#before i boot up da2

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[adainesjacket]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! How about “I just want to be close to you. As close as you allow me to be.” for Handers?

happy friday, thanks for having me! this snippet is set after the DA2 quest 'dissent'. @pinkfadespirit @dadrunkwriting

m!hawke/anders, hurt/comfort(ish), 718 words

"The lamp isn't lit, messere."

Hawke turns his head, frozen in the act of knocking on the wooden clinic door. A girl too young to be out in the dark and the cold stares at him, arms folded, a cross expression on her little face.

"I know," he says unnecessarily. "I just-"

"If the lamp isn't lit," she continues, staring him down, "the healer is not available."

"Yes, but-"

"And he needs to rest."

"I completely agree with you," Hawke says quickly, before she can interrupt him again. "One hundred percent. But he's my friend, and he's not come out in a few days, and I just need to check on him. Okay?"

This mollifies her, but only a little. She chews on her lip as she considers him. "You're really his friend?" She asks after a moment.

"I am," Hawke agrees, and hopes that it's still true, just as he'd hoped that giving Anders Ser Alrik's papers would have calmed him, just as he'd hoped that they could breeze past this 'unfortunate incident' like he breezed past everything else. He had been a fool.

"You'll make him rest?" The little girl presses. "We're all worried about him."

"I'll try my best," Hawke promises, and only when she finally huffs an assent does he raise his fist back up and rap on the door. "Anders? It's me. Can you open the door? Please?"

There was no answer, but Hawke knew better than to give up on the first try. Especially with Anders, the stray cat of a man.

"Anders," he tries again. "Please. I want to help."

He's elated when he hears shuffling on the other side of the door, but moments pass and Anders does not speak or let him in. Hawke looks around to see if the little girl is still listening, but she has vanished into the dark.

"So this is where you give up?" He asks, softer in tone but loud enough that Anders can hear him through the heavy wood door. "One mistake, one scared but unhurt girl, and the embodiment of Justice locks himself away?"

"Stop it," Anders says, and his voice is rough and raspy but oh, it is such a relief to hear him. "You shouldn't be here, Hawke."

"What, because the lamp isn't lit? People are worried about you, Anders. I'm worried about you. Will you please let me in? If I break down the door I think the good people of Darktown will string me up."

"No," Anders says, sighs, really. "Hawke - what do you want?"

You, he thinks, desperately. I want to go back to how we were before this happened. I want to flirt with you, and trade barbs, and watch each other's back. I want to get my boots out of Darktown puddles, come through this door and hold you so tightly you forget how to hate yourself.

"I just want to be close to you," he says, instead of all the messy words his heart would rather put in his mouth. "Because you need company. And if this is as close as you'll allow me to be…" The cobbled street is cold, damp, and uninviting. With a silent apology to Orana, he sits down on the stoop of the clinic, his back to the door. "I'll just wait here."

He hears the sound of a body sliding down wood, and knows that Anders is mirroring him, that they are sat back to back, unable to look each other in the eye. Somehow he feels closer to him than he ever has before. But Anders doesn't say anything more, even though Hawke can still hear his breathing beyond the wood, and occasionally a sob.

"Messere."

Hawke, cold and half-asleep, jerks his head up to see the little girl has returned. She's carrying a clay mug of something steaming.

"Broth," she says, thrusting it towards him. "From my mother. The healer helped her with her leg, last summer."

Hawke takes it gratefully, frozen fingers curling around the warm clay. "Give her my thanks," he says. "And get yourself in the warm, okay?"

She nods. "Will you stay with him?"

With his free hand, Hawke traces the grain of the wooden door, imagines Anders's hand doing the same on the other side. "I will," he promises.

[arrowfortea]

hello hello 38 from the kissy prompts for a da2 pairing of your choice!

thank u for the prompt!!! i present: post-bitter pill fenhawke where hawke's shitty and it makes him behave shittily and also the two of them wade through literal, actual shit.

38 from the kissy prompts: "a kiss while one party is carried" word count: 1.6k themes: bickering/jealousy/pining/etc (toxicbybritneyspears.mp3), hawke smugly having no sense of smell, fenris getting called bad in bed 234 different ways, and sewage. a lot of sewage 🤎 read on ao3 or here ↓

“How does it go? ‘It smells like something died in he—’”

“You will die in here,” Fenris snapped, “unless you hurry up, or I throw you into the lurch myself.”

Ahead, the narrow tunnel into Darktown’s sewers gurgled. The Dalish witch was already most of the way through, with Sebastian behind her, black-brown water swilling about their knees. Fenris would’ve joined them minutes earlier, were it not for the most important part of his life seemingly considering her life unimportant; as well as his temper.

Hawke lifted her robe an inch, and gestured to her boots. “These are Nevarran linen.”

“Which can be—”

“Which my mother embroidered!”

“—removed, and held, and I won’t bicker with you until the templars descend, Hawke; if I must I will haul you behind me, and soil you far worse. Get in the shit, or remove your boots. Now.”

Her wide-eyed look had less in common with a puppy than it did a woefully disproportionate owl. Fenris stepped closer, and lowered his voice.

“Marienne,” he said, words hoarse as dragged gravel, “you know I can throw you, and do not wish to ruin your mother’s gift—”

“But... If I’m carrying them…” Looking at the thin brown river below, and clueless of the restraint required to not drown her into submission, she said, “what if I trip? ”

“Venhedis,” he hissed, “I will—”

“Don’t worry! There’s nothing to trip on!” The witch waved her hand from the tunnel’s end, voice echoing down, followed by a squelch-thud-squelch—“It’s like hot cocoa at first, and when you’re a little farther, it’s pudding!”

“Sure,” Hawke shouted, “except, it’s actually not any of that! At all! Thanks!”

Sebastian began to splash and splosh and splish his way back, beaming. “Would it not be easier, my lady, to have you carried?”

Over Hawke’s frown, Hawke’s Shy Smile slid into place; facetious, all of it. “Really? Y—”

Fenris seized her waist, scooped her into his arms, and stepped off the ledge.

“If anything died here, Hawke, it did not do so alone,” Fenris grumbled, before stopping to gag into his shoulder for the fifth time. None of the laddered exits had let out as they were meant to, and so the group had settled heading toward the waterway — and the sewers, unsurprisingly, stank.

Worse, they tasted. Rotted eggs and dirt-crumbed excrement had been bundled into a mildewed sack, and lodged halfway down Fenris’ throat.

The wretched woman draped in his arms hummed, half-giddy. “Gross,” she cooed, then feigned what had to be the loudest sigh he’d ever heard. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city!” 

Another wave of nausea met Fenris’ stomach; he wouldn’t terribly mind joining the dead somethings, for through the swill of his mind, there bobbed another correction: that had been the second loudest sigh he’d ever heard, feigned from that smiling mouth. He tried to relegate Hawke to his peripheral vision.

As he followed the distant blur of Sebastian, trudging into another fetid tunnel, Fenris had never been so grateful to the Chantry in all his life; that white and shining armour was a saviour—

“You know what?” Hawke’s too-sweet voice drenched over his focus. “This actually isn’t your worst angle.”

“I don’t care,” he growled, shins shoving through the muck.

From around the bend, Merrill yelped, and cursed, "oh, rats!"

“What’s wrong?” Hawke called.

"Rats!”

As quickly as one could run through waist-high goo , Sebastian had run to save Merrill. Perhaps in order to impress Hawke, or perhaps to get out of the dingy hell the group had found themselves in, thanks to the magic roiling off two of their number — though Hawke’s magic was ever so faint a thrum against Fenris’ lyrium-ridden skin. He chose to blame the Dalish for the acid blooming up his throat every five minutes.

Hawke had relaxed into his arms, and begun to swing her feet slightly. After a half hour of winding through tunnels and cursing at manholes, she was undoubtedly safe, as there was no further forks to take.

The others were too far ahead, and while Fenris had no fear of rats or skulking fugitives.. the prospect of being alone with Hawke was.. unnerving. A fact which unnerved him further, and an anxiety quickly proven to be well-founded when she reached up, and draped her hands over his shoulders.

Ostensibly, to hang onto him, but Hawke was never so inclined. While the others received hugs and kisses on the cheeks goodbye and hello and thank you for the gift, Sebastian, you’re too kind — Fenris received a quick peck on the cheek, and a slap on the shoulder, if she took pity on him.

He found himself tightening his hold — typical — and across his chest, the familiar chill of yearning. Hawke...

Fenris’ breath steadied, with great effort, until there was no sound but the wet squelch of his feet, and the rustle of her robe’s sleeve against his armour; she was slowly trailing her hands from his back, to the nape of his neck, and if she touched him… he’d collapse, and drown happily, for a few seconds, at least, before his senses gasped to life. Wherever they were.

Gentle and warm as balm, Hawke’s hands rested on either side of his neck. He swallowed a pathetic noise. She shifted, pressed, and—

He didn’t drop her, but it was a near thing. The sewage gleamed, Fenris’ muscles locked up; fibers sharpened to needles, dragging against the markings; a rod of steel shot down his body, halted.

“Shit!” Hawke pulled her hands away, almost immediately. “I thought… I was—”

Cut off by a deep, wavering sound, stirred from the back of Fenris’ throat.

The steel burning in his spine melted eventually. Slackening, he panted — like a dry-mouthed dog — then snapped his mouth shut. He held his tongue against the roof of it and swallowed. Then straightened up, and carried on, rounding another corner. The shock had numbed the stench, at least; acclimated him to discomfort.

At the end of the passage, a curved square of light — and the silhouettes of their companions. Hawke’s companions.

In front of them, a shadow of a hand passed back and forth. “Hey.”

Perhaps she’d sensed the bitterness rippling off him. “It’s fine.” Do not look at her.

“If you want to put me down…“

Fenris hoisted her higher in his burning arms, compensating for earlier slack. “It would make little difference,” he grunted, “this farce is almost done.”

“Wait,” she whispered, and he slowed. Not to a complete stop; neither his spine or stomach would survive that. “Do you not want me touching you, at all? I’d understand.”

No. Yes. Fenris set his jaw. “Your touch is as welcome as it has ever been,” he said flatly; he refused to indulge either of them with lies. “I chose to carry you, is that not an answer?”

“Your markings, though.”

“Wool can be particularly abrasive. On any skin, I imagine, but my back is sensitive.” And is going to fold in on itself.

“Oh! My… sleeve. I… got it.”

Fenris grunted again. His muscles screamed, but the skin on his shoulders still tingled with her touch; the sun ahead would soon lay claim to all the warmth on him. Fenris closed his eyes, to block out the eye-aching exit. Focused on the gooseprickles by the nape of his neck. The slosh of sewage, the soft “hey.”

Warmth, on the side of his jaw, he tilted his head a fraction to meet it, and on the corner of Fenris’ mouth, was hers. Hawke’s. Marienne. Mari’s mouth against his; something wailed in his chest and she kissed him — with the lightest press, no further than the corner, no longer than a breath, before pecking his cheek, just as quick. It was a miracle he remained standing, instead of slamming her against the shit-soaked bricks.

“Don’t,” Fenris hissed. Markings untouched, agony exploded through his insides regardless, and saliva filled his mouth. He swallowed. “Hawke. Do not do that again.”

She sat further upright, pressing her hand onto his breastplate. “I missed yo—”

“Stop, I am sick of—”

“—ur cheek, at first—”

“—you, pity—” He bit his tongue.

“—and… oh. Oh, wow!”

Kaffas, kaffas, kaffas. Fenris should’ve slammed his head against the bricks. Quickening the pace at which his legs smashed through stinking shit would have to do. “I misheard,” he muttered. “Then misspoke. I’m sorry.”

“Sick of me,” she echoed softly. “That’s marvellous .”

“Ma—no, Hawke, it was — I misheard, and I am not myself, I.. excuse me.” Fenris coughed, then gagged into his shoulder. He could see the pupils in Sebastian’s absurdly bright eyes, and focused on those instead of his stomach. Merrill shot him a humiliatingly sympathetic look.

“When we are outside,” he panted, “I can explain.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

“Now put me down.”

Fenris ground his teeth. “In ten feet—”

Hawke lurched up; his iron-clad grip alone kept her from falling. “Put me down!”

“Kaffas, woman!” Fenris came to a halt; retched, almost, but knocked the acid back like a shot. “Fine! Remove your bo—”

“Now!”

“As you wish,” he snapped, releasing his hold.

She wriggled through a fall, stumbled in the ankle-deep sewage, and barely caught herself on a wet, particularly stained brick. Fenris swallowed a scoff. Eight years of ballet, wasn’t it? What coordination.

Hawke had a look that could’ve stripped the shit off the wall, she ought to try, do herself a favour. “Maker,” she huffed. “I didn’t say let go.”

“You alright, Fenris? Hawke?”

“Yes, Merrill!” Hawke threw a hand up, and waved. She moved through the grime as if it were water, and laughed. “Just couldn’t make it to the finish line!”

“Aw, I’m sorry… your boots…”

Fenris would kill the witch one day, or she him; either would be adequate release.

Notes: WhichWitch-FlorenceAndTheMachine.mp3 am i right folks ANYWAY please consider reblogging/replying/liking if you had a good time reading this, or leaving a comment/kudos on ao3!!

[thekingofwinterblog]

How to fix Halamshiral as a Zone

Inquisition is a flawed game.

I don't think there's anyone who is going to argue otherwise.

The only question is wheter you place it higher or lower than DA2.

One of the things I think it does better than DA2, is that it managed to give every place a soul, an identity of it's own, and at least a distinct, if not always amazing storyline.

The emerald graves doesnt have a very interesting plot, but it has some spectacular side quests, and atmosphere, inculding a haunted mansion, which might be my favorite possession based quest in all of DA because it shows much better than others just how dangerous untrained mages actually are to those around them.

The storm coast tells a story of what was once an important dwarven port, and shows how it fell and was repurposed over time.

The Hinterlands shows the aftereffects of the templar mage war, as well as solas stupid plan to give cory his orb, and the mage rebellion and an actually decent time travel story.

I could go on, but the point is, I usually have at least aomething nice to say about every single region.

All except one.

Halamshiral.

Halamshiral was the single worst part of all of Dragon Age Inquisition for me, and every single time I boot up this game, it's always the last thing i do before the temple of sacred ashes, despite how bizarre the game flows as a result.

And the reason is because i hate everything about it.

I hate it's unique attempt at side quests, i hate the characters involved, i hate the Orlesians who inhabit it, and i hate how this section tries to copy what worked so amazingly well with Orzammar and Denerim during the landsmeet section, and fails every single shot it lines up.

The ONLY good thing i have to say about this, is that it's at the very least relatively short.

So here's today's question. How to fix Halamshiral?

Let's begin with the three main players.

Celene, Gasparde, and Briala.

The big problem with every single option, is that they all suck.

Celene and Gasparde are both fucking awful people without any redeeming qualities, they have no charisma, and there is no prospect of the Empire reforming itself under either of them, the way Orzammar would under Bhelen.

Meanwhile, Briala is much, much better, but the problem is that we know exactly what is going to happen here if you support her.

Maybe today elves will have it better, but tomorrow, when Gasparde is gone, or celene turns on elves again as she always does all the progress will be repealed, and reversed, along with a few purged alienages.

Its an old story that's been told before in Dragon age.

In short, there is no reason at all to care about this overall plot. None whatsoever.

There were so many reasons to care about both Orzammar and Denerim in the same situation, and every single character involved had so much more charisma than either of these would be monarchs.

So let's fix that.

Starting with Celene, take the idea of her wanting to reform the empire, and actually take it to the next level.

Celene is genuine in wanting to reform the empire, and has already taken grand, successful steps to make the entire thing much better for everyone, even elves, giving them and serfs more rights, outlawing the practice of chevaliers having a tradition of killing unarmed city elves to graduate.

But the catch is, while she is genuinely making progress, she is doing so within the confines of the great game.

Celene has nonintention of changing the great game, no plans of wanting to remove this thing that holds Orlais back more than any other, this center stone of their nobility and it's culture.

Meanwhile, Gasparde is a different kind of reformer, one that takes the ideas he had of him claiming to hate the game, and actually doing something with it.

He is far less progressive, has no love for elves, is far more warlike than Celene ever was... But unlike Celene, his ideas of reform isn't going to act within the grand game.

He's going to break it.

Unlike canon gasparde, this gasparde is hated by every single noble family in the entire empire. His only support, and it's a strong one, is the army. The parts of the army that supports Gasparde, and they are a huge part, are loyal to him personally to the hilt.

And he hates them back. He hates the game, he hates the way it cripples the empire, and he wants to change things. Like Celene he plans to break the serfs free of their chains, for the good of the nation and it's power and economy if not for any progressive reasons.

And he'a going to start with Halamshiral.

For this Gasparde isn't merely positioning men to stage a coup... He's planning to kill EVERY SINGLE NOBLE in Halamshiral. Evety man, every woman, every child there.

He's going to reform this empire by wiping out it's cancerous nobility in one fell swoop, and install himself as supreme dictator to see his reforms through, and wiping out the entire Orlesian nobility that might have opposed him, french revolution style.

And thus the Inquisitor has a dilemma.

Unlike Orzammar, where only one side was a reformer, both of these Orlesians are... But you have to choose one.

Do you choose Celene? The more progressive candidate, who wants a more peaceful Orlais going forward? But who is not willing to get ridd of the grand game to do so, thus making it a permanent risk that all her reforms will be undone...

Or will you support Gasparde, and by doing so be complicit in destroying the entire nobility of Orlais, many of whom are not guilty of the shit that Celene and Gasparde here both hate so much? Gasparde is far less likely to create a peaceful Orlais going forward... But he will have obliterated the Grand Game for good and all, a prize that might be worth this Red Wedding style bloodbath.

Meanwhile there is Briala, the elven spy who has enough influence to allow, or prevent Gasparde's plans from going through.

Here there should be another moral dilemma, quite different from the base game.

Do you convince her to aid Gasparde, in exchange for the Elves getting a duchy of their own in Halamshiral? Do you then back her up with Inquisition forces and support, forcing Him to publicly announce her as such, and trust his own, twisted version of honor to actually stick to it going forward(Something he ultimately does), or do you throw her to the Wolves the moment things get rough?

Or alternatively, do you convince her to side with Celene, and bury the hatchet? And if so, on what terms? And similarly, if she actually wants to get something out of this, you actually need to back her up... Something you may, or may not choose to do.

And voila, here you have an actual story of intrigue, massive, lasting political changes as a result of the Herald's actions, and morally grey on grey choices.

Everything that Denerim and Orzammar had in spades.

Now moving on from the plot to the actual place.

Halamshiral has no soul.

It's a french villa on a mountaintop. Whoop de freaking do.

It has no interesting murals, unique art only found there, interesting geography, or anything really to make it stand out.

Compare it to Denerim and Orzammar, and the way they fleshed out the entire city's levels of power and criminal underworlds, and you see the difference.

Denerim is a very realistic, squat, squalid medieval city, with it's buildings built on top of every single bit of available space.

Orzammar is a full on high fantasy dwarf city lit up by a lake of lava.

Halamshiral is a villa presented as a city.

How do you fix that?

There is an artist here on Tumblr who pretty much showcased what Halamshiral could have been, if they had taken the idea of the Dalish(who were the original owners) taking inspiration from native americans(amongst others), and use that to build a truly spectacular city, which has long ago been paved over, but the structure is still there.

Make it a city on the water, like the aztex capital of Tenochtitlan, a marvel of canals and stone.

Make it this Venezia like city, with canals everywhere you look, and the entire city running on water. A marvel of Dalish city building, where they took something as simple as a couple of islands in a lake, and built the most beautiful city in the world.

And rather than just limit you to the palace, instead let you actually explore this city.

Expand the entire event from one night, to a week.

Let the Herald explore the city, meet the players, interact with the nobles, become friends with a few like you could with Ferelden's bans, which in turn makes the possibility of sacrificing them for the greater good hit so much harder.

Let you choose what fancy stuff to wear to the balls and meetings, rather than have this stupid motto of forcing you to wear one, pre determined outfit like this game had for some reason.

Let you discover the places where what little Elven Architecture and art still remains can be found, and talk with the elves who still live here, the descendants after the first elves the Orlesians enslaved.

Make the plotting of Gasparde and the positioning of troops be gradual, not instantly discovered and twarted.

And at the end, if you choose to back Gasparde, you mirror that scene from Dragon Age 2, where the Templars sail across the bay, and you either step aside and witness the bloodbath you just allowed to happen, or you fight them and be recognized by the nobility(most of which are horrible, horrible people) as a hero who just saved the day.

Have the venatori plot be to kill both Gasparde and Celene, rather than their involvement mostly be about handing the player the the easy knife for the knot of which monarch to pick without having to get your hands dirty.

Also have the entire group be gathered for once. Every inner member of the Inquisition just like at Denerim.

Each of whom have their own thoughts on the events.

Who supports who? What is the right thing to do? What is better for the inquisition? Are you staining your honor beyond repair if you back Gasparde? Does the Inquisitor maybe have a breakdown after witnessing what they just allowed to happen and they walk through the gardens or rooms filled with corpses? Maybe have the scene at the end with the love interest be about a moment of them truly comforting their lover in the aftermath of it all, understanding(or not) that as boss, it's your job to have to make the tough decisions. And now you have to live with them.

Or if you wanna go the other way, this could be one of the breaking points like Origins had. If you support Gasparde, Blackwall choses to tell you to get bent, and that he will die as benefits a knight. Defending the week, and calling you out on how you are just as bad as he ever was, a child killer who's going to run away from responsibility, to pretend you are some better person than what you actually are. You're a murder. Just like he was. You are just as responsible for the blood that's flowing as he was with that carriage back in the day.

It would have been a far more impressive reveal moment for his crimes, that's for sure.

Cole probably would be the one who would be second most upset, but wheter he leaves or ultimately stays should probably be depended on your other choices and your relationship with him prior to this, probably have his personal quest be the determinating factor of what he chooses to do.

And i could go on, but point is, this would be a return to Origins choices actually mattering. There were choices that could make or break a characters bond with you. Shale would not budge regarding Caridin, Leliana and wynne would stand against you if you choose to defile the urn, Sevran would choose to betray you for his old friend if he didn't like you enough, and of course the age old choices at the end of act 3 in da2, where you have to pick between templars and Mages, as well as anders fate, and chances are regardless of what you do, at least 1 person ends up dead.

If anyone reading this has any suggestions for how to further improve this storyline, feel free to share, but regardless, i think we can all agree that this is a vast improvement of what we actually got.

[thishappensonceeveryfewlifetimes]

OC Layers

First time playing a Tumblr game like this! Thanks for the tag @etherealancientmusings!!!

A drawing because I don't have a good screenshot of my baby, just clips saved!

Layer One: The Outside

Name: Alice Hawke, Primal mage, Champion of Kirkwall

Eyes Color: Light blue, lil yellow sunflower around the iris

Hair Style/Color: Pale blonde, hangs straight just past her shoulders. She really doesn't style it unless someone does it for her because she's lazy and usually under attack lol

Height: Five foot nine, 175.26 cm. Her Champion boots give her another 1.5 inches.

Clothing Style: Understated but refined (picture notwithstanding, she was jumped in her sleep or something I don't know). Her go-to is figure-hugging blouses, trousers, anything jewel-toned or wine-red. And ruffles! Ruffled sleeves, ruffled collars, busts. She loves a ruff. This is when she's not in armor, anyway. In armor, she's all about spikes and appearing like she could stab you with a well-placed wave.

Best Physical Feature: Oh Lord don't put this on me. Her eyes are pretty striking, lighter and warmer than either of her siblings', and with the sunflower to boot.

Layer Two: The Inside

Fears: Chiefly that she's exactly every bad thing ever said about her. That all the doubts voiced about her and those she possesses herself are entirely based in irrefutable fact. Alice is also petrified of Fenris realizing she actually is all those terrible things and leaving her forever. Also losing him, or Varric. (Nobody mention Veilguard to her, she'll explode). She's already lost everyone else, so she's clinging to those two with her nails dug in. And she hates, HAAAATES spiders. Venomous spiders, nonvenomous spiders, little spiders, Halloween spiders, spiders of unusual size. Hates 'em.

Guilty Pleasure: I don't know that she has any guilty pleasures, per se, she's pretty up front with what she likes. If she had to pick one, it'd probably be starting bar brawls at the Hanged Man, even if she claims she'd never do it. She likes the chaos.

Biggest Pet Peeve: Pussyfooting. Don't look at me like that, it's a valid term! An example would be Grand Cleric Elthina and her apparent inability to make a solid decision on if she believes mages are human beings or not, but that's neither here nor there. She can't stand when someone doesn't stand for something, or tries to play the middleman, or tries to appease all sides. Her role as Champion opened a lot of doors in regards to sticking it to Knight-Commander Meredith and Elthina.

Ambition for the Future: As of the end of da2, it's mostly to stay with Fenris and Varric, as long as she possibly can. (Don't tell her that Varric's going to be picked up by Cassandra. Or that the events of Inquisition are coming. Or that my Veilguard rewrite fanfic is in the works DON'T TELL HER)

Layer Three: Thoughts

First Thoughts Waking Up: Bracing herself for some form of bad news/attack. If there isn't any, her immediate next thought is to snuggle Fenris, her living space heater.

What They Think About the Most: When it's not her crippling self-loathing and deep-seated sense of failure to prevent her home city-state from falling apart at the seams, not to mention all the loved ones she's lost, or the crushing weight of how many people's expectations rest on her, it's mostly just day to day, or ways to get up to trouble.

What They Think About Before Bed: The day she just weathered and the day to come, whether it'll be different and how. If Fenris is around, though, her thoughts aren't...shareable.

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: Alice prides herself on usefulness, or her seismic magic, because she isn't sure she's good for much else. She has a lot of good qualities, she just can't see them. Like if you asked me, which you did, I'd say Alice is extremely kind. Her first instinct if someone is in need is to help them, no matter what it is. I'd also say she's extremely forthright when it comes to situations where directness is more necessary than nicely beating around the bush. She has an incredible sense of justice and empathy, though she would deny it if you pointed those qualities out. Like most of us, she can't see the ways in which she shines.

Layer Four: What's Better?

Single or Group Dates: Single, she wants Fenris all to herself.

To be Love or Respected: Respected.

Beauty or Brains: Can't it be both? Fenris has arresting features and a curious mind, eager to learn. Isabela outwits her friends at Wicked Grace, dirty dealers in matters of illegality, and she looks like that to boot. Varric's chest hair alone has launched or sunk a thousand ships, depending on you ask, and he's an accomplished author. Aveline runs the Kirkwall guard with a mind like a steel trap and thighs that could crush your skull. Merrill's big green eyes will make you surrender your deepest secrets and she is actively repairing an Eluvian in her spare room. Sebastian.

Dogs or Cats: She's Fereldan. It's dogs. She has a mabari named Jabberwock, and he loves cats.

Layer Five: Do You?

Lie: Oh, absolutely. She lies to authority. She lies to her house staff (regarding the danger she engages in). She lies to the Knight-Commander for fun. She lies to herself. Every word out of her artfully done-up mouth is a lie.

Believe in Yourself: I shouldn't just laugh, right? Honestly, it never crosses her mind. She has confidence, won from her years as an accomplished mage as well as being Champion, she wasn't named that for no reason, but it isn't something she ever gave much thought to. I think her self-esteem is too damaged to say that she believes in herself. She believes in her friends, and perhaps most importantly, her friends believe in her. That suffices.

Believe in Love: Absolutely. Despite all the pain love has wrought for her, Alice wouldn't have held out for three years for Fenris if she didn't believe in love. Not to mention the friends she holds so dear, even if distance or time separates them.

Want Someone: Fenris, baby! All day, every day. She has eyes for no one else.

Layer Six: Have You Ever?

Been on Stage: Does the blood-soaked throne room of the Viscount count? No? Ok, then she's got up on tables once or twice in the Hanged Man. On dares!

Done Drugs: Yes, but they were natural, Merrill confirmed it. And all that happened was she saw a large, talking blue caterpillar whose every word was visible in the air. Don't tell Aveline.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: No, but there have been times she's had to dodge certain preconceptions about herself, even if they were accurate.

Layer Seven: What's Their...

Favorite Colors: Wine red, which she calls winedark-red. It's her lipstick, it's her chosen clothing color, it's the shade of the curtains in her Hightown mansion. Alternatively, dark bronze, the color of Fenris' skin.

Favorite Book: Hard in Hightown, because a good hardboiled detective is always hot. Don't tell Varric. Also the book of Shartan, because it tells history the Chantry is trying to bury and also it's the book she used to start teaching Fenris how to read.

Favorite Animal: Frogs! She loves how green they are. Second is dogs, which is fun, cuz it rhymes.

Favorite Game: Five-finger filet because it's difficult for Isabela to cheat at a game that requires you to stab a knife into a table and not your own skin.

Layer Eight: Age

DOB: Oh I don't know lol if we say she was thirty by the end of da2 then probably 9:07 Dragon

How Old Will You Be: ....Thirty

Age You Lost Your Virginity: Seventeen, Lothering boy. He died in the Blight ):

Does Age Matter: Not so long as everybody's an adult!

Layer Nine: Finish The Sentence

I love: Kirkwall, despite its cursed existence. Her friends, despite the problems they cause her. Her Fenris, most ardently.

I feel: Strangled by expectation.

I hide: Doubts and the utterly depraved level of self-loathing she fields. She hides these things behind bravado and humor.

I miss: Her first dog, Sam. Loyal, sweet Sam. He was there as the Hawkes fled Lothering, there through the Deep Roads, and what happened to Leandra. Her oldest friend, taken by old age.

I wish: A lot of things, but what has wishing ever gotten her? Besides, Alice has Varric, she has Fenris, she has Jabberwock. She even has her motley assortment of weirdos. She never made those wishes but they were granted anyway.

This was a journey but it was fun! Your turns @jarinnards @vakarianshepard @nadas-dirthalen and if you've done this already, please disregard <3

[recents]

jealous of pc gamers. every fucking time i boot up da2 or dao, xbox has to be a fucking diva about something. “oooh we forgot you have dlc so we can’t load your save, log into your roommates account and do a hocus pocus ritual about it! ooooh we have to download what could only be your MINECRAFT SAVES before you can fucking play dragon age 2” and you know if im fucking pulling da2 up im emotionally at my lowest. it’s been downloading for 7 minutes. christ

[pondering-gales-left-orb]

Btw for Anders I despise the excuse that "Kirkwall broke him and made him who he is" as if if he lived somewhere else he wouldn't have come to the same conclusion. I actually reject it

Justice and Anders merged way before Kirkwall

Mages are oppressed everywhere

Circle annulment aka killing all the mages in the circle was a NORMAL practice to the point that an outsider (the warden) could just walk in and do it

The templars were shit in all of Thedas they abused the mages in every circle, in kirkwall they did it in broad daylight but they also acted the same everywhere we get this confirmed by every circle mage we meet

Anders was always gonna do something

he was always planning to do something every time he escaped he always had a plan to do something even in awaking

Oh also i reject the notion that Anders awakening and Anders DA2 are 2 different people no i believe one is the natural maturing of the other when you grow up in a world the keeps beating you up and bruising you taking away everything you loved it will change you and make you angrier causing you to feel like you have no worth and your self-sacrifice is the only thing that will ever help change things

also not to mention justice and all his complexities are there contained inside of Anders alongside all that.

the fact that Anders is strong enough to have control over a spirit inhabiting his body and not loose himself entirely to possession but rather be so strong that justice could only convince him to delay what he wanted and try the peaceful talking method for years before realizing he cant take over and trap Anders and that he can only meld together with him and become part of him rather than take over( maybe that why Nathaniel suggested Anders to host justice, he knew how strong Anders is and that he will never allow any kind of take over of his own soul and body)

Kirkwall "city of chains built on the blood of slaves" sure made it worse yes but it didn't cause Anders to do what he did. He was always a freedom fighter even before awakening happened (YES A FREEDOM FIGHTER NOT A T*RRORIST GET IT RIGHT WHY ARE YOU BOOTLICKING THE FICTIONAL MAGIC POLICE AND CHANTRY'S BOOTS)

Anders would have done it no matter where he was because as he says in the end there was never a chance for compromise they would have killed mages anywhere at any time for any reason and he knew that, he knew it ever since the moment they took him away from his mother as a kid.

[lkblackham]

Tagged by @dragonracer , took the excuse to give my brain a break from thesisifying. Let's unpack some

🧅OC Layers 🧅

(I decided I wanted to properly show off her fancy First Date outfit I drew months ago and never posted)

LAYER 1: THE OUTSIDE

Name: Ataashri/Atash “Rook” Laidir

Eye Color: light purple/lilac

Hairstyle/Color: White, cut into a sort of wind-tussled mullet, with one little braid (usually decorated with a large, round jade bead) over one shoulder.

Height: 7 feet. Still shorter than most Qunari, including Taash, who enjoys teasing her about it. (I'm going by DA2 Qunari measurements here)

Clothing Style: loose, billowy, easy to jump around in, tucked into light well-fitted boots. Usually in bright colors and complicated patterns, with several pieces of gold jewelry. Never wears a proper shirt. Has a vendetta against sleeves. Also has to put on at least three layers anywhere colder than Rivain.

Best Physical Feature(s): she is very proud of her muscles. She will gladly admit to being super vain about her physique, and takes almost every opportunity to show it off. Especially to Emmrich. He does not mind in the slightest.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: thunder/lightning, tiny dark spaces, and being alone.

The thunder/lightning phobia (which I just found out is officially called “astraphobia”, nice) comes from a teenage experience where she decided to try creating lightning against the directions of her magic teacher, Tide, because she (like many teens) was an overconfident little butthead. Long story short, she shocked herself, stopping her heart for three minutes, and Tide had to improvise a sort of magic defibrillator to restart her heart and revive her. She has a giant lightning-strike scar that goes all the way from her right shoulder down to her left foot. It's pretty gnarly.

The fear of isolation and small spaces comes from her time as a slave on Tevinter galleys from ages 2 to 6. She was allowed to stay with her mother, but was quite often punished by being shoved into the brig by herself.

Guilty Pleasures: Chocolate. She would gladly live just off chocolate if she could. And erotic novels. Although she doesn't really feel guilty about those.

Biggest Pet Peeve: blatant greed and selfishness. And loud chewing.

Ambition For The Future: …. She honestly has no idea. Her whole ambition with the Lords was to just continue working, maybe becoming a sort of Dragon Age adventure archaeologist. Now she's effectively banished, however, she's just trying to keep everyone on her team alive and maybe save the world.

After getting together with Emmrich, there is a vague sort of vision she starts putting together of exploring the world with him and helping with reconstruction after the gods are dealt with.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: Am I alone?

What They Think About The Most: trying to keep track of her team, making sure everyone's okay and they're getting their needs met, on top of helping their allies. Wondering if she's a terrible leader. Worrying about her family back home. Chocolate and books. Emmrich starts featuring pretty heavily in her thoughts eventually, which she feels all kinds of conflicting emotions about

What They Think About Before Bed: every single thing she must have messed up during the day. Her erotic novels. Emmrich.

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: she doesn't give up. She's constant and reliable. She gets the job done.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT'S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates:

Depends. If it's meant to be romantic in any way, definitely single dates. If it's just fun, either one is good. She loves a good beach bonfire with her friends.

To be Loved or Respected:

Definitely loved. She really wants everyone to like her, and has to check herself from going overboard with it. She knows a good captain takes care of their crew and gets the job done, and you don't need love for that, but you do need respect. But deep down, she still wants love always.

Beauty or Brains:

Why not both? Hahahaaaaa

Yeah, no, she's vain about some stuff but when pressed to choose she definitely picks brains. Too many arrogant assholes all caught up in appearances in the middle of all this mess as it is. Pretty faces are common as dirt, but brilliant minds are rare treasures. She thinks Emmrich is handsome, but she wouldn't even spare him a glance if he weren't also incredibly intelligent and kind. (Most specifically kind, which she considers to be a sign of true intelligence)

Dogs or Cats: Either! Both!! She has a Mabari she rescued years ago and a large Rivaini tree-cat that she had to leave back in Rivain, and she pines for them constantly. She also pets literally every single cat and dog she sees on their travels, which has forced her team to discreetly strategize routes based on the likelihood of domestic animal encounters.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: only when she feels like she has to, like to protect someone or save their life.

Believe in Yourself: she believes she is capable. Or is willing to try, anyway.

Believe in Love: she does, but didn't think she could feel it in a non-platonic way until Emmrich.

Want Someone: Emmrich Emmrich Emmrich oh God she has so bad for this spooky sweet bone man

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been on Stage: HA, no. She loves a good show but would never try to do one herself.

Done Drugs: look, what happens in the sea cave hideout stays in the sea cave hideout

Changed Who You Were To Fit In: kind of. She got caught up in the over-drinking culture of the Lords after her mother died and she wanted to earn the respect of her peers. Also, the sea cave hideout.

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT'S THEIR…

Favorite Colors:

Oooof, that's a tough one. She does love white, as she tells Emmrich on their first date, but she also loves orange and red and purple and green and pink and

Favorite Animal:

All of them. But especially cuddly ones.

Tripled if they're missing an eye or only have three legs or some other ‘unsightly flaw’. She will favorite them even harder.

Favorite Book:

Strangely enough, it's All This Shit Is Weird by Varric Tethras. She was so excited to meet him when he came along on that ill-fated expedition.

Favorite Game:

Okay, so, you know that game Tulio and Miguel have to play in The Road To El Dorado where you have to bounce the ball with your hip to knock it through a high hoop (which is based on a real Aztec ball game)? Well, in my HC, there's a Qunari version of that, except they have to knock the ball around with their head or horns. Only Qunari are able to play it without getting at least a concussion and Atash loves it. She was really good at it, too, despite always being the shortest on her team.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB:

Noon, 7 Bloomingtide (Molioris), 9:22 Dragon. Atash's mother remembered every detail of her birth date.

How Old Will You Be?

At the beginning of Veilguard, Atash is 30, turning 31 over the course of the story.

Does Age Matter: it depends. If it's a 40-year-old asking if they can get together with an 18-year-old then YES, it DOES. If it's questioning a person's ability based purely on their age, then no, it doesn't.

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: warmth, sun, closeness, fun

I feel: pretty good! (perpetually terrified)

I hide: my fear, so I don't burden anyone

I miss: my mother, my house, my family, hugs

I wish: I knew how to fix everything

***

Woohoo that was a long one. I'm just going to tag anyone who sees this and might want to do it. Thanks for reading this far!

[teine-mallaichte]

happy friday! how about kiddo getting lost in the crowd from the kidfic list?

I've placing this in the gap between DA2 and inquision (at least before hawke goes to aid the inquisition anyway) so according to my adjusted timeline Storm is about 4 years old.

As someone who has no kids I only have a vague idea of child development... if I ever write a long kid fic I may need to find an advisor 😂

@dadrunkwriting

The town was huge!

Storm couldn’t even remember if he’d ever been to a town at all. Normally, his family stuck to the quiet roads, the green fields of farms, and the smaller, friendlier villages. Here, though, everything felt different. The noise, the bustle, the crowds of people rushing past in every direction.

There were so many, more than he could ever count. They moved in waves—walking, talking, shouting, all in a blur. His eyes darted from face to face, each one unfamiliar, none of them friendly.

Mummy had always warned him to be careful in towns. Around people. Strangers. Especially those in metal armour. She would lower her voice when she spoke about it, as though there were things Storm wasn’t meant to understand yet. People in towns weren’t always kind, she said. There were some who didn’t like Daddy. She never gave a reason, just a look in her eyes that told Storm it was something serious. Something that was better left unsaid.

She spoke of them in a hushed tone, the "bad people" whose presence always seemed to hover just on the edge of their world. Storm didn’t know exactly who these people were. They were the reason, Mummy explained, that they couldn’t stay anywhere for too long. They couldn’t let their roots grow deep, couldn’t let the town or its people get too comfortable with them. They had to leave, to pack their things in the dead of night, always slipping away before the morning light.

When had her hand slipped from his? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he was alone now. Alone in a sea of strangers, none of whom looked at him, none of whom cared. His hand reached out, but grasped only air. The faces around him were nothing but blurry shapes, distant and unkind.

The noise of boots on cobblestones, the rattle of carts, the clamor of voices made his head spin. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, but it didn’t help. His heart raced faster. He couldn’t breathe.

In the distance, a flash of red caught his eye—a cloak, just like Mummy’s. His heart leapt, a spark of hope flaring in his chest. He tried to push through the crowd, reaching out to grab anyone who might notice him, but the bodies were thick, moving too fast. He tugged at someone’s sleeve, but the person didn’t even flinch, just kept walking.

“Mummy…” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise. The word got lost in the crowd, swallowed by the chaos.

He tried again, louder this time. “Mummy!”

Still, nothing. His voice was lost, as if it didn’t exist.

The red cloak vanished into the crowd, just out of reach. His heart sank. Panic began to churn in his chest. His knees felt weak, his legs wobbling beneath him. He spun in every direction, searching for any sign of her, but the crowd was endless.

No one looked at him.

No one even saw him.

“Mummy!” He shouted, but the word was drowned by the constant hum of the street, swallowed up by the throng of people. His chest tightened with each breath. His legs felt rooted to the spot.

Suddenly, a rough hand landed on his shoulder, and Storm’s heart leapt into his throat. His breath caught in a panic, and his chest tightened.

What if the bad people had found him?

“Hey,” a voice rumbled, calm and familiar, “Found you.”

Storm spun around, his heart racing. There, crouched down to his level, was a figure with a hood pulled low, casting most of their face in shadow. But even so, a few messy strands of blonde hair peeked out, and the feathered pouldrons were unmistakable.

Daddy.

Storm didn’t even think. He flung himself into his father’s arms, his little body trembling with relief as Anders scooped him up, lifting him off the ground. The world seemed to part around them, the chaos of the crowd momentarily stilling. All Storm could focus on was the warmth of his father’s embrace, the steadying presence of him, his arms tight around him.

“You’re alright, kiddo,” Anders murmured, his voice low and soothing. One hand gently rubbed Storm’s back, grounding him in the moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

[greypetrel]

let me take you to my favourite place for raina/isabela/merrill!!!!!!!! please 🥺

Hi Zen!! Thanks for the prompt!

Sorry it took me a while, Raina is as always not the easiest voice to crack, for me. I wanted to keep these prompt shorts, but hey, it’s been a while and I write these three little, so I may as well not keep it so short. :P

Tis the prompt list

A roof with a view

[ Female Hawke x Merrill x Isabela | 2520 words | DA2: Act 3 | Polyamory discussions ]

let me take you to my favourite place

One night can’t really solve three years of nothing, really.

Not if those three years started with the woman Hawke liked dumping her for not wanting their relationship to be not casual, and she almost died to save her life a handful of days later.

Nevermind that one night has been one of the greatest ones of Hawke’s life, that somehow her girlfriend was more than ok in involving another person, and that nobody really cared if the beds in the Hanged Men were definitely too narrow for three people to snuggle in at once.

Old habits die hard, and when they woke up, Hawke was expecting for Bela to just… Draw back. Say it had been fun, but that was it, everyone should go on their own way.

Every little thing that happened, tho, seemed to contradict her.

Waking up next to them, Bela pressed one kiss on the both of their cheeks. Merrill giggled, Hawke gurgled. They helped each other dress up, as if it was normal -it was normal with Merrill, but Isabela added a third element that was… Something to get used to. Not in a bad way. They walked down for breakfast together, and took their usual table, Corrf didn’t need to ask them what they wanted. It turned out that he still remembered her order, from when she dragged herself outside of Gamlen’s house or from Isabela’s room. Merrill had been invited enough times by Varric for the host to know what she liked. The food was as greasy as usual, exactly what you need on a cold morning.

Everything felt out of habit, rehearsed many, many times to the point of delicious normality. And at the same time it was not. The balance of the three of them together wasn’t unknown - you don’t fight and spend together at least every Friday evening the Maker sends on Thedas for 4 years without finding a rhythm all together. And yet, there was something different. And underlying electricity, some new current right under the surface, not strong enough to move your hull all so sudden, but possibly enough to veer your route to lands unknown.

And Raina Hawke didn’t like it.

Not after the last time, not after she almost fucked everything up once, because she went sailing with no direction ahead, and learnt the hard way that a direction she needed.

“Is everything all right, vhenan?”

A gentle hand on her knee, long fingers with nails painted black, gently pressing on her leg, right before the bone. Hawke stopped bouncing it, which she had started to do without thinking, and smiled up at Merrill to her side, She knew that look, and it was a worried one.

“You looked so lost in thought.” She went on.

“It’s ok. I’m ok.”

Merrill frowned at her, unconvinced. She didn’t answer, but she squeezed her knee emphatically. It made Raina huff, and she leant forward, to press a kiss on the elf’s lips.

“Come with me.” She looked to her left, searching for Isabela’s eyes and assuring the piratess was looking back before continuing. “Both of you.”

---

The day was simply awful.

It was, simply speaking, raining cats and dogs, and raining them sideways. So sideways that Merrill’s spell wasn’t all that effective, in redirecting the water away from them.

Moving in three with arms hooked together was difficult, their boots were splorching in the mud, and they wobbled horribly to one side or the other, according to whom between Isabela and Hawke to the sides was hit by a loose drop of rain.

Luckily, the laughter made them forget the awkwardness of the morning.

“Oh! Here!”

Raina stopped abruptly, which made Merrill stumble and Isabela almost trip. In the moment, it only made them laugh more. But when they stopped laughing and looked at where Hawke was pointing, the trio fell silent, admiring.

“Hawke.”

“Mh?”

“It’s a brick wall.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“There’s no door.”

“No window.”

“Tut tut tut.”

Hawke tsked, raising her chin high and stepping forward with confidence, in two big strides. The other two had to stumble more to follow her, between not expecting the movement and the difference in height and consequent length of limbs.

“Have I ever led you astray?” She asked, rhetorically.

The silence that followed was deafening, only interrupted by the rhythmic tapping of rain over stones and beaten ground.

“Wow, that’s not offensive at all.” Raina complained.

“Well, vhenan, that one time you said you knew a shortcut for Soundermount, we did end up in a bear cave.”

“I thought you found them cute!”

“And the Bone Pit.”

“Oh! Oh, you’re right, Bela, the Bone Pit!”

“It’s a wonder we still follow her anywhere, honestly.”

“She has that look, with those blue eyes and trembling lip is difficult to tell her no…”

Hawke groaned aloud, muttering something under her breath as the two others went on for a couple of jokes still, until everything melted into a laugh. Some kind of normal, again, with something new added to the mix. Feeling even more restless for answers than before (she liked it, Maker, she did, and she really didn’t want to give it up) she pushed two crates closer to where she wanted them, and climbed on top of those.

From that, it was fairly easy to jump a little up, and hang from the lowermost balcony, and haul herself up.

“Hawke?”

“A moment.”

It was at least 2 years since she last went up there, but the memory was still ingrained in her muscles. Balcony, railing, flat roof over the first story and- Ah! Old Helmut still kept his tools there, covered by oilskin. Thank you, old Helmut. She lowered the ladder to the balcony downside and jumped back down on that, a roll of rope on her shoulder.

She never made it if not alone, but knowing that the old man used the roof outside his window as a balcony and storage space made it fairly easy to accommodate. Isabela caught up right away, and between them two, it was fairly easy to help Merrill up too. From the first half-roof to the upper balcony, and then a little jump to the next roof. A small walk on tiles, another haul on another taller building, and two roof over that, there it was.

The skyline of Low Town opened up to the fjord, now free of any other taller building. Not the best view ever, with the rain, but the low cloud caressing the uppermost peaks of the cliffs and flowing gently in the wind made for an equally picturesque scenery. The sea was almost silver in the cloudy light, the Gallows gentler through the mist. All the ship masts a forest of trees, down by the docks, gently swaying in the current and the wind, and up there, High Town seemed less imposing and less contrastingly white than the usual. More approachable, in a way. Everything was quiet, nobody really wanted to go out with that weather, nobody who could help it. Sails couldn’t leave, not with the risk of wrecking against the rocks. The city was taking a breath. From up there, with the rain cleaning the air, it almost looked pretty.

“What is this place?” It was Bela who asked, shading her eyes with her hand and looking to the horizon, eyes big.

“Ladies, let me take you to my favourite place.” Raina improvised a curtsey, with a flourish of her hand. “A prized view over the city, no one there but us and the occasional seagull. An exclusive spot which I am sharing just with you, and only you, out of the goodness of my heart.”

She rose back up, standing, but one brief look at Merrill had her effortlessly turn away. A smile still on her face that she knew perfectly well wouldn’t have been enough to hide from the elf exactly how nervous she felt. Instead, she turned and walked to the edge of the flat roof, sitting down and letting her legs dwindle in the open, smiling at the scenery.

“I found it a little after we reached here. The house was cramped, Gamlen wouldn’t stop complaining, Mother wouldn’t stop fussing over Athenril, everyone was looking at me as if I had all the answers, when I had none… I went outside and climbed up, found this roof mainly by chance. It’s a good spot for thinking, no one disturbs you, here.”

“Doesn’t Garrett know?” Merrill asked.

“Nope. Never told him.”

She leant back on her arms, not caring of the rain. She was starting to get cold, indeed, but she cared not. She loved Kirkwall from up there, she felt at place. It was easier to ignore the embarrassed silence coming from behind her, as it was easy, so high, to ignore all her problems and pretend everything was good.

Oh, she knew perfectly well where the silence came from. Merrill was worried and didn’t know what to say, and Isabela was embarrassed, not knowing what to do with so much closeness. Seven years, and she knew the both of them well enough.

She also knew that if she wanted the topic to go where she wanted, she had to speak, even if it was difficult, even if she dreaded the answer. Well, she dreaded the answer from Isabela, the great question mark. Of Merrill, she was as sure as she was that the sun would have risen the next day, and what a comfort it was to know she was there too.

“I liked last night. Very, very much.” She started, her right knee starting to bounce on the ledge of the building. The movement dragged on the plaster, and some eroded and fell down to the street. Lucky there was none walking outside. “And I think you both liked it, too. So, I brought you there because I’m a terrible romantic and a great girlfriend, and I would so love to tell you both, that I would like to do that again. And call it something serious and not casual, and be official, and be exclusive. With the both of you. All three of us, together. If you also would like it, of course. I think it worked well and it could work in the future and well, there’s space enough in the house for one person more, if you want, if you want a place to stay that’s not the Hanged Man…”

Her leg was bouncing up and down, up and down. Frozen on the spot, the view in front of her and the rain kept her grounded, she said what she had to say, and now there was just her, her hair sticking to her forehead, the mist and the clouds gently floating, uncaring of how much her heart was thrumming in her ears, and the shivers down her spine.

A pair of hands touched her face, and Hawke was so tense that she actually startled. But the hands were gentle, and combed her hair back from her forehead. Long, lithe fingers, a delicate touch. Merrill. She hooked her fingers under her chin and gently pushed until Raina looked up. She was smiling, green eyes gleaming at her. She bent forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, upside down. Raina sighed into it, relieved by her presence as she always was, some of the shivers melting away.

“I would love that.” Merrill said, simple as that, before straightening back and turning around.

Her hands lowered to Hawke’s shoulder, keeping the contact. It gave Raina guts enough to actually turn and look at the third person on the roof. The one she was the most unsure of.

She turned, and wrapped an arm around Merrill’s leg, resting her face against the thigh. The chainmail and the leather were both cold against her skin, but thanks to her spell it was dry. Another grounding thing, with the hand that squeezed her shoulder, understanding the support Hawke was silently asking.

Isabela stood there, arms crossed to her chest and a furrow on her brow, looking poignantly down. It was still so strange to see her insecure, as strange it had been but the last evening to see her in such a state, when she confessed that she, actually, had feelings.

“What about you, Bela?” Merrill asked, with the same, disarming directness she always had.

The piratess took another full minute to answer, and the other two let her time to think. Well. Hawke clutched Merrill’s leg tighter as time went, and her eyes fell to the ground, jumping to the conclusion that the hesitation meant just that the woman was looking at a polite, delicate way to tell the both of them that no, it was still casual for her, she didn’t want anything to weight her down.

But when Raina was just about to call it over, raise with a witty remark and turn everything into a joke and go on with their lives, Bela spoke.

“I don’t want to stay in Kirkwall.” Isabela admitted, words weighting heavily on her voice.

But she sighed, took a deep breath and when it was starting to look like it was a no, Isabela looked back up. Same frown on her face.

“But if you so insist, and if you��re ok in not me staying all the time…” A pause, she took a deep breath. “… it would be nice to have a place to return to.”

Hawke blinked. Once and twice. Made it three. She realized she was holding her breath when her lungs started to burn. For once, she had no words to speak, too stunned, too unbelieving of what she just heard. If she spoke, the spell would have broken, and she would have found herself alone, once more. Or woke up in her room, equally alone in that too big for her mansion. It was too good to be true, surely it could not be happening to her.

Instead, she blinked a fourth time, and they were still there. Merrill to her side, fingers gently caressing her hair, and Isabela in front of them, looking nervous and vulnerable.

“Of all the times for you to end your jokes, Hawke.” The piratess complained, with a scoff, cheeks taking a redder hue as she flushed.

“I- uh-”

“A place to return to sounds good.” Bless Merrill, who giggled as she took initiative and answered.

“Yeah. Good. Good, indeed.” Was all that Raina could say, and she hid her face deeper into Merrill’s thight, groaning. Of all the times she could lose her tongue indeed.

“Well. That’s settled then, isn’t it.” Bela snorted, her laughter still a little awkward. “Luckily there’s at least one that can function in all this.”

Merrill laughed, and rose the arm that wasn’t busy hugging Raina towards Isabela, beckoning her close.

When they hugged, all three on that roof, and Hawke heard Isabela let out a deep sigh, everything started to sound a little better. The awkwardness was gone, and they all three fit together, like the pieces of a puzzle.

[milesmentis]

Bards

Day 5: Veilguard 30 (Filling in for @daisymeade with a snippet featuring her Hawke, the best worst only bard in Kirkwall ... DA2 didn't give us the bard spec because they knew that Marion would've been literally unstoppable.)

“And now, gentle patrons, I shall pass my hat.”

“What for?” A loud voice cut through the grumbling, catching the attention of very nearly everyone in the room. Cyric squinted. The speaker was a lanky man sitting in the far corner nearest the door. He was leaning back, his chair precariously balanced against the back wall, his booted feet up on the table. A heckler.

Cyric pulled himself up to his full height. “For the evening's fine entertainment, serah.”

“Oh, and when does that start?” The patrons snickered into their stale mugs of ale, even the ones who had been pointedly ignoring his luteing. “Sorry,” the man continued with a cocky grin, “but the Hanged Man doesn't run on credit.”

That really got the room going, a few whistles and stamps mixed in with the raucous laughter.

Cyric’s face burned, but he managed to snap back, “Well, I'd like to see you do better!”

At once, the man swung his leg down in a casual motion so smooth that it had to be practiced. As soon as his foot hit the floor, so did the legs of his chair and he was up and moving. He crossed half of the crowded room in a breath and Cyric couldn't help but gulp. The man was taller … and significantly wider than he'd originally assumed. His chest was broad and his arms rippled with lean muscle beneath his rolled up sleeves. His mouth still curved up in a languid grin, but from this close it looked much less friendly.

“That sounded like a wager.”

“And … if it was?” Nothing to do now but call his bluff … or possibly, he realized belatedly, take a very comprehensive thrashing. “Fancy a go?”

He held out the lute by the neck as if it was a dead chicken and the man's smile actually spread into a full grin.

“Well … I'll try anything once.”

“We know!” called one of the other patrons and the room cracked up again.

He turned to yell back over his shoulder, “And how was I supposed to know that was your sister? If she’d been mule-ugly and drunk, I'd have known to ask permission first!”

Ignoring the latest round of hoots and jeers, the man rolled his shoulders like he was loosening up to lift something heavy then held out a calloused hand.

“Terms?”

Cyric thought for a moment. “If you can play a song - any song - I'll cover all your drinks for the night.”

The man grinned. “Think you’ll get enough to pay up when you lose?”

Cyric stuck out his chin. “Having second thoughts about showing your ass in front of your friends?”

“Good one,” the man snickered. “But that assumes they haven't all seen it. Assumptions are like that.”

The man turned the lute back and forth, giving the instrument a critical once over before slinging the band over his neck. He settled his arm around it, a bit as if he were cradling a newborn calf and began to fidget with the tuning. Cyric snorted. Despite trying to look confident, the man’s “fiddling” would only take it out a tune - this was likely going to be more painful than embarrassing.

He plucked his first note, sour as curdled milk, and Cyric grit his teeth. More notes came in succession, trailing like lost ducklings in an arhythmic mess. He almost went to snatch his precious instrument back from the lout when he strummed a selection of discordant notes in a chord. It hummed sympathetically to the jarring notes hanging in the smoky room, creating a bridge. The man plucked again, a quicker run through the notes followed by the same chord twice, reigning in the chaos. Cyric winced again as the man’s rough fingers slid down the strings in a screech but it ended again in a chord, this one much more pleasing. The firelight danced on the man’s face, catching at his lips which now turned up in a less harsh expression, one of private satisfaction as if he’d just brought a difficult horse into line. The music was still not to Cyric’s taste, but there was a certain wild beauty to it. It sounded like a drunkard's waltz, swaying back and forth across the room until it bumped against those oft repeated chords.

As the phrase repeated again and again, the man began to embellish, adding trills and sympathetic chords until the song carried something remarkably close to a melody. The tempo increased and as the man began to stomp in time, Cyric realized with a start that not only was he swaying along with the beat, so were most of the patrons. Even the most hardfaced drunks were nodding in time or tapping mugs against the worn and sticky tabletops. The music built to a crescendo, quick triplets and a muddled mess of chords all crashing together. It came to an abrupt end with one final stomp from the redheaded man, but as a few cheers and some raucous applause drifted towards them from the table in the back he stomped again. And again. And again. Expectant quiet fell then, all attention drawn to him like metal shavings to a lodestone. And he began to sing.

Fortune, fortune, smile and fade

Haven't seen you much of late

His voice was like his luting: unpolished, lilting, and undeniably Ferelden. The cadence of his words swayed in an almost dirge-like rhythm as he continued:

Need you now, I cannot wait

But when I look you’re not around

Cyric startled when a few patrons joined in, the strongest voices coming from a table full of laborers, judging from the stone dust on their clothes.

Never minding what we do

The night’s still good for a dram or two

I’ll be drinking late with you

Until the morning comes around

Yea, I must be good for something

Yea, pray tell?

His crooning dropped deep into his chest at that last part, aching with a desperate longing. A tremulous chord hung in the air for a breath before the man threw back his head and, followed by almost two dozen voices, launched into the chorus.

Oh sinners come down, come gather 'round

Oh sinners come down, lay-o-lai

Dancing on cold feet

Marching down cobbled streets

Oh sinners come down, lay-o-laaaiii

[bearlytolerant]

9, 16, 19 for DA4 ask!

Thank you for these asks! I finally sat down to get them answered.

9. Which romance, if any, do you plan to pursue first?

Solas with my lavellan. I kid…unless.

Then Varric. I kid…u n l e s s.

The real answer is I’m torn. Everyone looks lovely! But I’m going to need to get to know them better in game before I can actually make any decision on who I’m romancing first. Unlike prior games, everyone I’ve seen in the new game is starting on the same level (even though I’ve got some snippets of chars from writing but I need more to go on).

16. What's one crack theory you subscribe to (yours or someone else's)

I don’t know. Probably none. Even my own I’m not fully subscribed to. A boring answer I know but I’ve got nothing. I’m just hoping we get some solid answers in the next game but it’s dragon age so—I expect I’ll get 12 more questions for every 1 I get an answer to.

21. Are you planning to replay any of the previous games, watch Dragon Age: Absolution, or read any of the books/comics/short stories, or are there other games you want to play in the meantime?

Yes! I booted up a new playthrough of da2 and Inquisition already. I have 3 of the comics to finish and I’m also working through Tevinter Nights again currently. I won’t read any of the other books though. Will probably watch absolution again too because I’ve only seen it once so I feel like a second time I’ll be able to glean details I missed prior from the show.

I’ve included vacation photos that Cole took of Sarya in the Elvhen ruins:

[the-stray-liger]

Kai help I really miss & really wanna replay Origins but I've completely broken it. Its busted. No matter what drive I install it on. I've tried deleting every file I have for it before a clean install. Still broken.

I'd assume that deleting all the files I have meant it'd uninstall every mod I have, and yet they return with the fresh install. Idk what's going on. At best all the textures are fucking busted & shift around like they're made of god damn cthulu. There's like a 75% chance it crashes on any checkpoint & I've never been able to enter ostagar since all this started. Trying a "skip ostagar" mod doesn't work either, it just finds more points to crash at. Or it just crashes on bootup

It even crashes when I take a screenshot. Just straight up freezes & deadlocks & I have to open fucking task manager to close it. Sometimes it just straight up doesn't recognise the screenshot button & it does nothing.

I've cursed one of my favourite games & I miss it real bad :(

I'm sorry I'm also a cursed computer person. Before rex got me DA2 pirated the Origin app you had to launch it from broke so badly that when I tried to boot DA2 not only it refused to do so, it froze my entire computer and the only way to unfreeze it was force restart it 😔 I'm really good at breaking things but I suck at fixing them

[snotsloth]

10 Characters/10 Fandoms/10 Tags

Tagged by @icehearts

Tagging, but don't feel pressured! (Also you do not have to make pretty pictures. Graphic Designer brain just took over and this happened.) @physicalvocalist, @sarenraegalpaladin, @vorpalbun, @captainqster, @leagor-majere, @sundered-souls, @ardberts, @hinganskies, @lilbittymonster, @janzoo

1. Harrowhark Nonagesimus - The Locked Tomb Trilogy

Harrow has true scrungly wet cat energy. I want to put her in one of those little backpacks with a window and carry her around in it for her enrichment. She's an absolute bitch. She is a pathetic little meow meow. She lobotomized herself to save the soul of the woman she refuses to admit she's in love with. She tried to kill a saint with soup made from her own bone marrow. She is a war crime. I like her so much!

2. Magneto - X-Men

He is the platonic ideal of my favorite trope, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Magneto has gone through the polar opposite of villain decay. The longer he exists, the longer the universe has to prove him increasingly correct on most things. All I can really say is, "Magneto was right."

3. Wei Wuxian - Mo Dao Zu Shi

Truly the most blorbo of all time. Are you also an ADHD burned out gifted and talented submissive brat with a praise kink? Boy howdy, do I have a character that you are going to imprint on like a baby goose! Wei Wuxian also has a hearty dose of, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Also like who multiclasses in wizard (specifically necromancer) and bard? This fucking guy apparently.

4. Hythlodaeus - Final Fantasy 14

I am so normal about Hythlodaeus, I made an entire AU around him. That is a reasonable thing to do about a character that you like a normal amount, right? The idealized lost love, trapped in amber, untouchable but also incorruptible by the sands of time that keep eroding the edges of your soul. And then they gave him lavender dead anime mom hair!

5. Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

I literally have a semi-viral post about how much this character has consumed my thoughts. Rule Number 1 of Dragon Age: Varric lies. He's a charming scoundrel. He's loyal to a fault. He knows everything worth knowing about Kirkwall. And he's a dirty fucking liar. The only reason Varric isn't romanceable in DA2 is that no other romantic interest would get any attention if Varric was on the table. I desire him carnally.

6. Temeraire - Temeraire

My most precious and smartest boy! I adore Temeraire so much. Swear to god, I did not read the Temeraire books before creating Orion as a character, but the parallels are so strong, you would think I had! He's a bookworm, a little awkward but full of opinions, and he has an unwavering moral compass. Temeraire will forever be one of my favorite dragon characters.

7. Jaina Solo - Star Wars Legends

I will never forget what Disney took from me. As a weird, nerdy girl who was also kind of a guy growing up, Jaina meant so much to me. She was an active participant in the stories she was in. She was an ace pilot, a skilled mechanic, and a Jedi to boot. She had her dad's sense of humor and her mom's moral certainty. I thought she was the coolest. Still do.

8. Ansur - Baldur's Gate 3

Ansur! My beloved! If you had told me that the character I would be most obsessed with from BG3 would be an undead bronze dragon who you don't even know about until the third act -- actually, no that checks out. He was so in love, and so loyal, and so bitter at Balduron for embracing his corruption! And that reveal! All the build-up, only to find his bones and then wham! the entire narrative of the Emperor gets turned on its head. I still get chills. Also, they were absolutely fucking.

9. Viktor - Arcane

Listen, as a disabled, obsessive nerd with too much to do and not enough time to do it all in, Viktor is my gender. I love just about everything about Arcane, but Viktor's storyline is my favorite part. I, for one, am very excited to watch his fall from grace and further corruption. I have already forgiven all of his atrocities. I do not care. He's babygirl.

10. Clark Kent - DC

You thought I was going to say Jason or Dick for a DC character didn't you? (Or even Roy!) Those would all have been very reasonable expectations. I am pretty obsessed with all of them. However, Clark Kent is a very special character to me, and yes I specifically am focusing on the Clark persona and not the Supes persona. Yeah, they are ultimately the same guy, but I much prefer Superman stories grounded in his Clark Kent identity. Superman is at his best when he is attached to the mundane world by things like his job, his family, and his love for Lois. (Lois/Clark is the ultimate het ship. I will not be taking questions on this. It just is.) Clark is essentially a demigod, and yet he chooses to spend his time loving people and living as one of them, and I think that's really fucking cool.

[eye-of-yelough]

booting up gta 5 “just for fun. just to drive and around and shoot things for a while before i get back to da2” was a mistake.

[seigephoenix]

Kinktober 2024: Edging

Set during DA2 before Alissa and Garrett discovered what good communication and a healthy relationship looked like. XD

Ship: Alissa Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke Content Warning: cunnilingus, sass, a tinsy bit of angst, fingering Length: 3.7k

Alissa prided herself on being a very patient person, kind and understanding, but Garrett Hawke had managed what no one else had in Kirkwall in the almost ten years she’d lived in it.  He managed to get to the end of her patience.  No one seemed to know exactly where he was either, and Alissa knew they were keeping it from her on purpose.  She stormed up the stairs of the Hanged Man, to Varric’s personal chambers.  Isabela chuckled and turned back to her drink, wishing she could listen in to that conversation.  Everyone knew that Hawke had taken a chance on making a bet with Alissa, and now it was time to pay up.  Isabela heard about the stakes and she wished to be a fly on that wall but knew that Hawke had his limits.  Too bad though.  She thought she’d greatly enjoy the torment that was about to land in the hero’s lap.

“Varric Tethras,” Alissa said in the most menacing tone she could muster.  Varric looked up and gave her a jaunty grin while holding his hands out in welcome.  Alissa stomped over to him and gave him a look that gave him plenty of warning not to bullshit her.  “Don’t act cute with me.”

“C’mon now Dimples.  Would I act cute with you?” Varric asked as she stood next to his chair with her hands propped up on her hips and a vicious glare in those storm colored eyes.

“Varric.  I am nearing the end of my patience.  Where is Hawke?” Varric pretended to think about it and answered that he hadn’t seen him all day.  “Varric…”

“I’m telling you the truth Dimples.  I haven’t seen him all day.” Varric grinned and Alissa’s eye twitched in annoyance.  She crossed her arms and leaned in until they were nose to nose.  “I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”  He grinned in the face of her ire even with the sweat dripping down his back.

“I see the game you’re playing Tethras, and I’ll raise your stakes.  Remember that you had your chance to give me the answer I wanted.”  Alissa straightened and stormed back out the Hanged Man.  Isabela joined Varric and propped her boots on the table.  She knew that Alissa had zero qualms using dirty tactics to get what she wanted.  She almost felt bad for Varric.  Almost.

“You know you should have just given up Hawke’s location.  Angering a woman like that isn’t very smart Varric,” Isabela told him with a grin.

“Well, Hawke offered up quite the prize if I didn’t tell her where he was hidden.”  Varric grinned and leaned back with his tankard of ale.  “Besides, I don’t know what Dimples thinks she can do.  Love the girl like a sister, but I just don’t see her outplaying Hawke this time.”

Two Weeks Later

“Hawke.  Hawke!” Varric burst through the estate’s door panicked and shut it quickly before anyone else could see him.

“Varric?  What is going on?” Garrett asked as he looked down from the railing.  Varric looked up at him and Leandra looked between them curiously.  Rarely did anything fluster Varric this badly.

“Hawke, I know you wanted to win this little tiff between you and Dimples.  I don’t think you’re going to manage that anymore.” Varric seemed nervous and that alarmed Garrett.  They both looked up as Aveline strode through the door, shutting it behind her as well.  She looked smug as hell when she stood downstairs below the railing with her arms crossed and her weight leaning to one side.

“Hawke.”  Varric and Hawke both stared as the guard captain joined Alissa’s side and then up as the door opened once again for the sultry pirate.  Both women didn’t look amused at all which sent alarm bells ringing in Garrett’s head.

“Aveline?  Isabela?”  Aveline turned as Isabela joined her.  “What is going on here?”

“You haven’t heard?” Aveline asked and Hawke looked at all three of his friends.  “Oh, you haven’t…”  Aveline looked at Alissa and sighed.  “Was this all to find Hawke?”

“Well, if you recall I did ask nicely first.  Hardly my fault when everyone else fails to realize I don’t lose.”  Alissa grinned as Aveline rolled her eyes before turning to face Hawke once again.

“Sunshine Meadery is closed for renovations,” Aveline began but Isabela stepped forward looking irate with Hawke.

“Closed until one of us gave up your location,” Isabela grumbled as she swept her arm out towards Alissa.  Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose.

“As such the city has a bit of a shortage going on.” Avelina shook her head as Hawke gaped at the three women standing there.  Alissa turned to look at him and the smirk on her lips pissed him off.  She played with people’s livelihoods by closing the brewery.

“Dimples, you wouldn’t do that to your workers would you?” Varric asked.

“You think that little of me Tethras?  Of course I paid them for the time off.  Told ‘em they earned some quality time off with their families.  Full two weeks of pay and those that stayed to do guard rotation got a bonus.”  Alissa waved her hand nonchalantly in front of her.

“Well, you found Hawke.  Will you please open the brewery again?  Please?” Isabela asked as she enveloped Alissa in a tight embrace.

“At the end of the two weeks I will.  It’s almost at the end.” Isabela cheered and told Hawke good luck before she trotted out with Aveline right behind her.  Varric looked at Alissa then at Hawke before he sighed at the plaintive look Hawke sent him.

“You’re on your own Hawke.  Sorry,” Varric backed away with his hands up and shut the door behind him.  Leandra cleared her throat and greeted Alissa.

“I do believe I shall visit some of the ladies for tea.”  She walked out with her head held high and only a slightly noticeable faster gait than normal.  Alissa resisted grinning as everyone abandoned Hawke, even Bodahn and Sandal found errands to run outside.

“Well, look at that.” Alissa shook her head as she heard Hawke grumbling upstairs.  Honestly, the man refused to pay up for losing that bet and it irked her.  She didn’t know what his problem was, it wasn’t as if she was asking for a lot to begin with.  “Pay up Hawke.”

“You ran my staff off, how in the hell am I going to pay up?” Garrett demanded from the landing.  Alissa’s lips twisted and he felt the panic settling in.  “If you’d want my cooking then be my guest for dinner.”  She sighed and crossed her arms.

“You know, all you had to do was pay up Hawke.  It was just dinner.  That was all you owed me!” Alissa yelled up at him as she made her way to the stairs.  “Dinner!  You could’ve bought that at the Hanged Man.  They know better than the poison me.”  She started going up the steps leaving Hawke panicked.

“Dinner, alone!”  She froze and her hand tightened on the banister.

“So that’s the way it is then?” Alissa asked quietly.  Hawke looked at her in surprise as she turned on her heel and started back down the stairs.  “Consider us even Hawke.”  She didn’t stop until the door shut behind her and Garrett had a sinking feeling in his gut.

Over the next few weeks he noticed there was one person absent whenever he went into the Hanged Man.  Garrett visited Varric and planted himself in between the dwarf and freedom.  “Okay, why is she avoiding me?”

“Who?  Daisy?  She’s not avoiding you.  She’s just lost.  Guess she ran out of that twine I gave her,” Varric said as he made a note to send her another one.

“No.”

“Rivaini?  Didn’t think she was avoiding you.”  Hawke’s fingers dug into his biceps as Varric spoke without looking at him.

“Varric.”

“Aveline?  She’s got a lot on her plate with those break ins and such.  That’s why you haven’t seen much of her.” Varric looked up at Hawke when leaned in.  It would be a menacing sight if Varric wasn’t irritated on Alissa’s behalf.

“Trevelyan.”

“Oh you mean Dimples.  Why are you so angry about that Hawke?” Varric asked with a sly grin.  “Thought you didn’t want to be around her anyway, what with you avoiding her and all not too long ago.”

“You know that’s different.” Varric tilted his head.

“So it’s okay for you to disappear and avoid the woman for two whole weeks, but it’s not okay when she does the same?  C’mon Hawke, I’m not the greatest mathematician but the math ain’t mathing here.”  Varric shrugged and Garrett’s lips twisted into a frown.  “You need to make a decision about Dimples.”

“That is none of your business,” Hawke grumbled but Varric simply shrugged.

“You made it my business by asking me to lie to my friend.  You’re my best friend but she’s my oldest friend.” Varric reminded him.  “She doesn’t deserve to be jerked around like you’re doing Hawke.”

Hawke knew Varric was right but there was still too much he was unsure about.  He didn’t have a title, just an estate in Hightown.  His blood ran red while hers was blue.  How could he stand by her side when he was so far beneath her station, it was laughable.  He tried to explain that to Varric who merely shook his head and laughed.

“Think about who you’re talking about.  Maybe her sister would care, and that’s only because I don’t know her sister like her.  This is Alissa we’re talking about here.  She doesn’t care about titles and the like, never has as far as I can remember.  She told me once that if it wouldn’t cause a scandal, her father would have disowned her years ago.  So take the fact she’s a lady because of lucky circumstances at face value.  Has Dimples ever given you the idea she cared about titles?”  Garrett opened his mouth to speak but he remembered that argument clearly.  She’d spat at him that she didn’t care about bloodlines since aristocrats had few branches on their family trees.  She’d rather judge a person on their actions rather than what a few words on a pedigree said.  Hawke’s shoulders slumped and he sighed in defeat.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, but we’ll let it slide this time.  If you want to speak to Dimples, she’s at her home in Hightown for the rest of the day.  Doing reports.”  Hawke was up and gone before Varric could finish speaking, leaving him chuckling at his friend’s back as it disappeared out the door of the tavern.  “You’ve got it bad for Dimples don’t you Hawke?  Good luck.”  Varric grinned and wondered if he could market this little love story but decided against it.

Trevelyan Hightown Estate

“Who is it!?” Alissa jerked open the door after the incessant knocking pulled her from her study.  She’d given the staff the week off so she could sulk in peace.  She had not expected any guests so annoyance rode high on her shoulders.  “Hawke!” Alissa paused for only a second before she tried to close the door in his face.  Garrett pushed against it and Alissa yelped in frustration as he pushed it open.  “Go away!”

“No.”  He took advantage of the way she froze at his answer to push his way inside her home and shut the door behind him.  Alissa took a step backwards before squaring off against him.

“No?  What do you mean no!?  Get out!” She pointed towards the door behind him but he merely tilted his head staring at her as if she was a child.  She hated that.  “Hawke.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Her jaw dropped open before she spun on her heel muttering about idiots as she marched back into her study.

“See yourself out.”  Garrett followed behind her despite the mumbled threats to his dignity spewing from the red head.  He stopped her from slamming the study door grinning at the irate expression on her face.  She looked adorable when she was angry but he was smart enough not to say so aloud when she had any weapons in the vicinity.

“Not until you tell me.”  Hawke paused when a pillow was thrown into his face.  “Resorting to violence?  I’m offended madam.”  He ducked the next one thrown at his head and scoffed as she called him names.  “Horse’s ass?  I thought you’d have more creativity than that.”

“I gave you what you wanted Hawke!” Alissa yelled, which caught his attention.  “I won our little game but victory tasted bitter after finding you.  I gave up!” She wanted to punch something but that never made her feel any better and she leashed the tears before they fell.  “I gave up.”  She turned her face towards the fireplace to hide the hurt she knew was there.  She’d never been the greatest at hiding her expressions, not when she was too overwhelmed with emotions.  She turned all the way around to face the fireplace while he remained silent.

“I’m not.” Alissa heaved a sigh as the words tangled on her tongue.  “You may think that I’m just some frivolous noblewoman toying with a man’s feelings based on my whim.  But that’s not me.  And I don’t know how I can make you see that.  I tease but never in a mean way.”  She crossed her arms over her stomach as she watched the flames dancing in the fireplace.  “You do know I never would have accepted the stakes if I knew you didn’t want to have dinner.  Or I’d have accepted dinner with everyone.  I’m.  I’d never force my feelings onto anyone.”  As she spoke, Alissa’s hand moved with her words as if to emphasize her point.

Hawke let her words sink into him and he realized how badly he’d hurt this person in front of him.  He’d painted her with the same brush the nobility used, but that wasn’t her.  The woman he knew wasn’t like that.  She used her privilege as a weapon against the other nobles in order to make sure the ones behind her were protected.  She’d never be that fickle or callous.  He rubbed the back of his head as he tried to think of the words to use, but words had never been something with which he was good.  He walked over to her and paused at her side, letting his shoulders brush against her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  He saw her shoulders stiffen before she looked away from him.

“Don’t be.  I’m the one who pushed.”  She sighed and rubbed her temple as if to ease an ache there.  “For pushing your boundaries I am sorry Hawke.”  Alissa turned away from him and the fire and towards her desk.  He saw the stack of papers there and wondered about them.

“I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine,” Hawke told her and she heaved a heavy sigh again.

“Fine.  Apology accepted.  Now I’d best get back to this paperwork.” Alissa shook her head at it.  She didn’t want to respond to the Comte’s proposal of marrying into his family and this was the fourth time she’d turned the man down for marrying a relative.  He seemed to pull at least one cousin out every week.  She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so annoyed by it.

Alissa shrieked when Hawke’s arm went around her waist and he hauled her up over his shoulder.  She took a moment to process what had happened before she smacked Hawke’s back.  She winced and shook her hand to ease the stinging there, it was like hitting steel.  “Put me down Hawke!” Alissa yelled that ended on another shriek when his hand cracked across her ass.  Alissa struggled but nothing was budging that arm of his.  “Hawke.”  He turned and walked out of her study and towards the stairs.  “Don’t you even think about it!  I’m still mad at you!”

“I thought you accepted my apology?” Hawke teased as he walked up the stairs.  She grumbled about men being stupid.  “I can’t argue with you.”

“Hawke!!  Put me down!” Alissa squealed and grabbed onto the doorframe as they passed it.  Hawke barely paused in his stride before her fingers slipped off the wooden frame with a sound of defeat coming from her.

“Put you down?  Alright.”  Alissa had a brief second to realize what he meant before she was bouncing on her mattress and pushing against Hawke’s chest as he loomed over her.  She glared up at him with those amber eyes gleaming with mischief above her.  Her nose wrinkled in irritation as she pushed against him to no avail.

“Hawke!  No!” Alissa huffed at him but he merely captured her hands in his and pinned them above her head.  “Sex isn’t going to make me less mad at you.”

“I doubt anything short of the Maker himself forgiving me, would work on that.”  Hawke paused as his free hand slowly slipped the buttons of her shirt free.  “And even then, I have my doubts.”  His lips grazed over the soft skin exposed and she bit down on the moan.

“Hawke.”  Alissa yelped when his teeth nipped sharply along the side of her breast through the cloth there.  “That hurt.”

“And you’ve told me you enjoy pain.  What’s your point?” Hawke asked as he looked up at her.  She huffed at him.  “You’re cute when you’re angry.”  He grinned when she grumbled about his senses fleeing.  “They always do when you get mad.”

“You can’t honestly say you enjoy me yelling at you?” Alissa asked.

“Well, when you get this certain tone of voice with me it makes me rock hard.”  Hawke slowly rolled his hips against hers and she sucked in a breath.  “Gets me all hot and bothered.”  Alissa glared at him when he kissed a trail down from her collarbone to the slope of her breast.  Her head fell back on a moan when his lips closed over the nipple through the cloth.  “I love that sound too.”

Her hips rocked against his hand when his fingers dipped below her waistband to find her already soaked.  “You like it too.  And here you are pretending to be mad at me.”  She turned her head to the side at his chuckle.  “You’ve gotta be honest.”

“As if.”  Alissa paused on a moan when his palm made gentle circles against her clit.  “As if I’ll admit to anything.”  His lips curved against her breast.

“Is that a challenge?”  She tilted her chin when he lifted his head.

“It is.”  Garrett smirked.  His hand released hers and tugged her pants down before he settled in between her thighs before she could utter any sort of protest.  He merely rested his cheek against the inside of her thigh when her hand pushed at his forehead.

“What do you think you’re doing Hawke?” Alissa hissed but he shook her head off before leaning in.  Her back bowed when his lips closed over her clit.  She didn’t know what his game was, but she wasn’t going to lose.  Her fingers tangled in his hair as she stretched towards that pinnacle.  The pleasure was a tight ball throbbing between her legs, but right as she was about to fall, he pulled back.  Leaving her scrambling against the frustration cutting through the haze of desire in her mind.  He instead trailed his lips down her leg, leaving a path of fiery kisses and reddened skin in his wake.  The scrape of his beard against her skin never failed to leave her body throbbing in need.

Alissa struggled to contain her breathing as the throbbing lessened and Hawke returned his attention to her needy clit.  Alissa’s fingers tugged when he brought her to the edge and backed away again.  “Why?”

“Are you still mad at me?” Alissa’s eyes narrowed at the question and she turned her head away from him.  “Ah, still mad.”  He grinned before turning his head and nipping at the skin of her inner thigh.

Alissa whined when he pulled away yet again after bringing her to the edge.  “Hawke.  Don’t tease me.”  She crossed her ankles over his back trying to keep him close to her when he sat back on the bed.  His hands rested on her thighs, keeping them spread open for him.

“Are you still mad at me?” Hawke grinned as she huffed at him.  “That sounds like a yes.”  He grinned when she scrambled to sit up and reached for him.

“No, I’m not mad anymore.” Garrett grinned at the desperate plea in her voice.  He wanted to torment her just one more time.  His palm massaged her clit with slow small circles.  He hissed when her nails bit into his skin, dragging along little lines of fire in their wake down his back.  Her legs trembled with the need he knew was building inside of her.  Just once more.  Just one more time.  He wanted to see the frustration on her face, the tears in her eyes, and those lips begging him for release.

Alissa’s voice cracked as she begged him for relief.  Heat clouded her mind and all she wanted was to fall over the edge.  To come and come hard.  Garrett leaned in and brushed his lips against her collarbone, the rough scrape of his beard heightening the intense heat swirling inside.  Her back arched, her fingers dug into his arms, and she clenched her teeth as the tension coiled between her legs in a messy, sloppy heated knot.

The sound of the door opening downstairs startled them both.  “Alissa?” Alissa’s eyes widened and she practically jumped away from Hawke’s hand.  Her body screamed at her in frustration and Garrett gave her a concerned stare.  She met his concern with panic and he looked over at the door as the sound of footsteps reached them.

“Hawke, hide!” Alissa hissed as she rolled away from him.

“Why?”

“That’s my mother!”  He reached for her and pulled her in close.  His lips covered hers in a heated, devouring kiss before releasing her and he stepped out onto the balcony.  Leaving her aching, frustrated, and wanting more.  She shook off the haze as best as she could and yanked on her pants before her mother made it into her room.