when I developed Litriu. Rangers in my canon can bond to any animal, and can in their own way, communicate with them. Animals bonded to a Ranger increase in intelligence, and strength, depending on the beast.

This is what explains Litriu and her Pack,the bonds they share, and the level of intellect they have.

[mllemaenad]

Did the events of DA:I change your inquisitor's opinion of the Chantry?

Well. It certainly gave her something more specific to hate.

I would start out by saying that my Inquisitor probably starts her career as a hero of Thedas the least miserable of all my characters, but ends the most miserable.

My Warden is a Brosca. As far as she’s concerned, the whole ‘Grey Warden’ thing is the best thing that could possibly have happened to her. Are there downsides? Absolutely. No one is a fan of the Taint, and she is increasingly aware that her ultimate superiors can be … pretty damn shady.

But she was working for Beraht, and honestly expected to be dead in a gutter before she was thirty, so this is a hell of a step up. She’s Commander of the Grey and Arlessa of Amaranthine, and actually good at those jobs. Her paragon status protects her family, and Rica is able to shine as a diplomat. She’s moved up from semi-literate (courtesy of Rica) to fully literate (courtesy of Sigrun), and ‘her’ recruits are now her most trusted officers (technically, she would say Anders and Justice are on extended leave – although barring another Blight she doesn’t really expect them to return). Her relationship with the Stone is … complicated, let’s say, because despite the narrative they tell about paragons from her perspective it was never obvious to her that she was special – but if nothing else, she knows that if Rica ever has a daughter she has ensured the Stone will know her.

Warden-Commander Seanna Brosca is happy.

As for my Hawke – well, her life is complicated. She’s a revolutionary, and that isn’t always an easy way to live. She spends a lot of time wading through blood, and she has to come face to face with the worst horrors the Circle system can inflict on a daily basis.

But she believes strongly in what she’s doing, and there are … compensations. She fights side by side with the love of her life in a cause that matters to them both, and sees Anders happier, at least, for being away from Kirkwall and making some progress at last. She’s stood on a beach beside the first enchanter of a rebel Circle and pointed out the sails of the ships coming to take his people to the safety of Ferelden (despite what she says, Isabela can be counted on in a crisis); she’s heard a newly freed Circle mage who gave birth on the road name her child and know she can keep her; she’s waited in a clearing, after Merrill left signs, until the hunters came and took a stolen child back to her clan – “Ma serannas,” one of them said before they disappeared into the forest.

Joanna Hawke is not always happy, but she is proud of what she does.

But my Inquisitor?

She is First of her clan. She had to work hard for that: study the history and ancient language of her people, and practise magic on a much broader scale than most Circle mages ever do, because there are rarely enough mages in a clan for someone to truly specialise. She had to learn to stand just a little apart from her cousins and friends – to allow her to better mediate disputes without showing favouritism. She had to compete against the others in the clan who had the gift.

She’s intensely proud of this. It was work that took up much of her childhood and adolescence. She isn’t Keeper, and she wouldn’t wish harm on her living Keeper for the whole world, but nevertheless becoming the Keeper of Clan Lavellan was the shape of her life.

Then Haven happened.

Her clan is among the less isolated ones, true. Templars were agents of the Dread Wolf, ready to trick or steal children away from their clans. They might think twice before attacking a Keeper with her clan around her, yes, but a little girl with no vallaslin on her face and magic on her fingertips, scampering around a human marketplace? Her they would take, if they saw a chance. She learned to run and hide before she learned to fight.

She heard rabbit, knife-ear and savage from human merchants who always thought the Dalish were trying to cheat them. She had to get up, pack camp and move in the dead of night a few times when the lookouts said the local lord had decided it was time the elves moved on, and was sending the guards out their way.

Not all humans treated the clan as though they were demons, no, but sure – she had more than her fill of shemlen cruelty. But … it came and it went. Mostly she lived her life among her own people, and the concerns of life in the clan: hunting and foraging, setting up camp, tending the halla, dealing with family quarrels, the excitement (or conflict!) when they found they’d made camp close to another clan.

The Chantry, the Templars, the Dales, Andraste – these things are all part of the history of her people, yes, but just part. There were many times when they wouldn’t think about humans at all.

In the Inquisition, she can’t get away from any of it. Ever.

The Dalish have a dream: Orlais and Tevinter will fall on their arses, one day, because eventually that’s what empires do. And then the elves will take their chance, and restore their homeland.

That dream seemed a little less distant when she went to the Conclave. The empires and the Chantry – it was all coming to pieces, and all because they wronged their own as they wronged the elves.

But then there was the hole in the sky, and they had her in chains because of the mark. They said they wanted her to build it all up again, to save the world. She doesn’t have much choice. She has no resources to close the Breach on her own, and while she is treated as a friend as long as she plays nice, she doubts that would hold up if she ran.

It’s not that she hates them – all right, she hates a couple of them (I really think her relationship with Mother Giselle is just … broken beyond repair), but she’s very close to many of them. She knows some of them are good people, just trying to put things right. But … they talk seriously about restoring the power and influence of the Chantry, and giving the Orlesian empire the strength and stability to endure as good things. No matter how much she protests, they sell the idea that she’s the Herald of Andraste to gain support. They dismiss her beliefs as fantasy, and can be frighteningly hostile about other religions (she got on so damn well with Stone-Bear Hold – all right, you haven’t so much lost your halla as your bear, but finally someone has a problem that makes sense), and yet are baffled when she won’t worship the Maker.

She lies awake, some nights, wondering what her people will think of her. The hero who closed the Breach? Maybe. The traitor who gave all their old enemies back their teeth? Maybe that, too.

She uses the power she has as best she can, yes: frees the mages, urges Cassandra to disband the Seekers, gives power to Briala, puts Leliana on the Sunburst Throne. But … even so, she knows she’s putting the world back in more or less the same hands that had it before.

She thinks about Ameridan. On the one hand she judges him. The friend of Drakon, the elf who venerated the Maker, the leader of the much-hated Seekers of Truth who gave the Chantry their lyrium soldiers. Every time someone tuts about the elves bringing it upon themselves, or behaves as though agreeing with Ameridan was the only sensible course of action she thinks about him with outright loathing. But then she remembers that she only spoke to him for a minute, and much of his history is gone forever. She remembers he said he didn’t want this, and she wonders if he was as trapped as she is.

Over the course of the game she has had the Chantry’s outright power and certainty forced down her throat a billion times. She’s had to face the fact that even people who are otherwise doing good will often not tolerate those who don’t bow down to their god or accept other ways of doing things.

So, yes, her opinion of the Chantry has changed. At the beginning, Dirthara Lavellan looked on its crumbling facade with a glimmer of hope. Now she looks on it with despair. She no longer really believes it will fall apart. They’ll always find a way to put themselves back on top, and if she’s dead the next time they need someone to do it then they’ll find another victim.

Me? I think there’s still a chance to tear down its power, and that some of the changes in Inquisition might bear fruit. But I haven’t had to live as a Dalish elf trapped between its jaws, so it’s a lot easier for me to be optimistic.