#aveline if youre reading this youre pretty much the only thing i remember from that time. love you 💛

[theygender]

Just remembered back in middle school during some of the most traumatic years of my life when I honestly had a bit of stress-induced psychosis going on and thought the human brain could manipulate time/space/etc if we tried hard enough and I came to the realization that if I did my brain a certain way then I could make entire days/weeks/months pass in what seemed like the blink of an eye and not have to experience any of it. But looking back now it's like girl... That was just dissociation 😭

11yo me was literally like "watch this!" *dissociates at clinically terrifying levels*

[vigilskeep]

Hiya, do u have a carrd or anything with info on your ocs? I love reading about ocs n all that crap but the tumblr search function is like actually evil. Keir seems super interesting but it’s like killing me trying to find posts to recap his lore 😭

i don’t i’m afraid!! it’s just his enormous mess of a tag as the lore built up... i might make something sometime??? i hadnt thought abt it tbh. in the meantime feel free to ask me any and all questions even if it’s something i’ve probably already said, i love going over this stuff and will do so forever if even slightly prompted. on that note, if it helps, here is a briefly condensed version:

keir is a red personality (aggressive/direct) non-mage hawke. i did his full playthrough as a warrior, i sometimes talk about switching him to rogue, but the only really important thing is that he’s a reaver and will bite you for real

he’s a man of few words, extremely blunt and threatening to the point of being absurdly over-the-top with pretty much all strangers, and much softer but still bluntly earnest with the small group of people he considers his own. he considers himself first and foremost a protector and would do anything to keep those people safe. his father malcolm was a strict man who raised him to do this and he accepted that wholeheartedly. consider him a guard dog. killed his first templar in defence of the family aged 15

he adores and idolises magic and fiercely supports mage freedom, though ultimately he would absolutely sacrifice a wider “cause” if doing so would keep his mages safe. fortunately or unfortunately, he can’t do that because the two are inextricable

he’s a proud fereldan and cares very little for kirkwall (hates kirkwall. hates kirkwall. someone please get him out of here) and its nobility, which tends to show in his appearance and behaviour. long braided hair, the streak across his nose is kaddis, and takes his mabari, silla, absolutely everywhere

he’s elf-blooded via his father, who was the bastard son of a fereldan elven servant girl and an orlesian chevalier who was with the occupation

his playthrough has circle mage bethany. he adores her and he would do anything for her but her acceptance of her fate and disillusionment with his overprotectiveness meant they had an increasingly strained relationship. it was because she was trapped that he couldn’t leave the city. once he was champion, meredith essentially had a knife to his sister’s throat whenever she wanted his compliance, not to mention the looming threat to anders and merrill, making those three years the worst and most terrifying in his life

he romances anders! friendmance and they escape kirkwall together in the end. not always easy but he really loves him, justice half included. there’s a lot of lore here ummm if i mention the “and they were housemates” timeline, that’s my silly mutual pining alternate version of events where anders moves into the amell estate for safekeeping before he and keir actually get together. if i mention aura hawke, that’s the potential daughter i occasionally hc for them

he had previous relationships with morrigan (in lothering as young 20-somethings) and merrill (during act 1). you cannot keep him away from those romanceable mages

he’s still close friends with merrill. isabela is his best friend. he has a complicated, semi-antagonistic friendship with varric, who was really closer with anders but now after the fact doesn’t want to remember that. he deeply respects and is friends with fenris. he did rivalry with sebastian, but in an agree-to-disagree way where they considered each other friends nonetheless until All That happened. he had a more genuine rivalry with aveline though still coloured by their trauma bonding

i THINK those are the main beats of his lore but he’s my most discussed and developed dragon age character so i’m sure i’ve missed some of the assorted junkyard of thoughts

[shivunin]

So I saw your tags on the types of love ask and I'm also obsessed with the first weeks and months after Fenris and Hawke break up lol!! I would love to hear more of your thoughts about what Maria and Fenris are feeling/thinking esp wrt fighting together, how the kirkwall group sees them, and just generally how they cope with not being "together" but still being around each other all the time.

Oooh anon, I tried to keep this a reasonable length and I failed haha. In my defense, I have 30k words of unfinished fic answering this very question and I pared it down as best I could.

So:

I think the immediate aftermath is, of course, the most painful--but it's also the most careful on her part. Analysis sets in for her pretty quickly about a day later, when her head is more clear: she loves him and she doesn't believe that loving him gives her a right to take his friends and home away. Hawke is very aware that she has the power to do this if she isn't careful.

What can she do about it? Give him space. Make sure he knows he's still welcome. Keep inviting him to things where many of her other friends are present. Never touch him unless she has no other choice, because she knows she'll give herself away. Look at him directly as little as possible (this one is for her own sake---watching him is like putting her thumb on a bruise to make sure it's still there). Be alone rarely, if ever, and if alone then at a great distance. No more walking home together; no more late nights reading in her library before the fire; no more long goodbyes at her door. She tries so hard to be careful with him and instead she is stiff and overly polite.

It hurts. For both of them. I've talked before about how friendship is the bedrock of their relationship to me, and for a while they lose that, too. Maria's fatal flaw is that she thinks she can perfectly read everyone around her. She assumes that the boundaries she's drawn are good for both of them and she never, ever asks Fenris what he thinks or wants---because that would mean talking about it.

Fighting is rough for a while, because one of them is now dedicated to not paying attention to the other. They both get hurt, badly, in the few weeks immediately after that night. Fenris occasionally slips and calls her Maria (he can't get it out of his head no matter how much he'd like to). Hawke occasionally slips and pats his shoulder or elbows him to make a joke before she remembers and pulls away again.

At last, they get in a really big argument over what Fenris says to Merrill during Mirror Image. Maria loses her temper (she usually keeps a very tight leash on it) and says some things she doesn't mean---the subtext being, if she is a monster then I am a monster. If you knew that before, then why did you ever pretend you wanted me? She does not say this explicitly, because I think she doesn't actually want to know the answer. She apologizes as best she can without actually acknowledging what happened, but now that is festering between them, too.

All of their friends definitely know what's going on. They had front-row seats to the budding flirtation, the tiny gestures of affection...and now they also get to see Hawke putting herself as far away from him as possible, Fenris's absolute refusal to discuss any of it, the pained way he looks at her when she isn't watching, and so on. How can they not know? I think Varric and Isabela try to discuss it with Maria, in their respective ways, and she laughs it off. I think Anders probably makes a pointed comment and she bats that away, too. (Actually, Aveline might be the only one who's still oblivious, judging by the dialogue in her Act 2 quest.)

She does eventually confide in Sebastian, because he's supposed to take confessions, isn't he? Surely this is not so bad a thing to carry, in comparison to everything else. In the end, all she really wants is her friend back and she doesn't know how to get back what they've lost. She blames herself far more than she blames Fenris (Hawke should be able to fix everything always, obviously). Before she can come to any conclusions about how to patch things up, Leandra dies and she really starts spiraling.

When she finally emerges from the big blank space immediately following the funeral, Hawke is erratic. She gets drunk and sloppy, she throws herself into fights she couldn't possibly win, and she stops being careful with Fenris.

(For the record--I think he prefers the minor arguments to Hawke being polite with him. Maria is polite with Meredith and Marethari and the Viscount and the Arishok. She is friendly or charming or crass with everyone else. Being on the receiving end of cordiality was far, far worse than anything she pulls while she's grieving.)

Again--it takes something big to knock her out of this spiral. Luckily, Kirkwall has no shortage of shitshows. Hawke faces down death, comes to terms with the fact that she's just going to have to be in unrequited love with Fenris forever, and acquires a new title, not necessarily in that order. Fenris watches her die, acknowledges privately that he would rather be with her than without her regardless of what they are to each other or what dangers they face, and is there with her when she needs him the most.

Some of those boundaries stick around--she doesn't look at him often or for too long, which he hates, and they don't spend much time alone together. But slowly, slowly, they rebuild their rapport. Hawke and Fenris respect each other deeply; I think that's what makes the rest of it possible. Love is one thing---messy and busy and too heavy by far---but respect is something they both understand, and it's a good enough foundation to build on. She does love him; if she could make it into a purely platonic love, she absolutely would. More importantly, Maria trusts him and he clearly feels the same. It takes time, but they get back much of what they lost.

I want to be clear: she never thinks of any of this as biding her time for him to realize he wants her; she knows that he never will. She also knows she has to be okay with that if they're going to be friends again, and that matters to her most of all. It would have broken her heart to lose him because she couldn't move on.

For Fenris's part--I don't know how much of his reaction is guilt and how much is being caught essentially flat-footed. I cannot imagine what it would be like to work up to wanting to be emotionally intimate with someone (physical intimacy entirely aside) and then have that comfort entirely ripped away because of something he feels solely responsible for.

So, anon, to answer your question:

They deal with it by letting what happened between them be the third party in the room, ultimately. They both know what happened; they know that talking about it by now is more likely to open up wounds than it is to heal them. What they have is immeasurably valuable to both of them. If he still dreams about holding her, if she measures every suitor at her door against Fenris, well---that's for them to handle alone. Nobody else needs to know.

[actlikeyoudidntdoit]

ASSASSIN’S MODERN DAY PROFESSIONS

—————————————————

ALTAÏR

College Professor

-We all know that Altaïr has spent most of his life teaching, so what better job does he have than a college professor?

-He knows what he’s talking about, that much is certain, but sometimes he gets a little too lost in his lesson to realize that his students are scratching their heads. So it’s normal to have students staying after class, but they leave understanding every word of what he said.

-He’s not the fun teacher, but he’ll be able to teach you what you need and still remember it at the end of the day.

-He’s pretty lenient, and even with the obnoxious students who cause a scene, he calmly gets them to at least do their work.

-Other teachers always use him as a reference when it comes to the perfect teacher.

EZIO AUDITORE

-I can see Ezio being a public speaker since he’s not all that scared of crowds and spends a lot of time giving advice, so I think he’d really enjoy being able to help a crowd of people whose lives are falling apart

-Ezio would be the single anchor in a sea of storms because he always seems to have an answer for everything. He’s a man whose words are turned into inspirational quotes that people hang on their walls.

-When he says that things will be okay, no one doubts him since they know that he lost his father and his brothers very early on and that it took years for Ezio to accept the loss the way he had. If he could soldier through it, why couldn’t they?

-He doesn’t involve himself in politics, finding them to be a waste of time and breath despite how many people ask for his input on the political status of the country he’s staying in.

-He speaks to a lot of people in private, letting them speak their minds and giving his advice if they want it. He’s a therapist without a license, and you always feel hopeful about life leaving his office.

Connor

Construction or Sports

-This boy was designed for heavy work, and I’ve heard some good points in saying that not only would he be amazing at sports, but he’d also really enjoy it too.

-In my personal headcanon, I think he’d be a good construction worker as well. Not the high end kind that build skyscrapers or anything, but I can see him building simple houses for small communities, taking the lower jobs that can’t afford much help like the sweetheart he is. He definitely volunteers to make houses for the homeless.

-Since most of the homeless he helps don’t have much money, he makes sure to offer them baked goods because he’s definitely a baker.

Edward Kenway

-As a young man, he joins the navy

-Once he’s on his own, he buys his own boat and treats it like royalty.

-He’s not a pirate himself, but he does let less legal people on board for a price. At the time, it was just an easy cash pay since people paid good money when they were desperate.

-When he’s older and gets a grip on some of the people he’s helping (like the REALLY bad criminals) he quickly lets it go.

-Yet after seeing some of the more decent people and the places they were running from, I can see him being a sort of smuggler, but instead of smuggling drugs or weapons, he sells medicines, canned foods, and clothes to the regions where they’re scarce or hard to pay for.

-When he’s older and found a fortune over time, he starts up his own official charity, hiring various sailers to sail supplies to more places than he himself could alone.

SHAY CORMAC

-Okay, I have to say it. Shay would DEFINITELY be an FBI spy. Maybe I haven’t thought of it as heavily as I could, but he just strikes me as a man who could kill someone in plain sight and still not be seen.

-He already knows everything he can about infiltrating and getting vital information

-He knows exactly how to manipulate people to get what he wants.

-He’s like Macgyver but as an agent.

-He does things that make sleeping at night impossible, but he tells himself that every long night for him is another person somewhere else having a peaceful night, and peaceful nights means he’s doing his job. Right?

-Constantly questions his morals, but he can’t bring himself to stop, not knowing that he’d do if he stopped, because at least here he’s doing something. He’s contributing.

-That and maybe I might or might not want to see Shay in a suit 🤷‍♀️

AVELINE

-Actress. And a damn good one. She’s one of the kind of people who get paid millions each job and gives most of her cash on people who really need it. Not only that, she’s a fan favorite everywhere.

-She takes extra jobs in smaller businesses barely staying afloat, and public morality boosts has nothing to do with it. In fact, she keeps her fame life out of everything, choosing to see it just as another job.

-I can see her sharing similarities of Zendaya or Zoe Zaldana

ARNO DORIAN

-High school teacher or actor, I can’t decide.

-Because let’s be honest, this guys brain is more wrinkled than a raisin. He knows his stuff.

-He’s good at simplifying what he’s saying, and that happens to be a very useful trait when it comes to teaching.

-If he was a teacher, he’d be a damn good one, that’s for sure. No one will fail his class because he’s so good at explaining things, and he’d be the one who actually cares for his students.

-When it comes to acting... just admit that Arno’s a theater boy through and through. If you need proof, he’s the only one with a crazy amount of fancy robes and colors. FOR GODS SAKE HE OWNS A THEATER! So on modern day, I could totally see him as an actor as well.

-He’d be the Ewan Mcgregor of the modern day, because everyone recognizes him from SOMEWHERE because he’s really tested his acting ability on multiple various roles. Well read, charming, and level headed, he’d totally rock being an actor. He’s good friends with Aveline, and when they both have time in their busy schedules, they stop by for coffee and fill each other in on their life.

JACOB

-Boxing

-I saw the photoshops of Jacob in boxer life, and I have not been the same because oh my god that is amazing.

-but absolutely he’d be a boxer. He’s the shortest guy in the entire match, but he doesn’t need a stool to knock you on your ass before you can laugh about it.

-His opponents are lucky shattering bones is against the rules because he knows how to make someone wish their dad wore a condom.

-A lot of people think that his rounds must be rigged, and his sister had to physically hold him back every time Jacob threatened to give him a close up of how ‘rigged’ his fights were.

-Jacobs a powder keg, so it doesn’t take much to make him explode, and a lot of the less respectful people he has to fight picks particularly sore spots to do just that.

-He might be pissed, but his punch isn’t the only thing that stings. He knows exactly what words to use, and when they’ve gone too far, he doesn’t hold back.

-Might have a temper, but he has a good heart despite it all. He visits schools and completely turns his personality around with kids. He signs autographs, takes pictures, and makes sure that every one of them have a fun day because he knows that there’s some kids in this school that don’t have those kinds of days. He pays the school for field days each time, making sure they all get out. They bring out the scooters, parachutes, capture the flag, and ‘wrestling’ matches for the kids who want to face him. He loses every time. He never has a bigger smile on his face than when he has children fans walk up to him.

EVIE

-She is totally a lawyer and you can’t change my mind.

-Logic and Facts are her strongest weapons, and so far she has yet to lose a debate.

-Every other lawyer knows that seeing Evie walk into court is an instant death sentence, because like her brother, her words are sharp as a knife and her mind is even sharper.

-If they didn’t look identical, no one would believe that she would be related with Jacob the hot headed boxer, because she was level as water and was near impossible to make angry, but god help the poor sod that presses her.

-Her clients almost always get the best case scenario with Evie by their side by how good she is.

-Also like her brother, children are her weak spot, and her hard composure melts whenever she needs to speak to a child in the witness post, making sure that the child feel comfortable unlike the others that drill the kid with questions when they’re too skittish to answer. She takes her time and gets the kid feeling safe, and gently asks their side.

-Evie might not do it as a profession, but Evie has beaten Jacob in the boxing ring in the gym. She knows damn well how to handle herself, knowing she’d need it since she’d be fighting corrupt politicians or gang members who have too often tried attempts at her life. Every time she emerged unscathed, using the attempt at even more evidence against them and insuring a spot in jail. No one dared try attacking her again after that.

BAYEK

-I’m thinking police officer or motivational speaker for trauma.

-Either way, he’s a guardian who takes care of the people he’s in charge of. He knows words well, and having been down the dark path himself, he knows exactly what people experience and what they want to hear.

-Be the change you want to see in the world, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

-He’d be a well respected officer, and he’s not afraid of telling off a comrade if someone is wrongfully accused. He’s not very popular in the police station, but as long as he’s doing his job, he’s satisfied.

-He’s saved several people over the course in his life, and his word is well honored since he’s on no ones side. He sees things as what they are and doesn’t twist events he disagreed with to his point of view. Even if it hurts him personally, he doesn’t lie.

-He’s divorced, but they’re still best friends with each other and visit when they can.

AYA (ran out of gifs. Sorry)

-She is hands down a self defense teacher for women

-She sells hidden self defense tools for less than ten dollars, always sure to keep constantly supply of them since many have confessed that they’ve saved them from dangerous situations.

-Like her former husband, she’s a protector and makes sure she provides her students with the best.

-She teaches children what to do if they ever get grabbed, and she’s had many parents in years thanking her when that information ended up saving their child’s life.

ALEXIOS

-Hands down he is a stunt double

- Preferably Arno’s since he relies more on flexibility than brute strength. Then there’s the fact that they look similar enough in features

-He does the moves that would probably be safer if they were just CGI, but he hates those computers with a passion, preferring to do the real thing instead of giving out something fake. He’s broken more bones than he can count, and the companies he works with always have a medic on standby when something goes wrong.

-They tried convincing him that they only needed him for a few spots, but after realizing that he wanted this (and him assuring them that he doesn’t bother with suing), they let him do his thing. The results are fruitful since the most nitpicky movie fans are absolutely thrilled when there’s a particular move done right.

-He teaches Arno a good few things about how to do action scenes, and they’re definitely good friends.

KASSANDRA

-Roller Derby

-She lives for throwing people and smacking them without being judged for it, so the Derby’s her safe spot.

-Everyone on the opposing team is terrified of her, always scared when they see her devilish smile, knowing that they’re about to get their asses handed to them. Like her brother, she’s an adrenaline junky, and when she’s not doing the derby, she’s going off into car races in a water trench. She’s surprisingly very good with cars too, knowing the inside and out of a car like the back of her hand.

-She loves it when men try to catcall her. It gives her a perfect opportunity to punch them in the face.

-She loves the races themselves because no one expects it. Sometimes she pretends to act like a beginner and absolutely slaughter them, giving them a nice wink before driving out with her cash.

-Only has a soft spot for the girl who visits her on weekends. She’s practically her older sister, and there will be hell to pay if her favorite kid gets hurt in any way.

EIVOR

-BACA(Bikers Against Child Abuse)

-The moment I saw this, I instantly thought about them.

-they would absolutely be a part of this

-Looking all badass in leather while turning into a softie for children? That’s Eivors entire character right there.

-Eivors not afraid to get physical with an abuser. They’d beat the abuser to a pulp and right after take the child out for ice cream.

-No one messes with Eivor, knowing that their lenience was stretched only for children. Anyone else tried to pressure her? Your teeth would be shattered and they’d wear the bits for a necklace.

-Children are much more brave around them because they’re tougher than their parent and on their side, so they’re not afraid to give them to the police

[sapphim]

please tell us about the kirkwall campaign and warden hexcrawl too!

the warden hexcrawl is this massive game that's been running in vigil's keep for over a decade now. with a west marches campaign you don't need to get a consistent group together, you can just collect anyone who's available to play at a given time and throw together an adventuring party. at this point the map is enormous, spanning multiple planes of existence. they've cleared entire megadungeons. everyone ends up collecting a stable of characters they can choose from based on party comp and desired level of play. dm-ing your first session is something of a rite of passage. it spun off from whatever informal game they played around the campfire during the blight but since then it's evolved into what is essentially an institution.

the kirkwall campaign is. something else entirely lmfao. varric's a really well-practiced and flexible dm now but booooy did they get off to a rough start because he built an entire campaign around the party behaving essentially as he expected them to, and that plan was ruined the moment they rolled their characters.

I’m cutting this for length here bc christ it’s so much. if it’s too much then blame @sandayuoda

anders. ruins everything immediately because varric was expecting him to play a healer and instead he turns up with this extremely chaotic revenge-motivated edgelord of a character. he's tired of being nice and sometimes he just wants to go apeshit, you know? this is the only outlet he has for stress release these days. he shows up to session one and shows varric his character sheet and varric's like "what the fuck" and then he hands varric his 20 pages of tragic character backstory (he read the campaign document and tied his character's backstory into the setting) and varric's like "what the everloving fuck blondie." varric had littered that thing with red herring villains and clever misdirection (he thought) and anders immediately pinpointed the intended bbeg of the campaign (not!Meredith) and made his tragic backstory revolve heavily around her. who actually reads the campaign document??? well that was lucky for him, since eventually leaning on this backstory becomes one of the only ways he can keep the campaign moving forward. also, anders outs himself as a closet furry by playing catfolk, to the surprise of absolutely no one.

aveline. predictable human paladin type. claims to be LG but ultimately plays more like LN. at the start she's one of the only things keeping the party on the rails but eventually just ends up following them around and tutting disapproval (much like in real life). she's that player who writes a completely normal character with a completely normal backstory and family waiting for them back home so the dm has to continually jump through hoops to provide them with character motivation to continue adventuring.

bethany. absolutely does not want to play a spellcaster. plays instead a sort of martial ranger/hunter build and dumps everything into animal handling. essentially plays a pretty disney princess except everywhere she goes she’s followed by a small army of feral animals she's befriended and trained to fight.

carver. plays some sort of magus/gish type, because yeah ok magic is cool, but swords are cooler. crossplays as a female character and it's no big deal but it's also really, really hard for the party to keep the pronouns straight because she's a hot-headed veteran so he's essentially just playing himself.

fenris. just a fighter guy. (varric: "really, broody? an elf with a big sword?" fenris: "I was told I could be what I want. is that not allowed.") his character has no backstory and needs no backstory. he is here to roll dice and his character is a single child and an orphan with no ties to anyone or anything so stop asking. deals the highest dpr in the party as he eventually gets sucked into reading charop guides and thus becomes the only one among them who is even a little bit optimized.

isabela. every party needs a chaotic neutral rogue and she is happy to oblige. something fun and sexy and chaotic like a tiefling. (isabela: "what? I'm optimized. I put all my skill ranks into seduce and fuck" varric: "those aren't things and you haven't found a single trap since the game started") on a mission to get loot, start bar fights, and flirt with every npc she encounters. (she always asks to touch their chest hair. she may just be flirting with varric. it becomes a running gag that every barmaid in varric's world has a lustrous carpet of chest hair.) tbh isabela is one of the only players behaving exactly as chaotically as varric expected, he just hoped she'd be outvoted.

merrill. plays a chaotic good barbarian type, some massive dude. she does the best deep growly voice she can manage. she just wants to try something fun and different! her barbarian is also a real sweetheart and probably the most unoptimized character, with the highest intelligence of anyone in the party.

sebastian. also ruins everything immediately with his character. (varric: "choir boy, you can't play a fiendpact warlock, you're... you know... you!" seb: "...but this is a roleplaying game, right? I was told this was a roleplaying game.") also plays a tiefling, which is his repressed slutty side coming out. he and isabela didn’t plan this out but she finds it hilarious and they get together after the session and plot out a joint backstory in which they do crimes. after he makes one too many off-handed jokes about his dark patron being "basically [his] evil grandmother" varric starts playing her like elthina but he'll never admit it.

eventually the party's rolling up into town followed by a pack of wolves, an owlbear, an alligator, and a murder of ravens

isabela and hawke ask simultaneously where the nearest tavern is

seb's like "oh varric remember it's getting time I need to appease my dark patron again"

aveline sighs and says "I'll be making donations at the temple I guess"

varric just holds up his stack of notes for the town and tears them into pieces in front of them

"I may as well just rip these up right now and get it out of the way because we all know how this is going to end"

"how is it going to--"

"in disaster, merrill, that's how it's going to end. that's how it always ends."

anyway that was then. they've been playing the same characters for years (as varric has pulled increasingly absurd threats for them to face off against out of his ass) so now they're prestige classed epic level abominations of characters. hawke highkey prestiged into dragon disciple and later found a way to permanently polymorph into a full dragon at some point, I'm sure.

[felassan]

Extended thoughts on the Dark Fortress preview pages [spoilers at link]

(Would I be an MJ if I did not do this? This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

I like the preview pages a lot, I’m excited for release - roll on March 31. There’s a lot packed into just these limited pages, so I’m looking forwards to seeing the issue and its contents in their entirety. 

A flashback to the Battle of Ostagar all those years ago is the last thing I was expecting when coming to this comic and it hit me with a one-two of feelings and nostalgia. Up there just off-screen, the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair have just lit the beacon in the Tower of Ishal. In these panels, the rain, the lighting, the atmosphere - it’s surreal (not in a bad way) seeing these fateful events again, back where it all kinda began really, and that page does a good job of replicating that cutscene and the heavy feel of it in a different medium. It’s a nice touch seeing surprise/unsureness and even conflict on some of the soldiers’ faces as Loghain gives the order to retreat. A couple of them even seen disconcerted as they walk away (looking at one another in askance). I like this take on Ser Cauthrien, and I wonder if Aaron ever encountered Aveline, Wynne, Carver or non-mage Hawke at Ostagar before the battle...?

Loghain’s words “He must do what his honor compels him to do” almost feel like a bit of metacommentary, i.e. on Loghain’s character in addition to obviously being about Ser Aaron.

In-universe before now, there have been varying accounts of Ser Aaron’s experience at Ostagar. Did he miss the fight, did he kill two ogres, etc. Now we see the truth of the matter is exactly as he told Vaea, which speaks of the trust and close relationship between the two. I’m not going to lie, the “I am coming my king” and subsequent panels make me cry on this re-read. Aaron reaching out for Cailan in his sleep with his other fist clenched, jerking awake from a nightmare in a cold sweat.. Aaron is so brave, he was the sole or one of the few soldiers in Loghain’s company to make this kind of stand (and you can see that there was a moment when he did turn to leave and considered it before turning back), and these panels convey the extent of the trauma that he experienced on the field of battle that day. I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die. It also hurts to think that not far from there, Duncan is seeing the same thing. They’ve done a good job integrating the new characters’ pasts with previous canon events with things like these. It’s like, expanding on things, but without anything conflicting.

When Aaron reaches for his alcohol skin I’m pretty sure his hand is shaking. Vaea is so tender and understanding/supportive at this part and it’s a really poignant and soft moment for them.. Aaron’s nightmares are a regular occurrence it seems. I love her and their relationship so much.. keeping watch over him while he sleeps a bit away from the others and the fire. ;; Also Autumn’s ears here, she’s lying down but still listening to what’s going on with and between her people. ;;

Brief pause here: I always appreciate getting a good sense where different events are taking place in the additional media. Also we now have in-universe confirmation that in the timeline we’ve now reached 9:45, as opposed to only external word-of-god. Do you guys ever think about your Wardens and how it’s been 15 years for them?

Aaron is like a father to Vaea 😭

Fenris has two daggers now in addition to his twohanded sword. The better for ending Danarius’ bloodline my dear 🔪

Have they tweaked Fenris’ hairstyle a bit, compared to Blue Wraith? Possibly also his skintone and eyebrows, compared to Blue Wraith? (I find this kind of thing hard to tell. If I’m incorrect here please feel free to correct me.) He looks good in this preview.

Poor Francesca. Tessa is really kind at this part and it’s nice to see more moments like these between female characters (women supporting one another). It reminds me of the moment in a previous issue where Vaea hugs Francesca on the ground. Tessa makes a great point here that true strength isn’t necessarily being stoic and unemotional, it’s standing up for what you believe in and for the greater good, even at great personal cost. It’s not 'not crying' and hiding your sadness. That’s a nice message, and again, Fran has really grown on me.

I also think it speaks well of Fenris and his character development after all these years in-universe that he was looking for a way to help Aaron, then immediately thought to go speak to Francesca when she was upset to see if he could help her in turn.

hhh brooding silent Marius staring broodily and silently into the flames and not responding to Fenris’ attempt at making conversation tho, the gentle lampshading..  That’s so true to his character. These might be my favorite panels in the whole preview. Fenris’ dry wit and facial expressions, the general composition, Fenris peacing out like “ok bye ig” lmao. You also get the sense that Fenris is reeling a bit and feeling abandoned since Hawke and co split up. After trying to do something to help both Aaron and Fran above, he then tries to make conversation with Marius. He’s trying to lighten the mood but also to connect after being alone for some time. He has missed having a group around him, and I suspect this group with its varying troubles and issues reminds him a lot of Hawke and co. That both the humor aspect and this characterization comes through in these 3 panels is pretty brilliant.

We reach the titular dark fortress! If ever there was a fortress for a bad guy, huh? x) The narrow exposed causeway being the only approach is a smart line of defense, strategically. Also, the realization that this is where Fenris lived while he was a slave of Danarius’ :| It’s a horrible-looking place and will be full of bad memories for him.

If this is how stormy the Nocen Sea gets in places - well, it reminds me of the lore that in Thedas naval exploration beyond the known map has been historically limited by different factors like pirates, Qunari dreadnoughts, stormy seas and sea creatures etc.

Characters speaking their native languages in places is always a nice touch. Now we’ve heard “By the Maker!” in Orlesian.

Aspects of the style and architecture of the Tevinter buildings in this preview, like the window shapes and the red lights and stuff, echo or remind me of what we’ve seen of Minrathous in the most recent trailer and some of the recent pieces of concept art for the next game. Neat.

We have our name and identity for the mage on the cover! Tractus Danarius, bastard son of Danarius. Danarius fucked around huh. “Tractus” has a Latin root, fittingly for a Tevinter name. Its different meanings are quite interesting: being dragged, extracted, plundered, an anthem sung in some masses, an elongated area or abnormal passage... I wonder if one of them will come into play somehow, the name possibly having been chosen for a reason? I also wonder how young Tractus is relative to Fenris, and if their paths have ever crossed in the past.

Tractus makes his entrance with two elven slaves or servants in tow. Like on the cover, his eyes are red. The head of his staff is a red sphere, also. Can we assume a connection to red lyrium, then, given these factors and the villains’ interest in using red lyrium to power the sarcophagus? I would guess that as normal magic was required to make it work with blue lyrium, the thing required to make it work with red lyrium is blood magic? A blood magic ritual. My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar, which they plan to sacrifice and use the blood/power derived from that to fuel the magic/ritual. This is considering blood as a theme in this setting, blood as a source of power mechanically and the dragon-like beast on one of the covers which has clearly at one point been shackled and collared. (Here’s some previous speculation about Dark Fortress based on the covers.)

Although Tractus’ relative youth and inexperience compared to Nenealeus comes across in these pages, I get the feeling that Nenealeus will regret talking down in this manner to Tractus later in the comic.

It seems Tractus paints his nails dark. His commitment to aesthetic I give 5/5 stars

Remember the fall of Ventus/Qarinus to the Antaam invasion in TN? The Antaam must be progressing through Tevinter if people fear that Neromenian may soon fall also.

I appreciate that everyone’s horse is different! It’s a nice touch. A lot of the time in media groups of people ride identical horses like they’re clones or automatons as opposed to actual creatures.

Tractus’ smile when he’s asking if they’re going to wait for Qintara to arrive is slightly manic, lol, he’s giving off “Are we there yet?” car journey energy here. The doorway in this panel - is that a portcullis-style door? It seems like it has spikes at the bottom which would sink into the floor, and that there’s some kind of mechanism running along the floor towards it. Presumably to contain the [dragon?]?

I forgot Nenealeus has a sword - I guess then he knows magic artforms similar to those of a Knight-Enchanter or Arcane Warrior. Also here, Marquette echoes the Executor in TN, with the sentiment that Qintara fell with Ventus. Nenealeus is then referencing Gaius, the impersonator Qintara, right? That’s interesting; Gaius’ true master was Fen’Harel, on whose behalf he accessed important information about the world. This means then [?] that some of the time when Gaius believed himself to be working on behalf of Fen’Harel, he was really being manipulated by Nenealeus. Poor Gaius, at different points Fen’Harel and Nenealeus were pulling his strings. Does Nenealeus’ manipulation refer to Gaius trading it away to House Danarius for information?

Marquette references the red lyrium idol, and suddenly my Dragon Age 4 ears are pricking the way Autumn’s do. x) He mentions that it makes weapons, referencing I assume Meredith’s lyrium sword, Certainty and the ritual blade that pops out from the base of the idol during The Dread Wolf Take You. I wonder when the events of this comic take place in relation to the stories related at the spy meeting in TDWTY? Is this before or after the events of the Mortalitasi’s tale? At any rate, Marquette voices something we’ve been obsessing over: what else can and does the idol do specifically, beyond just making weapons and being Ominous and Powerful? Because whatever it is, it’s key to Solas’ ongoing plans, and Solas obviously knows.

So it seems that the villains’ plan is to use the red lyrium idol’s sword part with the sarcophagus, red lyrium, a ritual and [the thing Tractus shows them in that panel - the dragon?] in order to transform Shirallas into, essentially, a Red Wraith, a Red Lyrium Fenris. And then to arm him, under Nenealeus’ control, with the sword.

Does Shirallas still have his vallaslin - is it just the lighting and the angle in that panel? Also, that panel with Shirallas and Nenealeus looks so ominous and foreboding 😭 .. (and reminds me somehow of Fenris and Danarius when Fenris was still his slave and bodyguard) Shirallas, we really are in it now 😭 This is a really cool panel btw, like the composition, the lighting, the dramatic-ness. 

Nenealeus is motivated by a desire to route the Antaam from Tevinter (like the mage in the Mortalitasi’s tale in TDWTY) and reconquer lost lands in order to restore the glory of the Imperium (which reminds me in a way of of Aurelian Titus, who also wanted to restore the Imperium to greatness). Classically Tevinter here.

“Danarius the Lesser” is a sick burn. I’d guess Tractus’ life thus far, as a bastard, has had themes and struggles with inferiority and consequent lack of power but desire for it (being disrespected, but craving respect, being connected to a certain world but not really part of it, in fact rejected by it). Venatori connection confirmed. That the Venatori had to be convinced to accept someone as a Danarius - implications for the role of the Venatori remnants and their role in Tevinter and things in general going forwards? Lightning flashes overhead as Tractus and Nenealeus have this face-off in that panel, emphasizing the tension between the two. I wonder what the magic in the fortress and in the courtyard can do? It’d have been no mean feat to escape from this place as a slave, it seems, especially bearing in mind there’s only one proper way out, that causeway (passage not included). Tractus’ staff-head lights up when he’s making a threat (uh-oh), and then wow! Shirallas moves so quickly, in the blink of an eye suddenly appearing out of nowhere and startling the guard-mage onlookers. He’s fast and formidable.

I wonder about Tractus. Is he a “half blood” because he’s a bastard and his mother wasn’t an Altus, or even wasn’t a mage, or because he’s a bastard and his mother was an elf? Or both?

Will we see a face-off between perrepataes (Marius and Shirallas)? Will Marius face-off against his former master, Nenealeus? Perhaps a showdown between the Blue Wraith and the “Red Wraith” is on the cards?

Back to our team in the tavern! There’s a looot of great character content packed into these pages, which is really cool. Each brief character interaction conveys a lot, and in general this sequence is just well-executed imo. How troubled and tired Aaron looks at the bar (my heart.. it hurts); Fran worrying for Aaron; Vaea knowing that she can’t pressure him too much because that’s just not how it works when it comes to folks who struggle with issues like these; Vaea asking after Fran’s wellbeing; Fran struggling to come to terms with what happened to her father; Fenris watching the door waiting for news (he’s so vigilant isn’t he? safety, an escape-route..); Marius Broods Harder; Vaea’s [relative] pacifism being highlighted; Vaea engaging Marius looking for reassurance; and the choice of having Marius break his silence now is meaningful and impactful in that it shows what happens when one becomes ‘numb’ to the constant murderizing of people, so to speak. Fenris then rightfully points out that becoming numb to killing and violence isn’t really a good thing and is worse, really, than being ‘soft’ or uncomfortable with it. I wonder if he’s speaking from experience here, given the hundreds of people Hawke and co kill their way through during the Kirkwall years, for example. Then Vaea’s concern for Aaron and his state of mind, and Fenris’ uncanny insight into that, of a man he’s only recently met.

Tessa looks so cute when she comes in the door! I love Vaea’s lil “:D” face when she sees her, and I wonder what the tavern food on the table is.

Those two panels, when Fenris talks about Hawke and Leandra, are the biggest emotional gut-punch in the preview pages 😭 omg.. I’m not strong enough for this.. bls... bruh... This is then compounded by (hitting me when I’m down!!) the look of sheer... fear, fury, alarm, upset, shock - that appears on Fenris’ face as soon as he hears “I found Danarius”. Seriously, look at his eyes here. He (understandably) still has a trauma-response associated with the name/man.

Bless Tessa. 

I have to say, it’s very Metal of Fenris that not only did he kill Danarius in DA2 (in those universes), but he has also been going around Tevinter since then killing all of Danarius’ [adult] heirs, and that his response to learning there’s still one remaining is to grab his sword and go to march off with the aim of ending the bloodline a second time. Very metal

I love the final panels in the preview as well! Vaea’s sense/smarts and how she wasn’t afraid to tell Fenris no, Autumn’s giant ears, how Autumn also moves with Vaea to step in front of Fenris to stop him (SHE! HELPED!!!), Autumn’s Happy Face and furiously wagging tail and agreement with Aaron, and Proud Dad Aaron rising from his slump to praise Vaea with the most Proudest Daddest expression that you ever did see...  ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

[hawkeish]

3. You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke --- for (you know it) Carver/Merrill :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS PROMPT IT IS FANTASTIC, here’s 1400 words of modern Carver/Merrill fluff written for @dadrunkwriting because I have no restraint and too much time <3 I hope you like it!

no CWs, but there’s some swearing (I promise my Hawke siblings love each other, in a brutal way!)

also my modern Merrill’s a postgrad studing Art History & Cultural Studies - repairing the eluvian is her research project.

read on AO3 if you want!

It’s the evening before everything shuts down for Satinalia, and it’s started to snow.

Which would be nice, if only Carver wasn’t stuck outside Merrill’s door, trying not to break a magical mirror which possesses far too many poky bits as it pokes right into his side. Fingers numb with cold, he’s too busy fumbling with the ridiculous amount of keys she gave him to appreciate the beauty of the Alienage in Firstfall. Bedecked with wreaths, shining baubles and flickering garlands of lights, the vhenadahl is like something from a fairy-tale, dusted with a gentle sigh of snow.

Snow, lights, whatever. Any other night, Carver might let himself be enchanted. But right now, he has one priority—get the damn mirror into the damn apartment without breaking it even more.

And yet here he is, falling at the first hurdle: locked out, with Merrill’s most precious possession leaning on him at an angle that’s making him nervous. It’s not exactly going well. But it needs to go well. He promised he’d get the eluvian - carefully swaddled in some enchanted cloth to “protect him”, whatever that means - from her studio at the Viscount’s College of Art back to her Lowtown home in one piece. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure what might happen. He doesn’t want to know what might happen. Her degree? Ruined. A vital piece of her people’s history? Lost. And as for Merrill herself?

She’d probably never speak to him again, and shit, he can’t think of much worse—

Click.

The random key he’s shoved in the lock twists, and the door swings open before him.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” he mumbles, then picks up the mirror and barrels into Merrill’s tiny home.

Merrill’s flat is much like Merrill. As in, modest, pretty, and filled with a frankly terrifying amount of knowledge. There are small cairns of books dotted between potted plants and thrifted armchairs, alongside art prints leaned up against walls and notebooks littering her paint-flecked desk. Though she doesn’t celebrate Satinalia, there are a couple of decorations over the tiny fireplace, too. And—is that spice he can smell?

As Carver carefully sets down the eluvian by the window in the corner like she’d instructed, he catches sight of something in his peripheral vision. Two steaming cups of wine-dark liquid set on the coffee table by the fire, and beside them, a neatly-folded note.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carver wanders over and gingerly picks up the paper, a frown puckering his brow as he unfurls it.

C. Merrill’s handwriting is pin-point neat. I just wanted to say - I do really appreciate you doing this for me. Creators, there’s no chance I could lift that thing on my own! You really are my chevalier in shining armour. I’ll send you a little something to say thanks. M x

That x does something strange to him; a small chill runs up his spine, and Carver puts the note back down in a fluster. Just as he does, the phone in his pocket vibrates. Still frowning, he pulls it out, then squints at the text that’s screaming up at him from the too-bright screen.

alright dickhead! hope you’re having a lovely day of being a burden on society! did you get the message?

Carver doesn’t need to read the sender’s name to know it’s from his sister.

Go back to making shit coffee for people who’ll never sleep with you, he types. And what message?

Surely Ri wouldn’t mean the note. Why would she know about the note? As far as he can tell, Merrill only asked him for help after Aveline and Fenris made some excuse about being far too busy washing their hair, or dancing round their townhouse full of half-decayed corpses, or whatever the fuck it is that they get up to instead of being friendly, helpful people.

Carver wasn’t the first choice. He never is. Which is fine. Totally fine. He’s used to it. Knowing he’s never a first thought definitely doesn’t itch at the back of his mind, or keep him up at night—

“Maker’s breath,” he scolds himself, trying to focus back on his phone.

And then, just as he presses send, another notification pops up. Unknown number; something in him tells him to tap anyway. When he does, a little jolt of static runs through him, warm and fuzzy and disgustingly sweet.

For you, the new message reads. To say thanks. I knew I wouldn’t need to ask anyone else. You’re all I need for Satinalia. Enjoy! <3

Below it, there’s a link to a playlist. A playlist which, he notices, contains about twenty versions of the same song, All I Want For Satinalia Is You. One’s in Elven. One’s a country version with, inexplicably, some late-night TV host caterwauling over the chorus. One’s by some Orlesian crooner called Michel de Bublé. There’s even one that’s just someone playing the recorder extremely badly over a muffled backing track.

It’s an…interesting mix. As he skips through the songs, though, he can’t help but smile. Whoever this truly ridiculous playlist was meant for is a lucky person. It certainly wasn’t for him.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until he taps back onto his messages app.

Then, his heart does a weird twist in his chest, and the phone suddenly feels like a searing hot coal in his hands. Because, in bold, in the small gap above the text where the sender’s name usually lies, there’s a small line that makes his pulse skip every time his eyes trail over it.

Could this be: Merrill Alerion

Carver nearly drops his phone.

This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Carver feels slightly seasick. Quicker than he knew his fingers could work, he’s sent a crappy screenshot to Marian.

This???????

A few seconds pass.

Ri replies with a voice message. The voice message is a long, horrible, joyous screech.

Fuck, Carver thinks. “Fuck!” Carver says, and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

His heart’s going wild, now; his palms are sweatier than they’ve maybe ever been. The mulled wine suddenly seems like a very good idea: he takes one in each hand, trying to convince himself he doesn’t fucking hate star anise. Time to chug—

Halfway through his first glass, there’s two light knocks at the door.

Carver freezes, glass still at his lips. Then, he realises that in his haste to get the mirror in, he’s left the door open. Panic spears through him, until he remembers that he’s a six-foot-stupid ex-farmer and could definitely take on a burglar. And that burglars probably don’t knock.

Still, this is Kirkwall. Better to be safe than sorry. Carver holds his breath as he sets the glasses down as quietly as he can and starts towards the door. He’s not punched anyone in a while. Maybe the anxiety coursing round his body from that text will finally give him a decent right hook. Maybe if he catches someone trying to steal Merrill’s stuff, it’ll add to the whole chevalier-in-shining-armour thing. Maybe—

A gentle gust of wind flutters through the apartment, and the door swings open, just as Carver’s barely steps away.

When he sees who’s behind the door, he makes a tiny squealing noise that instantly makes him want to cease existing. Rosy-cheeked and smiling, Merrill stands before him. Flecks of snow are caught in her dark hair and on the chunky knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, and her eyes are glittering beneath the Satinalia lights strung up on the street outside. It’s as if she’s haloed, glowing, a beacon against the dark winter’s night.

She looks beautiful.

“Merrill,” he breathes. “I thought you were...”

“Studying?” She’s smiling, and he feels a bit dizzy. “I was. But I finished - just in time, I think! Did you get the message?”

“Uh—the playlist?” he offers. “Yeah.”

“But did you get the message?” she asks again, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips.

Carver frowns. There was a message to get? “I—what?”

“Creators,” Merrill says, half-laughing, glancing up at something above him, then back down. When her gaze locks with his, he feels his heart flutter. “Hawke said making you a playlist would be very smooth. I’m not sure I’m ever very smooth. I guess I’ll not trust your sister again.”

“Smooth?” he echoes, like an idiot.

Then, he remembers what’s hanging above her door. A sprig of mistletoe, tied up with a neat red bow.

Merrill answers him with a laugh, and a kiss, and Carver thinks oh.

[queen-scribbles]

The Thing About Darktown

Just gonna post my Secret Santa fic for @jarinodragonage over here, too, now that she’s seen it. ;D

 ---

“Stop rubbing, you’ll make it worse!”

“It itches!”

“Better that than festering and falling off- Hawke!” Aveline growled in exasperation as the younger woman flinched away, half-done bandages fluttering. “You know, this wouldn’t even be an issue if you’d brought Anders.”

Leigh snorted wryly, rubbing the injury in question with a fervor that hastened the unraveling of the bandages. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“Why not?” Aveline narrowed her eyes and moved after her, cornering Leigh against a boulder and getting a better grip on her arm to redo the patching up that was all but undone now. “Most people would consider it wise to bring a healer if you have one at your disposal. Especially given you usually include him on your... adventures.”

Leigh grinned, hearing the ‘mis’ Aveline clearly wanted to slap in front of the last word. “You’re not enjoying girls’ night out?” she said drolly, waving to where Isabela and Merrill were examining what remained of their foes. “I’m just happy the bad guys are dead and we aren’t.” She grimaced as Aveline pulled the bandages just a little tighter. “Aveline! Are you trying to fix my arm or amputate it?!”

“The former,” Aveline said sternly. “But if the bandages slide, you may wind up needing the latter. There.” She tied off the bandages, tucked the trailing ends under so it wouldn’t snag, and let go of Leigh’s arm. “That should hold you until you can get it seen to, at least.”

“My hero,” Leigh said with a cheeky wink and darted over to help Isabela rifle the corpses for anything good.

“Not leaking any more?” Isabela asked playfully, shifting so Leigh could crouch next to her.

Leigh snorted. “Not for now, at least.” She tested her range of motion and wiggled her fingers. “Kinda stiff, throbs a little, but I can make it back to Kirkwall without drawing down wolves on us in addition to... whatever these gentlemen were supposed to be.” She rolled the body at her feet on its stomach with her good hand and started checking the pouches around the back of the belt. Nothing more valuable than a small collection of pretty pebbles.

“Good to hear,” Isabela laughed. “I’d rather not have anything to do with wolves if we can help it.”

“Oh, but they’re so pretty t’ watch when they hunt,” Merrill piped up, then wrinkled her nose as she processed the context of the remark. “Though they’d be huntin’ us, I suppose, wouldn’t they? Best to avoid that.”

“My thoughts exactly, kitten,” Isabela said with a wink. It only took a few more minutes of searching for her and Leigh to be satisfied they’d found everything of any value. There wasn’t much; this lot were clearly poor and desperate. (Of course, they’d have to be, to attack such a clearly dangerous group as the four of them.) Pretty baubles, a few coppers, and some rusty weapons were the extent of “treasure” they carried. If the poor bastards hadn’t attacked them first, Leigh would have felt bad about killing them. Under the circumstances, however, sympathy was a little hard to come by. She rubbed at the bandages again and pretended she didn’t hear Aveline sigh.

---

To Leigh’s vast relief, they were not hassled by wolves or anything else on their way back to Kirkwall, despite the setting sun and lengthening shadows. Her arm was starting to really ache, and she wasn’t sure how much help she’d be in a fight. Still, she waved off the others’ concern when they reached the city, insisted they go their own ways. “I think I can make it to Anders’ clinic by myself,” she said glibly when Aveline offered to come with her. She turned a grin toward Isabela and Merrill. “Save me a seat when you get to the Hanged Man? I’ll be over when I’m done.”

“You got it, sweet thing,” Isabela laughed, then looped her arm through Merrill’s as they headed for the tavern.

Aveline hesitated a moment longer; until Leigh made a shooing motion toward the Viscount’s Keep. “Go on, Avs, I know walking Darktown is more exciting than all the paperwork sitting on your desk, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Aveline shook her head and huffed (yet) another sigh. “Just... be careful, Hawke.”

“The very model of,” Leigh promised with a glib wave. “See you around, guard captain.”

Sh waited until she was well out of sight from all of them before rubbing hard at the bandages again, directly over the stinging gash across her bicep. It itched, worse than well, pretty much anything she could remember.

“Good thing it’s not too far to the clinic,” she muttered, balling her hand into a fist as the wound started to throb more pointedly, keeping time with her heartbeat.  “Sooner I take care of this, the better.”

Leigh knew the safest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. She also knew the fastest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. This injury was enough of an annoyance that today she went for speed over safety. She could handle herself, after all, and was very clearly armed. She doubted anyone would fuck with her in the first place, and she’d deal with them if they did.

Still, she kept her eyes open and on her surroundings as she walked, tried not to let her thoughts wander.

It’s a good thing those were just common bandits, still wormed its way through her brain. Skilled as they all were, she was less accustomed to fighting alongside Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill. They’d lacked the synergy she had gotten used to. There were times it was as if she and Fenris read each others’ minds in a fight, they knew Varric’s rhythm and could avoid being skewered by the bolts meant for their enemies, and Aveline had been correct--it was very useful having a healer along.

She missed a step and almost tumbled. Right. No wandering thoughts, Leigh reprimanded herself as she caught her balance. She’d drawn some attention from a knot of hard-faced individuals with her near-fall, but fortunately her cloak hung over the evidence she was wounded. Still, no reason to linger.

Leigh curled her hand around the hilt of a dagger when one of the loungers kept staring her direction a little too long, but the sense of eyes on her faded when she rounded the next corner, so she relaxed her grip. She kept her pace brisk, and the wariness had faded somewhat by the time she passed the [waste] chute that marked halfway. While she didn’t rub the still-itching wound again, she did press her hand over it and bite her lip. The pressure felt good. She’d have to mention that to Anders, see if it meant anything bad he should know about before healing her up.

It was after the next corner everything went to shit. She rounded it too tightly, and her injured arm rammed against the edge precisely where the two walls met. Leigh let out an instinctual yelp at the burst of pain that flared through her arm and set stars dancing behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth to clamp down on it, but the damage was done.

“Need a hand, lovely?” The speaker, a rangy elf with a shaved head and facial tattoos, leaned against the wall and flashed an indolent grin.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Leigh shot back with a decent tinge of snark. “Just tad clumsy.”

“Sure? Darktown’s no place to be wanderin’ alone.” The contrast of the deep red tattoos curving up his cheekbones made the glint in his eyes seem all the more dangerous. And as he spoke, two other figures--another elven man and a human woman--sidled up with a faux-casual air that had goosebumps prickling Leigh’s arms.

“That’s why I’m trying to get it over with, Red-- Can I call you Red?” she said with a cheeriness she didn’t really feel, sizing them up as she spoke. Red had picked his spot well; even leaning against the wall he was close enough to grab her unless she was very fast. The other elf would be in the way if she went for her original path, and the woman now stood just enough to the side she could back up either of her friends handily.

“Oh, a funny one,” Red chuckled, not deigning to comment on her assigning him a nickname. “Y’know, it might go faster--definitely safer--if you hand Cob there” --a nod toward his fellow elf--”all your coin.”

“It might, huh?” Her arm twinged, and Leigh shifted the odds a few points in their favor. Good thing I tend to beat the odds... “If I had any on me, I’d be sure to share it with such a beleaguered innocent as... Cob.” She arched her brows toward the elf. His scraggly blond hair and jaundiced complexion actually did bear passing resemblance to a corncob. “Sadly, I think I left my coinpurse in my other cloak.”

“Bullshit,” the woman snarled, hand drifting to the short-bladed sword. “Who the fuck travels without any money?”

“Me, the fuck,” Leigh returned brightly, shifting just a little. If she got very lucky and timed it just right, she could probably slip away. “But if you don’t believe me, you can look for yourself.”

Her good hand yanked the clasp of her cloak and pulled it free to toss toward Red and the woman as Leigh lunged low and outside past Cob.

He snagged her elbow and tried to hold her back, but she tore free, stumbled a few steps before catching her balance.

Just in time to trip over the booted foot that appeared in front of her ankles. Leigh cursed under her breath and lurched semi-sideways as she was forced to balance again. Her instincts proved good; a pitted blade swung uncomfortably close to her shoulder. She freed one of her daggers with her good hand and spun to parry the next blow. She was just barely fast enough to redirect it into the moldering wall. Her other fist was already swinging after it, and she connected with the female thug’s cheekbone and sent her reeling into Cob. Pain flared in Leigh’s knuckles and up her arm, but at least she’d gained some breathing room--

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled. She jerked sideways and there was a frustrated growl as Red’s swing went wide.

“Amber, Cob, get it together and help me gut this bitch!” he barked as he lunged forward in another swipe at Leigh’s midriff. Apparently he’d meant it literally.

The two of them grumbled as they recovered, glaring at her and circling to pen her in.

Leigh fought back a grimace and ran through her options. What few she had.

She feinted left, then went straight, ramming a shoulder into Cob’s chest and her dagger cutting a shallow scarlet line across Amber’s arm. They pivoted after her quickly, but at least she wasn’t pinned against a wall any more.

Red lunged forward, and even as she parried his dagger, he punched the bandaged portion of her arm. Hard.

Leigh spat a curse and slammed her elbow into his jaw. Her dagger slashed across his cheek as she followed through, and she kicked the inside of his knee for good measure.

Three on one meant no respite, however, and even as she spun away from Red, Amber closed in. Leigh ducked under the blow aimed at her head, but wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the other woman’s buckler. The edge of the small shield caught her in the jaw with a crack.

Leigh ran her tongue over the new cut, tasted copper, and lunged. For Red, not Amber.

None of them were expecting that, and Red’s reflexes were just a little too slow as a result. He didn’t get his blades up in time to parry and Leigh’s dagger sank in the hollow of his collarbone. 

He gave an airless gasp, then a wet cough, and dropped.

Crimson flew in an arc from Leigh’s dagger as it came free and she spun to face the other two. Amber and Cob charged her from opposite directions and she backpedaled, angling to the right and pivoting she she could gouge the back of Cob’s thigh as he passed her.

She didn’t cut deep enough to hit anything vital, but he still toppled with a curse. He lashed out and the pommel of his dagger slammed into the side of her knee.

Combined with Leigh’s momentum, it took her down and sent her rolling into the wall. She banged her head hard enough to see stars, and when they cleared, Amber was standing over her, grip tight on her sword and a sneer curling her lips

She raised the blade even as Leigh scrambled mentally for an out. “You could’ve avoided this if you’d just done as you were tol-”

The gloating words cut off, her shoulders jerking forward as the front six inches of a greatsword emerged from her chest.

“She’s never been good at that,” Fenris said dryly as he pulled his sword free, gaze shifting from the slain thug to Leigh, concern and amusement mingled in his eyes. “despite ample evidence it is not always a bad thing.”

“What can I say, I’m a rebel,” Leigh returned glibly, pushing herself up to a sitting position and leaning her head back against the wall. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Fenris, but where the fuck did you come from?”

He chuckled and let his sword hang loosely in one hand as he offered her the other. “The Hanged Man. I was meeting Donnic for drinks, but Isabela mentioned you’d been injured-”

“And you wanted to check on me?” Leigh teased, grinning playfully as she took his hand. “I’m touched.”

Fenris snorted and hauled her up, so fast it almost felt like flying. “I figured you would head for the clinic,” he corrected. He maintained a steadying grip on her forearm when she wobbled. “I wanted to ensure your safe arrival, knowing what Darktown is like.” He punctuated the words with a glare at Cob. 

“My hero,” Leigh said, with a little more sincerity than when she’d tossed the same words at Aveline. “Normally I’d protest I’m a big girl and can handle myself, but today I think I’ll go with ‘thanks for the rescue’.”

Fenris nodded, then tipped his head toward Cob, who now sat glaring up at them with a hand pressed to the back of his thigh. “And what of him?”

Leigh shrugged, not liking the soreness already settling in her muscles. I really need to see Anders. “Eh, just leave him be.”

“What?!” Cob barked. “You kill my friends, cripple me, and you’re just going to leave?!”

“Hey, you lot attacked me, asshole,” Leigh fired back, grasping Fenris’ arm to hold him back when his markings flickered and he tensed. “After I tried to avoid a fight. You’re lucky I’m not askin’ him to finish you off. My cloak’s somewhere around here; you can have that to patch yourself up. But I need to be on my way. After all, it’s not safe to linger in Darktown.”

She went to make a dramatic exit, and her knee almost gave out. Fenris caught her, pulled her back upright, and only paused to sheath his sword before draping her arm around his shoulders for support.

“Thanks,” Leigh whispered, limping heavily as they walked away.

“You are most welcome,” Fenris replied, in that soft, low murmur that sent warmth curling all the way to her toes. “Let’s get you to Anders.”

---

The rest of the walk was uneventful, which Leigh credited to the protective air radiating from Fenris. Anders was, thankfully, not busy when they arrived and immediately turned his attention to fussing over her. He and Fenris exchanged the occasional sniping remark, as the latter insisted on ‘hovering’ nearby, no doubt concerned about the fresh blood seeping through Leigh’s bandages.

The battering from her alley scuffle was easily healed--and she did mention Cob to Anders, just in case he’d feel inclined to help the man. But Anders frowned when he unwrapped the bandages around her arm. “Hawke, this is from today?”

“Just a couple hours ago,” Leigh nodded. “We were already on our way back to the city, and I headed here soon as we made it. Why-” She turned to look and grimaced at the angry red edges to the wound. “Oh.”

“It’s good you came straight here,” Anders said, then glanced at Fenris. “Well, nearly. There must’ve been something on the blade, deliberately or not.” He murmured a quiet spell, fingers tracing through the air before he laid his hand over the wound.

The spell rolled through her with a cleansing prickle that gave her goosebumps for a minute before fading. But the near-insufferable itching was gone. Anders’ hand flexed again, and healing magic chased the cleansing spell to knit flesh back together.

Leigh’s slumped with relief. “Thanks, handsome,” she winked as she gave that shoulder an experimental roll. “Much better.” All better, there wasn’t even a scar.

“Always happy to help,” Anders said with a tired smile. “Your knee might still be sore,” he cautioned as she started to stand. “You might want to take it easy for a day or two.”

“I will accompany you,” Fenris offered, soon as she’d made it to her feet. “To be safe, of course.”

“Of course,” Leigh chuckled. Her knee seemed alright, but she’d never pass up his company. She thanked Anders again, then she and Fenris headed out.

“Hawke, it’s this way,” Fenris commented when she walked past the turn that would lead back to Hightown.

“I’m going to the Hanged Man, not home,” Leigh said with a smile and a shrug. “Promised I’d join ‘Bela and Merrill. And I can take it easy there just as well as at home.” Better; at the Hanged Man she’d be around people. Friends.

His shoulders tensed, and she could almost see his overprotective instincts winding up, before he relaxed and nodded. “I shall accompany you there, then, instead.”

Leigh snickered. “That worried about me tumbling in a ditch somewhere, are you?” 

“There are plenty to choose from in this city,” Fenris deadpanned. “Or perhaps I wish to offer back up in case anyone is fool enough to attack you.”

“Oh, thank you. Whatever the reason, I’ll happily take your company.”

She hadn’t really meant to say it, no matter how glib her tone,and he clearly didn’t know how to reply, so they walked in almost-awkward silence for a minute.

“So, how many poor sods did you inadvertently terrorize on your way down through Darktown?” Leigh finally asked, playfully nudging his shoulder, before the silence became too much.  

“I... do not know,” Fenris admitted. He glanced at her. “I was too preoccupied to notice.”

Oh. She bit her lip and cleared her throat. “Bet you get turned into a phantom in children’s stories now,” she teased, struggling to make the words light-hearted. “You know, the ghost who’ll snatch them away if they get out of bed in the middle of the night.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” he said dryly, and Leigh couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“It would fit, though,” she said, flashing a mischievous grin. “You glow, you... pass through things--or people, at least.. Practically writes itself. I should tell Varric.”

Fenris groaned, but there was something half-hearted about it, and she caught the smile he tried to hide. “I’m certain he has better things to do.”

“Better, maybe. But not more fun.”

Their easy pace during the conversation had carried them to within a stone’s throw of the tavern, and Leigh paused, turning to rest a hand on Fenris’ arm. “All joking aside, I am truly grateful you came swooping to my rescue.”

Fenris caught her gaze and held it as he took a breath, then slowly exhaled.  “Anytime, Leigh.”

He leaned ever so slightly into her touch, then stepped away and headed inside the Hanged Man. Leigh’s hand curled into a loose fist, and she closed her eyes to take a deep breath before trailing after him.

Isabela and Merrill greeted her cheerfully, and Leigh was all too happy to let their company and the general tavern cacophony distract her from... anything else.

(She caught a glimpse of silver-white hair across the bustling space and hastily focused back on Isabela’s challenge to a hand of Wicked Grace.)

Anyone else. 

[morfinwen]

10 Facts: Lauren, Ian, Aidan, Ash, Avery, Nate, and Elarin, please!

Here’s your 70 (!) facts:

10 Facts about Lauren

1. She gets along best with her oldest and youngest brothers. She doesn't not get along with her sisters (sometimes), but their relationship can best be described as tolerance, and her closest brother Justin enjoys provoking her.

2. At one point she wanted to learn the flute, as it promised to be easier to carry around than the guitar, or the piano. Her parents couldn't afford to buy one.

3. She tried running away from home once at age eight, and considered making another attempt at age ten. Ian talked her out of it.

4. Her entire family, including aunts, uncles, cousins, and her older siblings' spouses and children, came to her college graduation. Almost all of them made it to the party her parents threw afterward. She nearly cried.

5. Lauren is always uncomfortable around her nieces and nephews -- she has four or five of them -- but if anyone made them cry, she'd punch that person in the face.

6. Knows more about comic book characters than her comic-loving brother Justin, thanks to hearing Ian talk about them in grade school, all the time. All. The. Time. 

7. Got a few part-time jobs in retail in high school. She hated it, but it meant she had enough money to buy clothes that weren't hand-me-downs or from a thrift store, so she grit her teeth and kept at it.

8. She still got fired twice for losing her temper with a customer.

9. She got started smoking because her dad is an occasional smoker. He got diagnosed with lung cancer a few years ago. It's in remission, but despite multiple attempts, he hasn't managed to quit yet.

10. Her mother's had three miscarriages, Lauren was old enough to know about two of them. It's a strange concept, having a sibling that didn't even live to be born.

10 Facts about Ian

1. He has a decided type: tall, confident blonde women of principle. He's fallen in love more than once, though he tends to get over it fairly quickly.

2. Thanks to his dad's need to travel for work, he has funky little souvenirs from 48 states. Lauren has none, though she actually traveled out of state in childhood more than once, and Ian only did once he was an adult.

3. Ian theorizes his terrible sense of navigation comes from his mother, after a fashion. She's perfectly fine with directions, she just has an abysmal grasp of time. She's forever arriving half an hour to two hours late or early to appointments, and she will either take half or twice as long doing something as she says she will.

4. He has fond memories of almost two weeks with just his dad at home, when his mom was helping her parents out after her dad had surgery. They ate out almost every night, thanks to his dad being a nightmare in the kitchen, and he never went to bed on time.

5. Her terrible sense of time aside, bedtime is sacred to his mother, and she's fanatical about her son eating his vegetables. She doesn't know about those two weeks.

6. He once tried to start a dog-walking business when he was twelve. It was a terrible idea. No dogs were lost, but it was a near thing.

7. He's the only child of his maternal grandparents' only child, so they -- particularly his grandma -- tend to dote on him. They also know nothing about any children other than their daughter, so it’s not as great a thing as it might sound.

8. He has several aunts, uncles, and cousins on his dad's side, but Ian's only met one of his uncles once. He doesn't know why, exactly, but he's picked up that his dad had a rough childhood.

9. He talked Lauren out of her second attempt at running away completely by accident: he thought it sounded really cool, but all his suggestions just made it clear to Lauren how unfun it would actually be.

10. Regularly listens to the top 40 in the car, more to keep abreast of what's popular than because he likes it, though it has introduced him to some songs/artists he enjoys. He always has to turn off the radio if Lauren's riding with him.

10 Facts about Aidan

1. A big factor in his identity crisis was that, growing up, he didn't fully recognize he wasn't human. It's obvious now, of course.

2. Tried to enlist in 1941, after Pearl Harbor. He ... doesn't know if he actually served.

3. For as long as he can remember, he's always had this sense of where his sister is. It makes him wonder if his mother is dead, or something like it, since he's never been able to sense her.

4. Aidan generally gets along with Nate pretty well. This is surprising -- or, maybe not? -- given that Aidan has a really hard time understanding the concept of death.

5. Aidan has a lot of trouble with certain concepts in general, like that other people need more than 4-5 hours sleep, he should really let people know before he disappears for a few weeks, and that rules about not touching personal property don't just apply to the things he wouldn't touch anyway.

6. Given the things he's willing to do, or has done, some people might think he has no sense of dignity. He does, he just doesn't care that much.

7. The second-least accepting of having Q in the house, mostly out of a sense of loyalty to Nate, the least accepting. It had nothing to do with Q personally.

8. Until he met Ash, he'd never met anyone who had any idea what species he was. It seems incredibly obvious in hindsight.

9. Considers himself a lapsed Episcopalian.

10. When he finally went back to his hometown, nearly fifty years after he'd left, there was almost nothing left of it. It left him with a greater sense of loss than anything had before. Which wasn't a lot -- very little makes Aidan sad for very long -- but it was notable.

10 Facts about Ash

1. Ash's mother did not know her father, grew up with three sisters, and her own mother had two sisters and no brothers. She fully intended on having a daughter. Having a son was a surprise, but one she adapted to quite well.

2. Until he helped his great-aunt with managing her finances, Ash didn't really know how money worked. As it is, he knows how to make the numbers come out right, but that's pretty much it.

3. His grandmother laid down the law in his house, and even her adult daughters were careful to follow every mandate. She was fair, but stern.

4. Appearance-wise, he takes after his father more than his mother's side of the family, though judging by his aunt Iris that's where his height comes from.

5. He's not as close to his aunt Lily as he is to his mother or aunt Daisy, but whenever he was having a bad day he'd sit in her parlor and listen to her play the piano.

6. He knows he has a few cousins on his father's side, but he's never met them. His dad never figured out how to explain to his family that he had a son with the woman that did "work" on his truck once a year, so they don't even know he exists.

7. Since he knows how to manage Lanzo, most people assume he knows him well. He doesn't. He really doesn't. Lanzo just listens to Ash more than others for some reason.

8. Ash gives the best hugs. Everyone agrees on this point.

9. It sometimes baffles him that someone as intelligent as Connie can forget to eat or sleep.

10. His aunt Iris taught him to read poetry and monologues/soliloquies from Shakespeare aloud. He doesn't do it often, but if he needs to distract himself or someone else, or in certain other rare circumstances, it's quite effective.

10 Facts about Avery

1. Despite all the negatives associated with Anders being a former Grey Warden, Avery is honestly relieved that it makes it unlikely they will ever have children.

2. Avery thinks of Merrill as a younger sister, Aveline as an older one, can't imagine a better drinking buddy than Isabela, and has a great deal of admiration for Fenris after everything he's been through. That said, every single one of them gets on her nerves sometimes, and there have been moments where she wished she had never met them.

3. There's a moment in the game where Fenris implies that Avery might feel negatively about mages, after one murdered her mother. I actually spun around in the game to see if i could yell talk to him after that -- no such luck. Fenris was sent home immediately afterward, and didn't hear from Avery for two weeks. He came very close to never hearing from her again.

4. She relives memories in her dreams, sometimes pleasant ones, sometimes not. It makes mornings difficult, either way.

5. She's not much of a reader, but even if she was she'd never touch Varric's novels about her. She knows they're dramatized, but the idea still makes her uneasy.

6. Isabela never came back after stealing the Qunari relic. Avery never would have handed her over to the arishok -- she respects them as intelligent beings, but no further -- but given everything that happened after that theft, she's not sure she could have forgiven Isabela for it.

7. Her Chantry attendance is not very good, and gets worse over time. She believes in the Maker and Andraste and all that, but not with any passion.

8. She knows nothing about healing, her bedside manner is lacking (unless all you want is witty comments), and she's nowhere near methodical enough to handle medicines and supplies, but she helps out Anders' clinic in whatever way she can.

9. Cats are obnoxious, aloof, oversized rats that make her nose run and her eyes water, but if things in Kirkwall had been slightly more settled at any point, she would have let Anders have as many as he wanted. That's how much she loves him.

10. Growing up, her younger brother Carver got on her nerves, constantly. Apart from the guilt she feels over his death, her biggest regret is that they were never able to forge a better relationship as adults.

10 Facts about Nate

1. His dad died when he was seven. He has no particular memories of the man.

2. Has contemplated probably more than a dozen careers, mostly as a kid -- action movie star, paleontologist, professional skateboarder, astronaut, etc. Didn't settle on audio engineering until his sophomore year of college.

3. Loves both of his younger siblings, but he always got along better with his sister (María) than his brother (Víctor). She's very much the sweet, friendly type, whereas his brother is much more competitive and rebellious.

4. Low-key resents both his father and stepfather for never really being there for him, his stepfather moreso, since he at least had a choice about the distance he kept.

5. His stepfather is a mage, which is why Nate's a ghost now. It takes extensive contact with the occult for a human to remain as a ghost after death.

6. He loves his mama, but she was always anxious, particularly about raising her children in a big city, and a bit smothering. That's part of the reason he moved away for college.

7. He's never been religious, and during college all his friends were calling themselves atheists so he did too. While he's angry with any god that would let him die so young, if an all-powerful deity spontaneously generated that bus specifically to run him down, that would be preferable to learning there's nothing after death, and that his afterlife means as little as his actual life.

8. Knows a bunch of random trivia from watching Jeopardy with his siblings -- there were always reruns when it was too early to go to bed but too late to be outside.

9. He's always made friends easily, made more evident by his ability to build relationships with everyone in the house even in the midst of post-death depression.

10. He and his friends were extras in a movie once, as it was filming at their school. If it's ever on TV, he makes sure to watch the scene where they're skateboarding in the background.

10 Facts about Elarin

1. Like her parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and likely even earlier ancestors, she was born in space, on the freighter her parents worked on: her father was a mechanic, her mother worked in security.

2. She had a lot of siblings, older and younger, but she was the only one to be taken by the Jedi.

3. While she never liked being lied to, it wasn't until she learned how much the Jedi had lied to her about who she was that she developed such a hatred for it.

4. People closer than acquaintances can call her Arin. Her childhood nickname was Ella, but only Bastila, Meaghan, and Carth can call her that.

5. She's always viewed orders by authority as "suggestions". It's caused a few problems.

6. Elarin has a very charismatic presence, drawing a lot of attention and winning people over very quickly. She uses it occasionally, but she's never understood why she has it.

7. She's made the attempt more than once, but she's never managed to fully understand why her previous self fell to the dark side. She isn't sure if that's a good or bad thing.

8. While she's brilliant at war strategy, tactics is one of the few things she's neither excellent or terrible at, and during the wars she had to rely on her advisors to help her with them.

9. She can't remember anything about Malak from before, so all she really knows of him is his Darth Malak self. She still feels guilty about her part in that.

10. Because canon is dumb (and not even canon anymore), Elarin did leave after the events of KotOR 1 to investigate things from her past, but she returned not long after the events of KotOR 2. As far as official records are concerned, however, the former Darth Revan never returned from beyond the Outer Rim, fate unknown.

Thanks for asking!

[zmediaoutlet]

whatever we were before

finally posting my masquerade fill! The anon asked for a Dragon Age/SPN crossover, in which Dean is Hawke. I screeched lightly under my breath when I saw it, and delivered. (I hope!)

title: whatever we were before pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E

summary: After the expedition into the Deep Roads, Dean's a rich man. He bought back the ancestral family manor, and he's safe. He's not okay, though, because for all they gained on the expedition--he lost so much more.

(read on AO3)

Kirkwall’s never quiet at night. Dean’s gotten used to it, although it’s a far cry from the farm back home in Ferelden. There, the most he was likely to hear at night was a fox trying to get into the chickens, or Dad coming home soused from the inn, sleeping in the mudroom because he couldn’t work out the lock Dean had built to keep the Templars out. Here, surrounded by people, it feels—he used to think it was crowded, but now it just feels like life, being lived. People always working, the city humming along with each part always moving. He still remembers lying awake at his uncle’s house in Lowtown, that horrible week after they’d first arrived, staring at the ceiling in the narrow room and unable to shut it out—the city, a throbbing entity. He’s glad he can sleep, now. Makes things easier to bear.

His legs have stopped aching, too, after this many months walking up and down the Great Stairs. Isabela says they’ve done great work for his physique; Dean’s just glad his arse and thighs will agree to support him after the long climb from the docks to Hightown. This morning Aveline had guilted him into doing an errand for her, something the city guard should’ve taken care of, but really it didn’t take that much guilting—she and he both knew that he’d be able to do it faster, better, and cleaner, and anyway it was good to get out, into the fresh air. He's moneyed now, and maybe a lordling of a sort, if the Free Marches would only admit that their merchant-princes were no different from the nobility of the south, but still. He’d grown up using his muscles and his mind, and it felt right to be out on the cliffs, salt-spray in his face and his armor settled comfortably on his shoulders, his sword ready at his hip. So. They’d gone out, and he’d—killed. Quite a few. Slavers, they were, and he didn’t feel bad about killing them but the battle had been messy, and he’d had to wash the blood off in the sea, the salt gritting into the crevices of his mail and stiffening the leather. He’s glad he didn’t bring Fenris; there would’ve been so much more blood.

His legs don’t ache, but it feels like every other part does, when he gets to the top of the stairs. The guards at Hightown’s gates nod to him, deferent like they weren’t three years ago, and he doesn’t respond. Pricks, the lot of them, granting respect only for fine clothes and finer real estate. He wishes he’d gotten back hours ago, when he might've blended in to the general throng, but he’s made it a habit to walk his friends home, to make sure they're safe. He saw Merrill back to her little house, and Isabela and Varric back to their inn, and stayed there for a pint or two, celebrating a successful job.

A job—ha. Still how he thinks of it, after all that time of scrambling in Lowtown, trying to put food on the family’s table. He walks the now-familiar streets, slate stones laid down on the neat boulevards the merchants control, and he misses—sort of—yes, he misses the rolled-cobbles and grit of the old neighborhoods, and the wild-grown weeds among the stones by the Hanged Man. Used to the city, but missing the city. He can hear a sarcastic voice in his ear, saying, Dean, that doesn't make any sense, but he ignores it. He’s tired. No energy for misery, not now.

Winchester Manor still has lamps lit in the entry when he comes to the square. Despite everything, his shoulders relax a little, seeing it. He unlocks the door and it’s warm inside, smells of bread baking, and in the time it takes for him to set his sword and shield on their rack in the armory off the entry, Bodahn appears, and pops his head around the corner to say, "Ah, Master Winchester. Good hunting, I trust?"

Dean smiles, and it’s only partly an effort. "Good enough, Bodahn. Send a runner to the palace, to let Aveline know I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon, all right?"

"Very good, sir," Bodahn says, agreeable as always, but then looks at him critically. "I’ll have dinner sent up to your chambers, yes? Sandal will have gotten a bath ready."

Even after years, he’s still not used to servants, but— "Yes," he says, and the relief that washes through him is probably ridiculous, but. "Yes, thank you."

The parlor’s warm enough, but dark, the only light coming from the banked fire. Other than Bodahn and Sandal, the house is always empty. He stands and looks at the great tapestry, the family crest tracing the family down to their father’s name. The embroidery stops there. He licks his lips, looking at the faded silk, and turns away, and trudges up the broad stairs, aware that his boots are tracking the dust and dirt of the lower city on the thick carpets. Sandal will clean it up.

The master room is so big. Bigger than his uncle’s whole house, he thinks. He’s paced it; he’s pretty sure. The fire in here is roaring, and the lamps are lit by the bedside and on the desk, and his armor stand is waiting for him to strip, piece by piece. The chest plate, and the pauldrons, and his gauntlets, and the mail, and the boots, and the leather weskit, and when he’s left in his shirt he shivers, all over, though the room’s more than warm enough. In the corner, by the pushed-aside screen, the bath sits steaming by some magic Sandal’s very proud of and that Dean doesn’t at all understand, but he’s grateful when he sinks down into it. It’s big enough that he can fit his shoulders against one edge and keep his feet below the water on the other, a luxury he’d never imagined as a child and which, still, by every measure, is the greatest advantage of his life as he lives it now. Some kind of fragrant oil scenting the steam—elfroot maybe, or the arbor blessing Bodahn was bragging about acquiring a few weeks ago. Makes the water slip like silk against his skin while the soothing heat works its way past muscle to the bone. Makes it easy not to think, to relax. Finally.

"You look so spoiled," he hears, and he surges up—because—

"Sam," he breathes. He's so sure he’s dreaming, that a desire demon has worked its way into his mind and is showing him some helplessly sought-after vision, that he digs his nails deep enough into his own thigh that he’ll bruise—but Sam’s still standing there, in the doorway. Sam.

"It’s me," Sam says, and—yes. Of course it is. Sam, with dirt on his cheek, and a healed-over scrape under that, and his hair grown long and falling into his eyes. Sam, wearing the uniform of the Wardens just like the last time Dean saw him, studded leather over his chest and the blue-and-white tabard still belted around his narrow waist. Sam, leaning his staff into the corner—a new one, blackened oak and a stone Dean doesn’t recognize—and Sam, walking across the room with his boots thudding into the carpet—and Sam, crouching by the bath, and touching Dean’s cheek, and Dean surging halfway out of the bath and sloshing water everywhere and kissing him, kissing him, because—Sam, here. Here, when Dean had thought—

"It’s me," Sam says again, "Dean, I’m here," and Dean says, "I can see you’re fuckin’ here, Sammy, I—Sam—" and Sam laughs and says, "I know, sorry, I—" and kisses him again, hand cupping the back of Dean's skull and Dean’s hands tight in Sam’s hair and hurting his nails against the leather of Sam’s brigandine because—three years, it’s been three goddamn years and no letters, no word, and Dean hadn’t known—hadn’t had anything beyond hope—that Sam was alive and well at the fortress at Weisshaupt and that he hadn’t met his end by the claws of some darkspawn or a warg or—by all gods, by all faith, Sam.

It’s a while—Dean on his knees in the bath, and Sam kneeling in the puddle he’d made, and their hands locked into each other, and Dean breathing Sam and his smell of the road and rancid sweat and campfires and old blood, and Sam’s forehead against Dean’s and his hair tickling, and the taste of his mouth—his mouth—it’s a while, before Dean’s brain unfogs enough to realize that he’s just holding Sam, and they’re only breathing with their mouths barely touching, and Sam’s stomach is growling. Loud, in fact, and Sam’s nose wrinkles. "Sorry," he says, and Dean says, "You idiot," soft as soft, and struggles up to standing with the water streaming down from his body, and Sam looks up at him for a moment with his eyes dark and almost unfamiliar.

Dean hesitates, water up to his calves, naked. Aware of new scars, ones Sam hasn’t seen—his body, not the one Sam left. Sam stands, then, and Dean blinks. "You’re tall," he says, stupid-sounding even to his own ears, and Sam smiles at him all smug. He was tall already, at twenty—not at all fair, not at all, that he’s gained even more inches, and Dean steps out of the bath and shoves at Sam’s broad chest and fetches his dressing gown off the screen where Sandal always leaves it and tries to muster some kind of dignity as he wraps it around himself.

His dinner’s waiting on the sideboard outside his room, as always—Bodahn overly respectful of his privacy, as always—but it’s good, now, not to have to see anyone else, not to have another person interrupt. He turns with the tray and Sam’s unfastening his brigandine, slinging it untidily on the ground and wrestling his tabard over his chest so he’s left in his weskit and linen shirt and trousers, his boots still carrying gods know how many miles of mud, and he sniffs and says, "Is that stew?" all hopeful, and oh, oh, it’s Dean’s little brother, home.

He still eats like a teenager. Dean pours wine for both of them, watches Sam tear into the bread and meat like he’s starving. "Don’t they feed you at Weisshaupt?" Dean says, rhetorical, and Sam rolls his eyes and takes his goblet and gulps the wine down, gasping. "Oh, that’s—fantastic," he says, and takes a slower draught, eyes closed, and Dean watches him with his heart surging so high he’s surprised Sam can’t see the throb of it, in his throat and wrists and gut. Sam’s got days of not shaving thickening his stubble almost to a beard, and he tucks his hair behind his ears but it keeps falling forward, unruly. Without the Warden uniform he’s big, broad. Muscles thick in his shoulders, his arms, like they weren’t when he was a boy and he’d complain about having to help Dean on the farm, about training with a short sword, whining that he had magic and I’ll just throw a fireball at the darkspawn, Dean, and back then Dean could still cuff him over the head and drag him into Dean’s armpit and say yeah, but I’m in charge, and you're not allowed to throw a fireball at me, so—

Feels like a lifetime ago. Sam scrapes the last piece of bread around his bowl, sopping up the rich gravy, and then slumps back in his chair, sighing. "Long time since I’ve had food like this," he says, and Dean wants to ask—has so many questions. When was it, he wants to know, and where have you been, and are you okay—are you okay, the only question that matters, and he can’t face asking it right now with Sam sated and warm and here, here, and Sam’s eyes slit open and he looks at Dean, then, steady.

"What," Dean says, when it’s been too long without talking.

Sam smiles, brief. "What," he echoes, and seems right then—older than Dean, decades older—but he just leans forward and hooks his hand into the hollow of Dean’s bare knee, squeezes. Dean’s skin shivers in shock, all over, and Sam smiles deeper then, dimples carving into his cheeks. "I want—" Sam says, and shakes his head, and laughs under his breath. "Too much."

Dean takes a deep breath. "You reek," he says, and Sam huffs and looks down, as though Dean were saying it like a complaint.

"Yeah," Sam says, and pushes back from the table and strips bare. Bare, right there, in their ancestral home, until he stands naked with his feet on the carpet, linens and leathers piled stinking next to him, and he raises his eyebrows at Dean like a challenge and then walks back across to the bath and steps in, sinks down. Still hot, through that enchantment, and Dean watches dry-mouthed as the steam rises, as Sam slips his hands along his skin. He has scars, too. He’d never had much interest in healing magic. Welted-white lines on his arms, and an ugly twisting thing on his chest. The bite-mark, from the darkspawn, which sent him to the Wardens in the first place.

He rinses off the scented soap, splashes his face with the fragrant water, scrubs his scalp. The hair on his chest and in his armpits and at his groin has blackened with wet, and he runs a hand over his head, pushing the wet hair back from his face and looking at Dean while he does it, and Dean says, finally, "Sammy, you’re killing me," in a voice he doesn’t recognize. Sam smiles at him and gets up out of the bath in a surge of dripping water and meets Dean in the middle of the room and kisses him again, leaning down this time with his hands cupped around Dean’s ears, all the long wet of him soaking into Dean’s dressing gown but it’s—it’s okay, it’s better than okay.

The bed’s so big. So much bigger than any they ever had, when they were kids. Sam leans over him still dripping, his hair hanging down around Dean’s face and his shoulders blocking out the firelight. He pushes a hand into Dean’s gown, pets down his chest—his stomach—and Dean doesn’t know why it’s a shock when Sam grabs up his dick but it is, it is, and Dean grips Sam’s shoulders and shudders, bites his lip. "Yeah," Sam says, soft, sweet like he used to be, sometimes. When they were kids in the wheat fields, and hiding in the summer from chores Dean should’ve been making them do, and Sam asked soft for a kiss and Dean didn’t, couldn’t, say no. Sam noses against his cheek, smelling like herbs, and he says, "I missed you," gripping Dean hard and knowing. Different, to how it was, and in the grip Dean feels whoever Sam’s been with in the time between, and shoves his hips up, groaning. Sam kisses below his ear and says, "Dean, I—missed you, so much," and Dean makes a strangled noise he’ll be embarrassed by later and pushes Sam over, because new height and muscle or not, Dean’s the big brother here, and he ends up with Sam under him, tanned and young and beautiful, and staring at him like—like Dean doesn’t know, but he leans down and kisses him because he has to, he has to, because if he doesn’t he’ll say crazy things, things he doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear, much less for Sam to hear—

Sam groans, grips at his arms, pushes his hips up. Oh—oh, Sammy’s dick, and that hasn’t changed, big and urgent and pressing against Dean’s thigh. Sam unties his dressing gown, somewhere in the shadows between them, and grips at Dean’s ass, tugging him in tight. Ah—and that, that is like being a teenager again, Sam grasping and desperate. He pushes his dick against Sam’s tight belly, makes a noise. "Sam," he says, stupid, and Sam grips his hips and tilts and his dick slides up between the cheeks of Dean’s ass, solid, bulling.

"Oh," Sam breathes, against his mouth, and drops his head back to the pillow, wet hair spread out around his face. He blinks at Dean, while he pumps his hips—sawing back and forth, damp and threatening, while Dean breathes open-mouthed and stares down at him. His dick throbs, trapped against Sam’s belly. "Have you—" Sam says, and bites his lower lip, and shakes his head. "How long? Can we—"

How long. Dean remembers that morning in exact, perfect detail. Varric had said to meet in the square at noon and so that left hours, hours, and he’d woken at dawn and washed himself, red-faced and hoping his uncle would have the usual hangover that kept him abed well past the two o’clock hour. Then he’d come to Sam in the tiny mud-spattered room they shared and woken him with a finger to his lips and they’d—all morning, while the city churned just outside the thin walls, and the appointed hour crawled closer. He’d fucked Sam, and Sam hadn’t come and had pushed him over onto his belly after he was done and fucked him right back, just as Dean had known he would, and he’d kissed all over Dean’s shoulders and covered his back and said, take me, and Dean had known Sam meant into the Deep Roads, and Dean had said no, Sammy, shaking, wanting—it’s too dangerous, come on, and Sam had pushed into him and trapped Dean’s wrists against the blanket covering their awful straw-tick pallet and said against his ear, I’m coming, like it was already decided, and Dean had shuddered and come again, and he’d shown up at the square with Anders at his left shoulder and Sam at his right, smug, and Varric had shrugged and said, don’t slow us down, short stuff, to Sam, and the night before Sam got bitten by a darkspawn Sam had looked at him from his bedroll inches away in the camp and smiled, happy—unaccountably happy, like Sam almost never was.

Sam swallows, in the face of Dean’s silence. "Really," he says, but not like he’s asking. He grips at Dean’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart, dragging him in so his dick smears wet all over Sam’s stomach, and then lifts up on one elbow and kisses Dean—soft, soft, lips pulling slow and easy, like a winter morning with only snow outside and no responsibility to anyone but this.

No one could ever be what Sam was, to Dean. He’s screwed around with Isabela, a few times, deep in their cups at the Hanged Man and nothing waiting for either of them, but it meant nothing—she slapped his ass when he was done and said well done, soldier, and he laughed, and left her there and didn’t think about it outside of that room. Once, with Fenris, when they were so piss-drunk on wine he didn’t even remember what had happened, other than an impression of lyrium-brightness, and a mouth on his throat. Not something they’ve spoken of since. He doesn’t know what Sam’s done, at Weisshaupt or on the roads between here and there, and he doesn’t care because what matters is that Sam’s in his bed. Whether Sam will be here in the morning, whether he’s deserted or if there’s some other quest waiting, some new hardship that’ll sweep them both away—he can't think about that, right now. Not when he has this in front of him.

"Do it," he mumbles, his mouth pressed against Sam’s shoulder, and feels Sam shudder, all against him. He wants it—wants the hurt, like that first time when Sam was sixteen and they’d hidden in the woods behind the Chantry, fumbling—he’s a warrior, he knows from pain, and having Sam is the kind that’s worth it.

Sam shakes his head, though—shakes his head, and smears his mouth against Dean’s throat, lips dragging, says—"I want—" and flips them, surge of muscle, and descends to get his lips on Dean’s dick, going down so fast that he chokes, and Dean’s legs seize and draw up but Sam’s shoulders are wide enough to keep them apart and he’s left arching, shocked, body seizing. Oh—this, this—nights in their room at home, learning each other while Dad was gone, Sam daring to make spark-lights above their heads, the magic just enough to see the way Sam’s cheekbone stood out above the hollowed dark of his cheek—and now, the firelight setting Sam’s hair to auburn where it’s half-dried and standing out messy around his head, and the steady practiced working of his tongue, and the gliding silk of his cheek when he lets Dean’s cockhead push against it. Dean’s balls clutch up, too fast. Sam knows, somehow—pulls back, gasping, spit connecting him to Dean’s dick in a sloppy string that he licks up only after a second hanging there—and he looks at Dean up the stretch of his torso, pink burnt into his cheeks and patchy on his chest, want in his eyes. Want, and nothing else, and Dean thumbs over the wet dark of his lips and holds his jaw, and Sam leans in still watching him and suckles at the head, sparky jolting pressure crushing up in Dean’s gut and balls and in his fingertips, his toes curling, and Sam closes his eyes and goes down, his hand on Dean’s stomach like a ton weight, his hair brushing Dean’s belly, his mouth warm, and Dean—

It’s only after, that Dean works up the courage. When Sam’s spilled over his stomach and Dean’s cleaned them both up, haphazard, with the skirt of his dressing gown. With wine still in the bottle, while they pass it back and forth between them, and the fire gilding amber light over Sam’s shoulders. He meets Dean’s eyes and they both laugh, for what reason Dean doesn’t know but it feels good, right. Sam’s mouth is curled still at the corners, and Dean rolls close and drags his thumb along Sam’s ribs, where they used to stand out against the hungry pit of his belly, and says, before he can chicken out, "Gonna stay, Sammy?"

He doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear the answer, but he needs to hear it. Sooner, rather than later, so he’ll know if he can rest now, or if he needs to plan for a sleepless night of taking in every single ounce of Sam that he can—every story, every kiss. Every ounce of blood it’ll take to last more years, without him. If he even can.

Sam sighs, and settles his hand on Dean’s hip. "I ran," he says, very quietly. Dean looks at him and Sam’s watching his face. "We went on patrol, into the Anderfels, and I slipped my commander and stole a horse and rode. East, as far as I could go before the horse went lame, and then I kept going." Sam shrugs, with one shoulder. "There’s a lot of east, between the Anderfels and the Free Marches. But I didn’t stop."

Dean breathes, shaky, imagining. The world opening up, when it's been so long of his compacted, empty nothing. Okay. Hiding Sam from the Wardens—and his neighbors—and what they’ll do. How they'll live—will they have to run? He doesn't know, and realizes after so long of grinding to get to this place, he doesn't care. The house doesn't matter, the city doesn't matter. Nothing has mattered, without Sam.

Sam’s still watching him, eyes dark, and Dean reaches out and tucks his hair back from his forehead, pushing it behind his ear. "You’ll have to tell me about Orlais sometime," he says, and Sam smiles at him.

"Bunch of cheese-eaters," he says, leaning in close like it’s a secret, and Dean laughs, soft and tired and feeling, for the first time in three years, like he’s whole.

[trvelyans-archive]

“so.”

varric’s voice is as loud and booming as ever, as if he’s announcing something to a crowd of invisible spectators. if she watches him closely enough she can see him piecing together the sentences behind his eyes - he’s always spinning a story, always playing along with a narrative, always using the words to match. it’s how he hooks people in. 

that damned tethras man and his charming tethras tongue. absolutely irresistible.

“tell me if you’ve heard this one before,” he begins, a playful glint in his small eyes. “there’s this woman. and she’s the loudest, wildest person anyone will ever meet - the savior of the damned, a legend in the making. and she knows too many people for her own good, and too many people know her - a golden-haired mage, a brooding elf, a wide-eyed dalish, and a dashing pirate. and, at one point or another, they all fall for her...” his hands fall to his side from where they were suspended in the air, inviting her to bask in the web he was spinning, and his face softens in earnst. “and yet she picks the humble, lowly dwarven storyteller who follows her around and notes her every movement, her every word.”

“that’s hardly a story. the only thing fictional thing about that is you insinuating that you’re in any way humble,” hawke quips, arms crossed over her chest, shoulders squared. she can’t help but play along with his little game. she couldn’t stop herself if she tried. 

“i am humble,” varric corrects. “i’ve been forced to be humble, down in the dirt after my brother betrays me... and my knight in shining armor shows up, lifts my spirits. but i’m still hesitant to tell her how i feel because i don’t want to get hurt again...”

“oh, is that why?”

“’course it is.” his nod is astute. “mutual, unspoken pining between two best friends makes for the best stories. those are the ones that sell the most. people love a good tragedy.”

“well, what just happened could definitely be described as a tragedy,” she grumbles, the gleam in her eyes suddenly cast over by a darkened expression. not even their game can distract her from the purpose of their excursion out to the coast; not even varric’s winning smile can make her forget the heavy pack on her shoulders, weighed down with all the supplies she needs to survive away from the city. “just look at the damn state i left kirkwall in.”

varric makes a move to respond - his opens his mouth, takes a step closer to her, reaches to grab her hand. and then he stops. mind going blank, shoulders sagged in defeat, he doesn’t know what to say. for the first time ever - for the first time with hawke - he doesn’t know what to say.

he’s varric. he’s always supposed to be nearby with a joke and an ambivalent shrug of his shoulders. but nothing feels like it’d fill the silence.

so he laughs - an uneasy, choked out thing, caught in his throat, cracking in the middle like a tree branch underfoot, and says with as much muster as he can manage, “well, that... wasn’t, uh, entirely your fault, you know, hawke.”

“it was.” her words are harsh and clipped and bitter. “it was, because i’m the one paying the price for it. leaving everything behind...”

she meets his gaze and her heart breaks. “leaving you behind.” 

“hawke...”

“i know we’ve never said it, but -”

“and we don’t have to,” varric interrupts, closing the distance between them and grabbing her hands in his as he directs his eyes upwards. “you’re gonna come back, hawke. ten months or ten years, you’re going to come back. and when you do, i’ll be here, waiting...”

“pining?” she suggests, sniffling and bringing her forearm up to her nose to wipe it. the tears came quickly - they don’t have enough time left for them to come slowly.

“yeah, sure, pining,” he replies, laughing as he brings a calloused thumb up to smudge a tear against her cheek, not bothering to pay attention to the ones on his own. “if that’s what you want, then yeah. pining. pining after the most beautiful, most wild woman that thedas has ever seen.”

“you promise?”

“i promise, hawke.” his voice lacks volume, lacks conviction - there’s no lies to spin, no plot twist to devise. he’s here, with hawke, open and honest and aching for her, and there’s nothing false or fictional about it. “i’ll never stop waiting for you. no matter what.”

she crumples to her knees, gathering his small frame up in her arms. “i love you,” she whispers into his ear. one of his legs is caught between hers, and her hands never stay one place too long, roaming across the plane of his back - their embrace is desperate and messy and twitchy, completely with hoarse laughter and quiet sobs and thick tears staining dusty fabric. no one likes desperate and messy, varric thinks, but he needs it. in this moment, it’s the only thing he needs. the only thing he wants. ugly. because nothing real is ever very pretty.

“i -” he chokes out a sob, catches her hair between his teeth as he opens and closes his mouth in his best attempt to reply without crying. “i l-love you, too, hawke. shit.”

when she draws away, she presses a kiss to his lips. it is bright and pure and intoxicating, and for one moment he forgets everything in the world besides her lips on his - he forgets anders, and aveline, and grand enchanter elthina and knight commander meredith and all of the shit that went wrong in kirkwall. all he thinks about - all he can think about - is the wet, soft sound hawke’s mouth makes as her lips retreat from his and then, before either one of them can say anything else, come in for another dose. 

his mind is reeling, and his thoughts are spinning. he can’t and he’ll never be able to find the words to describe how hawke feels against his body, beneath his hands. how much he’ll miss her.

when finally their kiss ends, they linger in the moment for as long as they can, eyes half-closed in a refusal to admit that a world exists outside of the two of them. then she grabs one of his hands in hers and presses a red strip of cloth into his open, empty palm and curves his fingers around it.

“take this,” she insists. “wear it everyday. in your hair, on your finger, around your neck, whatever. a token from me for my knight in shining armor.” 

varric squeezes his eyes shut. it’s too soon. it’s ending too soon. “hawke...”

“i love you,” she repeats. it sounds natural, easy, like she’s said it thousands of times before even though she hasn’t. if only she did. if only she had the chance to. “i love you,” she says again, her voice a whimper.

when he opens his eyes, she’s gone.

he takes a moment to recuperate. blinks the tears from his orange eyelashes, sucks the rest of his snot up his nostrils and swallows it. everything is ugly, and awful, and vile, and he bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying again, tying the red ribbon around his right wrist as tight as he can with one hand. when he’s looped it around enough for it to hold, he takes the end of it between his teeth to secure it. but suddenly it’s close enough to his nose that a familiar scent floods his senses, and he realizes - it’s the piece of fabric that hawke uses to keep her hair out of her face.

it’s what she used to use. 

varric sighs. he bends over to grab his own pack, swings it up on his shoulders, and starts towards the speck in the distance that is what remains of kirkwall.

it’s when he gets back to the hanged man and sits down in front of his blank pages that he realizes this isn’t a story for anyone else to read. no one will want to read it. people don’t like happy endings, and this story is going to have one. so he puts his ink and quill away and for the first time, picks up the unused papers on his desk and rips them to shreds.

---  

light streams through the gap in the hallway outside the war room. hawke’s back is pressed against the wall, her sword tall and present and threatening even though it’s wedged in between her and the stone, and varric realizes she looks like a hero, like she could be on the cover of a book. but her head is tilted towards varric, a playful, loving smile on her lips, and that would draw in no one else like it draws in varric.

“so... they don’t know about... us?” she asks. her gaze flickers towards the door as she shifts uneasily, looking all too well like she’s trying to keep a dirty, shameful secret, and varric almost laughs.

but he assuages her fears instead, fears that are well-earned. “nah,” he responds with a wave of his right hand. “figured that’d be a story best kept between us. i don’t think anyone else would really enjoy it.”

“well... i think that you’re right.” 

she grins at him. though her hair is different, her skin is more tanned, her muscles are bulkier beneath her armor and her shoulders are more broad, she has the same grin she’s always had, the same one that makes him weak in the knees. he stutters for a moment, taken off-guard by her, and she takes the opportunity to snag his hand and start off down the hallway, away from the yelling between the advisers inside the war room.

“i don’t think i remember much of the last chapter,” she tells him over her shoulder, arching her eyebrow suggestively. “you might have to remind me.”

by the time they reach the great hall, she’s pulling him along only by the end of the red ribbon adorning his wrist. there’s still a long walk back to his quarters - their quarters, since the moment she arrived in skyhold this morning - and he can barely wait to touch her again and to kiss her again, to re-familiarize himself with her lips. but he’ll wait. this is something he’ll want to keep private.

“good thing i have a great memory,” he replies, saying and doing no more until she kicks open the door to his room and closes it securely behind them.

---

varric has barely passed through the veil when the vomit is already spewing from his mouth. everything is fucking backwards and upside down - his vision is blurry, his head is heavy, and his limbs ache from exertion worse than they’ve ever ached before. he’s just finished retching as the inquisitor stumbles through the tear in the fade. stroud comes out hot on their heels, his brow line with sweat, sword glinting in the pale desert moonlight.

varric blinks rapidly to clear his vision - once, twice, then three times, then four. and he stops, eventually, finally, chest still heaving as he takes a step closer to the inquisitor.

“where’s hawke?” he asks. 

the inquisitor gives him no more of an answer than a shake of their head, and varric falls to his knees, crossbow clanging to the ground and sounding all too well like the cover of a book slamming shut.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Inquisitor as a Companion - Banter Edition: Tash

From @dextronoms‘ template. For Ataashi Adaar.

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts: “Keys that open more than locks, lands beyond the sky and past the sea. Thoughts that aren’t mine, fiery and frigid, flying free through the Fade.”

Comment(s) on Mages: “Well, people should be free, shouldn’t they? Making people be afraid of mages only makes the problem worse.”

Comment(s) on Templars: “I thought the Templars were supposed to help protect mages. I’m sure there are still some out there who are trying to.”

When looking for something: “Hmmm. Do you feel that? I feel something.”

When finding a campsite: “This ground looks pretty soft. Do you think it’d be a nice spot for a camp?”

When the Inquisitor Falls: “No, not you too! Hold on!”

When they are low on Health: “Um... a little help here, please?”

When they see a Dragon: “Oh, dear. That’s a big one. Can we find another way? Please?”

When during their small side quest: “Oh, oh! Another flower! Can we pick this one?”

Default saying: (cheerily): “Hello!”

Low approval: “I’m a little busy right now. What is it?”

Travel Banter with Canon Companions of your choice:

Cole: I don’t understand you. You hurt, but the remembering makes you hurt less. Isn’t it better to forget?

Tash: Not always. The more I remember what I’ve lost, the more I can treasure the good times that I got to have!

Cole: ‘Tiring tears, but tears that cleanse the soul.’ I still don’t understand.

Tash: Neither do I, much.

Cole: *hums *’Sera Was Never’* ‘Cole, I think you’re wonderful.’ Y-you do?

Tash: Mmm-hmm. You help so many people, me included.

Cole: ‘Warm and soft beside me, keeping me safe with strong arms like my brother used to.’ It helps you?

Tash: Yup. I wanted to thank you, but I don’t know what to get you.

Cole: This is enough.This... helps.

Tash: Ser Blackwall? I heard you once participated in the Grand Tourney.

Blackwall (warily): Yes? What of it?

Tash: I loved the Grand Tourney! My brother used to take me every year to see the melee! Was it fun? Did you make a lot of friends?

Blackwall: *chuckles* Well, I wouldn’t say friends, but there was this one barmaid that I- never mind.

Tash (dreamily): You must have looked so brave... I wish I could have been there.

Iron Bull (if present): Hah, look at him blush!

(After Revelations)

Tash: Ser Blackw- uh, Raini- ahem, Blackwall?

Blackwall (darkly): You shouldn’t be talking to someone like me. I’ve already ruined your innocence enough.

Tash: All right. Can I say just one thing, though?

Blackwall: *grunts*

Tash: I still admire you for the good things you’ve done. It doesn’t make up for or excuse what you did, but you’ve brought some good into the world. Isn’t that something you can be proud of?

Blackwall: *silence*

Tash: Okay. Just a thought. (brightly) By the way, can you still teach me how to whittle? I wanna make myself a chess set with special pieces!

Blackwall: All right. As you wish. I’ll see you in the stables when we get back to Skyhold.

Tash: Yay!

Tash: Thank you, Solas.

Solas: Hmmm? Whatever for, da’len?

Tash: Last night. I was having a nightmare, and you saved me. And then you introduced me to Ghil-Dirthalen in the library. Don’t you remember? Or was it just a regular dream?

Cole (if present): “Of course it happened in your head, but why should that mean it is not real?” Who’s thought is that?

Solas: *chuckles* It was a but a dream, child. You do not have to thank me.

Cole (if present): “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live...”

Tash: Solas?

Solas: Yes?

Tash (in Elvhen, haltingly): Is this proper? I have been understanding in the Fade. I wanted to shock you with my knowledge.

Solas (in Elvhen, quickly): Very good, child. Your pronunciation is exceptionally awful, and your vocabulary could be improved, but I congratulate you on the effort.

Tash: Wait - you went too fast! What - what did you say?

Solas: *laughs* I said that it is wonderful, and that your studies are obviously going well.

Tash: Really? Yay!

(Before his companion quest is complete)

Iron Bull: You’re gonna want to slow down, Imekari. I’ve seen you run before. No one wants to see you trip and fall.

Tash: Please don’t call me that. Qunlat doesn’t bring up very many happy memories for me.

Iron Bull: Oh really? Why’s that?

Tash (softly): I don’t remember my mother well, but when my magic appeared early I remember she took me and tried to give me to Ben-Hassrath agents. When my father tried to intervene, she tried to kill me, and the last thing she said to me was “Katara, imesaar-bas!” I’m not entirely sure what it means, but I don’t think I want to find out.

Iron Bull: ...Crap.

Tash: The Iron Bull?

Iron Bull: Yeah?

Tash: What do you think I’d have been under the Qun - you know, if I didn’t have magic?

Iron Bull: Why?

Tash: Just for fun. 

Iron Bull: You’ve got a weird idea of fun, kid. All right... you’d be a Tamassran, hands down. You take care of people, even without meaning to. And you’re observant. You’d be a good teacher, and be able to categorize your charges into jobs.

Tash: But aren’t Tamassrans all women?

Iron Bull: You’d be made aqun-athlok. If you were better suited to a Tamassran’s duty than anything else, that is.

Tash: I think you’re wrong. I couldn’t force people to do something, just because I think they’d be good at it.

Iron Bull: You wouldn’t have much of a choice.

Tash: How is that any better than being a slave?

Iron Bull: And that’s why you should be glad you’re not under the Qun.

Tash: Believe me, I am.

Vivienne: Ataashi, darling.

Tash: Oui, madame?

Vivienne: You have an exceptional level of control over your magic for a non-Circle mage of your age. Might I inquire as to whom your tutor was?

Tash: Um, I didn’t have any, Madame Vivienne. I learned by myself.

Vivienne: On your own? How did you avoid becoming an abomination?

Tash: Well, my brother and fathers helped a lot. They always calmed me down whenever I was upset. There’s very little demons can do to tempt you when you feel so loved. Of course, I did nearly burn the house down a few times, but we played those off as baking accidents.

Vivienne: Indeed? Well, darling, if you ever desire proper instruction, my door is open to you.

Tash: Thank you very much, Madame.

(After Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts)

Vivienne: I am pleased that you decided to become a Knight-Enchanter, Ataashi dear. You are well-suited to the title.

Tash: Thank you very much! It’s always fun to learn.

Inqusitor (if they are a Knight-Enchanter): I could do with less shouting from Commander Helaine, though./It does pay off, doesn’t it?

Vivienne: Why, in the end, did you decide to go through with it?

Tash: Well, it’s all about how people see us, isn’t it? Mages, I mean. I thought, if people could see a mage helping people, swinging a shining golden sword, maybe it would help them be less afraid of us.

Vivienne: How very astute. ...I have a gift for you, Ataashi, to commemorate the completion of your studies. I had this ring commissioned for you.

Tash: Wow... it’s so pretty... but, why would you do that for me?

Vivienne:(If Vivienne was brought to the Winter Palace): Because you are my protege, my dear. How would I look if I hadn’t accessorized you even slightly? Don’t you think you deserve a mark of status befitting the apprentice of the First Enchanter?

(Otherwise): It is a mark of friendship, my dear, and of allegiance. The Circle will need allies after these frightful times, and I believe that you can help the rebel mages see that they must think beyond themselves.

Tash (If Vivienne or Cassandra leads in points for the Divine Election): I think that I just might. Thank you for this, Madame Vivienne.

(If Leliana leads): I don’t know about that, but if you think so, Madame, then I thank you for the gift. I’ll treasure it always.

Vivienne: You are quite welcome, my dear. 

Varric: Hey, Dimples. ...Dimples? You alright?

Tash (crying): I’m not talking to you right now.

Varric: What’d I do?

Tash: I was reading Swords and Shields, and you killed off the chevalier’s squire! I thought he and the barmaid were going to run away together and have a happy ending! How could you do that to them? Why couldn’t you let them just be happy?

Varric (exasperated): It’s a story, kid! If nothing bad happened, it wouldn’t be interesting!

Cassandra (if present): That doesn’t answer the question, dwarf.

Tash: It’s just such a waste! I mean, what about the squire’s missing brother? I was sure it was going to be the duke! Then he and the barmaid could be together and rich!

Varric: I -ah - I had kind of forgotten about that subplot... Damn, that’s actually pretty good. What else did you think?

Tash: Don’t even get me started about Hard In Hightown! You know what? I don’t know if I can talk to you about this right now...

Varric: Then talk to me about it when I have my notes. I’d like to hear what other complaints you have...

(After Here Lies the Abyss is complete)

Varric: Hey, Dimples?

Tash: Yes, Varric?

Varric: I wanted to let you know, you’ll have a home after all this is over. You can come back to Kirkwall with me.

Tash: R-really?

Varric: Yeah. We’ll put you up in Hawke’s house: nobody’s using it right now anyway/ I’m sure s/he won’t mind. 

Tash: That sounds nice. But what would I do all day?

Varric: You could answer all the mail I get from the Merchants’ Guild - or, I don’t know, you could work for Aveline - I know how much you like paperwork, and how much she hates it.

Tash: You would do that for me?

Varric: ‘course, Dimples. You’re family now.

Tash (sniffling): Thank you, Varric. If we weren’t out in the open, I’d hug you right now.

Varric: I know. Why do you think I waited until now to tell you?

Friendship?: “Hello, friend! Can I do anything for you?”

Leaving the Inquisition: “I guess I was wrong about you. I hope you defeat Corypheus; I just can’t be a part of that if you’re there. Goodbye - forever.”

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 12 - Comedy

Summary: Sometimes to get out of your head, you need to  get out of the house. Avery Hawke needs to get out of her head. Luckily, Moses Hawke has two tickets to the best show in Kirkwall. There’s nothing like a good play, especially when your friend wrote it using you as plot details.

---

Light was a bitch.

“Ugh, what the fuck?!”

“We're going to be late if you don't get up.”

Moses' deep voice did terrible, awful things to Avery's head as she sat up in bed, eyes mere slits against the onslaught of morning light. A certain someone had throw the curtain open, exposing the bright sunshine that often came after rain in Kirkwall. Maybe it was being extra bright to spite her – like her mother had gotten in touch with the weather gods.

That was just like Leandra. What a bitch.

Avery's head was pounding like a war drum as she tried to put the pieces together. “The only thing I care about being late for is breakfast, so unless you have some leave me alone.”

“Not my fault you drunk yourself into a stupor last night.” Her pants were thrown on the bed, landing on Chewy's massive back. “Now, hurry up and get dressed. It starts in a half hour and you look awful.”

She shot him a blank look as she groped for her pants. Again, he hadn't answered her as to what they were going to be late for and why pants were so crucial. They weren't her normal pants either under closer inspection – no blood stains, no patches.  

“Where are we going that I have to put legit pants on?”

Moses was already heading for the door, but he looked over his shoulder. “The play based on Hard in Hightown is debuting today. Varric got us tickets.”

Off went her pants so fast they were a blur.

It took Avery a few seconds to get changed  with a speed that even her friends at the Rose could have been proud for. There were then another few to run a brush through her tangled hair and set it right. The water she splashed on her face caused her to shudder, but it sharpened her senses dulled by sleep and a little too much alcohol. All she had left to do was put on her shoes, and she'd be ready to go.

“Shit, what are we waiting for? Let me up already!”

Moses allowed her to hop onto his shoulders after they had passed the door frame. Chewy, on the other hand, stayed in bed. No dogs at the theater. Besides, she seemed more than happy to sleep away the rest of her day. Might as well let her enjoy it – who knew when they would have fun?

“I believe we were waiting for you.” He wrinkled his nose and stopped by his room. “You still kinda stink like ale. Did you sleep in it?”

Avery blushed, but accepted his minor fixes before they left the house. “I'm gonna be honest, I have literally no memory of it.”

It had to be a lot, judging by how her head was pounding and how many empty bottles had been gathered in the trash when they left the house. Maybe she should've been embarrassed by that, but the persisting hangover was helping dull that feeling.

Hooray for hangovers. Wait...

---

“Now, are you going to talk?”

“Or what, you'll beat me up? Bring it on, tin can.”

Was this supposed to be a comedy, because Avery was fucking dying.

It was a good thing she and Moses had wound up with seats in the very back – their sound couldn't carry well there. Up in front, there were plenty of more serious people enraptured by the events unfolding on the stage before them.

To them, it was art. To the Hawkes, it was a Tuesday half a year ago.

“I can't believe he kept the fucking tin can line, I spat that out with a concussion!” Avery snickered into her hand as she leaned hard against Moses' side. “Fuck, at least I've got better tits in this one. Thank you, Varric.”

Moses wasn't showing it, but she could read him enough to know he was just as amused. “We make good henchmen.”

“Damn fucking straight we do!” Avery had to stifle another laugh as the man playing Guardsman Donnen prepared to attack. “Maker's balls, he's telegraphing it to when we actually did this fight! Even the real Cullen would see this one coming!”

True, stage fighting and actual brawling were two different concerns, but fuck if she cared; remember, hungover. The fighters on stage looked more like disorganized children from where she and her adopted brother sat, running commentary under their breath. For some reason, Varric hadn't found anyone to take the seats directly around them.

It was like he knew what magnanimous assholes they could be.

“The real Cullen can't dodge to save his life.” Moses let out a hiss of air that was definitely not a laugh as a fountain of 'blood' erupted on stage. “Though apparently his acting counterpart is quite the blood mage.”

Avery double over, shaking with mirth. “Fuck, I love that crazy dwarf bastard. Remind me to buy him a round next time we see him in the Hanged Man!”

Judging from how much blood was gushing from the man's proper armor, she might have to make that a double for imparting a new classic on the literary world. It was worth it for the shocked gasped down below, almost as painful sounding as it was to keep from out and out barking in laughter.

Oh, she loved the theater so much.

“Shh, shh, here comes Aveline to clean things up.” Moses waved his hand as Donnen advanced. “Not that she ever actually does that. Half the time she almost hits me with that damn shield of hers.”

Avery nodded, cheeks still puffed from the effort of holding in her mirth. “I keep telling her, shields are bullshit.”

She definitely let out a snicker when the guard used the side of his shield to slice at his opponent. “Damn it, Varric, I want royalties. That's my move!”

“It wouldn't even work with a guard's shield anyway. Didn't you lift yours off a dead Templar?”

“Hey, hey...  I looted it off a corpse of some Templar I killed.”

It was an important distinction to make; lift implied stealing it off a person, and Templars weren't really people alive or dead.

They continued their quiet commentary throughout the rest of the play, until the last bit of fake blood had dripped into the equally false streets of Lowtown. In front, crowds rose to violent applause as the actors bowed. Meanwhile, Avery and Moses slipped out the back. Again, it was like Varric had planned for it.

Avery was still laughing as she took her usual spot on her brother's shoulder. “Fuck, that was hilarious.”

“Especially the part where the guards do anything.” Moses walked at an easy pace – after all, wasn't like they were expecting to be jumped. Most people were smarter than that. “I almost hope he actually writes one about us.”

“Shit, they're going to go broke trying to find an actor to play you. Better just put the poor sod on stilts and be done with it.”

The laughter made her head hurt, but Avery didn't mind that much as they walked home under a clear sky. All things considered, she was in a great mood. It almost didn't diminish as they walked past the chantry, closed up for the night.

Moses didn't stop. “It's creepy at night.”

“Damn straight it is.” She shrugged. “I'll go in the morning, grab Leandra. Fuck if I know what to do with her. Should I shut her in the room or let her blow to the winds or what?”

The large man below her also shrugged. “Use the ashes to strengthen a sword to slay your enemies?”

“I like how you think, but I think I'd need bones for that and that's not exactly happening unless you know a really good necromancer.”

Knowing him, he probably did. It didn't matter though. Avery's head finally felt clear for the first time since they had happened upon Leandra down in that dark hole in the ground. The tension released in her shoulders as she patted Moses on the head.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

Her brother kept walking, home in sight. “Everyone needs a good blade to slay their enemies with. Pretty sure you said that before.”

“Yeah... I think I did. It's good advice I picked off a blacksmith I used to know.” Avery hopped to the ground once they were at the front door. It was easier to push it open than it had been in months; maybe someone had oiled the hinges.

She was glad to be home, especially since Orana was in for a treat when they found her. There was nothing like Hard in Hightown acted out by its principal actors, especially when they were both dramatic little shits who enjoyed a bit of light mockery.

Again, she definitely needed to buy Varric a round in the morning. It was only right to celebrate his newest comedy.

[musingmycelium]

da 20 questions

i was tagged by @goblin-deity thanks dear <3 and i’ll tag @lyrium-lovesong @raymurata @pegaeae @veridium-bye and @crystal-grace <3 no obligations of course <3

01) Favourite game of the series?

ooooghghghghghgh Origins is my Favorite, the Story........

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

i recieved a copy of inquisition as a gift, became immediately immursed but i didn’t dig more into the series for a good half a year or so? at which point i discovered the other two games and went Oh Fuck

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

oh, uHHHHHHH, Far Too Many. i’ve sunk over 1k hours into dai alone, origins and da2 probably have about 1k combined?

04) Favourite race to play as?

i’m always a slut for elves 

05) Favourite class?

me, a staff wielding bisexual: i’m Mage, all the way. though i don’t mind rogue if i mix things up [which is like, i think i have three or four rogue play throughs out of all of them?] i NEVER play warrior bc i’m a bottom i’m not about that life

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

i play in character! so i’ve got some Wildly different world states depending on which playthrough/oc i’m on

07) Go-to adventuring group?

for my Canon world states i’ve got origins gang: sten, zevran, morrigan. da2 gang: fenris/aveline, anders/merrill, varric. dai gang: dorian, bull, solas/sera  i sense a theme...... 

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

oh god, ellanis and noure are my most fleshed out origins kids, wren and galahad are less fleshed out, sorta, but i Love them, idrilla and da’ean are pretty fleshed out as well -though linayel and mithra are also fairly fleshed out i just never write about them 

09) Favourite romance?

ZEVRAN -god i love him so much hhhhhHHHHHHHH he’s got Everything, everytime i play ellanis and he goes ‘the grey wardens die here’ i’m Fucking Lost Already man. hhhhhoooohhghghghghghgh i’d go on but i’m running on cough syrup and midol so it would be even less coherent than ususal

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

lmao i own all the books but i haven’t been able to finish them because My God are they poorly written. LIKE good Characters, good characters, shit prose.

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

the one i’m furthest along in rn is stolen throne so i’ll go with that one

12) Favourite DLCs?

jaws of hakon -holy shit as an archaeologist grad student i cannot tell you how much i Fucking Loved the lore dump in site form that was jaws of hakon JUST OH MY GOD it was AMAZING the first time you talk to professor what’shisface with the hot accent and he starts talking about chronologies via buckles i was fucking lost in nerd heaven

13) Things that annoy you.

homophobia and transphobia and racism. the games are Rife with bad correlations between real people and grey morality and poor handling of sensitive contents, though i don’t know if it was all done for ‘woke’ points or if some came from legitimate good intentions, most of my problems lie in those areas. fandom also hits a lot of my annoyances but that’s what block is for

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

antiva bitch

15) Templars or mages?

mages

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

same one! ellanis is my canon hof but noure is a part of his backstory and they meet during the blight [ellanis frees noure from a sentence of tranquility and conscripts them, uh, temporarily] noure leaves the group after like a week?ish and goes to nevarra. wren and galahad are twins, wren being the older one and the main rabble-rouser hawke. da’ean is the only quizzy but idrilla, linayel, mithra and a handful of other lavellan ocs all exist within the clan -idrilla and linayel and a few others come to skyhold after clan lavellan handles the unrest in wycome with da’ean’s help [my canon there is a bit wonky as of yet as i’m still working out the kinks]  

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

this is the part i suck at, i think ellanis named the mabari something after the flower that saved him? but i don’t remember tbh, and that’s the only one i cna think of rn too lkjlkjlkjklj

18) Have you installed any mods?

oh yes. ohhh yes i have an extense amount of mods on all three games, mostly cosmetic ones but a few gameplay ones

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

ellanis didn’t no, he thought warden’s were a bit of reality mixed with myth. when duncan shows up he’s more skeptical and curious than anything else, and his joining is less than enthusiastic but he makes the most of it for a good five years, before he fucks off to do his own research in antiva in seclusion -he just leaves, with an encripted note for nate making him warden-commander of ferelden while he’s gone and tells him not to tell anyone where he’s gone. only nate and velanna know where he is in the wardens

20) Hawke’s personality?

wren is a purple hawke! she knows what she wants and she is not afraid to go after it, although she does care deeply and shows her affections loudly. she’s a fucking chaotic stupid mess and i love her.

galahad is blue throughout. a natural big brother, super loving and patient and caring. he’s always looking to help, though when things go wrong he tends to blame himself only, he’s more together than wren though. 

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

....yes.......  my inquisition is a fashion disaster, everyone has a palatte but i do complimentary colors for my parties and lis Of Course

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

yes, ellanis would go back and kill the shems before they could crash the wedding -to prevent shianni from ever having to live through what she did. he would still have probably been conscripted by duncan soooo not too big a change for him but, for shianni it would be huge. 

ellanis has another but it’s tied up with noure’s: noure would go back and ambush the templars before being captured and then run for their life. without ever having lived in the circle i don’t, know exactly how noure would come out -probably happier, less jagged, less terrified and paranoid. but probably not by much if they had to live their life constantly looking over their shoulder. they may have ended up in nevarra this way too, but they wouldn’t have ever made it to kirkwall and they never would have met anders or karl, they may have never fallen out of love with ellanis via distance/assumed death, it would be far different than what happened.

wren and galahad both would go back and save bethany. doesn’t matter how, or what the cost to themselves would have been that’s their little sister and they would do anything to save her if they could.

da’ean’s is much the same. his biggest regret, the thing which haunts him the most is ashalle’s [not dao ashalle lmao] death. he was supposed to protect her and after what happens in that field and that month, da’ean blames himself for how his sister died. though he isn’t the one to blame, and later [far, far later] he is able to come to terms with what happened. though he never Truly shakes the guilt.

linayel would probably try to save his mother’s sight. he would tell her to stay with him by the fire, or would try and find a cure faster for her. the illness wasn’t his fault and he knows it wasn’t but given the chance he would save her sight if he could.  

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

lmao canon? never heard of her, a shitton of what i write is either me taking canon and making it Good/Useable or me shitting on it and saying this is My Castle Now

24) Who did you leave in the Fade?

this choiice always pissed me off, or it did after i knew who they were. when i first played i had no idea who hawke was or who the grey warden contact was [stroud for my first couple of play throughs] at all. so i would flip flop between them without care really. 

now, in my canon alistair stays behind while hawke physically drags da’ean out because he was going to stay and fight or find a different way out. i still think its shit and a naratively piss-poor meta punch though

25) Favourite mount?

i’m a dirty gatherer so i don’t actually use any mount. the only time i Have used a mount was the royal 16 for screenshot purposes, which i lost when my harddrive crashed a couple months ago D:

[mahalzevran]

DA 20+ Questions

Tagged by @antivan-surana​ thanks! Tagging @situationnormal​ @the-dread-doggo​ @acepavus​ @aroundofgwent​ @lakambaeni​ @kxnways​ @fuckbioware​ (no pressure ofc) and anyone who wants to?

The rest is under a read more because it’s long

01) Favourite game of the series?

Origins, only because you got less and less op as a mage as the games went on. I love all the games tbh.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

My friend got my sister into it. They kept talking and talking about it so finally I was like “ok lets see what the big deal is” and here I am now

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

I’ve done Origins twice fully, DA2 four times fully (omg I didn’t realize this until now lol) and DA:I just once fully. I have one unfinished playthrough of Origins with a Cousland, and I’m in the middle of maybe two of DA:I. I think I’ve gone back and replayed certain parts of both Origins and DA:I plenty of times.

04) Favourite race to play as?

Elf I guess? Though I’ve only fully played as a human and elf. I’m in the middle of a dwarf playthrough and I’m thinking of doing a qunari one in the future. It might change idk.

I just really liked playing as an elf in Origins so that’s why I got into elves. But the funny thing is, I wasn’t even thinking of playing as an elf when I played for the first time. I wanted to play as a human. I just did it on a whim.

05) Favourite class?

Mage, hands down. Realistically, they’re the most versatile class. They can do range and melee since anyone can learn how to fight with weapons. But the last two games won’t let you so :)

Also, this stems from the fact that I’ve been a harry potter fan since I could remember.

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

In my full, proper playthroughs that I’ve finished, it’s slightly different but still the same basic ideas. Sided with mages, agreed with Anders, etc.

But I am planning to try an evil playthrough in the future so

07) Go-to adventuring group?

DA:O (I have two)

Leliana, Wynne, Shale - the OG crew; they were my main crew in my first playthrough and it was a pretty even party

Zevran, Leliana, Alistair - the elf crew; esp. with Rhian they’re all elves because I saw a theory that Leliana is half elf and I’m down

DA2

It’s a mixed bag. If I’m not playing as a mage, I usually take Anders a lot because we need a healer and Merrill can’t heal. I tend not to take Sebastian as much after I max his friendship. After Sebastian, I take Aveline the least. Other than that I just mix it up. Unless I’m romancing someone, then I take them every time.

I’d love to take Anders, Fenris, and Merrill out more often but I hate how mean they all are to each other (looking @ u bioware 👀)

DA:I

My first playthrough, I mixed it up a lot in the beginning but then I ended up bringing Solas, Cole, and Blackwall a lot near the end for some reason?

I love taking Vivienne, Dorian, and Solas out, especially if I’m playing a mage, because it’s such a pretty fireworks show

In general though, if I’m romancing someone I take them with me almost always.

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

I think it’s a tie between Rhian and Lu.

09) Favourite romance?

To no one’s surprise, it’s Zevran :3

Solas is second because I just really like that angst.

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

I’ve read The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak, and Until We Speak (because someone gifted me the Omnibus) and The Calling.

I also have Hard in Hightown, which I should probably read lol, and the art book of inquisition.

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

The Calling solely because of my mom Fiona and my dad Duncan. 

12) Favourite DLCs?

Awakening because I love everyone and its also really funny that Rhian, who is 19 at that point, had to basically babysit people older than her and also run a whole arling.

I love both Legacy and Mark of the Assassin. Mark of the Assassin was really funny (though I hated the stealth part). I love Legacy specifically because when I was fighting Corypheus, both Varric and Anders K.O.’d and it was just me and Carver. It was a special family moment bringing down a whole entire magister together. I also hc that that was canon and it brought Kaia and Carver closer together.

13) Things that annoy you.

I’m gonna talk about the game bc if this is about the fandom, then that’s a whole other thing.

Anders’ writing for one. It doesn’t make sense that he’d approve of giving Fenris back to Danarius. And also that he wouldn’t tell f!Hawke that he’s bi? Then there’s the fact that Anders, Fenris, and Merrill all don’t get along when they have a lot in common.

Anything that was written by Lukas Krisdkjsdhkdk. Aveline, Sera, etc. he did a really bad job.

Also didn’t like that mages got less OP in the last two games.

There’s also the tone-deafness? Dorian, a brown man, saying slavery is ok. And also there’s the dialogue between Solas and Vivienne where Solas supposedly “owns” Vivienne. I think he says something like “may you learn”? Solas, a white person, saying this to Vivienne, a black woman, when there’s obvious colorism in Thedas? I think not.

There’s probably other but I can’t think of them right now.

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Orlais is too snooty and Ferelden doesn’t season their food. I pick Seheron and Laysh because that’s where the Asians are at.

15) Templars or mages?

Mages

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

Originally, my canonverse was Rhian, Kaia, and Luwalhati. Alden and Bolin were part of an AU. Then Alden finagled his way in there, then I decided to have Bolin in there too. So now i have twin Hawkes and Bolin is part of the Inquisition (if he’s a companion or not, I haven’t thought about)

I have plenty of other OCs that I’m planning on, but they’re currently sorted into a different universe.

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

Pikamon for the Origins mabari. It’s a mix between the names of my two dogs, Pikachu and Cinnamon

Cinnachu for the DA2 mabari, also a mix of Pikachu and Cinnamon.

Lu’s mount is the royal sixteen (hart), which is given to you by Clan Lavellan if you manage to keep them alive iirc, and its name is Luntian, the tagalog word for green which is her favorite color. (In a teen!Lu AU, her mount is the bog unicorn bc she’s an edgelord)

18) Have you installed any mods?

It would be more surprising if I didn’t. How else would I manage to have my characters look like the’re poc?? And also get rid of whitewashing and have some continuity. I usually just do cosmetic mods if it’s my first playthrough. Then I do like “cheats” after I finish the game fully.

Fun fact, I once spent like 2+ hrs modding Origins to have the Zev romance the way I want. I also stayed up until like 5am trying to make Solas look like his concept art lol (it didn’t really work)

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

Rhian didn’t not want to become a warden. She read about them and thought they were an honorable order, but she didn’t expect to ever have a chance to become one. Her goal was to just go up in the Circle hierarchy, maybe even become First Enchanter. Then when the time came, she didn’t really have much of a choice.

20) Hawke’s personality?

Kaia is blue and Alden is purple

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

At first, I didn’t get what the big deal was with crafting. It didn’t seem fun at all lol. Then I tried it and was hooked. I don’t have them matching, but I do tend to try to match my Inquisitor with their LI in some way.

My usual procedure for armor in Inquisition is like this. I make everyone wear heavy armor and pick the materials that have the highest attributes, not caring how ridiculous the colors are. Then I go to tint them using a guide for each companion’s color scheme. This is the same for helmet but I usually have them turned off or have no one wearing one.

The only exception is Varric, Cole, and Blackwall. I have Varric wear the rogue armor that looks like his DA2 outfit, and Cole and Blackwall wear the Grey Warden heavy armor. I tint the grey warden armor using a guide for its color scheme.

I have Bull, Vivienne, and Cole wear their unique helmets.

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

Rhian - She’d probably want to re-do how she told Zevran that she wasn’t exactly dead.

Kaia - Taken Quentin’s threat more seriously and killed him before he got to Leandra

Alden - He has no regrets

Luwalhati - wouldn’t have taken Sam and Wis with her so they wouldn’t have had to have died in the conclave explosion

Bolin - None, all of his decisions led him to Dorian and he’s happy with that.

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

They’re all at least part Seheron?

I also hc that neither Carver nor Bethany die because Kaia was able to cast a barrier on both of them before the ogre got them. Then they both became Grey Wardens because Carver contracted the taint in the expedition and wouldn’t join the Wardens unless Bethany came with him too.

Another hc I have is that Sebastian didn’t leave when Anders was spared and stayed to help out. But he went his separate way after because he still didn’t approve of sparing him.

Oh shoot, I almost forgot. The most against canon thing I’ve done probably? Rhian didn’t do the Ritual but she did slay the archdemon without dying. Rhian’s an arcane warrior, so when she slayed it, she was partway in the fade. Being partway into the fade was enough for her essence, I guess, to survive it. But she’s not mortal anymore and kind of a spirit now? So she periodically has to chill in the fade because being in the real world takes a toll on her.

25) Who did you leave in the Fade?

In the game, it was Stroud. I killed Loghain and no way is Alistair gonna be trapped in there. Fiona will be sad. So I made Alistair king in the game only, so Stroud was the one that was left.

This is another off canon thing I did. In my actual canon, Alistair is the warden contact. The Hawke that comes to the Inquisition is both Kaia and Alden. Alden brings Fenris with him because he doesn’t go anywhere without his Boo-Boo. Bethany and Carver also come because Weisshaupt was being weird and it seemed like they would be safer in the Inquisition. Lu + her party, Alistair, Kaia, Alden, Fenris, Bethany, and Carver all come to Adamant. Because there’s so many people, everyone was able to escape the Fade. No one is left behind.

26) Favourite mount? The nugs! All of them :) 

Though I don’t really use the mounts lol

[fanfoolishness]

Leaving Home (Lavellan, Varric)

The rain blustered at the opening of the cave, forcing their small cookfire to sputter and flare.  Namira sighed, casting another thin barrier over the cave’s entrance.  It was enough to block most of the rain while still allowing a wisp of smoke to escape, but it made the cave’s air humid and still.

It didn’t help that they still were scarcely out of the rain.  The cave was such a shallow area carved from the mountainside, and with the four of them packed into its small space, the moisture from the endless and inescapable damp built up fiercely.  She sat against the stone wall, somehow both chilled and sweaty.

Namira stirred their dinner, humming tunelessly to herself.  Strange how the weather of the Storm Coast could behave so differently from the northern Free Marches she and her clan had traversed the past few years.  The Waking Sea had never seemed such a great divide on the map, but she keenly felt the distance now.  

The Storm Coast was beautiful, yes, but it was a wilderness that would be best traversed with friends and family, and these men she journeyed with were nearly strangers still.  She gazed out at the rain amidst lush green spires and salt-carved stone, as lonely as she had ever been, and the beauty of the trees and surging sea left her hollow.

Strange the way circumstance could change a thing.  She’d have jumped at the chance to explore new locales just a few years ago; of course, she had never expected she would be the only Lavellan for leagues.  She had never thought she would miss the arid heat and the ever-present scent of sage and juniper.  But now, as a lone Dalish in the wet and cedar-scented air, she’d take a sunburn in a heartbeat.  

At least the food smelled comforting.  She and Varric had brought down a ram while Blackwall and the Iron Bull scouted ahead for camp.  Namira was not an especially skilled hunter or butcher, but part of her First training required familiarity with all roles in the clan.  Her butchery would have earned a tucked frown of mild disapproval from the venerable huntress Marellin.  Still, it was more than adequate for their purposes.

The ram’s meat was gamey and pungent, but it mellowed with the addition of wild onion and garlic.  Marjoram and spindleweed rounded the flavors further.  Rough-chopped black lotus roots, starchy and thick, added body.  

She stirred experimentally at the stew.  Despite the herbs, so different from those found near Sundermount, the stew still somehow smelled of home.  It would be ready soon, a welcome addition to the dried hardtack safe in their packs.

Gentle snores drew her attention.  Blackwall and Bull had drawn second watch, and were trying to get some sleep at the very back of the little cave.  Surprisingly, they were succeeding despite the less than ideal conditions.  She found herself impressed by their versatility, and turned to Varric.

No hint of drowsiness played around Varric’s eyes.  He slept as little as she did, most nights.  Perhaps it was a dwarven thing.  He sat a few feet away, his fountain pen scratching at the vellum he was never without.  Luckily he’d been prepared and brought it wrapped in wax for this expedition.  She peeked at his writing, noting neat, flowing script in shining black ink.

“What are you writing, Varric?” she asked, stretching and setting the tin ladle back down on a dry stone.  “If you’re keeping a diary, I’m afraid today’s adventures were rather lacking.  ‘Stumped around in the mud.  Passed the same pine tree three times.  Fought another damn bear.’”

Varric raised his head, hazel eyes crinkling in a smile.  “Shit, you nailed it, Doodles.  The Inquisition experience!  Maybe after you seal the Breach they should keep you on as a master scribe.”

“Do you really think I can seal it, after all?” Namira asked, faltering.  Her left hand clenched reflexively around the ever-present buzzing in her palm, a constant reminder of the strange magic that had marked her.  “Assuming the mages will help us…”

“Trust me, no one wants a giant hole in the sky.  If we can get an audience with them, they’ll join up, no questions asked,” said Varric.  He capped his pen carefully, slipping it back into a pocket of his heavy leather jacket.  “And if they don’t?  Sister Nightingale’s not the only one with contacts.  I’ve got some favors I can call if we need.”  His brows rose suggestively.  “The Seeker might not be so thrilled with some of them, but trust me, we’ve got options.”

“Is that who you write to?” asked Namira. She folded her arms, resting them on her knees.  “I’m sorry.  I’m prying, aren’t I?”

“Well, I can tell you’ve never trained under a bard,” Varric chuckled.  “You’re not one for subtlety, are you?”

“That obvious?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Sorry.  It’s just --”  Namira bit her lip, gazing out at the gathering dark.  She could still easily make out the towering shapes of the pines beyond the cave’s entrance, but she knew by now that the others saw only blackness.  “Cassandra, Bull, Blackwall, Sera… you’re the only other one here who’s left home behind.  So I wondered if you write to them.  Hawke and the others.”

Varric was quiet for a moment.  “Kirkwall hasn’t been the same since Blondie -- since the Chantry incident.  Not as many people there as there used to be.  I write to some of them, sure.  But some of them aren’t so easy to find.”  

“You mean Hawke.”

“More than just Hawke,” Varric protested.  “Most of them left Kirkwall when she did.  Merrill and Aveline are the only ones who stayed.”

“Hawke is special though, isn’t she?” said Namira.  “I notice it’s Tale of the Champion, not Tale of the Champion and Friends.”

Varric looked at her appraisingly.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head, his cheeks slightly pink.  Maybe it was the smoke from their fire.  Namira eased up on the barrier at the cave’s mouth, opening it up a little to allow more smoke to dissipate.

Varric shrugged, his cheeks returning to their normal color.  “You couldn’t call it that.  Terrible title.  My publisher would laugh me right out of my contract.”   He waved one gloved hand.  “But you’re right.  Hawke’s special.”  A short huff of breath: she nearly mistook it for a sigh.  “Never knew anyone like her.”

“Do you know where she is?  Truly, I wouldn’t tell Cassandra.  It sounds like Hawke’s had enough to be going on with,” said Namira earnestly.

“For once, I don’t have to lie.  I don’t know where she is.  I know a few places she’s been, but right now?  Nah.  She moves around.”

“Are they still hunting her?  It’s so clear in your book that what happened in Kirkwall wasn’t her fault,” said Namira.  “Assuming the tale is accurate, of course.”  She tried to keep her tone light, but couldn’t help the nagging, guilty feeling that she was prodding a sore spot.  

“I wrote a lot of the real shit in my book.  But I left out plenty.  Things that were just too much to write down.”  He looked uncomfortable.

“I know what you mean.  Writing can be dangerous, can’t it?  I don’t write much for others myself,” said Namira hastily, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.  She’d gone too far, hadn’t she?  “Or, I do, but it’s record-keeping; marriages, illnesses, births, deaths, the daily history of the clan.  Things that are important to remember for the future.”  

She picked up the ladle, stirred again.  The stew bubbled.  “I don’t put down feelings.”  That wasn’t strictly true; her personal journal with its drawings and musings lay in her pack, wax-wrapped and magic-sealed.  She hurried to amend the statement, unwilling to speak even the smallest half-truths.  “At least, not where anyone else can read it.”  

Varric’s mouth turned up at one edge like the start of a smile.  It didn’t quite finish the motion.  “Maybe that’s best.  Less incriminating, anyway.”

Namira set the ladle down and rummaged in her pack for the waxcloth bundle containing the hardtack.  The stew was nearly ready.  “Maybe.”  

She paused, looking down at the bundle of shem food.  Everything about it was foreign: a beeswax wrapper instead of candelilla, the shape of the hardtack, the smell of it.  “Sometimes writing helps, I think.  Other times it makes things worse, reminding myself of what I lack.  I miss my home.  My people.  Why did I ever leave them?”

Varric folded up his stack of vellum papers.  “Well, if it’s any consolation, sometimes home leaves you first.”  This time, the motion his mouth made was nothing like a smile.

Namira let out a long breath.  “I didn’t mean to darken the mood,” she said softly.  “Are you all right?”

“Herald, demons are falling out of the sky, mages and templars are killing each other all over the place, and we’re here in the ass end of nowhere chasing who knows what.  I have to say the mood’s pretty dark already.  No need for you to add worrying about the dwarf to your list of shit to deal with,” said Varric.

“If you insist,” said Namira.  “But you’re certain?  Because I would worry about you, if it would help.”

“I’m flattered, but fine. Honest.”  He gestured to the stew.  “That done?  It smells a hundred times better than Hawke’s cooking, and a thousand times better than mine.”

“Yes, it’s ready.  But oh, Varric,” said Namira sadly.  “This isn’t even particularly good food by Dalish standards.  It’s just make-do food.  What did you eat in Kirkwall?”

“Sometimes it’s best not to know,” he said with a wink.  He clambered to his feet and to the back of the cave, not even needing to bow his head beneath the low ceiling.  He started nudging the others awake.  She watched him joke with them, jovial as ever.

She knew she’d hit him somewhere delicate with her clumsy attempts at conversation.  She’d been so eager to talk about what was bothering her she hadn’t stopped to consider if he wanted to talk about it.  She ladled soup into thin tin bowls, staring pensively at the way it steamed, wishing she had been wiser.  She supposed that was the difference between the Keeper, and the First.

Outside the rain blustered, and the winds squalled, and the waves crashed.  Inside the little cave, their little group shared bowls of rich woodland stew, making their plans for tomorrow and looking to the future.

Varric caught her eye during a lull.  She looked steadily at him.  Really? You’re all right? she asked silently.

He grinned, dragging his bread through the stew before popping it into his mouth.  “For make-do food, this is delicious, Doodles.  Good stuff.”

She smiled back, warm in a way that had nothing to do with the nearby cookfire or the hearty food.  She took a bite of her stew.  It was good, better than she had thought it would be.

“Thanks, Varric.”