#but all of the mage member of the parties for sure got some treatment if you let cullen get more templars on the case

[antiqua-lugar]

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

BUT

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

BUT

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

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

[dracoangel]

DA: The Veilguard Review

Finally finished the game, so here is my review of Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Full of spoilers so it will be under the cut!

But overall score: 6/10

For me, the game didn't get good until the end. At the Battle with Ghilan'nain and after. Before that it had it's good moments, but they were few and far between.

Graphics/Art Style & Character Creation

Truth be told, I'm still not a fan of the style but I got used to it. I've already made my opinion on this matter known in various posts, so here I'll simply put: too cartoony, not a fan.

Character Creation was pretty decent. Some high points: Saving your character as a preset so that can be imported (so long as you keep that character). Down side: they should have done the same with the Inquisitor. And HAIR PHYSICS and they were great! At least for the hairs I tried out. I didn't have any issues with them going wild, which was very nice. Down side: need more ponytail options.

Combat

I played as a mage, and the combat took a lot to get used to. It's vastly different from any of the previous DA games. But I did come to really enjoy it, especially using the dagger/orb combo even if it had a much shorter range. Sometimes it gets tedious to switch constantly during fights depending on what was best for the moment.

Writing, Dialogue and Choice

Overall the game has mediocre writing at best, and poor Taash just got butchered with their writing; which is a shame, because they are a good character. The dialogue is far too modern. And the dialogue felt very condescending, as if the writers think we're idiots and have to be forcefully spoon fed. There are ways of writing characters like Taash and they failed.

Party dialogue was actually not bad for the most part. I found most of it to be quite entertaining.

Unfortunately Rook got shafted as well. They are 3 flavors of nice, you can't be mean or really disagree with anyone.

The game just didn't feel like an RPG, they only gave the illusion of choice in dialogue and with missions except 2 instances: choosing between Tevinter and Antiva, and the choice of who was leading the distraction team against Ghilan'nain. Everything else, they gave you the illusion of choices but in the end it doesn't really change anything.

Companions

I was actually very surprised. I like all the companions, which is a first for me in a Dragon Age game. There is always at least 1 companion I'm not a fan of, which isn't a bad thing either; just like the real world some personalities just don't jive together. I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to like Bellara, but she grew on me. And as stated previously, Taash got butchered with her writing.

Romance

For my romance I chose Lucanis. I don't know if all romances are the same in regards to pacing, but Lucanis' romance was a SLOOOOOW burn. So slow that until the scene after you make it out of Solas' trap I didn't feel like I was in a romance with anyone. If it hadn't been for the hearts in Lucanis' character screen I wouldn't have known we were in a romance; I was starting the think that a few minor flirts were all that Bioware was going to give me, which would have left me with a big bad taste in my mouth. Especially since it seemed that members of my team were having better romances than I was 🤣 Certain party members were getting their freak on and/or going on all night dates long before I got my first kiss. So, needless to say, I think they need to add more to romances to make them actually feel like you're in a romance. At least in Lucanis' case, like I said I don't know how the rest are. 1 real romance scene and at the tail end just isn't enough.

Edit: from what I learned, all romances are slow burns and get the same treatment. Which is baffling. Especially with characters like Taash.

Story

The bones of the main story were pretty good, though the writing nearly ruins it. But I'm not too proud to not admit that the the Battle with Ghilan'nain and the scene in the Fade trap did have me bawling. Davrin was the one to sacrifice himself to help take her down and poor Assan went into the pool of blight with him (so I'm assuming Assan died too 😭😭) and then finding out that Varric had been dead the whole time... that one wrecked me a bit. I thought they were going to kill him off, but I thought it was going to be one of those "noble sacrifices at the end" type deals. Only to find out he died at the beginning and you've basically been hallucinating him this entire time (makes me feel slightly bad ribbing him about not actually helping, other than being that listening ear 😂).

Unfortunately the relationship between Rook and Varric felt off, seeing as we came in a year after they've already established their partnership. So the tears I shed were not for what Rook lost, but who the Inquisitor, Hawke and myself as a player lost. Our man Varric has been with us for 13 years, we've watched his character change so much since that first introduction at the Gallows and it's sad to see him go, even if I did foresee it.

Truthfully, the game didn't feel much like it was part of the Dragon Age universe. Not having our past choices as part of the world for that flavor really hurt the game. Sure there were small instances from previous games, like at Weisshaupt there were little flavor texts; like the chalice that was recovered from Ostagar, which was the chalice our Grey Warden drank from. A letter mentioning Kristoff, who was a Grey Warden in Dragon Age Awakening who died and the spirit of Justice (the same spirit who would end up possessing Anders in DA2) possessed his body to fight alongside us. But it's not enough. There was one instance I was kind of irked by, after meeting Morrigan in the Fade and finding out she now housed a shard of Mythal, Harding makes mention of Morrigan helping the Inquisition by turning into a dragon. They made that into a world canon event, when in fact that only happens if you allow Morrigan to drink from the Well of Sorrows instead of letting the Inquisitor do it. I chose to have the Inquisitor drink from the Well and thus we had to go fight a dragon and basically temporarily tame it. So that was very irksome to me that they basically changed my world state.

I'm not sure why who the Inquisitor romanced in Inquisition really mattered to the story and was one of the 3 options that actually did carry over. My Inquisitor romanced Dorian and their romanced was only ever referred to at the tail end of the game right before the final fight against Elgar'nan; wasn't even brought up in like the few letters the Inquisitor sent or by Harding, nothing. Dorian showing up in the story (as brief as it was) at least makes sense since the story partly taking place in Tevinter. Do the other romance options show up at some point or at the end battle?

Edit: From what I have now learned, no the other romances don't show up. Dorian only did because he was part of the Shadow Dragons. In the end the real question shouldn't have been who the Inquisitor romanced, but did they romance Solas or not. That would have been more accurate and wouldn't give us non-solasmancers false hope

I think I covered everything. I'll add more in edits if I think of something I missed.

So overall, the game was a 6/10. It was decent enough that I'm definitely going to be playing again. I have at least 2 play throughs I want to do. Could it have been better? Most definitely, there were some very glaring flaws. But it wasn't the trash heap I thought it was going to be. But it's definitely not as good as Baldur's Gate 3, which I've seen people say it is (it's not even in the same league, sorry).

If you are new to the franchise this game would probably be closer to an 8/10 because you don't have that connection to the rest of the Dragon Age world. Though the writing is still atrocious no matter what, the game is a decent action game.

[giantsreach]

part of having written carver since like. 2013/14 is that i can never remember which topics i’ve posted meta on but i’m pretty sure i haven’t discussed his banter with fenris in-depth on this blog yet.

i think something that rubs me the wrong way about the way carver and fenris often interact in fan work is that there tends to be an underlying and fundamental misunderstanding about why carver approaches fenris in the manner he does. i’ve seen a lot of carver talking out of his ass to fenris for no reason other than a ) he thinks he knows better, and/or b ) his overly critical eye wants to fault-find. + he’s annoying or smth to that effect. 🙄

these interpretations tend to neglect the actual driving force behind carver interacting with fenris in the first place, and that’s that carver has had little exposure to other warriors. apart from his time in king cailin’s army, he was peerless ( literally ) in his field, and only interacted with his fellow swordspeople when they passed through town via the imperial highway. 

now, there is aveline, of course, but the writing makes it clear that aveline takes on the role of yet another older sibling ( or family of a similar, authoritative position ) in his life, and as such, doesn’t quite qualify as a peer in the traditional sense.

this likely isn’t the most flattering way of phrasing it, but carver wants friends. people who he can relate to, who share his interests and background, who find him as compelling as he finds them. carver may seem prickly or sullen in act i ( and he certainly is at times ), but he’s also experiencing two-prongs of isolation:

     1 ) cultural, as a fereldan refugee in a city-state that doesn’t try to hide its hatred of foreign asylum-seekers, and      2 ) mundane, as a displaced young man who has never quite fit in at home nor in any village they've settled in, and who has recently lost the family member closest to him, and who watches his surviving sibling pick up new companions left and right as if it’s not at all difficult.

cut to fenris, who is a consummate swordsman. and while carver is initially on edge because he's under the impression fenris could pose a threat to hawke, once the tension is dispelled, he's far from opposed to fenris's presence. if anything, carver is eager for his approval. fenris is, aside from aveline, the only warrior carver gets to spend any considerable amount of time with, and he's singular in his skill and ability. it's plain to see why someone like carver, starved for peers, would want to establish some kind of rapport with someone as exemplary as fenris.

the problem is, naturally, that carver — nineteen and having never learned to read socialize properly, due in equal parts to growing up sheltered as well as having poor self-confidence — cannot stop himself from saying shit that is so mind-blowingly stupid, that it is a wonder fenris was as forbearing as he was. i'm talking about:

Carver: So... this master of yours wants your markings back? Skin and all? Fenris: So his hunters told me. Unwillingly. Carver: So why not cover them up? Wouldn't that make you harder to find? Fenris: Let them come. I am not one to hide. Carver: Still, if it were me— Fenris: It's not. ─────── Carver: So you've really never thought of hiding from those hunters? Fenris: To what end? Carver: So you could, I don't know, have a life? Fenris: What life do you have? There are no hunters after you at all.

i feel like it should be obvious why these banters are in bad taste, so i won’t go into detail to lambaste carver over his blatant ignorance. the dialogue is proof itself, especially considering how little of fenris’s experience carver ( or anyone else for that matter ) can truly comprehend. 

what i will do, true to form, is explain that no, carver did not just pull that suggestion, careless as it was, out of his ass. while hawke may or may not do their best to lay low as an apostate, potentially choosing to engage then-knight-captain cullen over the unjust treatment of mages depending on player discretion, carver has internalized how malcolm guided the family. his father taught them to keep their heads down and be prepared to hit the road in case the circle caught scent of them? then that must be the best way to approach it. emotional neglect unfortunately primed carver to idealize and adopt malcolm's choices and general philosophy. this carries over even to legacy, where, regardless of carver's current character arc, carver will agree that malcolm was correct to keep secrets.

so there's fenris, right, who carver believes is in a position similar to that which the hawkes have been in. carver, attempting to help ( as he is wont to do ), wants to share what had worked for them in attaining a semblance of normalcy, not realizing or considering that that is not fenris's foremost goal. hiding is not a one-size fix-all solution, but carver hasn't expanded his horizons well enough to grasp that fully yet.

then there's largest contributors to my secondhand embarrassment in da2:

Carver: You're very different from other elves. Fenris: Oh? You know them all? Carver: No. I just... you look different. There's no denying that. Fenris: It is what I am. And unlike the problems you claim to have, I really did have no choice. Carver: Do we know anyone who isn't brooding every hour of the day? Fenris: Like attracts like, it seems. ─────── Carver: You know, Fenris, I have a tattoo. Fenris: You have a what? Carver: A tattoo. A lot of us got them before Ostagar. It's a Mabari. For strength. Fenris: Does it curse you with the ability to reach into a man and tear out his insides? Carver: Uh. I can make it bark. Fenris: Please don't.

i’ll start with the second one first. at its heart, the tattoo banter hearkens back to the fact carver wants to feel like he has something in common with someone. yes, it is cringe. but it’s also misguidedly sweet, and on top of that, it’s something carver also tries to do with merrill, who carver arguably has the friendliest dynamic with out of hawke’s crew. 

Carver: Your people came a long way Merrill, but I like to think that we have Ferelden in common. Merrill: I never saw Lothering. Did you walk as much as we did? Probably more, you didn't start with halla. Our ship stunk. Carver: Your ship? Merrill: There was something foul in the hold. I can still smell it. Carver: Oh, well, that must have been unpleasant. Merrill: It was. Did I miss something dirty again? Carver: No.

speaking of parallels, the “you’re very different from other elves” dialogue mirrors this one with merrill:

Carver: So, you're not like a lot of other girls. Merrill: No, I'm an elf. Carver: Right. Alright then. Merrill: Oh, did I miss something dirty? Carver: What? No! It wasn't dirty. It wasn't anything.

yes, i took 42069 points of psychic damage from reading that too. but the main takeaway from this is that carver is trying, poorly, to make the two people he thinks he could be friends with feel like they’re special. ( you know, like how carver wishes he was. lol. ) to disastrous results. but i think it’s more than worth mentioning that the intent behind his conversation-making is never once condescending. 

and it’s not like carver lacks self-awareness, either. after he becomes a warden and returns to the party for mark of the assassin, he admits he lacked polish.

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I?

Carver: So, we're lost. Varric: Just like old times. Carver: Maker, I hope not. I was an ass. Varric: (laughs) Fair comment, Junior. All right, let's get this done.

and specifically to fenris:

Carver: Orlesians. Can't build a hallway without turning it into a maze. Fenris: Keep going. I'm sure your training will kick in any moment. Carver: Still don't like me? I've tried to change. Fenris: You have. Now you're dangerous. Let's move.

i don’t know how to end this nearly 1.5k meta, so tl;dr i guess

[strngrmdst-a]

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would they describe their childhood in general?

In a word: bad. 

What is their earliest memory?

Rainy day, grey sky, his mother trying to put him and Jim into a car, on their way to an appointment, or something.

How much schooling have they had?

Richard had schooling all the way up to the university level. All the schools Rich attended, including his university, were rural and mostly low-performing. He dropped out of university before he could finish his degree.

Did they enjoy school?

Richard loved school. He loved learning things, of course, but more importantly it was a safe haven from his home life. He went to university because it would allow him to get away from his father.

Where did they learn most of their skills and other abilities?

Richard has always been a gifted story writer, though the ‘telling’ part, with his stutter and nerves, didn’t really come until university. Navigating the world of crime is really something he picked up on the job, but memorization tricks, speech habits, accents, all that got started in his late teens/early twenties with acting classes. Other things like languages were mostly self-taught. Things like making himself seem harmless and non-threatening came from life experience as a short-ish kid with big eyes and a stutter.

While growing up, did they have any role models? If so, describe them.

James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson- so much so that Rich took his pen name from them. They were the first actors he really saw on screen, thanks to his father’s love of early cinema. They seemed so cool to him, and he liked that they could play hardened, violent criminals in one film and dancers and singers in the next (not that his father was eager to show him Yankee Doodle Dandy).

While growing up, how did they get along with the other members of their family?

Rich’s relationship with his immediate family was strained. Throughout his childhood he was afraid of his father, who in turn both didn’t like him and didn’t have the empathy/patience to raise children. Rich was close to his mother when he was young, but she left his life before he was a teenager. He never found out what happened to her but for a long time (still maybe to this day) really resented her for leaving.

 He and Jim, as twins, probably had the best relationship. Rich relied heavily on Jim for a lot of things, and had complete blind faith in him. This usually meant Jim talked Rich into various schemes, which didn’t always end well for one or both of them. They didn’t fight when they were young because Rich was too busy hero-worshiping. 

Rich only met extended family once or twice. To his knowledge, he has no surviving relatives outside Jim.

As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

Rich wanted to make films- whether acting, behind the scenes, or writing them.  

As a child, what were their favorite activities?

Rich enjoyed reading (when he could get away with it), and acting out scenes (by himself, typically from memory) he could remember from films. He spend a lot of time outside or hidden away, avoiding his father, which meant a lot of time alone. When he couldn’t act, he recited scripts and stories to himself, or tried to write them down, or both.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did they display?

Curiosity, shyness, a want to help. Voluntary muteness, anxiety, over-dependence on his brother. Rich was a cute kid but he was being abused, and that reflected very strongly in his attitude in his primary school days. Unfortunately, many of the symptoms of abuse were either missed, ignored, or chalked up to him being ‘oversensitive’ and a ‘crybaby’ by his instructors and school staff. What wasn’t ignored was also blamed on his mother’s leaving them. Eventually, Rich learned that the more he (and Jim) misbehaved, the more likely it was to get back to their father, and the more likely he’d face even more trouble. He became mostly well-behaved, if a little too over-eager to complete tasks and a little too withdrawn. 

As a child, were they popular? Who were their friends, and what were they like?

Rich’s ‘best’ friend was Jim, but he did get along with others in class. The issue was that their parents didn’t like Rich’s family and so wouldn’t let their children interact with Rich and Jim. They did try, once. Rich and Jim were invited to a sleep over. It ended badly. 

When and with whom was their first kiss?

Rich’s first kiss was when he was about six. It was at the previously mentioned badly-ending sleep over, with another boy. It wasn’t romantic- there was a kiss in a film they were all watching, and Rich and the boy wanted to see what it was like. They didn’t actually get kicked out of the party until one of the other children started bullying Rich for it, and Jim punched him in the face. Their mother was the one who took them home. She never told their father why. It was for the best.

Are they a virgin? If not, when and with whom did they lose their virginity?

Rich lost his virginity when he was eighteen and just in university. It was with a young woman in his program who’d been flirting with him all night at a party. It was consensual, if clumsy, but she was good-humored and pretty and nice. The sex was just ‘fine’- Richard got more out of getting her off than he did in his own orgasm. 

They didn’t date but they did remain close friends until he left university, and for a few weeks after he returned home. Their relationship ended badly, with Rich cutting contact.

If they are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how they became what they are or first learned of their own abilities. If they are just a normal human, describe any influences in their past that led them to do the things they do today.

magic!verse: 

When Rich was young, his twin brother died. Definitely, for sure died. It happened in front of his own eyes. And yet, the next morning, there his brother was, in their room, rolling out of his own bed and complaining about getting up early for school. Their father never really trusted the new-Jim, but their father also didn’t really like either of his sons, so home life wasn’t much changed. In school, things started happening, to animals, to school supplies, to people who annoyed them. The teachers only noticed that Jim was getting more charming and more willing to work with others. After a while, Rich thought maybe he was crazy and the entire death and resurrection was just another fantasy made up in his head.

Until Carl Powers was killed, and the not-Jim told him itself that it wasn’t his brother. It told him it was getting bored, and it was going to leave, and that if Rich didn’t grow a spine his father was going to end up killing him, too. It told him that it might kill Rich itself, just on principal. 

It didn’t kill him, but it did leave a few years later. By that time, Rich knew that he wanted to be useful to it, still. He begged it to teach him magic- and when it got bored of that, Rich did what he could to teach himself.

main!verse:

Rich was always very dependent on Jim, but there was a period of time when they had no contact at all. This was a difficult time for Rich because as much of a questionable influence as he was, Jim was still the closest Rich had to a support system. With him gone, it was just he and his father. As he aged, Rich was better able to recognize the abuse and better able to navigate it- and the ‘it’s getting better’ and ‘he’s remorseful’ cycle his father went through. He applied to university without telling his father, worked hard to get into it, and did everything he could to stay at it or with friends or classmates.

Before he could graduate, a neighbor from home managed to find Rich’s contact information and get in touch. She told him his father was dying, that all he wanted was to see his sons and make amends, and that Rich owed him that wish, at least. So Rich went home to find a dying man who refused treatment and refused to give up the vices that were literally killing him but did seem, for once, genuinely remorseful. 

Maybe it was the guilt of staying away so long, the guilt of not feeling guilty for running away, or his desperate want to have a loving connection, but Rich decided to stay. They plan was to resume his studies after his father’s passing, after matters were settled. But that never happened. After his father’s death, it came out that his vices had him in heavy debt with some bad people, who were more than willing to hold Rich to that debt. Rich starting abusing alcohol, just like his father, who was the one who made it a habit for him by insisting they drink together in his last days. Things were bad, and this was how Rich got into ‘crime’, really- though nothing compared to the things Jim did.

It was how the twins were reunited again. Jim found Rich in a shitty, falling-apart studio flat doing shitty, sloppy jobs for a third-rate gang. Honestly, Rich had assumed Jim’d disappeared or died just like their mother (or maybe never existed in the first place). He appeared like from no where and was a chance for a different life. Rich refused to lose the last of his family. Refused. He decided he’d do anything and everything to make sure he stayed in Jim’s life.

[tk-duveraun]

Title: The Enchanted Florist Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: T Genre: Friendship & Romance Summary: Amrita Llanamara, despite her family’s place in the peerage, works at The Enchanted Florist - the branch attached to the Tethras Medical Research Hospital. There, she meets a young doctor and watches as he lives a true fairy tale romance. Notes: Power Couple Future Thedas AU, featuring Companion Amrita from Blood and Magic. Glossary of flower meanings at the end of the story.

Amrita was content with her job as a florist. She hadn’t liked it at first, making gaudy arrangements for her parents’ rich friends and their endless, meaningless parties. She was almost happy when her boss used her as a scapegoat for a spoiled debutante ball. Her family had been disappointed, of course, ashamed of her claimed failure, but she had been transferred to the hospital branch of The Enchanted Florist. And she loved it.

Most of her new clients trusted her to make whatever bouquets and arrangements she saw fit, as long as they were the specified price. Amrita took care to pick blooms without too much pollen when making arrangements for delivery in the hospital. Chrysanthemums were a staple, of course, with crocus in spring and white and red zinnias in summer. The rest depended on the client’s relations with the recipient, any tidbits they’d let slip during the order and whatever simply felt right.

When she could, Amrita delivered the flowers to the patients herself, partially to spare the overworked nurses and partially to give her own, sincere wishes for improving health. The small joy she brought to their faces eased the ever-present ache in Amrita’s heart. She didn’t know why the small sadness clung to her, but the relief was lovely nonetheless.

Two years into her employment at the hospital branch, she met Dr. Sa’alle. She hadn’t known he was a doctor at the time. He was just a kind young man in a tailored suit - Amrita knew the difference; Laurel had delighted in teaching her how to spot quality dress when they were resting their voices. Even though she never wanted to spend any time in Society, Amrita loved spending time with her brother. But this young man’s handsome looks weren’t what caught in Amrita’s mind. Dr. Sa’alle had paid for a ‘thank you’ arrangement to be sent anonymously to the nurses’ station in the pediatric ward.

While she put the vase together, Amrita invented an elaborate explanation for the gift; it lead to better arrangements. In her imagination, the finely dressed man had suffered a severe childhood illness, treatable only by the excellent staff at Kirkwall’s esteemed Tethras Medical Research Hospital. He’d survived and gone on to be a successful businessman, always remembering the staff that saved his life. The nurses tittered excitedly and tossed out wild speculations as to the sender’s identity, but Amrita just smiled and walked the long way back through the hospital complex to the shop.

Two months later, Dr. Sa’alle returned, that time in medical scrubs. “Oh, hello again. You took my order last time. Amrita, wasn’t it?”

Amrita blinked at him. None of her customers had ever remembered her name before. “Yes, you’re correct.”

He smiled at her, wide enough his dimples showed and wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. “Fantastic. The nurses are still talking about your arrangement. If I could trouble you for another, I need a smaller arrangement.”

Amrita dutifully wrote down his order, but internally she was confused. He was a paying customer, of course it wasn’t troublesome to do her job. And it was so unfamiliar to be the target of such… pure pleasantness. It made her a little uncomfortable and almost made her miss that this order was also to be anonymous.

She had no idea what possessed her to be so rude, but Amrita asked, “Please pardon my candor, but won’t your grandmother be happier knowing it’s from you?”

Dr. Sa’alle laughed. “She’s not my grandmother. I passed by her room on my break and she didn’t have any flowers. I thought I’d rectify the situation. Happiness is my favorite treatment to give.”

Embarrassed by her rude outburst, Amrita finished the transaction in shamed silence. After handing him his receipt, Amrita looked down at the counter and said, “Thank you and have a good day, Dr. Sa’alle.”

He laughed again. “Please, call me Dr. Fox. I’m not really part of the Society Sa’alles.”

Amrita nodded, even though she had no intention of using such a casual nickname.

“Lovely. You have a good day yourself, Amrita.”

He left then, leaving Amrita confused and embarrassed. Surely if he ever needed another bouquet he’d request one of her coworkers, but it wasn’t as if she was paid commissions and she’d really rather not shame herself again.

However, the next week proved her wrong. Dr. Sa’alle returned again and politely declined her coworker’s offer of help. He browsed the seeds and fancy vases until Amrita finished wrapping the bouquet she was working on when he entered. The moment her hands were free, Dr. Sa’alle approached her with a wide smile, warm hello and a compliment on the last arrangement. He ordered another bouquet to be anonymously delivered to a patient in the geriatrics ward.

It was his weekly ritual. When he finished his shift on Wednesday afternoon, he came to The Enchanted Florist and ordered flowers to be sent to one of the hospital’s patients. They mostly went to the geriatrics ward, but every now and then he entered with sad eyes and quietly ordered a small package with a soft, white teddy bear. As the weeks passed, he revealed bits and pieces of himself beyond his generosity and profession.

Like her, Faust Sa’alle was technically a member of the peerage - him Tevinter and her Free Marches. He had even less interest than her in participating in Society. He loved small animals and was in his first year of residency with the hospital. She nearly changed her schedule to avoid him when he revealed he was… he was a mage. All Amrita knew of mages were her family’s stories of the cruel, evil tyrants that destroyed everything in their path. They celebrated the Solidification with a feast day for the entire bannorn every year.

But Dr. Sa’alle wasn’t evil. He was one of the kindest people Amrita ever met. He could use magic, yes, but he used it to heal. It was the reason he was such a good doctor. Amrita heard the nurses gossiping about how wonderful he was and debating whether or not it would be worth their jobs to date him.

In the privacy of her mind, Amrita scoffed at the last. All of the kindness in Thedas wouldn’t make sex any less painful, or sinful, since the nurses certainly didn’t mention wanting to marry the doctor. Even at the height of her infatuation with Ema’an, she’d never- Amrita cut off the painful thoughts by pressing her eyes tightly shut and singing the Chant in her head. Ema’an was in the past and she could only keep moving forward and serving the Maker. They were barking up the wrong tree, anyway. Fox frequently mentioned barely having time for his friends; he didn’t have time for significant other.

At least, that’s what Amrita thought.

Six months after meeting Dr. Sa’alle he changed his regular routine. After purchasing his usual, he pulled out a well-folded piece of paper. He opened the paper and skimmed over his writing. “Alright, I need one in the small vase with the silver heart. I was thinking,” he looked back at the paper, “red and white carnations, crocus, lily of the valley, forsythia, red tulips…”

A twinge of excitement bubbled in Amrita’s chest. The dreamy tone and faraway look in the doctor’s eyes was unmistakable, even to someone as inexperienced with love as Amrita. “I think I have a good idea of what you want, but I think it would be better to space some of these out. You won’t want any yellow in the first arrangement, even if it is forsythia. I can make you a lovely mix of forsythia and crocus for the next bouquet. If there is one.”

The doctor looked up from the paper, desperate joy in his eyes. “I certainly hope so. I don’t have enough words for how striking her personality is.”

“I think something simple with the carnations and roseleaf to start. Forsythia and crocus for the second and if that’s well-received, I can order in some lily of the valley to mix with tulips - you’ll want red and variegated.”

Without warning, Dr. Sa’alle leaned across the counter and gave Amrita a one-armed hug. “Oh, Amrita, you’re a treasure. Thank you. I spent all night looking up flowers.”

“It-It’s my pleasure. Really.”

Over the next few weeks, Amrita made bouquets for Dr. Sa’alle’s new girlfriend. He let her have full creative control over the flower choices and simply spent ten minutes gushing about how wonderful she was. Her name was Ela and she was a primary school teacher. She was Dalish and clever and got along great with her students. Amrita could only assume Ela was pretty, given how handsome Dr. Sa’alle was, but he never commented on her appearance.

Now that she thought about it, Dr. Sa’alle never commented on her own appearance, either, except to say that she looked well after recovering from a cold. Actually, given how much time he spent talking about how wonderful and amazing everyone he knew was, Amrita couldn’t think of a single instance of him mentioning their appearance. She was still musing on it one Saturday morning when Dr. Sa’alle came on.

“Amrita! Perfect! Thank the Maker I remembered your schedule correctly,” Dr. Sa’alle said. His clothing was rumpled and stained and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Amrita blinked at him, thrown equal parts by his appearance and the fact that he remembered she worked Saturday mornings. She’d only mentioned it once and that some months ago. “Are you alright, Doctor?”

“What? Me? Yes, fine, thank you. I need an apology bouquet, but not too large. We had a date last and- Well, I don’t want it to be… intrusive.”

The bottom dropped out of Amrita’s stomach and she nodded dumbly. She started with purple hyacinth and tried to swallow past the dryness in her throat. There weren’t too many things that came to mind that the handsome young doctor could have needed to apologize for after a date and each of them made Amrita feel ill. Especially given the state of his clothes. She didn’t want to help him apologize. She wanted to throw him out of the shop and never see him again. I knew mages were evil. I never should have-

“What time is it? Half six? She shouldn’t be awake yet, should she? Not on a weekend.” Dr. Sa’alle said, mostly to himself. “She knew I was on call, but still. To be called away in the middle of- Well, I’m sure you don’t want details. Sorry. I haven’t slept. Terrible accident at a college party. All hands on deck for most of the night.”

Amrita felt the knot in her chest untie in an instant. She sighed loudly in relief, but the sound was masked by the doctor’s yawn. She grabbed her best irises to add to the bouquet and wrapped them up in ivy with some blue statice. Dr. Sa’alle had never mentioned whether or not Ela understand flower language, but it was important to him and important to Amrita’s professionalism that every bouquet had the appropriate meaning.

The ivy was a bit strong, but if he was so upset that he needed to give her a gift before even sleeping after an entire night of work in the emergency room, he was dedicated enough to warrant ivy. She wrapped it all in silver-heart patterned cellophane and tied it together with purple silk ribbon. “To what address do you want it delivered? And what time? You’re in no state to take it yourself, Doctor.”

“Thank you. You’re a charm. I’m having breakfast delivered at half nine, so around then would be best,” Dr. Sa’alle said. He had his smartphone in hand, presumably ordering that breakfast. After a minute he lowered the phone and blinked at her. “Oh! The address! Sorry.”

After he rattled it off, he gave her a one-armed hug over the counter and left the shop.

It wasn’t until the delivery driver came for the pick up that Amrita realized he’d forgotten to pay. After laughing in dismay, Amrita paid for it herself and passed the bouquet to the driver. She knew he’d make it right on Wednesday, if he didn’t realize his mistake and come in before then.

He did settle his bill on Wednesday, but because he was Dr. Sa’alle, he didn’t leave it at that. On Friday, her next work day, he came by with two small cakes, claiming it was because she might not like one flavor. She knew he was lying; they’d spent two weeks discussing cake flavors right before Dawn’s 35th birthday party and she clearly remembered telling him those were her two favorite flavors. But she let the lie stand and even walked around the counter to give him a full hug, which just made him beam at her, his smile nearly as bright as the sun.

After that, Dr. Sa’alle began inviting her to the weekly get-togethers his friends had. She protested, claiming family obligations, but the was that she knew she’d be uncomfortable. He was just a regular customer. He was offering to be polite. Just like how he politely asked questions about her family and interests outside of the shop. Nevertheless, she answered those honestly, telling him about her siblings and her old dreams of being a nurse.

When he finished his residency and moved into a regular position at the hospital, Amrita expected the visits the stop, but instead Dr. Sa’alle simply placed his regular orders on Fridays: one to a patient and one to his Ela. He even let her practiced new techniques from her magazines and articles she found online. Ela’s bouquets always ended up picked over by the children anyway, so it wasn’t terribly important that they were perfect.

Two months into his new position, Dr. Sa’alle finally wore Amrita down enough that she agreed to let him take her out for Saturday lunch. The maitre’d eyed Amrita skeptically in the foyer, but his demeanor transformed for the better when Dr. Sa’alle introduced her as his sister. The words left a heavy warmth in Amrita’s chest that she didn’t know what to do with. Even Laurel calling her “little sister” didn’t garner such a reaction. Amrita decided to do nothing and simply took the seat Dr. Sa’alle held out for her.

“I meant it, you know. You’re like a little sister to me. If you ever need anything: money, somewhere to stay, a hug, anything you have my personal number. I’ll come help you, any time, day or night.”

Amrita was about to protest that she didn’t have his personal number when she remembered that she did. She had it memorized from filling out at least two order forms for him every week for more than a year. Clueless as to how she was supposed to feel or react to that, Amrita simply nodded and put all of her attention on the menu.

Long after he’d left her back at the shop, Amrita dwelled over what he could possibly have meant. She had her family; they loved her and she had her place in their home and wanted for nothing. Though she tried not to think about it, as the days passed his words were never far from her mind.

Two weeks later, a beautiful, blonde, Dalish elf entered the The Enchanted Florist. Her vallaslin framed her soft features and though her clothes were modest, the gentle style and soft colors did nothing to detract from her appearance. Amrita recognized her at once, though she’d never seen so much as a picture.

“You must be Ela,” Amrita said. She fervently hoped Ela hadn’t come in on a jealous tear, but the elf’s face was so beautifully serene… Well, Amrita couldn’t imagine anyone else at Dr. Fox’s side.

“I am; you must be Amrita,” Ela said, holding out her hand to shake. “Fox thought you might have assumed he was just being polite, but no, really, we’d love to have you come hang out this weekend. It’s just a few close friends - the quiet ones. And we have plenty of drinks - non-alcoholic ones, that is. He doesn’t really drink since he’s on call so much.”

Denying Dr. Fox was easy, Amrita had practice at refusing his dimples and bright smile, but his pretty girlfriend was a completely different story. Meek and blushing in the face of such radiance, Amrita mumbled her acceptance and dutifully wrote down the address, even though she had it memorized from weeks and weeks of filling out Dr. Fox’s details on the order forms.

No one in Amrita’s family asked why she wouldn’t attend dinner on Saturday, they just silently accepted it, returning to their own conversations before she’d even left the room. It wasn’t a new interaction by any means, but it did leave a cold ache in her chest.

Neither Ela nor Fox had told her what to wear, so Amrita agonized in front of her closet for an hour before pulling on a dress she normally only wore to the Chantry. It matched the lovely necklace Ema’an left her, though she took care not to put that on until she was parked outside of Dr. Fox’s flat.

She took several deep breaths before finally unbuckling her seatbelt and tentatively walking up to Dr. Fox’s flat. The large number three on his door had a large, vinyl sticker of a cartoon cat, so she knew she was in the right place, but she couldn’t bring herself to ring the bell. Just as she was considering going back to her car, the door opened to reveal a qunari with horns so large there was no way he’d make it through the door straight on.

“Oh! Sorry if I startled you,” he said. He turned his head to call back into the flat, but knocked one of his horns on the door frame. “Ouch! Hey, Boss! Your friend Amrita’s here! Nice to meet you, Amrita, I’m The Iron Bull, but I’ve gotta grab something out of my truck, so I’ll be right back.”

Amrita backed up to let him pass and then stared through the open door, wishing the ground would swallow her up and teleport her back to her room. But the ground refused to cooperate and Amrita finally braced herself and stepped inside. The flat was full of modern-style furniture and artwork, though there were macaroni and crayon pieces hung up in places, undoubtedly works gifted to them by Ela’s students. Seeing them warmed Amrita’s heart and ensured that the smile on her face was genuine when Dr. Fox came to greet her.

As promised, it was a small gathering with quiet conversation over fruit and cheese platters. Dr. Fox and Ela’s friends seemed genuinely interested in Amrita, though they moved the conversation to other topics when Amrita started squirming under the attention. The Iron Bull was a youth counselor at Ela’s school, while Leliana and Josephine were both lawyers. The last guest was Cassandra, a Seeker focused on preserving the history of the Chantry.

Amrita thought she should feel woefully undereducated in their company, but somehow they had enough combined social grace to make her feel included without being stifled. It was foreign and nice and comfortable and overwhelming and Amrita thought she might be sick when Ela asked for her help in the kitchen. With mounting terror, Amrita nodded and followed Ela. She knew how to boil water for a nice tisane, but little else. It was unseemly for someone of her station to be seen helping in the kitchen.

However, once Ela closed the shuttered door into the living room, the dalish woman sighed in relief and leaned against one of the counters. She met Amrita’s eyes and gave her a wane smile. “Thanks for coming with me. It’s all a little much sometimes. Even Bull has a masters. I feel so out of my depth sometimes.”

“Oh. You just… Wanted a break?” Amrita asked, hardly able to believe it.

“Absolutely. Usually my friend Sera’s here to breakup all of the intellectual talk, but she had a meeting with the Jennys and couldn’t make it.”

Amrita didn’t know what the Jennys were, so she just nodded.

“Oh, here, let me get you some more juice,” Ela said as she turned to Dr. Fox’s fridge.

Actually, Amrita wasn’t quite certain it was Dr. Fox’s flat. Despite the cat sticker on the door, Ela’s personal effects were clearly spread all throughout the flat, but at the same time, so were Dr. Fox’s. It must have been difficult for them to keep track of what was at which home unless- Oh. Right. Of course. He had a few orders sent to his home. I’d thought he just wanted to deliver them himself. And it has to be his flat. This has been his address since before he met her.

Unsure what to think of her newest revelation, Amrita just took the glass of juice silently. She didn’t need to say anything, since Ela was still rambling about how intense and overwhelming Leliana and Cassandra got when talking about the meanings behind different passages in the Chant. Amrita was actually a little sad they hadn’t gotten into one of those discussion with her present because she would have been able to keep up with the conversation for once. Well, hopefully they’ll talk about it next time.

Amrita felt alternating flashes of hot and cold. Next time? Would she even be invited? Surely not. Now that they knew there was nothing special or interesting about her, Dr. Fox would stop casually inviting her and- But Ela was thanking her again and giving her a sincere smile that made wrinkles form next to her eyes. Amrita’s heart was fit to burst. She couldn’t process anything else for the last half hour she spent at the warm flat, but she remembered smiling so much her cheeks hurt.

She left promptly at 9:30PM after warm hugs from both Dr. Fox and Ela and friendly handshakes from the others. No one pressured her to stay later and everyone expressed their hope that she’d join them again some time. The moment she buckled her seatbelt, Amrita bent over the steering wheel in sudden, inexplicable tears. She was happy. She’d had a wonderful time. Everyone had been so kind and welcoming, she shouldn’t have been crying.

Amrita allowed herself a minute to be hysterical before she wiped her eyes with her monogrammed handkerchief and started her car. Her family’s Kirkwall house was only ten minutes away and she still had twenty-five left before her self-imposed curfew of 10PM. Even though most of her attention was on the road, Amrita allowed a small part of her brain to think about how nice the gathering made her feel. She was still glowing with quiet joy when the steward let her into the house.

Grace stood on the first landing of the grand staircase, her arms crossed over her chest. “I see you’ve finally deigned us with your presence, sister.”

The last word was spoken like a curse and slapped Amrita across the face, freezing her heart mid-beat. The shock was so complete Amrita could only stare dumbly at her sister. She glanced at their mother, but she averted her eyes and raised her chin.

“Nothing to say for yourself? I suppose you don’t need to, it’s clear enough where you were, wearing that slut’s necklace.”

Amrita gasped and clutched the delicate pendant Ema’an left her. Her mouth quivered and her eyes were hot, but this time she knew exactly why she was going to cry.

“So are you done whoring yourself to this new knife-ear, or can we expect an extended shame on our family?”

“Mother!” Amrita protested, even as tears fell from her eyes.

But she may as well have not spoken because her mother simply turned her back before walking with precise, elegant steps up the stairs.

“Don’t you dare speak to her. Not when you’re still covered in his filth. And in one of your Chantry dresses. How dare you?”

Amrita choked out a single, loud sob before fleeing back the way she’d come. She didn’t remember getting in her car, let alone starting it. She didn’t come back to herself until she drove up on a curb a few blocks from the townhouse. There was no crunch of impact, but the shock from hitting the curb shocked her enough that she shut down her car and sobbed into her hands. When she was a horrible, soggy mess, Amrita fumbled with her handbag until she had her smartphone. 

With shaking fingers, she punched in Fox’s number and waited for it to connect. He sounded so terribly worried she nearly hung up, but she managed to answer his questions. No, she wasn’t injured. No, she wasn’t in immediate physical danger. Yes, she did know where she was, yes, she would love it if he came to pick her up.

Before she knew it, Fox was opening her car door and pulling her into a warm hug. He rubbed her back while hashing out a plan for Amrita’s car. She couldn’t have cared less about her car. She just cried into her friend’s chest and held onto him, trusting he would take care of her. After a few minutes, Amrita’s sobbing abated and she was left with just silent tears. She sniffed and rubbed her face with her handkerchief, but it was still wet from earlier and the material felt coarse on her damp face despite being silk. She pulled her face back and looked around, but Ela and Amrita’s car were gone.

“Don’t worry, she just took it back to the flat. We couldn’t exactly leave your car up on the curb overnight,” Fox said. “When you’re ready, we’ll go home. Ela’s setting up the spare room for you right now.”

We’ll go home, such a tiny, simple phrase, but it sent Amrita into another round of hiccuping sobs. She hugged him tightly. She wanted to protest and say he didn’t need to do this, she wasn’t worth it, it was fine, she should just go to her parents’ house, but she couldn’t get any words out, so she just clung to him. 

Once her crying abated again, Fox gently guided her into the passenger seat, even going so far as to buckle her in and kiss her forehead before walking around the car and getting into the driver’s seat. The ride itself was a blur of haloed street lights and Fox saying things that were probably comforting and reassuring, though only his soft tone penetrated the haze in Amrita’s mind. Back in Fox’s flat, Ela handed Amrita some warm pajamas and a warm hand towel to clean her face.

“Get some sleep, little sister. We’ll wake you up for Chantry services in the morning,” Fox said.

Without really thinking about it, Amrita went through her usual nighttime routine before curling up in the too-big pajamas and falling asleep with her hand closed around Ema’an’s pendant.

When morning came, Ela helped Amrita back into her dress and pulled a lovely, grey sweater over Amrita’s head. Even though it was such a small addition, it changed Amrita’s appearance enough that she didn’t look like she was wearing last night’s clothes. Words were still too much for her, so Amrita just hugged the other woman and let herself be bundled into Fox’s car. They didn’t go to her usual parish, but Amrita didn’t think she could handle seeing her family, and the service was lovely regardless. She managed to sing a few verses of the Chant, but otherwise just sat in the comfortable space between Fox and Ela.

When it came time to spread the Eternal Flame, Amrita rose mechanically and joined the line of regular parishioners. The statue of Andraste was humble and welcoming and singing the few short verses before it warmed away some of Amrita’s numbness. She let herself be pulled along with the flow of people leaving the Chantry. It wasn’t until she was outside that Amrita realized she was alone. Just as the panic was setting in, Fox touched her shoulder before giving her a hug.

Amrita pulled away and blinked at her friends, as if seeing them for the first time. Ela couldn’t have been more Dalish if she tried, with her clear vallaslin and green clothes with only a facsimile of sandals. And then there was Fox, Tevinter in accent and mindset, if not appearance. He was a very polite atheist, but an atheist nonetheless. Neither of them would ever come to a Chantry service on their own. They went for her and no other reason. She clutched Fox’s arm and tried to hold back her tears.

“This is too much,” Amrita said, her voice quavering.

“It’s the very least you deserve. And we’ll see to it that you get everything you deserve.”

chrysanthemum  -  You're A Wonderful Friend; Cheerfulness and Rest crocus - Cheerfulness zinnia (red) - Constancy zinnia (white) - Goodness carnation (red) - My Heart Aches for You; Admiration carnation (white) - Sweet and Lovely; Innocence; Pure Love lily of the valley - Sweetness; Humility; You've Made My Life Complete forsythia - Anticipation tulip (red) - Believe Me; Declaration of Love tulip (variegated) - Beautiful Eyes roseleaf - You May Hope hyacinth (purple) -  I Am Sorry; Please Forgive Me: Sorrow iris - Your Friendship Means So Much to Me; Faith; Hope; Wisdom and Valour statice (blue) -  Intimacy, Deep Trust, Peacefulness ivy -  Wedded Love; Fidelity; Friendship; Affection Link 1 Link 2 Link 3

[lillotte17]

@feynites​ and I teamed up to write some Fake Marriage AU fluff! And…we got a bit carried away…like we do. >_>

It is strange to admit, but Aili has found that her role in the Inquisition is not so different than the one she holds in her own clan as First. Although, the reason behind her rise to prominence is markedly different.

There are many who seem to find conversing with the Herald of Andraste…unpleasant. Not that she can really blame them. Richard Trevelyan somehow manages to be overly solicitous and incredibly offensive all at once, whenever she has to spend any amount of time talking to him. Which, unfortunately, seems to be happening more and more, since she is apparently one of the few people capable of having a conversation with him without making some attempt to shove him down a mountainside and call it an accident.

Not that Uthvir had been acting without provocation.

And she certainly wasn’t about to complain about the insufferable human being bedridden for a few days while Solas and a few of the other mages seemed to take their sweet time deliberating how to mend a broken ankle. If anything, things had run much smoother around Haven, without the pompous ass tripping her up and trying to show her the ‘proper’ way to accomplish whatever task she had decided to undertake.

Luckily for her, though she is loath to admit it, having Uthvir hovering around her like some sort of spiky red wasp seems to deter Richard from stepping too far over the line of her tolerance. Not that they don’t have duties of their own to see to, of course, but they have a peculiar knack for showing up whenever her patience is wearing thin. Glaring and looking especially stabby and intimidating until Trevelyan suddenly remembers that he has some urgent matter to attend to on the far side of camp. Giving both Uthvir and their impressive array of cutlery plenty of breathing room.

Appreciation for their timeliness does not quite make up for the fact that she is now stuck in the awkward position of having to pretend that she is their wife, however.

Fortunately, she is not often called upon to make overt displays of affection. A few kisses on the cheek here and there and a bit of loose hand holding seems to be enough to convince most people. Uthvir appears to take some perverse pleasure in picking her up on occasion. Despite, or perhaps even because of, the way she squawks in alarm every time they do.

They seem to enjoy getting a rise out of her, but they are not a bad sort. Usually.

Honestly, the most bizarre thing to contend with has been their living arrangements. As a married couple, they had been given a tiny cottage to share by themselves. She had felt a little guilty about that, as many of the other families here have had to cram themselves into tents, but she supposes that most of the other prominent members of the Inquisition have also been granted the better sleeping quarters that Haven has to offer. So, it is not as though they have been handed any real preferential treatment.

There is still only one bed, though.

She is more than used to sharing space. Even sharing a sleeping place, come to it. And Uthvir is…not precisely a stranger anymore. But they seem to have some very mixed feelings about their current situation. And she cannot say that things have not gotten tense between them here and there.

They insist on setting wards around the windows and doorways every evening- no matter how late it may be when they both finally manage to stagger home. Strange intricate spellwork that she has never seen preformed before, even by a Keeper. Although, that is most likely because a lot of it seems to involve blood magic.

Naturally, she had found that a trifle worrying. Which had led to a singularly uncomfortable conversation about them potentially summoning some sort of demon into their bedroom. Which had ended very promptly when Uthvir would only answer her concern with a very sharp, unsettling smile.

She had decided to go do her laundry after that. By herself. At three in the morning.

Uthvir does not seem to need to do their laundry for some reason. Or bathe. Aili has never even seen them remove the vast majority of their armor. They don’t smell bad, though, so she doesn’t have a reason to complain. It just strikes her as being very odd.

Perhaps they simply wait until she is asleep to take care of such things. They do not seem to need sleep any more than they need to clean their clothes. Every so often they share the bed with her, spikes and all, but she can tell that they are still awake. More often than not, though, they simply set their wards and settle themselves into a large wing-backed armchair for the evening. Reading, or sharpening weapons, or even just folding their arms across their chest and folding into themselves in some sort of deep meditation.

She’s not sure what to make of them, to be perfectly honest.

They bear vallaslin as plainly as she does, and they speak Elvhen with a fluidity that she is, quite frankly, envious of. But they do not seem eager to discuss their past or their clan. They do not offer prayers or offerings to their shared gods.

Aili finds herself burning with curiosity, but she is not one to pry open a door that someone seems to be intent on keeping shut. Perhaps their Keeper had banished them for using blood magic, and the pain of losing their clan is still fresh. They do not…comport themselves in the manner of a typical First. But maybe their clan placed a greater value on hunting than most others. Devoted to the great huntress, perhaps.

Uthvir is weird and prickly and insufferable by turns. Also, funny and teasing. Clever. Skilled in battle. With their own strange brand of honor and nobility that doesn’t quite seem to match any code she has ever known for it.

She wants to know them better, she thinks. She wants to be found worthy of their trust. They have an air of mystery about them, like a mural in one of the Elvhen ruins she is always so keen to explore. On the surface, there are vines and dirt and nonsensical scrawling. But with care and patience- and an earnest hunger for knowledge and understanding- beauty can often be revealed.

Besides, Aili is more or less stuck with them for the foreseeable future. She might as well try to make the best of things.

The Hinterlands are a mess.

People are freezing and staving and desperate. Mages and Templars alike are running amok in the hills and caves. Bears and bandits everywhere they turn. Red lyrium, tears in the Veil, and demons terrorizing the common folk. A sodding High Dragon, with all her hatchlings, burning up a good portion of the countryside.

And the tent that she and Uthvir are expected to share is very very small.

“As fond as I am of you, my dearest heart,” she grumbles at them one morning on their way out to seal a rift in the southern slopes past the cross roads, “I think our nights might be more restful if you divested yourself of some of your more…pointy bits.”

“And what makes you suppose I have any interest in our nights being restful?” Uthvir replies with something of a feral grin. It is accompanied by a wink, for some reason.

Aili blinks at them in turn, confused. Frowning in mild disapproval and folding her arms across her chest. Just because they don’t mind going without sleep doesn’t mean she should have to suffer.

She opens her mouth to tell them as much, when a familiar high-pitched whistling cuts through the air, and an arrow nearly clips Varric in the side of his face. He jumps back with a curse, as everyone else in the party reaches for their weapons.

“Templars!” Solas calls out from a few steps behind them, “At least six of them; up on the ridge.”

Things quickly dissolve into chaos after that.

Trevelyan and Cassandra make a few half-hearted attempts to reason with the deserters, even as they press forward to act as vanguards for the rest of the party. Solas lobs a few blasts of ice at their combatants, but keeps the majority of his focus on providing barriers for the warriors. Aili is usually meting out damage from afar in a hail of fire and lightning, but there is at least one very good archer making attempts to pick them off from higher ground, so she hangs a little farther back than usual. Throwing up a shield around Varric and herself while he tries to take down the sharpshooter with Bianca.

Meanwhile, Uthvir, slides across the battlefield as something of a mid-range rogue. Darting in here and there to slip a blade between the gaps in the Templar’s plate armor. Making the occasional jab with their spear, and hurling a spell or two at unsuspecting combatants.

Their movements are quick and fluid. Almost like a dance. They are almost difficult to follow, and perhaps that is why Aili finds herself keeping such a close eye on them when they fight. It must be some sort of magic, she supposes, but she never sees them cast for it. Curiosity and a vague admiration drawing her gaze back to them whenever the battle allows.

For the sake of improving her own skills, of course.

One of the Templars manages to break past Dick, and makes a beeline for Varric and Aili. Uthvir is quick to intervene, dashing across the field much faster than should really be possible in all that armor. They get there just in time to stop the knight from breaking Aili’s shield, but the movement to pull him away forces them to turn their back to the archer on the cliffs.

Her mind barely registers the warning whistle through the air. There is not time to cast. To raise another shield. Or even to warn them beyond the frantic blurting of their name.

Aili hurls her entire bodyweight into them, knocking them off balance for a moment. Just enough to shove them out of harm’s way.

She meets their gaze just as the dull thunk of an arrow hitting its target sounds in her ears. She jerks in their arms; startled. Their expression is…difficult to articulate. She opens her mouth to speak, but all that escapes her is a choking gasp.

Her back feels as though it is on fire. The world blurs around her, and the arrow still seems as though it is moving. Burrowing deeper and deeper into the meat of her shoulder. A grinding, burning pain, trying to cook her from the inside out.

It should not be this bad, Aili thinks distantly. She should not be losing focus. Not wanting to wretch all down her tunic. It is just her arm. People live and fight and work without arms all the time. She should be able to… There is no reason for…

She grips Uthvir’s bicep with her one good hand. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her lips part as tears sting the corners of her eyes. She wants to ask them something, but she does not know what. For revenge, or healing, or help. For some end to the sizzling agony in her shoulder.

But then her eyes roll back into her head. The battle around them falls silent. The world melts into blackness, and she knows no more.

~~

Uthvir has woken to a world that, to many, would likely seem a pure nightmare.

But they have always been somewhat at home among nightmares. And it is a curious place, too. A broken place, irrefutably. No world where rampaging hordes of mindless killing machines rise up every so often to try and obliterate all other living things could ever be described otherwise. It is a world of limits. Time limits, mostly. Decay. The unnatural severance of magic from the physical world has created a wasting illness that claims everyone and everything - but not all at once.

Like a poison, it takes time. And it seems to have heightened all of reality in the process, speeding things up. Producing people who must live within the span of a single century. Children who are not children; elves who would not be considered People. Shemlen. Quickened children, who are grown in an instant.

Uthvir cannot deny a strange sense of kinship with them. Nor an abiding curiosity of this place. A world of dolls, of unpeople, like them.

They think that must be why they take such an interest in the Dalish woman. At least, at first. That, and, perhaps, boredom. Some lingering sense of basic decency, too. They had seen entitled men reach out to grasp a small and golden elf, and in one lifetime, that is the sort of thing they might have had to simply keep on watching. But here, there is no one to stop them from standing up and doing something about it. Andruil is mad and lost and locked away, along with all the other evanuris. And the politics of this world are a tangled web that seems woefully unprepared for someone of Uthvir’s knowledge, age, or aptitude. Lifetimes constrained by centuries would not afford much time to build up a repertoire of skills; though, considering that, Uthvir has seen plenty of Quick Children so far who are more than skilled at killing.

Funny. One might suppose the act would lose its appeal, given its inevitability in this place. 

Regardless, they intervene.

The Dalish woman is named Aili. The brute accosting her is Trevelyan, and like many brutes, he gains more authority than he deserves.

Uthvir prefers trying to understand things through Aili, as it happens. Men like Trevelyan, whether their lives are long or short, are not much of a mystery. But the Dalish elf they have pretended to be married to is much more layered, and presents a great many more intrigues and insights, too. Their interest does not seem to be one way, and Uthvir affords her a degree of safety - so they assume that is why she puts up with them, despite seemingly having no interest in carrying their game of attachments beyond mere appearances. Uthvir’s flirtations go ignored or blatantly ‘misread’. Sometimes Aili will invite them into her bed, but any efforts to turn the context towards sexual past-times is rebuffed. She seems, at times, to like Uthvir; and at others to feel a deep unease towards them.

They can respect that. They are the sort of person worth feeling uneasy about.

But now…

There is an arrow in Aili’s back. An arrow that should have bounced off of their armour and their close-skin barrier, but has instead embedded itself into her flesh. Because she moved to put that flesh between the arrow and Uthvir.

Why?

They know that even in this world of fleeting life, individuals still value theirs in a way that they can generally understand. They were providing advantages for Aili, most certainly, but death would negate any possible gains - and they can feel it. Her heart slowing. Poison, something on the arrow, wreaking terrible havoc on her. Perhaps she did not realize that element. Perhaps she only meant to endure a flesh wound, but why risk it?

“Uthvir!" she had shouted.

Her hands are lax, now, but a moment ago, she had been clutching at them. Looking at them, as if to plead with them for something. But then her eyes had rolled into her head, and now she is a weight in their arms. A weight with cooling blood and a slowing heart and something wrong, something that fights their magic when they try and reach for it.

With a snarl, Uthvir launches their spear into the nearest templar. The flare of magic has it pelting through the air and through the man’s armour, in turn, as Varric finally lands a shot on the archer. Without any further delay for shock, they carry Aili into cover, and lay her onto her stomach. The skirmish is still going. They put up a barrier, of the sort that even allies would struggle to get through, and set to work. Bloody, ruthless, fast work as they pull out the arrow, because they need to pull out the poison, too. It is something that dislikes magic intensely, but their blood magic still works. They manage to keep Aili from bleeding out, manage to keep her heart beating as they do their best to draw out the poison.

It is messy healing. On its own, blood magic has uses when it comes to healing, but mostly in terms of the manipulation of blood. Repair work requires regenerative magics, which the poison is fighting.

Still, they get enough of it out that it is no longer threatening to stop Aili’s heart. Enough of it that they can stitch the wound shut, using a needle from one of their own throwing darts. By the time things have progressed to that point, the skirmish is over.

Varric’s voice is surprisingly gentle, like someone trying to calm a startled animal, when he calls for them to lower their barrier.

They look up, and Fear does a sweep of the area. The templars are all dead, or very close to dying. Trevelyan is up and moving around, which they dislike, but there is little for it; and the man has resources that will get Aili back to safety. They lower the barrier, and almost immediately he is upon them. Paling at the sight of Aili’s bloodied back and hastily stitched wound.

"Maker’s breath!” he exclaims. “You butcher! Any fool knows not to pull an arrow out like that!”

“It was poisoned,” Uthvir snaps, radiating disdain. “The flesh can be repaired, but not if her heart stops.”

“What templar poisons their weapons?” Trevelyan scoffs, 

“The sort who rebel from the chantry so that they can hunt down any mage they like, I imagine,” they drawl back at him, with little patience. They do not like Trevelyan. They are nearly tempted to just snap his neck and have done with it, but he has the wolf’s magic in his palm, and they still have not figured out the whole picture of Solas’ aims. 

And in fact, it is Solas who intervenes, then.

“Magebane,” he says. “I recognize the effects. Uthvir is correct. A high enough dose of that would have proven fatal.”

Trevelyan barely acknowledges him.

“We must get Aili to proper healers,” he insists, and steps forward. “I’ll carry her myself. You’ve done enough damage.”

Uthvir does not let him get a hand on her. They do not like the covetousness in him, and they like it far, far less, they find, when Aili is vulnerable. The image flares in their mind, again. Of the arrow striking her back. It makes their own shoulders twinge. A memory - that memory, what is possibly the first memory that is truly their own - comes to them. Arrows and battlefields. A strike, and a fall, and the feeling of breaking apart from the inside out. And covetous hands, reaching, wanting to take what is left. Predators who would scoop up the remains and steal them away.

No.

They take Aili in their own arms, careful of her wound - the only option, really, is to arrange her against their shoulder, and so they do, as they fix Trevelyan with a look that has even Mythal’s wolf taking a reflexive step back.

“Do not touch my wife,” they say.

To the credit of his sense of self-preservation, Trevelyan does not try and argue the point again.

~~

Time passes in a dreamy blur. Aili is not certain what is real and what is the result of her fevered mind. Everything slips by in hazy fantasies. Faces of her clanmates. Of Deshanna. Of the Dread Wolf; huge and dark and monstrous. Voices speaking from somewhere close at hand. Uthvir and Solas mostly, with snatches Cassandra and Varric. She even thinks she hears Trevelayn at one point, but a low hiss comes from somewhere beside her, and then there is nothing but silence for a long time.

Her skin feels icy and burning by turns. There are no proper dreams waiting for her when she drifts further towards sleep, and her magic feels strange and distant. It makes her feel numb and sluggish. Wrung out like a damp rag.

She wonders if she is dying. There is a vague sensation of a hand in her hair. Gently stroking it back from her face the way her father used to. She wonders how they found him. If her mother came, too. Her condition must be very bad if they sent for her parents.

The first time she opens her eyes and registers her surroundings with any clarity, she is back inside their little tent, and what seems to be daylight is sifting through the canvas. Which means that she was either out of it for a very short time, or a very long time. She is lying flat on her stomach, and her shoulder is a steady throbbing ache. She feels grimy, and she has a strong suspicion that she has been sweating in her sleep, and that the sweat had dried before starting up again. Her eyes are full of grit, and her mouth tastes like vomit.

Aili makes a bid to flip herself over, which, she quickly discovers, is most definitely a mistake. A burning pain radiates out from her injured shoulder, and the arm attached to it is barely capable of movement. She gives a low moan of distress just as a pair of hands come to guide her so that she is lying on her uninjured side instead.

When she glances up at the face of her apparent nursemaid, she is a little surprised to see that it belongs to none other than her feigned spouse. Although, she is not sure why it is surprising. Perhaps it is simply that Uthvir does not seem the type to care for the sick and injured. Maybe they could not think of any other way to play off their ruse. Married people do tend to look out for each other, after all.

“Thanks,” she rasps out. Uthvir nods and holds out a bladder full of what turns out to be fresh, cool water, which she drinks greedily. Happy to get the unpleasant taste of bile out of the back of her throat.

“You did a very foolish thing,” they inform her bluntly, “And it nearly killed you. But I presume you must have had noble intentions, so I suppose I should be thanking you as well.”

Aili makes a face at them.

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” she grumbles hoarsely, “I think that might have been the most backhanded depreciating show of gratitude I have ever heard. The Herald might have beaten you, but I am not sure he’s ever been grateful for anything.”

Uthvir frowns at the assessment, brow furrowing in deep thought.

“It…is not my intention to distress you while you are still unwell,” they say after a moment. Which might be as close to an apology as she is going to get. “I meant to say that, while your aims must have been to preserve the mobility of the person who has been keeping Trevelyan away from you, it was unnecessary. My armor is not merely for show, and I doubt any of these degenerate renegades are equipped with anything that could get past it.”

Aili blinks at them.

“To be perfectly honest, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” she tells them, “I didn’t have time to contemplate ulterior motives while we were fighting for our lives. I acted on instinct.”

Uthvir looks at her as though she has said something very strange.

Her stomach gurgles loudly.

“…You should eat,” they tell her quietly, getting to their feet and moving to the front of the tent, “I will see if the scouts have managed to procure anything marginally edible today. Do not try to get up on your own.”

“I think I can at least handle sitting up,” Aili protests.

“Humor me,” they say with a smirk.

Uthvir is nearly out of their tent when they pause, seemingly struck by burning curiosity. They look back at her over their shoulder, as if trying to puzzle something out.

“Why did you attempt to save me?” they ask finally.

Aili quirks an eyebrow and then laughs. The laughing hurts, but it is good to know she is still capable of it.

“Because I didn’t want you to get hit by an arrow?” she replies, as though the answer should be obvious.

Uthvir nods once in acceptance, although they still seem very contemplative about the whole thing.

“Sleep, if you can,” they instruct her, “I will be back soon.”

~~

She did not think; she just wanted them to avoid harm? 

And her solution to that was to fling herself between them and a deadly arrow?

Uthvir honestly has no idea what to make of that. It seems the opposite of a simple judgement, or the sort of thing someone could just decide to do in the blink of an eye. Well, rather, they think it should have been a quick decision, all factors considered. But the outcome should have been entirely opposite.

What are they supposed to do with a fake wife who is willing to take an arrow for them?

…Does she want to die?

They had pondered that, while they kept a vigil over her bedside, and made certain that her heart kept beating and her blood didn’t soak through her bandages. She did not seem the type, but then again, many who did not seem the type to seek death were simply very good at disguising their inclinations. Or even over-compensating for them. The answer had not fit, even so… but they have not discounted it, either. This is a broken world, after all.

Uthvir can remember the feeling. Not their own - the concept is antithesis to them now - but they can remember…

…Aili makes them think too much of things better left buried.

With a shake of their head, they head over to the cookpot, to see what paltry offerings there are for food. Rations have run low, since Aili’s injury has forced them to stay in one place for longer than planned. Now that she is awake, however, it should be safe to move her, and the problem will not persist. Uthvir considers going off to hunt something down themselves. There are goats in the region. They had offered their services to the refugee camp, and had found the animals laughably easy to catch; though apparently, that simple task is still beyond most of the recruits.

But then they catch sight of Trevelyan, glancing towards their tent, and they change their mind. The situation is not dire; they can hunt when it is safe to leave Aili unattended.

Fear is inclined to agree.

She will have to make do with last night’s leftover squirrel stew and some travel bread, and tea, in the meanwhile. Uthvir scoops up a bowl and retrieves some bread from the covered stack by the fire, and pours a cup of warm drink, balancing it all on a thin metal plate. Trevelyan looks at them as if he wants to ask a question. But in the end, it is Solas who approaches.

“She is awake?” he guesses.

The man had helped heal her. Uthvir is still attempting to parse the motives behind that, too, but they may be as simple as appearances. Not helping would be more conspicuous.

They incline their head.

“Awake, and moving more than she should. I need to get back,” they explain.

“I will come with you,” Solas offers. “If you intend to change her bandage, I would like to take another look at her wound.”

Uthvir glances up at him.

“I think you have seen enough of my shirtless wife, for now,” they find themselves saying, before they actually think the better of the response. They do not want Solas there. Fear does not want the wolf there, and after a moment of internal examination, they guess it is because they still have not figured out why Aili put herself between them and that arrow.

We will have to make her armour. This cannot happen again.

It is… inconvenient.

Solas looks affronted, and Cassandra, of all people, bristles on his behalf.

“Solas is a healer. His comportment has been strictly professional,” she points out.

Uthvir draws in a breath, and then inclines their head again.

“True enough. But my own interests are not professional, and for the time being, have no need to be,” they reply. “…I will ask Aili.”

“Perhaps you ought to bring her out here,” Trevelyan suggests. “Where we can all help to keep an eye on the poor girl, and make sure you aren’t over-taxing her.”

Uthvir contemplates the knife in their boot. It is not, technically, a throwing knife, but they can throw it, and with a fair degree of accuracy as well. It is very sharp. Sharp enough to cut through enchanted bonds, if need be, and the hide of particularly thick-skinned prey. Trevelyan’s soft throat would be less than butter to it. 

“Open air would not serve her well, the weather is too cold,” Solas asserts, and Uthvir makes the pragmatic choice, and slips away instead.

They have no idea why they are so angry. Fear must be more riled than they thought; after all, whilst that arrow likely would have bounced off of their armour, it could have struck their neck. And it was poisoned. They doubt Solas’ act would have extended so far as genuinely saving their life, under the circumstances. The wolf is aware that they are a kink in his plans, even though Uthvir has not decided for themselves whether or not they intend to be.

When they get back into the tent, Aili is attempting to sit up.

It’s not going well for her.

They lower the plate of food onto the floor next to the bedroll, and set about helping her. She cannot eat on her side, after all. It is much easier to just scoop her up and move her themselves than to watch her strain her muscles, and figure out which ones are still not serving her well. Uthvir feels a pang of guilt, even though they doubt they should. They had done what they could to try and accelerate her healing, but the poison - magebane - resisted magic. Which meant it resisted magical healing, and so her body must fend the worst of it off the slow way.

They should not feel guilty about being unable to circumvent that for her.

Perhaps it is simply that they are starting to get used to being much more powerful than the others around them, in this future. 

Aili winces when they finally get her sitting up, but after a few moments, she seems able to keep with it. They offer her the food, and she looks at is as if she would rather not have it.

“You need the energy,” they remind her. “You vomited while we were healing you.”

They had gotten some broth into her while she was resting, but not much, and not easily.

With a sigh, and another wince, she relents and lets them settle the plate onto her lap. One-handed, she has some difficulties eating, but not too many. Nothing needs to be cut up, at least. Uthvir moves towards her back and checks her bandages, once it’s clear that she can manage on her own.

“How bad is it?” Aili asks them.

They take stock, and answer truthfully.

“The wound is stitched. The skin around the wound is inflamed, but that seems to be from the poison, not the infection.” they say. “But not as badly as it was before. You lost too much blood when I pulled out the arrow, so I could not simply flush the infected blood out of your system. But a lot of the poison did go with it. Magebane; it resists magic, I am given to understand. Solas did what he could to clean it and regenerate some of your flesh, but until you can flush the poison out naturally, magical healing will be slow to work on you.”

She stays relatively still, at least, as they check the stitches, and then gather up some fresh bandages and start to replace them.

“You will probably not dream much in the meantime, either,” they add. They had not been able to find her, on the other side of the Veil.

“I think I know some remedies that might help,” she admits.

More elfroot, they wonder? That seems to be the cure-all here, though, admittedly, it is not a bad one.

“We can see about that later,” they say. “We’ve run low of supplies. Now that you are awake, though, we can safely move you.”

They set aside the used bandages, and Aili taps her spoon thoughtfully against the side of her stew bowl.

“Why couldn’t you move me?” she wonders. Her voice sounds tired again. When they look at her face, her eyelids are drooping. They brush their fingers across her brow, and check for fever. Perhaps they spoke on infections too soon. But her skin feels relatively normal in temperature, and though her stare is a bit distant, it is not foggy or disoriented.

“Because we did not have the safe means to,” they say.

“Oh,” she replies, blinking at them.

Uthvir lets their hand slip from her forehead, and rests it against her cheek for a moment instead.

“No more jumping in front of arrows,” they request.

Endearingly, she nods.

“Not going to make a habit of it,” she promises.

Well.

That’s a start.

~

Now that she is awake, the Inquisition scouts begin preparations to move their camp. Planning to head back towards the crossroads and eventually Haven. Provisions there are scarce, but there had at least been one or two vendors still making attempts to trade things, and with any luck, some of the raw minerals they had been gathering and a few of their spare blankets will be enough to barter for medicinal herbs and some fish and vegetables.

Aili is not generally a picky eater, but she thinks that one more day eating Scout Jim’s Famous Squirrel Stew might be enough to put her over the edge.

Uthvir insists that she stays inside the tent like a useless lump throughout the entire proceedings. She doesn’t know exactly how long she was incapacitated, but a little more than an hour of doing nothing but stare up at the canvas ceiling of their tent has her ready to tear hair out by the roots. And when her ‘spouse’ returns later to tell her that they are going to spend one last night in this camp before moving out the next morning, she nearly moans in despair.

“There must be something I can do,” she insists, “It’s not as though my legs have stopped working.”

“You need rest,” Uthvir counters firmly, “Your body is making attempts to regenerate blood and tissue as best it can without magical aid. Do not tempt fate by galivanting around the camp looking for odd jobs you cannot even preform competently in your current state.”

“I’ve still got one good hand,” Aili argues stubbornly, wiggling her fingers in their direction to prove her point, “I can haul satchels and stir stew pots with the best of them.”

“And when you twist your shoulders the wrong way and reopen your wound, we will all be forced to stay here at least another day,” Uthvir returns with an arched brow, “The best thing you can do to get this campsite ready to move is to conserve your energy for the ride out tomorrow.”

“Have you ever been told to sit still and do nothing?” she wonders with a huff, “Do you know how hard it is? I don’t even have a book to pass the time in here. What am I supposed to do, count the stitches in the ceiling?”

“Sleep?” Uthvir suggests with a smirk just as Cassandra calls them to come help with something outside. They rise to answer her summons, casting one last look in Aili’s direction before they leave. “I…will see if there is any stimulating reading material around the camp, if you like. I would not place too much hope upon it, however. I doubt anyone has seen fit to drag many books out into the wilderness. You might have to make due with a duty roster.”

“Honestly, even that would be thrilling by comparison,” she sighs.

Despite their warnings, however, Uthvir returns with a book tucked up under their arm, along with another batch of questionable stew. There appears to be mushrooms added this time, but not of any variety that she is immediately familiar with. Hopefully they have not pulled her out of the jaws of death just to accidentally murder her with fungi.

Still. She cannot contain her excitement at the prospect of potential reading material.

“I see your hunt was a success,” she grins, making a grabbing motion towards the book, “You bear the Huntress’ markings with honor.”

Uthvir gives her something of a flat look at her attempt at praise, but passes the bowl of food towards her outstretched fingers regardless.

“You can read after you eat,” they say.

“Or I could read while I eat?” she suggests hopefully.

“And just how do you suppose you are going to manage that with only a single working hand?” Uthvir wonders.

“Well…you could hold it for me?” Aili proposes with a smile laced with her best attempt at charm, “Or you could read it to me yourself, if you want me to have a bit more focus to spare for eating?”

Uthvir sighs in a way that suggests that they are being severely put upon, but they sit down beside her anyway. They tug off the spikiest parts of their shoulder guards, and shift close enough that she can see the pages as they turn them. It looks to be the first book in a serial; something to do with a red-haired buxom gaurdswoman, if the cover is any indication.

Uthvir scans the first page for a few seconds before their expression twists into a puzzled frown.

“This…is horrible,” they say, as if they can’t quite understand it, “It is Cassandra’s, and I assumed a title such as Swords and Shields would be about weaponry. This is… I do not even know what this is.”

“Any port in a storm,” Aili laughs, “Read it anyway. It can’t be that bad.”

It is absolutely that bad. The prose are ludicrous. The fight scenes are impossible. The dialogue is riddled with puns. And the love scenes are overly dramatic and full of sex positions that would likely only be possible for some sort of contortionist.

Aili nearly laughs herself silly. She does manage to snort a mushroom into Uthvir’s lap at one point, but they don’t seem terribly put out by it. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she might even think they were having as much fun with it as she is.

Somewhere around chapter four, her head begins to nod. For all her bravado, she still feels drained of most of her energy. Her focus keeps going in and out. Likely due to her tenuous connection to the Fade.

She feels herself leaning. And then a warm solid presence against her uninjured side. A touch of something cool and metallic against her head. And the last thing she can make out is the sound of Uthvir’s voice reading to her as she drifts off towards sleep.

~

Aili falls asleep against them.

Uthvir considers moving her. They are not the most comfortable resting post, though at least they aren’t wearing some of their more elaborate gear. But she is leaning away from her injured side, and a few minutes, they think, will not do her any harm. She might not be entirely asleep yet, either. Without the clarity of emotional expression, it is difficult to say for certain.

So they keep reading, up until the heroine of the novel finds herself trapped in a small room with the timer counting down to her lover’s demise, and when Aili offers no protestation or commentary - only solid, even breaths - they finally give up on the novel, and put it down. Terrible fiction, really. But it seemed, strangely, as if the author was well aware of how overblown everything in the story was, and sought to bring about the story’s entertainment through embracing it, rather than tempering it. Not quite a comedy - but exaggerated in a similar way.

It had not been too much of a chore to read, at least.

Aili’s cheek slips slightly against their shoulder, and they decide it is time to settle her back down onto her bedroll. They attempt to move their arm - carefully - but as they shift, Aili does, too, and wraps her good one more securely around their waist. Leaning into the opening, and pressing her face closer to the side of their neck. Uthvir stills. They feel a moment of reflexive discomfort at feeling her exhalations so close to their throat. But Aili’s eyes remain closed, and they have… noticed, before now, her tendency to crawl into any personal space permitted to her while she is unconscious. As if her body is drawn to warmth.

It was an easier impulse to dissuade before she was injured. Despite an impressive ability to contort herself around them - and some early confusion as to whether or not she was attempting to seduce them - Uthvir had still been much, much stronger, and capable of simply disentangling her limbs and replacing themselves with a pillow, if needed.

But now Aili is injured. Attempts to reduce her grip on them could re-open her shoulder wound.

A wound she sustained in defence of them.

Uthvir considers the issue, as her cheek slants down towards their chest again. There is no pressing duty for them at the moment, at least. No need for them to take any action until morning, and spending the night in the tent would certainly help with their ruse. It would also allow them to keep an eye on their patient, and ensure that she does not toss or turn in her sleep, and risk undoing some of the work her body has already done in healing. And it is not… unpleasant, they suppose, to rest with someone close by. Someone who does not appear to mean them any harm; who, it is perhaps safe to venture, might even wish them well. For reasons both pragmatic and personal.

They take a moment to move around slightly, setting down the book and putting out the light, and by the time they manage to lower themselves onto the bedroll, Aili is all but on top of them. Much as they might enjoy the more scintillating options of such a position, a little rearranging actually makes it a good one for her injury. Her back is to the air, so she is not lying on it, and her good arm is around them, but her injured one is secure and not liable to be pulled or twisted. Uthvir moves their own arm to her side, and essentially secures her in place.

With their other hand, they brush her hair away from her face. She sighs a little in her sleep. Her eyelashes flutter, but she doesn’t actually wake.

After a few minutes, she starts drooling on their chest, in fact.

The drool won’t hurt anything, though, so Uthvir only snorts, and then tilts their own head back to settle into a restive state. Not sleep, but close to it. Even without proper sleep, they’ve found, letting their limbs relax and their body go without movement, their thoughts drift without focus, can improve their energy levels and revitalize them quite a bit. They breathe in a deliberate, even rhythm; and are surprised to find, after a while, that Aili is matching it. That the thumping of her heart is more or less keeping time with their own, too.

It makes relaxing that much easier, funnily enough.

They drift. Hours pass. From behind their eyelids they eventually notice the light slowly brightening of its own accord, as the night passes and daylight creeps in again. Birds begin to stir only just before the camp does. Uthvir draws in a breath that breaks the rhythm of their rest, and begins to sit up.

They know Aili has woken up when her grip on them tightens, just briefly; and then relinquishes them again. They look down at her, and she blinks muzzily back up at them. Frowning, and then wincing slightly when she moves just a bit too much - they pat her side, and hold her still for a moment, before helping her sit up more carefully.

She lifts a hand, and swipes at the side of her mouth.

“Did we spend all night like that?” she wonders.

Uthvir inclines their head.

“I am given to believe that is not uncommon behaviour for spouses,” they say, and begin straightening their own self out. They should have undressed further, perhaps, if they were going to lie on their back for so long. Their shoulders ache a little, and some of the flesh around their scars feels tender from enduring the odd pressures all night. But, nothing too bad. They stretch, and then bid Aili turn around so that they can check her wound and change her bandage.

“You could have woken me up,” she says, looking vaguely apologetic. “We’re not really married.”

“More’s the pity,” they quip. “But do not trouble yourself. I would have woken you, if I felt the need to.”

Despite their efforts to keep their tone light, however, their touch lingers for a moment at her wound. She will almost certainly have a scar. Not in the same place where… not in the middle of her back, but on her shoulder, assuredly. They can still reduce it, though, and hopefully, it will not plague her. The flesh around her wound is less red this morning, and her stitches look to be holding well.

But then again, despite her complaints, Aili has not really done anything today. Leaving camp will be another matter.

Uthvir frowns a little, as they bandage her back up.

“What would you like for breakfast?” they ask.

“I didn’t think there were enough options to actually choose something,” Aili replies. 

“There aren’t,” they concede. “But if you’d said 'squirrel stew’, we might have pretended.” At least they managed to find a few mushrooms the other day, to try and add some variety into it. Their foraging skills might not be as exemplary as their hunting ones, but they’re still a fair hand at it.

Aili groans.

“I think I can just skip breakfast today,” she suggests.

“You need your strength,” Uthvir reminds her. She gives them a flat look, and they smirk in return. “I’ll see what I can find. Wait here, and try not to move around too much.”

Her expression does not improve, and she grumbles somewhat. They think if she was more awake, they might actually have an argument on their hands. But as it is, they manage to leave the tent after extracting a promise from her to wait for them. Trevelyan is not an early riser, at least, and neither is the wolf. The Seeker is up and about, though, going through her morning workout as Uthvir rises. They find themselves missing, for a moment, the authority of their old life. When they could have asked someone to watch the tent and make certain that Aili did not over-tax herself, and trusted that they would do so even if only because Uthvir might rip their throat open if they didn’t.

But even then, they would have had to contend with Andruil’s own predilections. And Trevelyan is a much more manageable hazard, in the end.

The scouts have not had any more success with their traps this morning than in previous days. Uthvir listens to the birds singing in the trees, and after a moment of silent contemplation, stalks off away from the camp. It would take too long to hunt something down with a bow or a spear, but…

There are other options.

When they are confident that there are not witnesses about, and able to ignore Fear’s hissing over the decision, Uthvir changes shape into that of a very large hawk. They beat their wings and launch themselves up into the sky, winging over the treetops that encircle the campsite. From the air, it is easier to see the terrain. The scars on the landscape from the dragon that has taken roost in the Hinterlands, and lumbering shape of a bear, giving their encampment a wise berth. A bear wouldn’t be a bad catch, but it would be tricky. Uthvir looks for likelier prey, flying higher and letting their keen hawk’s gaze make up the difference, as they try to avoid giving too much warning to any small, skittering animals which might be on the ground.

It takes long enough that they are just beginning to second-guess their decision, when finally something small and dark charges out of the underbrush. Uthvir does not hesitate. They launch themselves after it, dropping down like a stone, and close the distance to strike with lightning precision. Their talons slice through feathers and flesh, a twisting of their foot snapping bone. The grouse dies without further sound, and they feel a swell of triumph in their breast.

Yes.

No squirrel stew this morning after all.

They carry their prize back as a bird for most of the way, before shifting to their elven form outside of the camp, and finishing the trek on foot.

~

Aili is nearly asleep again, half-heartedly flipping through the pages of her borrowed book, when the smell of roasting meat comes wafting through the tent flaps. Whatever game it may be, it certainly isn’t squirrel. Apparently, that thought alone is enough to rouse her stomach, which seems to be enough to wake the rest of her as well.

When Uthvir returns to their tent a little while later with a plate of something that actually looks edible and a steaming mug of tea, it is almost enough to make her salivate.

“Did some hapless chicken wander into the scouts’ traps at last?” she wonders, taking the plate from them eagerly.

“A grouse,” Uthvir corrects her, looking more than a little pleased with themselves, “And this is one of my kills, as it happens.”

“You are magnificent,” Aili commends though a mouthful of her breakfast. It tastes delicious, but it is a bit trickier to eat than a bowl of stew. She can only handle one utensil at a time, so she ends up skewering sections of the roasted fowl on the end of her knife and gnawing on it as best she can. The result is having the bottom third of her face covered in grease and bits of bird.

 Uthvir snorts.

“And you are a mess,” they reply with something that sounds suspiciously like fondness, taking a corner of the blanket to wipe ineffectually at her face. 

Once she has managed to get the majority of her food where it is supposed to go, Uthvir begins the process of helping her back into the various layers of her clothing. Luckily, she had been wise enough to pack more than one undershirt and tunic, but she heaves a sigh when she picks up her torn and bloodied leathers. Both the arrow and Uthvir have done a number on them, it seems.

These were the ones she had worn to the conclave. Made of beasts slain by the hunters of her clan, tanned and dyed and molded by their craftsmen, stitched together with pieces of home. She runs her fingers over one of the clan symbols etched into the shoulder, thoughtful. She knowns how to skin an animal well enough, and how to cure the hide properly, but she has no particular skill for leatherwork.

Perhaps Harritt will be up for a patch job when they get back to Haven.

“We should find you something better,” Uthvir says from behind her, doing their best to guide her into her armor without jostling her injuries too much. Aili winces all the same.

“Preferably something without a hole in it,” she returns with a hint of a grimace as they assist with lacing her in.

Uthvir nods in complete seriousness.

“The quality of armor that the Inquisition turns out is questionable at best, but even a substandard steel breastplate would serve you better than leathers,” they inform her, “At the very least it would do a better job of deflecting projectiles.”

“It would also do an excellent job of ensuring that I was exhausted and useless for just about any fight we ended up in,” she huffs at them, “It might have escaped your notice, but not everyone around here is capable of hefting a cow over their head as though it weighs nothing.”

“I did not lift it over my head, I simply tossed it in the direction of the river so it could find its way home. Gently,” Uthvir retorts, “But I suppose I see your point. Perhaps something with runes and enchantments would be better.”

“Well, that is something to worry about later,” Aili sighs, letting out a deep groan as she finally struggles to her feet. Blood seems to rush to her head, and she stumbles, dizzy and off balance. Uthvir catches her by her good arm, holding her up.

“I suppose it is a good thing that you will not be expected to walk any great distance,” they say with a faint smirk.

“Yes, well, we’ll see how Fen'Harel feels about bearing a rider today,” she answers with a wry twist of her lips.

Uthvir’s face falls.

“You are not riding that monstrosity of a horse in your condition,” they tell her flatly.

“Of course I am,” she rolls her eyes at them, grabbing up her satchel and slinging it over her good shoulder. To her credit, she only flinches slightly. “How else do you suppose I am going to get back to the crossroads?”

She sweeps her way out of the tent and into the fresh morning air. It is a bit cold, but she breathes it in deep. The smell of pine and dew and the vestiges of a dying fire. The chill prickles in her lungs, and makes the muscles in her shoulder twinge, but it’s still a good feeling.

A sense of being alive.

Uthvir is quick to follow her, their own gear in hand, making moves to divest her of her pack.

“You should ride with me, naturally,” they tell her with a half-smile, “I am your devoted spouse, after all.”

“And are you going to have me press my injured shoulder into your spikes while you sit behind me?” Aili wonders, still making her way determinedly towards the mounts, refusing to give over her luggage, “Or do you expect me to hold onto you with my one good arm as we go bouncing along the countryside?”

“Either of those seem preferable to your ill-tempered horse dumping you into the mud,” Uthvir insists.

“It’ll be fine!” Aili waves them off.

“What will be fine?” Solas asks, coming over to join them.

“Good morning, Solas!” Aili beams at him, blatantly ignoring the question.

“Good morning,” he smiles in return, “I am pleased to see that you are feeling better.”

“Thanks in large part to you, I understand,” she replies brightly, “And, of course, my spouse.”

“I was more than willing to do my part,” Solas says with a slight inclination of his head, “I only wish I was capable of doing more. Unfortunately, there is only so much healing magic can do against magebane.”

“I’m still alive and kicking,” she says with a half shrug, and a trace of a wince, “Couldn’t ask for more than that, really.”

“Would it be too much to hope that there will not be a repeat performance of this particular scenario?” Solas wonders as the rest of the party begins making their way over to the mounts and saddling up. “As your healer, I would strongly advise against leaping in front of anymore arrows.”

“Yes, yes,” she grins at him, rolling her eyes slightly in exasperation, “You know, between you and Uthvir, I am beginning to suspect that I have a reputation for being reckless. Wholly unfounded.”

“Yes, there is nothing reckless about attempting to ride a horse who routinely pitches you in the dirt while still recovering from an injury,” Uthvir quips dryly.

“What?” Solas baulks, “You are not going to try and ride that creature by yourself, are you?”

“What’s this about riding by yourself?” Dick interjects, striding up to them in a long fur-trimmed cloak, “Nonsense! What kind of husband abandons their wife to some wild untamed beast? The poor girl just got back on her feet, can’t leave her by herself to get thrown into the bushes.”

“No one was suggesting leaving her to her own devices,” Uthvir snaps.

“No one except me,” Aili frowns, “Look, nobody has to carry me around in a basket just because I got hurt a little.”

“You nearly died,” Solas reminds her pointedly.

“Details,” she insists with a wave of her hand.

“Here now,” Trevelyan says coming over and wrapping an arm around her before she even gets a moment to tell him to shove off, his hand landing heavily on her injured shoulder, “You can ride with me and Hector. Couldn’t ask for more of a treat than that; riding with the Herald of Andraste!”

Aili’s back tenses under the weight of his arm, her feet stumbling as her vision blurs with unexpected pain.

And then, somehow, the weight is lifted. And she finds herself carefully scooped into someone’s arms. Held in such a way that her injury is unlikely to bump into anything as they walk.

She glances up at Uthvir, who looks more than a little bit annoyed, before looking back to see the large jumble of fur and leather that had recently been manhandling her face first on the ground. Then she curls her fingers into their cloak and leans into them a bit. Unconsciously heaving a relieved sigh.

“Under the circumstances, I trust there are no further objections to riding on my hart with me?” they ask tersely, “We can wrap extra cloaks and blankets around you to prevent my armor from aggravating your wounds.”

Aili nods in silent acquiescence.

“…Thank you,” she says quietly after a moment, wrinkling her nose slightly, “I thought the smell of his cologne was going to kill me.”

~

Uthvir snorts. Trevelyan does seem to have a predilection for… conspicuous perfumes. They are not entirely certain if the man actually thinks it’s appealing, or if humans just don’t smell things as well as elves do. The latter would also explain some of the things they’ve noticed about the settlements in this time.

Though, in all fairness, they haven’t encountered many elven settlements for comparison, as yet.

Aili’s terror of a horse is handled by Cassandra, for the time being. The Seeker also takes the liberty of scooping Trevelyan up from where Uthvir left him. The Herald asks, loudly, what attacked him, and seems convinced that some rogue wolf or 'perhaps even a tiger’ had managed to make its way into their camp. Uthvir’s honestly not certain if the man is making a calculated attempt to avoid having to confront them, or they actually hit him hard enough that he has no idea they even did it in the first place.

On balance, they suppose it does not matter very much what the answer is. If he persists in trying to re-open Aili’s wound, they will simply make their point again. And however many subsequent times it may be needed.

Solas helps them get Aili ready for travel. A fact which has their 'darling wife’ sighing, and insisting that she can handle herself, but also not really protesting as they re-check her bandages and stitches, and then secure her in several blankets. Only, it becomes apparent in short order that even the weight of the blankets is a bit much, as they press against the wound. Trevelyan did not take out a stitch, but he did jostle one badly enough to draw blood.

“I suppose I’ll ride behind you…” Aili concludes, after they’ve gotten the blankets back off of her.

“I have a better idea,” Uthvir replies, and scoops her up again.

Their hart is a relatively patient mount, unlike that nightmare of a horse which Dennet granted to Aili. It stands steady as Uthvir begrudgingly hands Aili over to Solas, and climbs into the saddle; and then reaches back to lift her up again. She moves confusedly for a moment, but seems to catch on as they settle her in front of them. They had left off several pieces of their armour, in anticipation of this ride, so their front is thoroughly spike-free as they more or less settle Aili into their lap. Facing towards them, rather than with her back at their chest. Luckily, she is short enough that they can still easily see past her. Her legs are forced to settle on top of theirs, for the sake of space and some degree of comfort.

“Your thighs will go numb…” she protests.

“It will be fine,” they counter, and settle one hand against her lower back. She lets out a grumbling sigh, as if they are somehow the unreasonable party in this mess. But their positions now mean that she must choose between awkwardly sitting straight, and impeding their view a little; or else leaning against them, and wrapping her good arm around them, and resting her cheek on their shoulder.

She chooses the latter more quickly than they had expected. Sighing again, and squirming around some in order to get her bad arm into a more comfortable position.

Uthvir is very glad that they have long been in the habit of keeping their nether regions inward rather than outwards when they are riding. All that squirming in their lap is not without its predictable side effects.

“Tell me if you need me to move,” she insists.

“I think it would be best if you moved as little as possible,” they tell her, as some wryness seeps into their voice. “Much as I am enjoying having you in my clutches.”

She rolls her eyes at them.

“You had me in your clutches all last night, too,” she says. “You’re probably still stiff.”

Nearby, from where he’s getting onto his own mount, the dwarf snorts out a surprised chortle. Uthvir’s own lips twitch at the innuendo. They fall easily into the routine of feigned marital affection, however. They never once saw Andruil and Ghilan'nain express their relationship in private, or while one of them was injured. But they saw a few married couples. They remember one particularly harrowing Summer Festival in Arlathan, when Falon'Din had deigned to throw a tantrum, and covered a party of Sylaise’s attendants in boiling blood. One of the women of the group had been married. Her husband had whisked her off, radiating fear for her in so obvious a way that even Uthvir had taken note of it. But the healers had done good work, and the pair had been back at the celebration again before evening. The husband hovering and fussing and refusing to part from his wife’s side at the behest of anyone short of Sylaise herself.

They tilt their head slightly. Moving the hand they have on Aili’s back in reassuring circles, for a moment, before they press a kiss to her temple.

“Stop fretting,” they say, echoing the assurances that had passed between that married couple. Long dead, now. “I can handle this. Just lean on me, and trust that I will look after us both.”

They hear Aili swallow. Though, with her face resting against their shoulder, they cannot see her expression. Nor feel any hint of emotion in the air around her, though. She is not afraid, at least - Fear gathers that much. Her heart beats a little erratically for a moment. They can feel it pressed up against their own.

“…Alright,” she acquiesces, more quietly than before.

Uthvir ventures another kiss to her temple, for good measure, and then focuses on handling the hart. It is slightly more challenging than usual, with Aili in their lap. They keep one hand on her, and one on the reins, and their mount is placid enough, with a clear road to follow. It’s harder than usual for them to twist and move and look around themselves, if need be. They make up the difference by letting Fear slip into the shadows a bit more, and get a better feel for the area. Prey animals hiding in the brush. The rest of the party loading up their mounts. There is a cart, but, the thing is far too rickety to hold Aili; the wood splinters and the wheels jostle, and the ride alone probably would have jolted her badly enough to undo her stitches. It’s piled up with their tents and bedrolls and remaining supplies, instead.

As they set out, their procession falls into a line. Trevelyan and the Seeker up front, the dwarf and their accompanying soldiers at the back, the scouts moving as they will, and Uthvir, Aili, and Solas towards the middle, holding the most secure space for their injured. Uthvir does not think much of it, until the wolf urges his own hart closer to theirs, rather than falling back to try and engage Tethras in one of their bizarre philosophical debates.

“I find myself curious,” Solas says, offering Aili a smile when she glances at him. “How did the two of you manage to meet?”

“Um,” Aili says, eloquently.

Uthvir glances towards Solas. They still have not quite figured out if the wolf has managed to recognize them or not, yet. They had precious few actual dealings with one another in the past. Though, Uthvir’s look has always been distinctive, and one they have maintained into this strange future.

They consider the matter for a bare moment. Solas is the kind who cannot resist subtly giving himself away, they have noticed. It is probably safe to assume that if they test the waters, he will tip his hand.

“We met in a tavern,” they say. “I ended up there, lost, in the wake of the tragedy which killed all of my fellow hunters. I was unfamiliar with humans and ill-equipped to deal with the place. Several of the tavern patrons were high-ranking types. One of them got it into his head that I was a pleasure worker, whose company he might purchase for a few coins. As I was attempting to dissuade him, Aili noticed the disturbance, and came to my rescue.”

Aili’s fingers curl against their chest, but most of their attention is on Solas, at the moment. The man’s expression is the picture of polite interest. But they see the recognition in his gaze at their choice of terms. High-ranking. Pleasure worker. Not bizarre appellations in this time and place, but not the most common, either.

“Fortunate,” Solas decides. “Though I am sorry to hear you have suffered tragedy.”

Uthvir inclines their head.

“Few elves have not,” they reply. “My fellow hunters caught the eye of the Dread Wolf. Or, rather, our leader did. The rest of us were simply caught in the closing of his jaws.” A metaphor for misfortune, but the barb lands in the form of a barely-visible flinch. There and gone again that if they didn’t know better, they might think they imagined it.

They do know better, though.

“But you managed to escape,” Solas observes.

They meet his gaze steadily.

“So I did,” they confirm. “Lucky me.”

Solas eases back, then, and withdraws to his own thoughts. Uthvir and Aili ride in silence for long enough that they start to wonder if Aili is not falling asleep again. But, every so often, she moves in a way that refutes that guess. Her hand pats awkwardly at their waist at one point, and she shifts in their hold so that it seems more like an embrace for several minutes. Trying to get comfortable, they assume. Up at the front of the procession, Trevelyan starts belting out one of his questionable 'travel songs’, and promptly startles a flock of starlings out of the trees.

It is a long ride, in the end.

~

The trip back towards the crossroads offers a lot of time for contemplation. Of course, in her current position, Aili can’t do much except contemplate things. That, and make a few weak attempts to not fall off of Uthvir’s hart.

Her view of the countryside is limited to whatever she can see past Uthvir’s shoulders, and she can’t shift herself around much without potentially dislodging one or both of them from the saddle, and reopening her wound. And when a cold drizzle starts up, her ‘attentive spouse’ pulls their riding cloak up around both of them, and she can see even less. She finds herself swathed up in some damp little cave of fabric at their front, like a child too small to be trusted with their own mount. The world shrunk down to the sound of softly plodding hooves, and even breaths in her ear, and the cool press of their armor along her body.

It is a strange juxtaposition of awkward and surprisingly soothing.

And uncomfortably intimate.

It does not seem to bother Uthvir, though. And she wonders at that. That they seem to have no qualms about a relative stranger do things like fall asleep on top of them, or cling to them like some odd vine making its way up a tree. Pretending to be married had been mutually beneficial when they had met in the tavern, but now the rouse is really only useful on her end. Trevelyan may be many unsavory and unpleasant things, be even he doesn’t seem foolish enough to harass Uthvir.

Which leads her to the general conclusion that, despite alternative evidence to the contrary, Uthvir might, in fact just be…nice.

Aili gets the feeling that they would not appreciate that assessment, however.

The rain at least seems to dissuade Trevelyan from inflicting any more of his ‘travel songs’ on them. Singing is not a terrible idea, though, even if the Herald is not especially apt at it. And after a few minutes of relative silence, Aili begins to hum quietly to herself.

She is not even certain Uthvir can hear it until they see fit to comment a few minutes later.

“Do you know the words to that tune?” they wonder.

“Bits and pieces,” she sighs, “It’s an old one my mother taught me. Something about fighting a dragon.” 

“The original version, I believe, was about courting a dragon, if I remember correctly,” Uthvir tells her, and she can almost hear the smirk in their voice, “I know there were at least two verses about creative bedroom uses for the beast’s claws.”

“Nonsense,” Aili scoffs, “Who’d want to make love to a dragon?” 

“You might be surprised,” Uthvir hums, sounding distinctly amused.

 “Yes, well, be sure to give me fair warning before you try to give the one living in the eastern hills any kisses,” she snorts, “I want to make sure to keep my distance when you get eaten.”

“So, you will save me from stray arrows, but not from dragons?” Uthvir asks, feigning disappointment

“I’m willing to fish you out of danger when it is not of your own making,” she informs them with a laugh, “If you are foolhardy enough to attempt to romance an enormous fire-breathing lizard, you’re on your own.”

“Such cruel words from my own beloved wife,” Uthvir sighs, “Would you at least avenge my death?”

“That depends,” Aili says, “I might be too busy fleeing from the Herald of Andraste. He seems to have a very…hands on approach to comforting grieving widows. I would remember you fondly, though.”

“Would you?” Uthvir wonders, sounding just the tiniest bit surprised.

“Of course I would,” she answers, and it comes out so naturally that she finds herself a little surprised about it, too. Silence hangs between them for a few heartbeats as this new revelation sinks in.  Aili’s good hand curls against their waist, unconsciously holding them just a bit closer, and she finds that she is glad that they do not have a clear view of her face.

When she speaks again, her voice is much softer.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

~

Aili holds them in that strange, tight, near-embrace way as she asks her question.

It stalls Uthvir for a moment. Quiet enough that only they might hear, not a thing asked for show - and it would not make a good show, anyway, for Aili to ask her own spouse if they were friends with her. Most married people, even in this strange time, do seem to consider such relationships to require a degree of friend-like intimacy. That she has asked means she truly wants to know, and Uthvir…

Uthvir is not a very good friend.

Much as their relationship might be of benefit to her now, it may even prove detrimental later on, depending on how all of this should play out. The herald. The wolf. The hole in the sky. They curl and arm around her, as the road grows somewhat bumpy. Holding her well beneath the arrow mark, until the silence goes on too long, and she looks away from them. Her brows furrowing, as if they have hurt her. But their cavalier response - that of course they are friends; and perhaps more - is stuck on their tongue, for some reason.

It is only when she sighs that they lean down, and whisper to her under the pretense of dropping a kiss to the top of her ear.

“Yes,” they say, simply.

At least, if this turns out badly, she should know that they would not casually discard her. Not at this point.

We un-People must stick together, they think, a little wryly.  Neither of them would be fit for Elvhenan, but then, Elvhenan is gone. Fallen to rubble and ruin and dreams. Uthvir almost likes that aspect of this world, even as part of them does struggle with the horror of what had happened to bring it about. The empire was not eternal after all. It crushed itself under its own bloated corruption, and most of what is left behind, now, are those of them who had enough luck and enough strangeness to survive.

There were people who never deserved that fate. And things that should be remedied about the state of the world as it is now, Uthvir believes. But they do not mourn for the empire.

Aili subsides, but seems less worried. More tired, in fact, as the ride draws on. Uthvir checks her pulse a few times, and heightens their sense of smell to breathe in her scent, and check for the telltale signs of infection or fever on it. But they find none. The party makes its way back up to the crossroads and on through the wilderness, towards the Frostbacks. They stop a few times, to water the horses and harts, and take a break from their travels, and investigate some odd signs here and there. When they make camp again, it is not too far from Haven. But still not near enough to risk travelling by dark. 

Uthvir leaves Aili with Solas and Cassandra, and only some mild trepidation, for all of twenty minutes, whilst they turn into a hawk and snag a nug for the camp’s dinner.

When they get back, the Herald is looming over their wife.

…Fake wife.

Trevelyan has a bushel of flowers in his grasp. Uthvir has no idea where he acquired them, they look the sort sold as merchant stalls, but their stalks are overly long and there are still thorns on some of them. Likely he raided some poor farmer’s garden for them, while he was off checking their routes with the scouts. The blossoms are already beginning to suffer from the biting cold weather around the camp. Uthvir casts a warming spell as they draw closer, but Aili already has one up, it seems, and is looking awkward.

“-just to cheer you,” Trevelyan is saying, grinning like a man with a thousand ulterior motives.

To her credit, Aili manages to take the flowers without pricking herself on any of the thorns.

“That was very thoughtful of you, Herald,” she tells him. “I’m sure the whole camp will appreciate having something to brighten the atmosphere.”

Trevelyan’s shit-eating grin falters a little.

“Ah,” he says. “But, you see-”

“Did the Herald bring us flowers?” Uthvir asks, slinging their nug pointedly over one shoulder. They should have caught two. Or three. “How kind of him.”

Trevelyan gives them a look which only they seem to provoke from him, equal parts terror and confusion, before making his excuses and scurrying away.

“Is that dinner?” Aili asks them, brightening a little.

“For you,” they confirm, with a nod. “To build up your strength. The rest of the camp can make do with rations. We’ll reach Haven tomorrow, after all.”

For some reason, this makes her sigh at them.

“I’m happy to share,” she insists.

They raise an eyebrow.

“I am not,” they counter, before heading to the cook fire.

[invinciblerodent]

Cullen is triggering for me personally because he reminds me of this guy who stalked me and then convinced a portion of my friend group that he was actually a shy, good person when he still had some major issues. It's probably nonsensical but I can't help but think of him when I see Cullen; I played a female mage Warden and they both have curly, blonde hair. So I would really rather not have him in DA4. But death threats?? Death threats over a fictional character?? That's...oh man. Not good!

I’m sorry that happened to you. That person is/was utter garbage, and you didn’t deserve any of that happening to you. But, if you’ll allow me to expand on this a little bit, now that you’ve reminded me…

My homeroom teacher in primary school had a mantra that she said every time she was criticizing or scolding us for something, as a group, and it went like (in rough translation) “Whose shirt it is not, needs not put it on”. Meaning that if it doesn’t apply to you, if you aren’t the one responsible, the following is not directed at you, and you shouldn’t feel bad or like you’re targeted as well. She said that every single time, and to this day, even 15+ years later, it’s so ingrained in my head that it is my automatic response to messages such as yours.

You needn’t explain yourself. It’s perfectly okay. You can dislike something or be triggered by something, and you don’t owe me or anyone else a reason why. You don’t have to have an explanation ready, and I -and I’m pretty sure most other, decent people- never intend for you to have to unfold your whole life story and show us all your scars, just for us to believe you when you say that something is not for you. :)

(EDIT: of course, some contextual cues are to be taken into account, like if the reasons for one’s dislike are homophobic, sexist or racist [coughLIAMcough] then they should be examined, but those people are generally very defensive over it and raise points and flaws they themselves usually excuse on straight, white male characters… but that’s beside the point. Consider this a “some restrictions apply” asterisk.)

…. but yeah, I was talking mostly about how odd I found that more than a thousand people at this point would get so upset that they would scream bloody murder in the tags and immediately jump to conclusions and blame the developers, but still not upset enough to even try to check if their outrage is justified. That, that is the kind of person that I think only WANTS to be mad. And that coupled with a loose treatment of violent threats (and frankly very much entitled and biased expectations)… that’s the kind of person that makes my eyes roll so far back into my skull that I can pretty much see the wall behind me.

… And now that I’m at it, even without fact-checking it’s pretty much obvious that Cullen’s chances of returning as anything more than a character barely mentioned in conversation are very slim. (Please allow me this, I KNOW I have said this before but as long as these attitudes continue to prevail I’ll continue to repeat myself even if it makes me want to tear my hair out.)

I don’t remember the quote exactly, but I bring this up often: I THINK it was Laidlaw who once said that with returning characters, they try their best to eliminate uncertainties. Like, he said that if you didn’t complete Cole’s personal quest in Inquisition, then he won’t show up in Trespasser, because they would rather reward the players for the things they HAVE done, than to waste their time on content they don’t care about, and if a character has a chance to be dead, they would rather focus their efforts and resources on making content the majority of their players are likely to see. There are exceptions of course, such as Leliana, but most of the time, when a character has a chance to be dead, they are assumed dead in the main plot.

Since Leliana has a chance to be dead only if she was in the Warden’s party while they defiled the Urn of Sacred Ashes (and lbr the kind of person who would roll with Leliana is, imo, usually not ALSO the kind of person who would defile the Urn for personal gain), she had a good chance to return. But in Inquisition, Cullen’s main personal story arc revolved around the Big Choice that eventually decided whether he lived or died. And, fandom-wide consensus aside, if a choice HAS to be made knowingly, by every player, it’s only reasonable to assume a bigger division. Maybe not 50-50%, but I’m SURE that the number of those who kept Cullen on lyrium is greater than that of those who ended up having to kill Leliana in Origins, and didn’t roll back to a previous save to avoid it.

This is why I’m almost 100% certain that Dorian is going to return (there is no opportunity for him to die in the main narrative, and regardless of player choices, whether he was romanced or not even recruited, he IS invariably in Tevinter by the end). Same reason why I would be surprised if any of the DA2 characters or Zevran showed up, like people seem to want.

I mean. I’d like to see him return as much as the next person, but Zevran has the chance to die(?) both in his personal quest in Origins (depending on his approval which is more difficult to correct than just rolling back and choosing a different party member to come with you) and in a war table mission, and there is not even a tile in the Keep to confirm whether he survived Inquisition. Depending on whether people have even read all the mission statements AND made the correct choices, his chances of being alive or dead(?) are now close to 50-50%. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that the writers don’t really have anything else planned for him at this point.

And largely the same goes for everyone in DA2. Popular choices seem to be Fenris and Anders- there is a touch more uncertainty with Fenris since he has the chance to be in Tevinter as a slave, hiding, or killed by Hawke’s hand, but Anders (and Bull)… his death was based on ONE dialogue choice (that is deemed canon in the default worldstate), and Bull’s is decided by a choice that wasn’t prompted AS a life or death decision, but rather as a choice that’s as close to being gray as they get.

(Not to mention I have seen people wanting Alistair back, and to be frank I just do not know how many skins they still want to pull off that poor boy. He has had his fair share of near-death experiences, not to mention that 1.) in the default worldstate he’s king and even in Inquisition they seemed to be just about done with king!Alistair, and 2.) if he’s a warden his chances of being dead are about as close to 50-50% as one can get. He can be 1.) a despondent king, 2.) ten years dead, 3.) a living Warden that’s either a senior warden in Weisshaupt or exiled from Orlais and Maker knows where, 4.) two years dead, or 5.) a civilian who could have died in the Kirkwall uprising. If a character has a chance to be five different things, three of which involve them being dead, I don’t think they’re likely to be a major character.)

tl;dr, I wouldn’t worry about Cullen being back. I like the guy just fine, got no real problems with him, but his story has been rounded off pretty nicely, pretty cleanly, and there is logically little to no reason for him to return in DA4. Which is all the more reason why those people crying bloody murder over an obviously phony rumor putting him IN THE SPOTLIGHT of a game about which we can only reliably know that it’s going to exist sometime in the future… I feel like they’re little more than a stampede with Blinkers of Hate on, neighing their unfounded displeasure at the moon for no reason whatsoever.

Now, Scout Harding, I want back. She has enormous potential, as does Charter and Maevaris, both of whom would make EXCELLENT additions to the squad (a sapphic elven rogue and a transgender woman of immense magical AND political power, sign me tf UP). Sutherland is almost certain to make a cameo if he survived, too. But Cullen, Zevran, and Fenris, I feel like their chapters in the story are finished already.

now if there was a chance for Solas not to be back, that would be ideal. would save everyone a helluva lot of headaches.

Cheers.

[sinbad-ai]

Sinbad no Bouken 144 RAW + a Summary!

Here are the raws for Sinbad no Bouken 144, in which we see some familiar faces~! And, Barbarossa is at it again! 

Just a reminder, to anyone who follows me and enjoys these raws/summaries, parts of or even all of these summaries could be completely wrong, so be advised as you read them as I am by no means a professional translator!

*** Disclaimer : Sinbad no Bouken is not my work. Please be sure to vote for Sinbad no Bouken every day on the MangaOne app if you have it!

This chapter starts off by informing us that one year prior to Sinbad creating his country, the international situation had changed. It seems the Parthevian empire gained a lot of money by making that deal with the Sindria Trade company. They were able to start paying off their reparations to foreign countries and were proceeding with economic reconstruction. They began to gain momentum and started getting a lot of attention from other countries as a country who pioneered the abolition of their monarchy. Their influence was so great, that the former major world power started to regain influence. It’s now an era where the Parthevian empire, along with the kingdom of Sindria is at the center of the future of the world; which is what everyone in the world believed.

After this bit of exposition, we return to the story and see Barbarossa, who is congratulating Sinbad. He mentions that the ceremony is just months away and tells him that they are all very excited. Sinbad replies that they have come this far thanks to Barbarossa and asks how he can repay him. But Barbrossa says that there’s a limit to how much his cooperation played a part and that all of Sinbad’s success was thanks to their own power. He tells him that it’s not over yet and that they will be busy from here on out. He also tells Sinbad that they are currently at the center of the world, not Reim or Balbadd. He goes on to say that they are an entity that is now driving the world and tells him they will change the world together.

After Sinbad leaves the room, Memphis asks Barbarossa if it went okay. When Barbarossa asks him what he means, he mentions that if they are not political party members, then they are just a disorderly group who is not unified in thought and wonders if it’s okay that they got this far. Barbarossa then laughs and assures him that there is no problem. He says that they got this far by their own strength. He also tells him that he’s been watching them this past year and it seems there’s no indication that they would betray him. He then says, a bit menacingly, that it’s actually more like they are unable to betray him and tells him that is all going according to his plan. He then explains that the ones becoming the center of the new era they’ve created, is Parthevia, a country that was said to have been a great country that fell. He then scoffs and says that it was actually quite simple to take control of the hearts of the people. He says the world changes if the people change and explains that this momentum will strengthen as they celebrate the Sindria founding ceremony. He then tells him that the day they unify the world is drawing closer. Memphis bows and states that they should continue on and go get the “next piece”.

The scene then changes to show a horse-drawn carriage with a child inside. The child watches the bustling streets in amazement and we then come to find that this child is actually a young Yamuraiha. She tells “Mr. Chancellor” to look at all the people. She says that they all seem happy and there are so many shops, which is something she’s never seen, not even in her country of Mustasim. Upon hearing this, the chancellor corrects her and tells her to call him “Mr. Mogamett” and tells her that it’s not good to look outside too much. He explains that it’s different from their school. He goes on to say that they magicians are a unique existence in a world without many magicians and warns her that they must not interact with non-mages more than necessary. He asks if she understands and with a sad look, she says she does and closes the curtain.

The scene once again changes to show Mogamett meeting directly with Barbarossa. Mogamett asks what business the supreme leader of Parthevia has with someone like him. He mentions, as a former general, Barbarossa should know just how many magicians died in the war between Parthevia and Mustasium. He tells him that he has no intention of conversing with a such a former adversary and explains that they are nothing more than a small academy that can barely do magical research now. This comment catches Barbarossa’s attention and he says he doesn’t believe they are just “barely doing magical research”. Mogamett is a little surprised at this and Barbarossa goes on to explain that he knows the magicians once received horrible treatment. He describes how they were occasionally used as shields in war and how at times they have been blamed as the source of plagues. He says they were virtually livestock and were silently robbed of many of their lives. He then mentions how in order to escape the control of non-magicians, Mogamett is determined to create a magical country and has taken decades to prepare it. He then asks if what he said was wrong, and after a short pause, Mogamett asks where he heard that from. Barbarossa explains that he has friends in various places and that it wasn’t hard to come up with the information, but says that none of it matters. He then gives Mogamett a serious look and states that he wants to help him with his revolution and it’s for that reason that he called him there. This sudden proposition shocks Mogamett as Barbarossa goes on to explain how he thinks that people with power are the ones who should always control the world, and that includes magicians. He then says that he believes, as people who can feel the ruhk at birth and can read the pulse of the world, the magicians may be the true dominate race! He then tells Mogamett that he has the same thinking as him and tells him that they should get expel foolish people and lead the world with only good people. He then once again asks him to build a magic country together.

 And that’s all for this chapter. I think we know how Mogamett will respond, but it’s interesting how Barbarossa is pretty much doing the exact same thing he did with Sinbad. Also, it was nice to see Yamuraiha finally!

The extra content this week is an omake about the ways in which Ja’far has changed with the time skip. I’ll try to get that up soon! Also, I’ll be making a small announcement later on this week, so be on the lookout for that. ^_^

[alittlestarling]

Ship breakdown: (because we've been yelling about them most of the day) the squish mages!

I love these goobers so much. I ran with the Modern AU setting for this because it was calling my name. Under a cut because holy long answers, batman!

How did they they meet?They’re both still mages in this AU and they still went away to a Circle but it’snot quite as restrictive as it is in the original setting – more a boardingschool/Hogwarts in my mind. They’re both in the same year and sat down next toone another on the first day of class and just haven’t left one another’s livessince then. Like seriously, childhood best friends where Roz would spendholidays with his family when they were out of school, lots of late textsthrough adolescence over summer holidays and being one another’s dates duringschool dances.

Who developed romantic feelings first?Vincent, it’s just canon that Vincent always realizes his feelings first.

Who is their biggest “shipper?”Rolfe and Cassandra are probably their biggest shippers, along with Vincent’sparents coming in a close second.

When did they have their first kiss and under whatcircumstances?I feel like these two shared a very awkward first kiss as pre-teens because Rozfigured it’d be better to have a kiss with a friend and not be fussed over allthis first kiss nonsense all their classmates she knew were going through.Their first kiss as adults, however, happened after a very boozy First Dayparty and it definitely involved some mistletoe. It would still be like twomonths before they went on their first actual date.

Who confessed their feelings first?Roz did because once she caught onto how she felt, she didn’t want to keep itin. She’s got the worst poker face and if she was going to be rejected, shewanted to get it over with so she could try and let go of them. Thankfully shewasn’t alone in her feelings, hurrah!

What was their first official date?It’s a Proper first date: Vincent picks her up, they go to a nice restaurant intown and take a walk in the city rose garden. There’s a lot of laughing and,while it’s new territory for them, it’s easy to go from just friends to dating.There’s an end-of-the-date kiss with Roz a step and a half above Vincent andstill probably standing a little on her tiptoes.

How do they feel about double dates/group dates?Considering they have such a huge group of friends, it’s just kind of part oftheir regular routine through the week to hang out with a lot of people whileout.

What do they do in their down time?Roz comes to the Nursery Vincent set-up and they work with the flowers andplants on days when the kids aren’t there. They also spend time cooking andbaking together (which sometimes ends with Roz flicking something at Vincentand starting a silly food fight between them), watching tv/movies on the couch –sometimes cuddled up, other times her feet in his lap while she works on herlatest baby blanket for friends.

What was the first meeting of parents as an official couplelike?Roz doesn’t have a real relationship with her family so it’s only Vincent’sfamily that gets this first “official” dinner where they’re together. Hisparents are pleased as punch and are mostly happy that it finally happenedbecause they’ve wondered when the pair of them would figure this out for agesnow.

What was their first fight over and how did they get past it?Their first big fight was over the politics around mages and their treatment.Roz is a little more radical and vocal about this while Vincent flies a littleunder the radar and isn’t as outspoken. It doesn’t help that this first bigfight happened after a long shift for Roz and Vincent was coming down from ananxiety attack after a car backfired up the street. Roz just went for a longwalk and Vincent sat with his cat and the TV on until she showed back up againwith ice cream to apologize for being snappy (but Vincent was also apologizingand trying to explain what had happened so they just wind up tangled togetherand the ice cream melts a bit but that’s alright).

Which one is more easily made jealous?ROSALIND holy smokes she is a small jealous little nugget who gets reallyself-conscious in general. I mean, Vincent is also jealous, too, but it doesn’tquite show up on the surface since he internalizes a lot of his feelings likejealousy.

What is their favourite thing to get to eat?They love take-away from an Antivan place that’s pretty much exactly in themiddle of the route they;d take to get to one another’s places.

Who’s the cuddly one? What their favourite cuddling position?UM both these squishy mages are cuddlers. I feel like literally every positionis a favorite for various reasons. Mostly Roz tucks herself against his chestwhen they’re falling asleep. Roz tends to move closer in her sleep and winds upspooning him from behind with her little nose pressed between his shoulderblades. By morning, since Vincent is almost 99% of the time up before her, he’scurled up behind her and nuzzling into her neck.

 Are they hand holders?YUP and they hold hands often, both before they were together and after.

How long do they wait before sleeping together for the firsttime? What’s the circumstances?It’s a few months into their official relationship before they start talkingabout sex. Like I see them having a lot of conversations about it and doingjust a little planning to make it special. Nothing too over the top but theyspend a weekend at Roz’s place (she told Vincent there was no way she washaving his brother walk in on them unexpectedly) and she probably light candlesand had some very lovely lingerie she picked out.

Who tops?Depends on the mood; they’re equal opportunists with this.

Who does the shopping and the cooking?Vincent has more time to get shopping and cooking done, but Roz tags along whenshe has days off or picks up the task herself if she wants to surprise him withdinner.

Which one is more organized and prone to tidiness?Again, this goes to Vincent. Roz tries but she’s less prone to tidying up andlives in a little bit of a mess that she cleans when she’s home.

Who proposes?Roz. It’s not exactly an official proposal but they’ve been together for alittle over a year as a couple and it’s just a normal night and she looks overand realizes that she wants to spend the rest of her life doing this. The wordsare out of her mouth before she can consider this. Vincent, very obviouslysurprised, is beaming and says yes without any hesitation.

Do they have joined Bachelor/Bacheloette parties or separate?I could see them doing just a big get together with everyone because planningtwo separate things seems silly when they share so many friends.

Who is the best man/maid of honour? Any other groomsmen orbridesmaids?Cassandra and Rolfe fill these roles for them. It’s a very small wedding sothey don’t have any other bridal party members.

Big Ceremony or Small?SMALL because Roz just wants to wear a simple white dress with flowers in herhair and have a dinner and dance after outdoors.

Do they have a honeymoon? If so, where? They take a vacation to Antiva City to grab some sun and enjoy going to a newcountry. Roz definitely burns but it’s worth it to have a lot of time tothemselves without worrying about anything else. 

Do they have children? How many?Oh yes! I’ve never settled on a number; right now they for sure have one but Icould see them having two-three little ones running around their home.

[vikingpoteto]

call it home (AO3) - KuroDai Week Day 8

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Chapter: 3/5

Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Sawamura Daichi & Michimiya Yui

Summary:Once upon a time a fearless knight whose best friend was taken by a demon king. Sawamura Daichi would do anything to save his princess, so he marches to the king’s castle ready to fight the demon. He wasn’t expecting to fall in love with him.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, KuroDai Week 2017, fairy tale-ish, Fantasy, Curses and magic powers, Fluff, Falling In Love

Word count: 6591-ish

“I hope you’re aware that you two are morons,” Shimizu says. “You more than Sawamura, Kuroo."

Daichi sees Kuroo pulling a face, but he doesn't say anything. Neither of them does. After they got back with Hinata and Kageyama safe and sound, Shimizu eyed their disheveled clothes and the way Kuroo was walking and asked what happened. She was less than thrilled about their little adventure with the kappa. Shimizu didn't scold them, but her disapproving look was enough to make Kuroo and Daichi feel like scolded children.

“Are you hurt?” She asks.

“Well…” Kuroo starts.

“I’m fine, but Kuroo has hurt his ankle and ribs,” Daichi says.

Kuroo glares at him as if calling him a traitor, but Daichi knows it is just for the sake of glaring. There is no reason for Kuroo to hide that he needs treatment.

“Show me,” Shimizu demands.

Kuroo pouts, but doesn't dare to disobey Shimizu. He pulls his shirt up just enough to show the bruised skin from where he hit the rocks in the river. Daichi bites his lip, concerned with how fast the skin is becoming purple. Earlier he watched Kuroo paling in pain every time the horse made a sudden movement and Daichi knew Kuroo was barely holding it together. When Shimizu hisses at the sight, Daichi doesn't blame her, out of his mind with worry.

“You should have stopped by Hitoka-chan’s place when you dropped Hinata and Kageyama off. I’ll take you there immediately."

“Yacchan is out of town. She traveled with Yamaguchi and Tsukki, remember?”

“Oh,” Shimizu seems disappointed. “Well, then maybe I can try something? I haven't healed a human body in years, though, I’m not sure…”

“Shimizu-sama. It's fine. This is nothing. It barely hurts, unless I touch it or do th-- ugh.” He stops in the middle of trying to twist his body, his face going as white as a sheet.

“Idiot!” Daichi scolds. “You’ll make it worse!”

“Stop showing off to Sawamura,” Shimizu says and Kuroo’s paleness gives place to violent red. “You're injured and pretending you're not only shows your pitiful side.”

“Fine! I’ll go see Yukie. She’s a great healer. Will that suffice?”

Shimizu nods, satisfied. “She should be in the gardens with Yui.”

Kuroo groans. “Of course. Just what I wanted. To interrupt Yukie on her time alone with the princess. She might actually break more ribs than she fixes.”

“Then it’ll be your fault for being reckless.”

Not without complaining some more, Kuroo turns on his heels to leave. Daichi doesn't know why, but he stays behind with Shimizu.

“Is he always like this?” He asks.

“No, not really. Quite the opposite, unless Bokuto-kun is involved.” Shimizu smiles a little. “Hadn't he almost got himself killed by a kappa, I’d be grateful that he found someone else he can relax around. Thank you for that, Sawamura.”

Something about her eyes is too knowing or her smile is too understanding, and Daichi decides he better off watching Kuroo getting his ribs fixed or more broken than staying with her. He bows briefly and leaves after Kuroo.

  Staying in a magic castle is the kind of experience that makes you lose track of time. Daichi unconsciously creates his own routine and the castle’s inhabitants gladly adjusts theirs so he can fit. And all of them have very busy routines, for that matter.

Kuroo wasn’t lying when he said the castle kept itself – there was never dust covering its statues, the books they took from the library would mysteriously appear back in their shelves when they were done reading them and they could always find any utensil they needed – but he also wasn’t lying when he said Shimizu made them do their own chores whenever it was possible.

For Daichi, it is quite the experience. Not that he didn’t have his own tasks at home, but back then his duties were to study, to practice with the sword and to take care of his brothers.

In the castle he has the same duties a regular servant would. It is even more bemusing to watch the princess cheerfully cook her own meals with his help. Sometimes it’s tiring, sometimes it’s fun and interesting. He wouldn’t complain about it.

And, for the first time in his life, he’s among equals. There are no ranks to be respected or protocols to be followed. People come and go like the castle is theirs and there's no distrust among magical people. Not among king Oikawa’s subjects at least. That, or there is a magical protection that stops harming from coming their way. All of them talk to each other in friendly manner, sharing stories and laughing together.

Daichi learns the names of the members of the Fukurodani clan within three days and he hears stories that can only be told by flying nomads. Kageyama and Hinata come to see them, because apparently Hinata adores Bokuto and Kageyama admires Akaashi very much. They make a party so loud it can br heard from the village and Yukie yells at Kuroo for dancing with Bokuto when his ribs are still healing.

Days later, when the owls leave, Yui becomes a little melancholic and asks to be left alone. Daichi respects her wishes and spends his time in Kuroo’s chambers instead. Kuroo tells him about his experiments and the wonders of alchemy, his eyes sparkling with excitement and his sly grin ever-present. Daichi doesn't know if he loves listening to him because it is interesting or because Kuroo looks so passionate about it. He decides it doesn't matter and relegates himself the duty of carrying heavy objects as an excuse to stay, since Kuroo is still wearing Yukie’s bandages under his shirt.

By the time Yui is back to her cheerful self, they get more visitors. Daichi gets along remarkably well with two villagers that come to see Shimizu at least twice per week, a mage called Sugawara and a blacksmith named Asahi. When they visit, Shimizu invites Daichi to join them and they spend good hours together.

Before he realizes, days become weeks and it's been almost a month since he arrived at the castle. He thinks to himself that he must leave soon, he has a life back home. He pushes the thought for the depths in his mind for later examination and avoids thinking about it altogether.

  It is a lazy morning and Yui’s day to take care of the garden. Daichi and Kuroo follow to help, though there is little to be done. Kuroo is trying to convince Yui to start a brand new garden and plant the seeds in a way that the plants will form the sentence “Oikawa is ugly” when they sprout. Daichi water the plants, worried that Yui will be swayed away by Kuroo’s arguments. It takes him a while to notice they’re not alone anymore.

The three newcomers are young, perhaps still in their teenage years. The tallest one - and he is very tall, though his slumped shoulders make him look slightly smaller - is a blond boy dressed in a simple armor. The smallest is a lovely girl in an old white dress with fidgety fingers. The one in the middle - and he seems to be the leader of the small group - is a freckled boy clad in dark wool.

Even before they announce themselves, Daichi guesses their names: Tsukishima, Yamaguchi and Yachi. He’s heard a lot about them from Sugawara and the others. A cool and smart knight, a modest, but skillful rogue boy and a shy and clever healer. Daichi heard they are often seen with Hinata and Kageyama, though Daichi had never met them before. Apparently they were traveling together in some sort of secret quest.

“Kuroo-san, princess Yui,” Yamaguchi calls shyly. He starts to bow respectfully when his eyes meet Daichi. “And… I don't think we’ve met before.”

“This is a friend of mine, Daichi Sawamura,” Yui says. And she frowns, noticing by the tension in their shoulders that they aren't here for a pleasant visit. “Is everything alright?”

“We need Kuroo-san’s help,” says Tsukishima stiffly.

“Don't tell me Hinata and Kageyama are in trouble again!”

“No! They're fine,” Yamaguchi assures. “But Tsukki’s brother might not be. We have reasons to believe he’s trapped in Nekoma.”

"Nekoma?” Daichi repeats.

“That would be the home of my clan,” Kuroo says. “Why would Akiteru be there? It’s been empty for years.”

“W-well…” Yachi speaks in a small voice. “Akiteru-san was studying something nearby and I… I thought, I… erm…” she looks hesitantly to her friends. Yamaguchi smiles encouragingly and Tsukishima puts a hand on her shoulder, although his expression remains stiff. Yachi takes a deep breath. “N-no! I m-might be just a simple villager, but I! I am certain! I investigated and th-the evidence I collected indicates that Akiteru-san is stuck there and he needs help!”

Yamaguchi gives her an approving grin. Yachi looks proud of herself, too.

“Very well,” Kuroo puts down his gardening tools. “Lets get Akiteru back.”

"Wait!” Yui grabs his wrist. “It's going to be full moon in two days!”

"It's fine, Nekoma isn't far. I’ll be back before the full moon and I won't do anything dangerous.”

“I know we're asking for much,” Tsukishima says quietly. “Thank you, Kuroo-san.”

"Aw, Tsukki, don't be like that. I’ll think you actually like me.”

Tsukishima pulls a disgusted expression and Kuroo laughs as he reaches for Tsukishima’s hair and ruffles it. Yamaguchi and Yachi start showering Kuroo with thank yous and cheers. Daichi wouldn't think much of it if Yui wasn't biting her lip in worry.

“Is something wrong?” He asks.

“Please, go with them.” Yui murmurs hurriedly while Kuroo is distracted taunting Tsukishima. “I would go myself, but Kuroo never listens to me. However he listens to you.”

“No, he doesn't,” Daichi says, because he doubts even Oikawa can fully control Kuroo. 

“Yes, he does,” Yui insists. “Haven't you noticed you have him wrapped around your little finger? Please, go with them and don't let him use his powers.”

"Why not?”

Her eyes widen. “He… didn't tell you? Oh, of course he didn't. He never says anything about himself.”

That isn't quite true, Daichi thinks. Kuroo talks about himself often. Daichi knows his favorite food and color, what he dislikes and that he's terribly afraid of spiders. He knows a lot about Kenma, a white mage Kuroo is friends with since childhood, and about the horses Kuroo takes care of. Daichi knows lots and little things about Kuroo and all of them are things Kuroo told him out if his own volition.

Except, Daichi remembers, about his curse. Kuroo never says anything about it.

“There is no time to explain.” Yui continues. “Just… it's bad for him to transform near the full moon, so can you make sure he doesn't?”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you.”

Daichi is starting to worry himself when he steps ahead and casually asks if he can go along, claiming to be curious about Kuroo’s home.

    They need to be fast. Unlike the last time Daichi left the castle, they aren't playing race anymore. Yachi is too short to ride anything bigger than a pony, so she rides with Yamaguchi instead. Kuroo leads the way with Tsukishima by his side. There is little opportunity for talking, but Daichi does see Kuroo exchanging a few words with the young knight.

For Tsukishima’s early claims to find Kuroo an annoyance, he seems to be quite comfortable around him. Daichi has to remind himself several times that this kid’s brother is missing and it's a good thing that Kuroo is there to comfort him. Being jealous would be selfish and very unkind.

They make only one stop to let the horses drink some water. They check for kappas before approaching the river. Tsukishima pulls Yamaguchi and Yachi aside to talk to then privately for a moment and Daichi gladly takes to opportunity to speak with Kuroo.

"When you said your parents served the king, I assumed you were born in the castle,” Daichi says.

"I was,” Kuroo says. “But my father was part of a nomad clan, like Fukurodani. We were like an alliance of stray cats, if you must,” Kuroo smiles fondly. “Nekoma used to be our rendezvous, in a way. A safe place we could always come back to, no matter how far we traveled.”

Daichi doesn't miss the past tense. “It used to be?”

“Kenma was our priest and the keeper, because he was afraid of leaving. But then he met Hinata and came out of his shell. He helped to break the king’s curse and decided to see the world. He is to return someday, but until then Nekoma is closed. And there are only two people in the world that can open its doors.”

"One of them is Kenma, and the other is you,” Daichi guesses.

A smile. “That's right. Kenma, because he's our priest. And I'm the leader of the clan, in a way.”

“Only in a way?”

“Stray cats pride themselves in being free, Sawamura. I'm their leader if they need to rally around someone, but most of the time they're the leaders of themselves.”

They don't stay much longer after that.

    They head toward East and away from the city, but Kuroo wasn't lying when he said it wasn't far. They’ve been traveling for less than an entire day and the sun is setting behind distant mountains behind them when they reach a chain of rocky hills.

“We’re here,” Kuroo says. “We have to leave the horses behind now."

Daichi tries not to think about the last time he and Kuroo left their horses behind when they went after someone and how it ended with Kuroo almost drowning and with a couple of broken ribs.

They start climbing the hills. With the grace of a mountain lion, Kuroo smoothly climbs his way up. Tsukishima follows him with ease, as if he's used to it. Again Yachi’s size is a disadvantage and she needs to get Yamaguchi’s help. Daichi might be bigger, but he isn't much better.

"Here,” Kuroo says as he offers him a hand when he slips and almost falls for the fourth time. Daichi grits his teeth and lets Kuroo pull him up, ignoring his  smug smirk.

“Are you sure you are a cat? Not a goat?"

Kuroo laughs, unfazed by the provocation, and doesn't let go of Daichi's hand. Daichi doesn't know if he should be grateful, annoyed or thrilled. He likes the warmth of Kuroo's fingers around his and he does need help, so he decides to leave it be.

Only when they reach the top they have the first sight of the fort. Not as big as king Oikawa’s castle, Nekoma is just as impressive. An asymmetric fort made of rock and layers and layers of battlements, strong and majestic under the twilight. Daichi thinks of a playground made for a giant cat when he sees it.

"That's impossible,” Kuroo mutters.

At first Daichi doesn't know what he's talking about. Then he follows Kuroo's dumbfounded gaze and sees that Nekoma’s gates are open.

“Maybe Kenma-san has returned?” Yamaguchi suggests.

Kuroo seems offended by the idea. “If Kenma returned, I would be the first to know!”

"They weren't open when we were following my brother’s trail,” Tsukishima says.

"Well, let's investigate, then.” Yachi nudges her friends. 

And they climb down the hill. Kuroo is tenser now and Daichi doesn't blame him. He would be livid if he went back home and found it disturbed.

Daichi slips and needs to be pulled back to his feet by Kuroo when he realizes that, when he thinks about “home”, is the magic castle that comes to his mind. Kuroo doesn't tease him for his almost fall this time.

“What would Akiteru be doing here?” Kuroo asks.

“We’re not sure,” Tsukishima says. “But we were supposed to meet at the capital five days ago and he never came. That's unlike him.”

“Tsukki is right,” Yamaguchi says. “Akiteru-san is never late when Tsukki agrees to meet with him because he loves Tsukki very much.”

"Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

"Shhh!” Yachi interrupts. “Can you guys hear that?”

They listen. Daichi can't hear anything, but he sees it. From inside the fort, a pair of bright eyes stares at them intently. Slowly the eyes come out of the shadows revealing the largest lioness Daichi had ever seen. Her fur is dark under the shadows, but it seems to have shades of red in it.

With practiced expertise, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima position themselves in front of Yachi and she reaches for something in the pocket of her skirt. The trio look like they have started many battles like this. Daichi and Tsukishima reach for their swords, but Kuroo grabs their wrists to stop them.

“Wait! You can't hurt her!”

Tsukishima looks at him like he's insane. The lioness approaches them with careful steps, her posture tense for an attack.

“Kuroo-san,” Yachi hisses in warning, but Kuroo ignores her and takes a careful step towards the murderous lioness.

“Hey, it's me!” Kuroo says. “What are you doing awake?"

The lioness snarls softly.

“It's fine, girl! It's me, Kuroo. Don't you remember me?”

The lioness roars showing how wide she can open her mouth. Her fangs are as long and sharp as Daichi's dagger. Her jaws big enough that Yachi would fit easily into her mouth. Kuroo curses.

"RUN!”

They obey without hesitation.

“Here,” Yamaguchi yells, waving until he has the lioness’ atention.

Daichi's stomach drops in fear, but Yamaguchi is fast and the lioness is limpinh, for some reason. The boy runs as a distraction as Tsukishima helps Yachi to get to a safe place and Daichi and Kuroo rush to his aid.

“Don't hurt her!” Kuroo says again and Daichi curses, because what the hell are they supposed to do?

“Run to the fort!” Tsukishima commands, already headed there and dragging Yachi by the hand.

At first Daichi doesn't understand what good that would do, but then he realizes the geniality of the plan: inside, the size of the lioness would be a disadvantage and they would have more places to hide.

Yamaguchi jumps away from the lioness’ claws, escaping by the skin of his teeth. “Go! Be ready to close the gates when I go after you!”

Daichi turns to the fort and Kuroo follows him after a brief hesitation. They hear Yamaguchi screeching and cursing behind them.

Tsukishima and Yachi are already holding the gate at one side and Daichi rushes for the other. Kuroo doesn't get there until a few moments later, which is odd, since he is faster and has longer legs. However, Daichi doesn't have time to think about it, for Yamaguchi is already running toward them screaming.

“NOW!” Tsukishima orders.

They start pushing the heavy gates before Yamaguchi comes in and the boy barely manages to jump inside before they close. The gates shake when the lioness crash onto them, but stay closed. They hear her roaring in fury outside, but there is nothing she can do besides that.

“We’re… safe?” Yamaguchi rasps, breathless.

“Kuroo-san?” Tsukishima says, cautiously.

Kuroo doesn't answer, but Daichi feels him shuddering by his side. There is something wrong.

“Kuroo?” Daichi says.

Kuroo raises his gaze and Daichi’s breath gets stuck in his throat. Kuroo’s irises are bright gold, his pupils as narrow as a cat’s.

“Kuroo,” Daichi calls one more time.

Kuroo blinks, confused. His eyes are hazel again.

"Oh,” he says, as if he's waking up from a dream. “We… we must go. She can open the door, too, and we don't want to be here when she does.”

“Lead the way,” Yamaguchi says.

“Kuroo-san, when were you going to tell us about the giant assassin pet cat?” Tsukishima hisses.

“She's not a pet cat!” Kuroo protests. “She's our guardian. And she was supposed to be asleep! Why is she awake?”

“Well…at least that explains why the door was open. She woke up and opened it,” Daichi offers.

"But that doesn't answer where my brother is,” Tsukishima says, frustrated.

“Let's look for him while the… the guardian is away?” Yachi turns to Kuroo. “What's her name, Kuroo-san?”

“Her name can't be pronounced in human language.”

“And you didn't give her a human name?” Daichi asks.

Kuroo glares at him. “Would you like me to give you a different name just because I can't say yours?”

Daichi raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

“We are wasting time,” Tsukishima complains. “Should we split to cover more ground?”

“No,” Kuroo says. “She’ll come in at any moment and it will be bad if we are apart. Just follow me.”

Nekoma isn't as richly decorated as the king's castle. There are red tapestries on the walls, but no statues and the furniture is more rustic and covered in dust. Daichi supposes that having sturdier furniture the smart thing to do, considering that they have a giant lioness walking around.

Daichi looks around. This is Kuroo's original home. The place where he was raised. He tries to imagine what would be like to grow up in a place like this, with people coming and going all the time.

“I hear something from there,” Yamaguchi says, pointing.

“There are the kitchens,” Kuroo says. “Let's go look.”

Yamaguchi takes the lead this time. Kuroo lets himself fall a couple of steps behind and Daichi matches his pace without thinking.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo murmurs so the others won't hear him. At Daichi's puzzled expression, he adds, “for snapping at you.”

Daichi smiles. “I have five brothers, Kuroo. I would hardly consider that offensive.”

“Still, I’m sorry. Seeing out guardian like that shocked me, but I shouldn't have lashed it out on you.”

“No harm was done.”

“I just don't understand.” He bites his lip in frustration. “How can she not recognize me? And why would she attack us?”

Daichi doesn't have an answer. Kuroo doesn't seem to be expecting one. Daichi reaches to hold his hand nonetheless, hoping the small gesture will convey some comfort. Kuroo intertwine their fingers and gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

Yamaguchi opens the door at the end of the corridor. Immediately, Tsukishima snarls:

“Big brother!”

The man in the kitchen is shorter than Tsukishima, but they have the same blond hair and brown eyes. However, while Tsukishima gives away an aura of cool aloofness, his brother looks considerably softer and maybe a little lost. Perhaps because he was caught in the middle of stuffing his mouth with bread.

“Khei!” He mumbles with his mouth still full. “Whath arhe you dhoing her’?”

“What are the you doing here?” Tsukishima snaps. “It's been five days!”

Tsukishima's brother swallows his bread. “I’m already this late? I’m so sorry, Kei! I was collecting samples for my research around here when I saw a fascinating lioness, but she was hurt. Naturally, I followed her here to see if I could help.”

"Naturally,” Tsukishima hisses.

"But once I came in, the doors closed and I couldn't find a way out.”

“You’ve been living of the old bread you carry in your bag for the last five days?” Tsukishima asks, his face livid.

“Yes! And good thing you showed up, because I am almost out of bread.”

Tsukishima looks like he is going to strangle his brother, but, before he can even say anything else, Kuroo asks anxiously, “The guardian is hurt? How?”

“The lioness? There is something stuck on her paw,” Tsukishima's brother explains. “Perhaps it's a stick? A very sharp one.”

“So this is why she attacked us!” Kuroo gasps. “She is hurt! I have to help her!”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Well, I could just…” Kuroo starts letting go of Daichi's hand, without doubt to take off his red coat.

“Absolutely not,” Daichi tightens the grip on his hand. “You are not using your powers. You promised you wouldn't.”

Kuroo pouts. “Then what do you suggest?”

"We’ll help,” Tsukishima offers. “It's the minimum we can do after dragging you here. Also I would like to apologize for my brother.

“Tsukki, don't be mean,” Yamaguchi says as Tsukishima's brother makes a shocked face.

Tsukishima ignores both of them. “Yachi-san, can you put her to sleep with your magic?”

“Of course, but someone would have to hold her still.

“Let’s attract her to one of the narrowest corridors and trap her under one of the tapestries. Yamaguchi should be able to cut the strings and drop it on her. If we work together, we can hold her down long enough for Yachi-san to put her to sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan."

"Sounds like we might get ourselves killed.”

They agree to go with it.

    Daichi thinks that any plan that starts with someone dangling from the rafters is bound to be a disaster, but he keeps his negative thoughts to himself as Yamaguchi balances himself there with a sharp knife. Daichi, Tsukishima and Tsukishima's brother wait near the walls, ready to jump and trap the lioness as soon as Yamaguchi cuts the strings that hold the tapestry in place. Yachi is a few steps behind, preparing to cast her spell.

Meanwhile, Kuroo went to the entrance to lure the lioness inside. 

Daichi hated this part of the plan particularly, but they all agreed that Kuroo was the only one able to outrun the guardian, being the fastest of them and also the one who knows the way through the corridors.

He tries to keep himself calm, but it’s difficult when he's out of his mind with worry.

Finally, a roar echoes through the walls. All of them tense up and it isn't long before they hear heavy and quick footsteps. Daichi's heart all but stops when Kuroo appears at the end of the corridor with the guardian like a gigantic shadow right behind him.

The lioness roars, muffling the sound of the knife as the strings are cut.

“NOW!” Tsukishima commands and they launch themselves at the edges of the tapestry.

The lioness struggles and snarls, but Yamaguchi and Kuroo join them and hold her down, even if they have to use the weight of their bodies to keep her in place. Someone cheer in celebration as Yachi rushes closer raising a small staff and reaching for the tapestry.

And that's when everything goes to hell.

Right in the spot where Yachi was about to touch, a sharp claw appears. She screams and pulls away before she gets hurt. The next roar makes all of them shudder as the guardian claws her way out of the trap.

“Damn it! It didn't work! Run!”

In their defense, they try to. However, as soon as their weight is gone, the lioness only has to struggle a little to break free. What's left of the tapestry stays around her neck like the weirdest of the manes.

“Run, run, run!”

They do. They have to run to opposite directions and Daichi hopes the confusion of choosing a target will make the lioness hesitate and will buy them some time. It does. Unfortunately, it only takes her a split second to reach her chosen victim.

And it is Daichi.

He collapses under her weight. Part of him thinks of reaching for his sword, but other part accuses him of that idea being ridiculous. Even if he could, he would never hurt Kuroo's guardian.

Powerful paws press him against the floor and the lioness roars. The deafening sound makes Daichi even more disoriented, so much he doesn't even know what to do with the realization that those giant fangs are the last thing he's going to see before he dies.

“SAWAMURA!”

A black blur runs into the guardian, knocking her away from Daichi. He coughs and heaves, unable to sit up yet, his lungs still not quite full of air.

When he manages to look up, it takes him a while to understand what's going on: a black panther is fighting the red lioness. With his mind still hazy with shock, Daichi wants to complain that Kuroo is not supposed to use his powers, but all he manages is a weak “Kuroo, no…!” in a choppy voice.

Kuroo neatly avoids the lioness’ fangs and throws his weight on top of her. She struggles and thrashes, but he manages to keep her in place. A moment later, Yachi is running to them, her skirts flying backwards. She looks impossibly small in comparison to them.

“Yachi-san, no! It's too dangerous!”

She doesn't stop. Daichi's heart stops when she's almost caught by the agitates lioness’ claws, but the small girl keeps going until she reaches the guardian’s flank. Yachi raises her staff and rests her hand on red fur. White light spreads from the tips of her fingers. The guardian keeps fighting to break free. Yachi frowns in concentration and closes her eyes, making the light glow brighter. The lioness’ movements grow sloppier and more tired. She finally closes her eyes and stops moving. Yachi falls to her knees right after, breathless.

Daichi sighs in relief, his heart still threatening to jump out of his chest. He's so sure that the battle is won that it takes him a while to understand Tsukishima’s horrified tone when he says, “Yachi-san, get away from him.”

Daichi doesn’t understand, until he notices Kuroo hasn't turned back to his human form yet. Instead, he gets off the back of the unconscious guardian and slowly moves towards Yachi. His eyes are turned black by his pupils, blown so wide you can barely see the golden around them. The way he creeps closer to the girl is almost predatory.

“Kuroo-san…” Yachi rasps, trying to stand straight on her weakened legs. “Kuroo-san!” She stumbles and loops her arms around the panther’s neck. They are too short to fully embrace Kuroo, but she holds on tightly.

The panther blinks in confusion, but doesn't do anything to push the girl away. Then slowly - very slowly - fur retracts back into the skin or turns into black clothes as the body of the panther changes until it reaches a human form. The panther isn't there anymore. In its place, there is just a confused looking man with a girl on his lap.

    They don't talk about it while they treat the guardian’s wound. They don’t talk about it on the travel back. They don't talk about it when Yachi insists in following them to the castle so she talks Shimizu into not being too harsh on Kuroo.

Shimizu still lectures Kuroo for hours.

Yu almost passes out when Daichi tells her what happened. She offers to give him some explanations, but he refuses. 

Instead, they wait outside Shimizu’s chambers until Kuroo comes out. When he finally does, he sees them there and smirks. His teasing smirk doesn't reach his eyes.

“I guess I owe you an explanation, Sawamura.”

“You don't owe me anything,” Daichi says simply. “But I would appreciate if you told me what's happening to you.”

Kuroo nods. “It's easier if I show you.”

Kuroo heads to his wing of the castle. Daichi almost expects him to go to his lab, but he walks right past it and to a door at the end of the corridor.

It's a bedroom.

Compared to the other rooms in the castle, it's almost empty. There are only a bed, a large chest presumably filled with clothes and a small nest of blankets on the corner. There are chains and shackles on the blankets.

“I told you my mother was an alchemist, right?” Kuroo turns to him. “She loved alchemy as much as I do. She loved studying and learning. She wanted to do wonders with her work, make discoveries and help the world. So she made a deal with a witch.”

Kuroo heads to the blanket nest and Yui follows him with a sad look in her eyes. To Daichi’s shock, Kuroo sits down and lets Yui chain him to the wall. There are thick pieces of wool sewn into the shackles so they won't hurt him.

“The witch gave her access to the spirits’ library so she could gain knowledge on alchemy no other human had. There was only one condition: she was supposed to love alchemy above all things. If she cherished something else more… well. Knowledge is the only thing that cannot be taken away, but there would be consequences. She would become a wild beast, unable to use the knowledge she gained.”

“And she found something she cherished more,” Daichi guesses.

“My father. She was traveling when she found Nekoma and met him and fell in love and suddenly there was something besides alchemy. She spent several months stuck in a monster’s body until my father found a mage that could change the curse. That was Kenma’s mother. She managed to make it so my mom would be able to keep her mind clear when she turned, enough so she could turn back. Except once a month, when the light of the full moon touches our land. Then she would become a mindless beast again.”

“And it's the same for you?”

Kuroo nods. “I love alchemy as much as she did. I read her research and I wanted to know as much as I can as bad as she did.”

“But- but if alchemy means that much for you…”

“Sawamura, I already have something I cherish more. Kenma and the others at Nekoma. Shimizu-sama, king Oikawa, princess Yui… all of them are my family. I love alchemy, but I wouldn't trade them for any knowledge in the world.”

Daichi bites his lip, a lump forming in his throat.

“I avoid transforming near the full moon, because I start losing my grip.” An apologetic smile. “And it makes it harder when I finally turn.”

“Kuroo, this is…”

"It's fine,” Kuroo interrupts. “Again, I’m sorry for yesterday night. Now, will you excuse me? I don't mean to kick you out, but I'm not going to be good company on the next couple of hours.”

Daichi wants to protest, but he doesn't know what to say.

“Come on,” Yui says.

She ruffles Kuroo's hair before she grabs Daichi's arm and rushes him out.

    Daichi can't sleep. He can't shake away the tired look in Kuroo's eyes from his thoughts. He thinks of Kuroo, stuck in his panther form and chained to the walls of his own room so he won't hurt others or himself. The thought is eating him alive.

If there is something you cherish more than alchemy, you’ll become a beast unable to use it.

He rolls around on his bed, bothered. The frustration that drowns him has less to do with the fact that there is nothing he can do, but with the odd feeling that there's a very obvious answer and he's too stupid to see.

Unable to use alchemy.

Daichi thinks of Tsukishima and how he seemed to trust Kuroo in his human form, but how quickly he became afraid that panther Kuroo would hurt Yachi. Did Kuroo hear that? It must have hurt if he did.

If there is something you cherish more…

He thinks of Yachi, the brave, brave, girl and how she fearlessly faced not one, but two mindless predators that could fit her tiny body entirely in their mouths. How she kindly hugged Kuroo and brought him back.

There is something you cherish more.

Daichi sits up so quickly he becomes dizzy.

Kuroo isn't a monster blind with bloodlust! He's just in a state in which he can't think rationally, like a wild animal. However even animals can form bonds and hold things dear! Kuroo was still in the heat of the battle when he approached Yachi, but he didn't hurt her! Maybe he was moving just to check on her! He recognized the girl and let him touch him and bring him back!

Daichi jumps out of his bed and, for the first time, he doesn't mind that the sheets are folding themselves. It's a risky idea, but if he's right…

Daichi is still in the corridor when he first hears the roars. He doesn't stop. He heads to Kuroo's room with confidence and doesn't hesitate at the door.

The room is dark when Daichi comes in, only the moonlight through the windows illuminating the chained panther. Kuroo is in the middle struggling to get free, but he freezes at the sight of Daichi like a cornered cat. Daichi can see his bright eyes clearly even in the dark.

“Kuroo,” he says evenly. He doesn't know if the way Kuroo flinches a little is a reaction to his own name or to Daichi's voice. “Kuroo, it's me. Sawamura. You know who I am, don't you? I think you do."

Daichi starts toward him, slow and steady. When Kuroo eyes him with curiosity, Daichi notices that the fur around his neck is ruffled in an odd way. He realizes that Kuroo has been trying to claw off the shackle on his neck. His chest tightens.

"It's me, Kuroo.” He repeats. “I’m not going to hurt you. And I think you're not going to hurt me either. Because I care about you, a lot. And I think I'm not wrong to assume you care about me in the same way.”

Kuroo sits on his back legs and hisses. He looks like an oversized house cat. Daichi stretches his arm and offers his hand to Kuroo. He sniffs it, but does nothing else. Daichi reach out and pets his head.

A moment later, Kuroo closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Daichi smiles and gets closer, now using his two hands to caress the soft fur.  

“Of course you were upset,” he mutters. “You are just a scared kitten isolated from the thing you cherished most. You don't have to do that anymore. You're not alone.”

There is a thunderous noise and Daichi feels vibrations under his hands. He laughs. Kuroo is purring.

Daichi keeps petting him until suddenly Kuroo nibbles at his fingers and lies down. It is not as light as a cat’s nibble and it scratches his hands, but that's it. A small scratch that barely stings. Kuroo would never hurt Daichi. Daichi waits until Kuroo settles himself before he sits down. He leans against Kuroo and closes his eyes, thinking that Kuroo is softer than any bed. Kuroo cuddles up to him and leaves him be.

    When Daichi wakes up in the morning, his head is resting against Kuroo's (human) shoulder. He looks up and his eyes meet Kuroo’s. The expression in his hazel eyes takes his breath away - fondness, admiration… he’s looking at Daichi as if he is the best thing he's ever put his eyes on and it's way too much.

"Good morning,” Daichi manages, praying that he doesn't have a bad morning breath.

“You are insane, Daichi Sawamura,” Kuroo says and his voice isn't much better than Daichi's. “If I knew what you were planning, I would have stopped you.”

"I take you remember last night. It wasn't much of a plan, you see, but more a sudden inspiration. You are a nice cat, by the way."

Kuroo laughs incredulously. “Can I tell you a secret? I think it's a pity that I was turned into a cat. I’ve always liked dogs better.”

Daichi hums thoughtfully and runs his fingers through unruly black hair. Kuroo leans against the contact, closing his eyes. Daichi can’t tell if he’s contempt with it or just tired.

“I think I prefer cats, to be honest.”

Kuroo doesn’t open his eyes, but he smiles.

[cosmiciaria]

Final Fantasy Type-0 HD Remaster Review! (Spoiler Free)

Since I knew that this game was going to be 'darker' and 'grittier' than the main franchise, I KNEW I had to play it. Thing is, I don't own a PSP, so I tried an emulator, and the controls were awful, and if you played this game you know that speed and reflexes are everything. I lost all hope that I could play it, and I refused to watch another one's gameplay, because I wanted to experience it for myself.

Until I bought a PS4 and I got a happy ending! Well, at least for the beginning, because let's face it, this game is everything but a happy ending. Anyway…!

I really AM glad to have bought this game. No, I didn't buy it for the Duscae Demo, like many people did, no; I arrived a year and something something later for that demo, and also I've played FFXV prior to this one, so I was particularly looking forward to Type-0. And good lord, did I have a good time with this!

It pains me to see how underrated this game is. It's a treasure gem buried underneath the main franchise. It has 'Final Fantasy' in the title but people barely notice it. And yet, this game is more Final Fantasy than many of the latest entries, and yes, that includes Final Fantasy XV (although I find it hard to admit it).

FFT-0 is all about war. You play as Class Zero members: 14 teenagers with enough power and talent to wipe out a whole army. In this world, called Orience, magic works only at an early age, and, as people grow up, they lose the ability to use it. That's why they train kids since they are seven or eight years old, to turn them into young lethal soldiers. Class Zero is the best of the best, you won't find better warriors than these kids. I want to stress the idea that they're only kids: their ages range only from sixteen to seventeen years old, and still, they go out there to fight, to die for their nation, Rubrum.

Orience is formed by four nations: Rubrum, as I have mentioned, is the country you're going to defend, and it's under the Vermillion Bird Crystal protection; Milites, the antagonist kingdom, bears the protection of the White Tiger Crystal; Concordia, the land of dragons, is kept safe behind the Azure Dragon Crystal; and Llorica, strong though they were, they lost their Black Tortoise Crystal. Milites's ultimate goal is to lay hands upon each of the four crystals, for its own motives (won't spoil it for you, but, they're actually on point; it even makes you question who's the good and bad guy here), and you, as Class Zero, must stop it from achieving it.

The game mixes JRPG with strategic Warcraft III-or-Age of Empires-kind of elements. You have two missions: those that will let you go through 'dungeons' (they're not actually dungeons but dunno how to call them) and those that happen on the overworld, where you have to protect cities, domains, attack forts, guide your soldiers, etc. It's really a mix I wasn't expecting, and it's refreshing for those who think that this game is only about killing soldiers for the fun.

Also, between missions, you'll have 'free time' to learn things at class (with a moogle as your professor, cool af), breed chocobos at the chocobo ranch (then you can use them to traverse the overworld and to catch more chocobos!), experiencing events with classmates or other people, such as Mother or Commander Kurasame (a.k.a. Prompto's voice actor). Certain events can only be viewed while you're using certain character as the party leader, so make sure to change your main character as much as you can and to check every room in Akademeia to see if new scenes can be unlocked. Also you can take requests and tasks, and you can go to the overworld to train and to visit towns. There are also harder missions called 'Expert Trials', which have higher levels and are to be tackled on a second playthrough, but they still add lore to the story. Each of these actions will take certain amount of hours of your free time, until you arrive at the Mission Day, when you are allowed to continue with the main storyline.

The gameplay is just downright amazing, and it's its best feature. Each of the 14 members of Class Zero have unique abilities and unique set of animations, alongside weapons and spells. They're all very different, some of them are faster, some are slower, some have ranged attacks, others only melee and close ranged attacks, some of them resemble old class jobs in previous Final Fantasy games (like… really… you have one character that plays the flute: tell me when was the last FF game that had a fricking bard! And also you have the dragoon type, the monk type, the black mage, the gunner, I don't know, there are SO MANY). During missions, you'll have at your disposal three of the fourteen members, and you can switch between them on the fly; if one of them dies, you can replace them with one the eleven reserves that are left, and as this game is pretty hard on your first playthrough, you'll be using all of them because, YES, THEY'LL DIE IN THE BATTLEFIELD!! On the 'relic terminals' (a.k.a. the save points) you can change your party leader, so yes, you can have whoever of the fourteen you like the most as your main character, ISN'T THAT GREAT?

Along those lines, I'll recommend you to take your time and train all of them. Thanks to Mooglin's classes, most of them will be levelling up at the same time, but still, you'll have some ten or fifteen levels between your faves and the ones you never use. So please, give all of them some love and care.

I MEAN, I really want you to focus on this: we have fourteen characters, you can use the fourteen all the time, and they're not repetitive, they're all unique, and they're all useful, goddamn, what else can you ask? Like, really, then you compare this with FFXV and it gets on my nerves that you can only play as Noctis and not switch between the bros goddamn.

But, HEY, not everything's the gameplay, awesome though it is! The story is indeed deep and darker than most FF's. As I said before, we're at war, so, yeah, people die all the time. There are a lot of scenes which feature blood, and also, at the beginning, you'll witness the saddest thing on a Final Fantasy game (and this is no spoiler since it happens at the very beginning): the death of a bleeding chocobo. Goddammit didn't I tear up in that fricking moment. We start like this, what can you expect from the ending of this game? Oh, well…

Graphics are a thing now. I've seen many people complain about the outdated graphics, but shall I remind you that this was a videogame made for the PSP? If you compare and contrast the PSP graphics with the PS4 HD Remaster, you'll have to admit that for a PSP game it had cutting edge visuals. They were extremely meticulous when upgrading the models for the main fourteen characters, and sometimes, during Akademeia, it feels like you're actually playing an exclusive for the PS4. The lighting and shadows are on point, the water effect on the fountain looks gorgeous, and each of the Class Zero members, just as the members of each of the other classes, have these metallic things on their shoulders that reflect the sun realistically. Yes, NPC's and the overworld's scenery leave much (MUCH) to be desired; even towns look all the same (they didn't bother much with giving each of the cities a unique design I guess), but still, I can't complain, it was a PSP game. And it looks really, really great for a remaster. If I have to be mean (and regrettably honest), Final Fantasy X HD Remaster didn't get as much love as FF T-0 when upgrading, and I don't think Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age will have the same treatment either. So this is the best they could get: take it or leave it. Actually, you'll be so invested in the story and characters that you'll barely take notice of the environments. But if you really care about graphics, maybe this game will bother you.

The soundtrack accompanies the tone of the game. We're facing constant war, and so many of the tracks have this militarized tempo. I couldn't stop smiling when I went to the overworld for the first time and realized that the song on the background was the Chocobo Theme with a militarized tone. Like, really, could this get any better? The composer is the same as in Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core (also Tabata here, the same director, as in FFXV), and you know you'll be getting a lot of guitar sounds. Machina Kunarigiri's theme and Tempus Finis just leave goosebumps all over my body.

There is one big drawback, though (if you don't count the graphics thing): as we have so many characters, it's hard to build a proper character development for each of them. Some of them shine more than the others, but most of them have their final change during the last hour of the game. This is forgivable due to the player being able to experience each of the characters during gameplay. Yes, it would've been cool to have ten minutes of fame for each of them, but as you can play with the fourteen members, just by playing you grow fond of them in a way never imagined. It's the gameplay and the missions you do and the characters you choose and the strategy you think it's best what makes you love the characters. The only explicit character development here was for Machina, of whom I understood quite late in the game that he and Rem maaaaay be the main protagonists, who knows. You can say that it's Ace, because he's in the cover of the game, and also the one featured in Dissidia 2015, and yeah, he's like the face of the game, but I doubt he's the protagonist. If anything, Ace is part of the Class Zero, and let's say that Class Zero is your main protagonist.

Tabata has stated, in relation to this, that he wanted to make players think that it's the whole Class Zero the main character: not take each of the members as an individual, but the fourteen of them as a whole. And it kinda makes sense. And if that's what he wanted, he achieved it somehow.

There's another drawback, although it didn't come across to me as one, and it's that, if you wanna see the whole picture, you have to play the game at least twice. There's one thing in this game called 'Rubicus' that works as the compendium of the game, where you can see the bestiary, the tasks you've completed, the people you've met… and also, scenes and documents providing information, that go by the name 'Annals of Orience'. These Annals of Orience are going to be updated every time you complete a mission, one of the main storyline or one from the Expert Trials. And also, when you finish the game, you may see that you've unlocked a new series of cutscenes in the Rubicus. This happens at the end of your first playthrough, and also at the end of your second. It's quite advisable to play it a second time not only for this, but also because you can go for the 'crimson code' missions, which replace the main mission from each chapter with a new one, giving you a new perspective of the things that were happening while you did that said mission in your first playthrough. That's why this game needs to be played at least twice if you want to know 'most' of the things that happened. Good thing is, that it has a lot of replayability. The game readapts to your new high levels, and lets you also play new levels of difficulties, if you're digging the whole challenge thing.

There a TON of unlockables, and if you're a rookie completionist, you'll be spending a great amount of hours on this game. There seems to be endless things to do: I've already played it twice, and things kept coming and appearing, and it was like 'oh, my please stop I can't to everything'. So it has high replay value, if that serves you well.

I've mentioned before that this game is more Final Fantasy than the latest entries, and it is! Not only do we get all the creatures and spell names and everything we care and love from previous Final Fantasy's, but also we get these fourteen characters with one class job each; we get to fight Gilgamesh TWICE, and also he has a backstory, and also Enkidu appears! (Now he's getting famous again because of Episode Gladiolus). We havent's seen moogles since Final Fantasy XII (I'm actually not counting FFXIII-2 and Lightning Returns), and here they are professors and teach! We have crystals all over again! We have six main Eidolons, many of whom we haven't seen for a while (really, when was the last time we saw Diabolos? I think it was Final Fantasy VIII if I'm not mistaken). We have also the Main Theme of Final Fantasy hidden among the chords of the ending song 'Zero' by Bump of Chicken! I don't know, I was just so happy to find all these things. Oh, oh, and also, you can unlock a SHIP CALLED SETZER!! AND THE CAPTAIN WAS CALLED SETZER!! Ok, I'll stop fangirling right now, sorry.

The ending scarred my heart forever. I listen to the ending song, and I feel like I could cry at one certain moment remembering what was happening then. I just advise you to bring tissues and hot chocolate, you're gonna need them.

I'm actually subjective with this game, as you can see. So I'm giving it an 8.5 out of 10. I think it made the most out of its gameplay, and it did it well; it could've been better in the character department, but I guess it's forgivable (it wouldn't have been forgivable if they sold you an episode dlc for each of them, oh my good lord, I would've freaked out then). Story wise, it's a JRPG and of course it was going to feature a bunch of teenagers saving the world and stuff, but still, there are plenty of plot twists that will leave you hanging at the edge of your seat. The ending is bittersweet, the characters are memorable, the soundtrack is on point, and the difficulty is rewarding.

I just want to spread the word, and let the world know what a good game you have under your nose. Just dig deeper.

'History left them behind,

but we know them.

 We are

right here.'

[darkcloud-kcalifornia]

Right, before starting the next episode of Nanoha A’s, I had a thought occur to me.  How did Fate record videos for Nanoha on DVDs?  I’d think the TSAB would have a different standard, but for the medium the record on and the data of the video itself. Either Nanoha’s computer has discreetly been given a program to read those files, or, more likely in my mind, Lindy intentionally picked up some Earthican recording tech so Fate could do this. Which once again raises the question of where they’re getting their local resources.

 Oh well, moving on from that, it’s time for episode 2, “Once Again, The Storms of Battle”

* Meanwhile, in Stately Wayne Bannings Manor…

* I swear, those two have mansions, but they think it’d be a better idea to hold a welcoming party in a small, busy café.

* So out of curiosity what would something be classified as if it isn’t a “mere felony”?  Not that I actually expect Fate to be a legal expert, mind you.

* So the right to defend yourself in court is determined on whether or not you resisted arrest?  That don’t seem right.

* Nanoha meets a lot of mages from attacks out of the blue.  Fate, Chrono, Precia (heck, she attacked before Nanoha even saw her), Vita…

* Vita’s speed boost spell is just “Horses”?  Well, the German word for horses.  OK, Belkan technically.

* Heh, Yuuno mentions that the Arthra put their maintenance on hold to rush to the scene, and it then switches to Lindy looking at a viewscreen that’s nothing but static. Not to say they weren’t needed, but I think in this instance they’d be far better served trying to get some more boots on the ground.  Er, in the air.

* Oh hey, we got a name for one of the other crew members.  Apparently the job of trying to figure out how to strip the barrier belongs to a guy named Alex.  So, what department would that be in?  Tactical? Engineering?

* Let the record show. Flaming swords?  Still cool.  Metaphorically speaking.  I think you’d probably be in trouble if your flaming sword was actually cool.

* You know, it occurs to me that in the games I’ve played rarely do healing circles and defensive barriers combine.  OK, they do for save point justification, but like, in games where you can throw down a healing circle in battle I don’t think I’ve ever seen a defensive boost thrown in as well.  So good job on that spell, Yuuno.

* I think Signum needs to work on her priorities if she made sure to find and fix Vita’s hat before joining the battle.

* There’s something odd about an antagonist planning an attack on the heroes while her bag of groceries is carefully set down to the side of her and she’s calling a little girl on her cell ring to explain she’ll be a bit late.  Also, what company do you think provides phone service to Klarwind?

* Nanoha is trying to be a responsible master for RH.  RH in the meantime wants to be sent back in, coach!

* Stupid portal using tele-fragers…  I’d say that Nanoha was not prepared for this kind of a day, but I don’t think there’s much you can do to prepare for somebody teleporting their arm through your chest to harvest your organs.

* You know, there’s a very bloody minded part of me that wonders what Shamal would do if somebody (likely other than the victim obviously) were to stab her through her transported arm while she was doing this.

* I doubt there are many heroes capable of focusing enough to fire the spell they’ve been prepping while somebody literally has a hold of their magic organ and is squeezing it dry. Actually I wonder if Nanoha would have been able to cast any other spell at all.  The only reason she may have been able to finish the Starlight Breaker was it had already started and it’s powered by an outside force.

* I love seeing Chrono’s outburst at seeing the BoD, along with his hard-clenched fist.  He keeps his words from that point on calm, but it’s certain that he is pissed. It’s also interesting that Lindy was calling in a space ambience rather than ferrying Nanoha herself.  And that the attack is considered important enough that they need to take her to HQ for treatment.  But hey, on the plus side she gets to visit another planet now!

 And that’s it for episode 2! Most of it is fight scene, so there’s not a whole lot of thinking to be done with it.  Except for the rambling kind of course.  Still, most of the antagonists have now been introduced, and first time watchers are bound to hate them for hurting the girls we came to care about last season.  Plus they managed to establish just what advantages the villains had, so we know what to expect in future fights as well as what needs to be overcome.  Not bad for a fight episode!