#c: cassandra pentaghast

[fereldanwench]

in your heart shall burn

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[theresa-draws]

By the side of the Divine Cassandra seeks the truth and finds Her warring blade cuts so sublime Royal hearts Nevarran minds

[oopsallmabari]

i took wayyyy too long with this, but it's the last of the codex prompts:

(submitted by @creaking-skull)

5. letters between two of your OC’s companions about them

A couple of letters collected from the headquarters of the City Guard in the Viscount’s Keep in Kirkwall, during an interview of Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen in 9:40 Dragon, conducted by Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. When asked to share the letters, Guard-Captain Vallen parted with them voluntarily, remarking that ‘they do me no good, though I doubt you’ll find anything useful in them’.

Anders, I am sure you know I would not reach out to you like this if I wasn’t asking you something important. How are things at your clinic? Our guards continue to post watch in Darktown, though most of their focus has been on keeping the usual brigands and highwaymen under control. No matter our personal disagreements, the people of Darktown speak highly of you and your work. If there are any disturbances near the clinic, I will gladly send my men to intervene. I understand you were with Levi when he found Leandra. I’ve tried to pay my respects at the estate, but haven’t received a response. As much as he might like me to, I will never forget fleeing the Blight with him—we lost so much, so quickly. That family has been through more suffering than most can bear. I am sorry for his loss. I hope he realizes it. I know you two are close. I know you’re well aware of the tensions at the Gallows, which is why I come to you. I cannot manage it on my own: things at the Keep are in chaos enough with the Viscount dead and Meredith hovering. If you want a real way to help your people, tell Hawke to meet with me—help me set Kirkwall on the right path. If there’s anyone they’ll listen to, it’s the Champion. —Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captain Vallen, No need to waste time pretending with pleasantries. I have no need for your offers of protection: my patients are nearly as wary of your Guard than they are of the templars skulking the docks. It is more than enough to know that as of yet, no one has come to break down my door. I will see to it that it stays that way. If you really wanted Hawke’s assistance in the matter, there’s a far easier way to get it than trying to beg me like some dog with your tail between your legs. But I suspect I know why you haven’t gone to Levi, and I’ll gladly confirm: no, he doesn’t want to speak with you, nor does he want to speak with most anyone in this blasted city right now. He is still grieving. At least give him the peace to do that before you start parading him around for your own ends. —A.

Subsequently added notes in the margins of the second letter:

This aligns with Varric Tethras’ impression of the Champion as ‘prone to fits of pique’ in the years leading up to the rebellion, and suggests he was hiding the extent of his relationship with Anders from you. If that’s the case, they will have gone even deeper into hiding. I still think it would be preferable to focus on leads for Surana’s whereabouts. —L. No. It has to be him: what happened in Kirkwall is the key to anything we do next. You must find him. We are simply missing something. —C. P.

[vir-tanadahl]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 7: The Games We Play

I’m eagerly rewriting As the Moon Rises, which was originally written back in 2017, in anticipation of Dragon Age: Veilguard, channeling my excitement into refining the story. Summary: Isera Lavellan, at her mother’s behest, is sent to assist her twin brother, Banreas—the Inquisitor—in his mission to stop a force determined to bring about the world’s end. Together, they uncover long-buried secrets of their shared family history while Isera finds herself drawn to a mysterious non-Dalish elven mage whose knowledge of her heritage runs far deeper than she could have imagined. As the stakes rise, Isera must navigate this dangerous journey of discovery, where the past holds as much peril as the looming threats of the present. Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1][Ch2][Ch3][Ch4][Ch5][Ch6] [Ch7]

Finally, the day had come. The Inquisition was staying in a small château a mile outside of the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. One by one, the members of the inner circle began to congregate in the foyer. Josie, Leliana, Cullen, Sera, Banreas, the Iron Bull, and Solas were the first to finish dressing, each of them bringing their own unique flair to the occasion. Josephine quickly began checking everything, ensuring that those representing the Inquisition were up to par. The air buzzed with a mix of excitement and tension, each member aware of the importance of their appearance as they prepared to step into the heart of Orlesian nobility

Vivienne followed, dressed in her signature style but with a twist. Instead of her usual pants, she wore a sheer skirt with a high slit, shimmering in silver and white, paired with high-knee boots that added an air of boldness. The high collar of her outfit was larger than normal, framing her face with an elegant authority, and atop her head rested the Hat of Majesty. Tonight, she embodied Madame de Fer—the Lady of Iron, exuding power and sophistication as she prepared to make her mark at the ball.

Cassandra steadfastly refused to wear a dress, opting instead for an ensemble reminiscent of a tailored pantsuit. Her top was a shimmering black, long-sleeved blouse that hugged her figure at the waist before flowing out and turning sheer at the hem, adorned with delicate red flowers embroidered along the edges. The pants were tight yet flexible, allowing her the freedom of movement she valued, paired with sleek black riding boots. Despite her elegant appearance, she unmistakably wore a look of displeasure at being there. Her mask, representing House Pentaghast, was a striking dark purple, adding an air of nobility to her otherwise rebellious stance.

Blackwall chose to have his formal wear crafted in the Grey Warden colors, opting to forgo a mask entirely. He believed in the Warden’s pledge to abstain from political entanglements, making a quiet statement with his appearance. In contrast, Varric donned a striking red leather jacket adorned with golden embroidery at the edges, exuding his signature flair. His mask was simple yet fitting—a red and gold Volto that added a touch of mystery without overshadowing his well-known charisma.

Dorian, as expected, donned an outfit that was distinctly fashionable in Tevinter. His robe was a rich dark green, featuring a high collar interwoven with golden threads that caught the light. His fingers sparkled with golden jewels, a nod to Tevinter custom. On the back of his coattail, a striking golden serpent was intricately embroidered, a symbol of his heritage. However, he refused to wear a mask representing House Pavus, opting instead for one connected to a rod. This choice allowed him the freedom to remove the mask easily, ensuring he could showcase his handsome features without concealment.

Isera was the last to finish, having argued frequently with the tailor throughout the process. Her dress sparkled with the enchanted fabric, featuring a sweetheart neckline adorned with embroidered roses that emitted the scent of real flowers. The deep red color was exactly what Leliana had envisioned, fading gracefully into a shimmering white. Despite the tailor's insistence on a pair of golden heels, Isera had adamantly refused, opting instead for simple golden flats that allowed her comfort and ease. As she stood in front of the mirror, she felt a mix of pride and apprehension, ready to step into the evening ahead.

Josephine began addressing everyone as they gathered in anticipation of the carriages' arrival. Meanwhile, Isera paid little mind to her words, her attention drifting as she nervously fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. She felt out of place, the weight of the evening’s expectations settling heavily on her shoulders. The vibrant colors and the elegance of her attire felt foreign, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in a world that was both exciting and intimidating.

Solas stepped closer to her, his presence calm and reassuring. “Nervous?” he asked, appearing more relaxed and less guarded than usual. Isera turned to look at him, her expression a mix of anxiety and honesty. “Uncomfortable, mostly,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. The opulence of the setting and the gathering crowd intensified her feelings, making it hard to shake off the sense of being an outsider.

Solas glanced over toward Josephine as she continued her speech, then turned back to Isera. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice quiet yet sincere. Isera met his gaze for a brief moment before looking away, her cheeks warming at the compliment. “I—thank you,” she replied, her tone a mix of surprise and bashfulness. She turned her attention to Josie as well, focusing on the familiar energy of the gathering to help ground herself in the moment.

“The advisors will arrive first, followed by the Inquisitor, and finally everyone else if you haven't made arrangements already,” Josephine said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “All right, everyone, let's be off!” Her voice carried a blend of excitement and authority, energizing the group as they prepared to embark on the evening’s festivities. Isera felt a rush of adrenaline as the moment approached, her earlier nerves mingling with a spark of anticipation.

Banreas, Isera, and Solas were squished together on one side of the carriage, their shoulders brushing against one another. Iron Bull, massive and imposing, took up most of the opposite seat, leaving little room to spare. Sera sat comfortably beside him, her legs draped casually over his lap, a cheeky grin on her face as she leaned back. The cramped space felt lively with their banter, and despite the discomfort, Isera couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie surrounding her.

“All right, be on the watch for Venatori activity,” Banreas began, his tone serious as he turned to address the group. “Leliana informed me that she believes there is a magical elven artifact in Empress Celene’s possession. We should be looking for that as well.” The mood shifted slightly, the lighthearted banter giving way to a more focused atmosphere as they processed the information. Isera felt the weight of their mission settle in, the stakes of the evening becoming clear as they prepared to navigate the intricate dance of nobility and danger.

"What’s with the magic elf-y things? Strange, innit" Sera grumbled, her arms crossed as she leaned back against Iron Bull. Her expression was one of skepticism, and Isera could sense her unease with the idea of pursuing an elven artifact amidst the political intrigue. The contrast between Sera's casual demeanor and the seriousness of their mission added a layer of tension.

“Boss, we don’t need another magical object in play. We have the Venatori to worry about,” Iron Bull stated, nodding in agreement. His tone was serious, underscoring the potential dangers of adding yet another variable to their already complicated situation. The weight of his words hung in the air, a reminder of the formidable challenges they faced, and Isera could sense the tension building among the group as they considered the implications.

“Perhaps the Venatori are looking for it,” Solas added thoughtfully, his expression contemplative. The implication hung in the air, drawing the attention of everyone in the carriage. The stakes were becoming clearer, and the atmosphere shifted as they contemplated the dangers that lay ahead.

Isera turned her head to look at her brother, her expression earnest. “If it is magical, I could locate it easier and get it out discreetly,” she suggested, her voice steady with determination. The idea of using her unique abilities to help in their mission sparked a flicker of hope within her. She met Banreas's gaze, silently urging him to consider her proposal as a viable option in their quest.

“If we know about it, it’s safe to assume the Venatori do as well. Our agents didn’t gather enough information to specify what it is, but they confirmed it’s elven,” Banreas explained, his tone serious. Iron Bull shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a frown etched on his face. “Then how do we find something that we don’t even know what it is?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. The challenge of their situation loomed large, and Isera could feel the weight of their uncertainty settling over the group.

“I can,” Isera spoke up again, her voice firm. “I’ve done it before.” The conviction in her words drew the attention of her companions, and she felt a surge of determination. The memory of her past successes in locating magical artifacts fueled her confidence, and she hoped to inspire faith in her abilities as they navigated this complex situation.

Banreas raised an eyebrow at her, a teasing smirk on his lips. “You’ve smuggled elven artifacts out of a palace?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Isera frowned, undeterred. “I have smuggled ancient elven artifacts out of heavily guarded Circle towers before,” she argued, her voice steady and defensive.

Isera could feel the surprise radiating off everyone in the carriage. “You’ve… smuggled?” Iron Bull exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. The unexpected revelation seemed to shift the atmosphere, transforming her from an uncertain participant to someone with valuable experience. She met their astonished gazes, feeling a swell of pride at having garnered their respect, even if only momentarily.

“She’s a thief!” Sera cackled, her grin wide as she playfully punched Iron Bull in the arm. The laughter that followed filled the carriage, lightening the mood and bringing a sense of camaraderie to the group.

Isera shrugged, her expression casual. “It was easy. I was twelve, and Mother heard a rumor that the Ostwick Circle had something she wanted. I just pretended to be a new mage, and the Templars took me in. I was there for a few months, found it, and left.” She shrugged again, as if the whole experience was just a minor adventure rather than a bold feat. The confidence in her tone intrigued her companions, revealing a glimpse of her resourcefulness.

"Banreas stared at her in disbelief, his eyebrows raised. "Mother had you… stealing?" The incredulity in his voice was palpable, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of their mother orchestrating such a scheme.

“Yes?” she paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Is that not normal?” Isera questioned, her tone earnest. “It isn’t like it belonged to them.” The conviction in her words hung in the air, challenging the group’s perceptions. “It wasn’t exactly stealing. More like... retrieving something that belonged to the elven.” The playful twist in her reasoning added to the intrigue, sparking curiosity among her companions. Isera could sense their hesitation, a mix of surprise and contemplation, as they processed her logic. To her, reclaiming what was lost felt justified, but she wondered how others viewed her past actions.

The carriages came to a halt, and a loud announcement echoed that the Inquisition had arrived. Isera quickly placed her mask on, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Iron Bull and Sera stepped out first, their presence commanding attention. Banreas leaned closer to Isera, his tone harsh as he whispered, “No, by the way, that is not normal!” He gestured for Solas to step out first, as he was closest to the door, the urgency of their situation clear in his demeanor. The anticipation hung thick in the air as they prepared to face the Orlesian nobility.

Isera shrugged and followed Solas, who graciously offered his hand to assist her as she stepped out of the carriage. “They didn’t need it,” she muttered to no one in particular, a hint of defiance in her voice. Despite her earlier nerves, she felt a spark of confidence, bolstered by Solas's steady presence beside her. She was ready to face whatever awaited them at the grand event, even if it meant navigating the expectations of the nobility.

The Grand Duke was quick to engage with Banreas, steering the Inquisitor away from the group as the rest of them followed behind. Isera could hear the whispers among the nobility, their hushed voices filled with disbelief at the audacity of the Inquisition’s company being made up of elves and a qunari. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Banreas squirming with delight at the stir they were causing; it was practically blasphemy in their eyes. The tension in the air was palpable, and she felt a mix of pride and amusement at the chaos they had brought to the evening.

Josephine and Leliana had trained Banreas for weeks on how to navigate the treacherous waters of the political game. If he felt uncomfortable, he certainly didn't show it; instead, he carried himself with confidence, engaging the Grand Duke with a charming smile. Isera watched with admiration, noting how well he had absorbed their lessons. Despite the tension in the air, he exuded an air of ease, expertly maneuvering through the complexities of Orlesian society.

As Isera and the others entered the vestibule to convene with the advisors before continuing on to be announced in the ballroom, Josephine took the opportunity to emphasize the importance of behaving appropriately. Her gaze was direct, landing squarely on Sera, who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. The tension in the air mixed with amusement as Isera watched Sera's mischievous expression, knowing that her friend was hardly one to conform to expectations.

“Isera, you will be announced following the Inquisitor. After you, the advisors, and then Solas, Iron Bull, and Sera. Once the introductions are complete, you’ll be free to roam around,” Josie informed them, her tone brisk yet encouraging. The weight of the evening’s expectations hung heavy in the air, and Isera felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety at the thought of being introduced to the nobility. She glanced at her companions, each one preparing for the role they were to play in this intricate dance of politics.

Isera nodded as the procession began, her heart racing with anticipation. Banreas was introduced right after the Grand Duke, and he looked remarkably relaxed, unfazed by the treacherous waters surrounding him. With a confident bow to the Empress, he followed the Grand Duke up the steps, embodying the poise and charm that had been cultivated through his training. Isera couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as she watched her brother navigate the moment with such grace.

“Mistress Lavellan, sister of Inquisitor Lavellan and a Seer of Rivain.”

Isera felt her body tense at the announcement, taking a deep breath as she began her descent down the stairs. With determination, she turned, bowed gracefully, and followed after her brother. As she moved, she heard the murmurs of approval ripple through the court, their eyes enraptured by her outfit despite her being an elf. The unexpected admiration filled her with a mix of pride and anxiety, reminding her of the precarious balance she was walking between acceptance and scrutiny.

Isera stood next to the advisors, with Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas positioned behind them. Banreas engaged the Empress in a cryptic manner that delighted the court, and Isera suppressed the urge to scoff at the theatrics. The Empress, with a wave of her hand, dismissed them to mingle, and Isera followed her brother as he began greeting those affiliated with the court. Each interaction was a dance of charm and wit, and Isera felt a mix of admiration and apprehension as she navigated the sea of unfamiliar masked faces.

Isera broke away from the group, heading toward Cullen, who looked far more uncomfortable than she felt. He was surrounded by admirers, and it was clear that the Commander was exceedingly uneasy with the attention. His back was pressed against the wall, arms crossed defensively as the crowd edged closer, their flirtations relentless. Isera couldn’t help but smirk at the sight; it was a stark contrast to the confident leader she knew him to be on the battlefield.

“Ah, Commander, if I may have a word,” Isera said as she stepped between the horde of nobles, her presence a welcome interruption. Cullen's expression shifted to one of relief as he spotted a familiar face beckoning his attention. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and Isera could sense his gratitude for the distraction as she offered him an escape from the relentless advances of the court.

“Oh! She’s the Inquisition’s sister!” a high-pitched, thick Orlesian voice chimed in, cutting through the conversation. “Are you two lovers?” The question hung in the air, drawing curious glances from the surrounding nobles. Isera felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she shot Cullen an incredulous look, silently questioning how he would respond to such an unexpected insinuation.

“Well, that would certainly not concern you,” Isera replied sharply, her words more direct and biting than typical for Orlesian culture, especially coming from an elf. The noblewoman glared at her, visibly taken aback, and huffed as she fanned herself. “How rude!” she whispered, the offense clear in her tone. Isera felt a mix of defiance and irritation at the woman's reaction, standing her ground despite the stifling expectations of the court.

Isera walked away, glancing back to ensure the Commander followed her. He did, a look of relief washing over his features as they stepped outside onto the balcony. The air was fresh and crisp, a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the Winter Palace. Cullen let out a deep sigh, his tension easing as he inhaled the cool air, grateful for the reprieve from the prying eyes and chatter of the court.

“They are like hounds,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the lingering discomfort. He coughed lightly, clearing his throat before turning to Isera. “What did you need?” he asked, his tone shifting from frustration to curiosity as he focused on her, grateful for the momentary escape from the pressures of the ballroom.

Isera shrugged, leaning against the banister as she gazed at the partygoers inside. “Nothing. You looked uncomfortable and needed a break,” she replied, her tone softening slightly. She took in the lively scene, the laughter and chatter echoing through the open doors, but it felt distant and surreal from her vantage point. The contrast of the vibrant celebration with the quiet balcony allowed her a moment to breathe, away from the pressure of expectations.

“Oh!” Cullen exclaimed, clearly shocked. “You didn’t have to do that. I will manage.” His tone was earnest, though Isera could sense the underlying tension in his voice. He straightened up, attempting to regain his composure, but the flicker of gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes. Isera couldn’t help but smile at his resolve, knowing that even the strongest leaders needed a moment of respite.

“Cullen, I have no doubt you can handle a swarm of women,” Isera replied with a teasing smile. “But you looked like you wanted to flee. As far as everyone else is concerned, I’ve taken you away to discuss an important Inquisition meeting…” She paused, a playful glint in her eye. “Or I’m your secret lover. I’m sensing the Orlesians love a bit of dramatic flair.” The lighthearted joke hung in the air, and Isera couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie building between them as they navigated the absurdity of the evening.

Cullen chuckled, a hint of amusement breaking through his earlier tension. “That they do,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. He sighed and began stretching his neck, attempting to ease the stiffness that had settled in from the pressure of the crowd. The light moment with Isera offered a welcome distraction, allowing him to briefly forget the expectations weighing down on him inside.

“If you walk around more, they can’t pin you down,” Isera suggested, her tone light and encouraging. She watched him with a knowing smile, hoping to alleviate some of his discomfort. “It’s a crowded room, but that means there are plenty of opportunities to slip away and find some peace, don’t you think?” Her playful demeanor was meant to remind him that he could still navigate the evening on his own terms.

He lightly scoffed, shaking his head. “They are everywhere,” he muttered, pressing his fingers into the side of his temple as if trying to relieve the mounting pressure. Isera could see the strain in his posture, the way he tried to maintain his composure despite the overwhelming attention. It was clear that the evening's festivities were becoming more than just a social gathering for him.

“A headache?” Isera whispered, glancing toward him with genuine concern. The tension in Cullen's shoulders and the way he pressed his fingers against his temple told her all she needed to know. She shifted slightly closer, ready to offer support if he needed it, her own unease momentarily forgotten in the face of his discomfort.

“They have been coming more often,” he continued, his voice low and serious. After a brief pause, he added, “Do you know?” Cullen’s reference to his decision to stop talking lyrium hung in the air between them, a weighty subject that had clearly been troubling him. Isera met his gaze, her expression shifting from concern to understanding, recognizing the struggle he faced in navigating both his duties and his personal demons.

Isera nodded slowly. “He told me,” she replied, moving to stand directly in front of him. Her gaze was steady as she considered her next words. “May I try something?” she asked, her voice soft but firm. There was a quiet determination in her demeanor, a desire to help Cullen in whatever way she could. She sensed the weight of his struggles and felt compelled to offer him some relief.

Cullen looked skeptical, his brow furrowing as he regarded her with uncertainty. Isera took a breath, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I want to see if my magic will be of assistance,” she explained, her tone earnest and reassuring. The air between them felt charged with possibility, and she hoped to convey that her intentions were genuine. She could sense his hesitance, but she was determined to help him find some relief from his discomfort.

Cullen stared down at her, weighing her offer before finally agreeing. Isera, standing at least a foot shorter than him, rose onto the balls of her feet, her determination evident. She pressed her fingers gently onto the nape of his neck, feeling the tension coiled there. Whispering a familiar ritual, she let her fingers glide around his ears and onto his temple, channeling her magic with focused intent. After a moment, she released her touch, stepping back to observe any change in his expression.

Cullen blinked a few times, processing the sensation. “Is... it supposed to feel cold?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he reached up to touch the back of his neck. The coolness of her magic was a surprising contrast to the warmth of the evening, and he furrowed his brow, trying to determine if it was a good sign or not. Isera watched him closely, gauging his response and hoping that her magic was indeed providing some relief.

“Yes, it will fade to being warm and then back to normal by the end of the night. Is it helping?” Isera asked, her tone filled with genuine concern as she searched his face for any signs of relief. She wanted to know if her magic was making a difference, hoping to ease some of the tension that had been weighing on him. The moment felt crucial, a bridge between their struggles and the comfort they sought.

He nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. “I believe so. Thank you,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, and Isera felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that her magic had provided him with some comfort. Their shared moment felt like a small victory amidst the chaos of the evening.

Isera smiled, her spirits lifted. “Well, come on, Commander,” she said, turning to head back inside. Leaving him to gather his thoughts, she stepped into the vestibule. The lively chatter of the gathering enveloped her, and she could hear Iron Bull's booming laughter as he flirted with a group of nobles nearby. Blackwall and Sera were tucked away in a corner, hiding out behind the Wall of Champions, their playful banter echoing softly. The scene was both chaotic and vibrant, a stark contrast to the quiet moment she had just shared with Cullen.

The elven servants stared at her longer than they would have with a human, their eyes lingering with a mix of curiosity and caution. Isera felt the weight of their gaze, acutely aware that she was an elf wearing a mask, thrust into the complexities of the Game whether she wanted to be or not. It was a strange position to occupy—both a part of the nobility’s world and yet still on the outside, grappling with the expectations that came with her lineage and the evening’s festivities.

“Drink, my lady?” an elven man approached her, bowing his head respectfully. His demeanor was polite, yet there was a subtle undertone of wariness in his eyes as he regarded her. Isera appreciated the gesture, though she could sense the unspoken complexities behind it. She offered him a warm smile, grateful for the courtesy in the midst of the swirling chaos of the gathering.

He continued to stand, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Hallas are most beautiful, no?” he said, gesturing toward her mask with a smile. Isera could sense the weight of his words, the compliment both genuine and laced with the cultural significance of the halla in elven lore. He balanced a tray of drinks in his hands, the shimmering glasses catching the light. She felt a flutter of appreciation for the compliment, a small reminder of her heritage amidst the grandeur of the evening.

Isera stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Quite majestic,” she agreed, her voice steady as she took a cup from him. “Wild and enduring, much like the elves.” The man nodded in approval, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as if she were answering his unspoken questions correctly. “The Empress is quite fond of elves,” he continued, his tone slightly conspiratorial. “Many pieces of elven art are scattered throughout the palace, particularly in the eastern wing. Perhaps you should look.” His suggestion lingered in the air, a tantalizing invitation to explore the history and culture she held dear.

“Perhaps I will,” Isera answered with a thoughtful smile as the elven servant excused himself and walked away. She continued into another vestibule, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Solas. To her surprise, he was leaning against the wall, appearing relaxed and at ease amidst the bustling atmosphere. His posture was casual, but there was a subtle intensity in his gaze as he observed the scene around him. Isera felt a warmth in her chest at the sight, grateful for the moment of familiarity in the midst of the evening's chaos.

“You look comfortable,” she remarked as she approached him. Solas turned his gaze to her, and Isera noticed a subtle brightness on his cheeks, a hint of warmth that caught her by surprise. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability that softened his usually enigmatic demeanor. She smiled, feeling a sense of connection as they stood together amidst the vibrant energy of the gathering.

“I do adore the heavy blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” he replied almost cheerfully, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I have seen countless such displays during my journeys in the Fade. Only the customs have changed,” he recalled, a faint smile gracing his lips. The contrast between his relaxed demeanor and the chaotic energy of the gathering around them made Isera feel as if they were sharing a secret amidst the masquerade, a moment of understanding that transcended the superficiality of the court.

Suddenly, two Orlesian nobles approached, their presence commanding attention as they introduced themselves to Isera. Their titles and positions became a blur, the formalities lost in the rush of their eagerness. They attempted to step between her and Solas, an unwelcome intrusion that made the air feel tense. Isera noticed Solas frown at the interruption, his expression darkening slightly as he regarded the nobles with barely concealed annoyance.

“Your accent is quite beautiful, my lady. Are you from Antiva?” one of the nobles asked, his voice smooth as he grabbed her hand. He was tall, wearing a yellow mask with a pointed nose that added an air of theatricality to his demeanor. Isera felt a flicker of annoyance as she tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tighter, his grip firm and intrusive. “Rivain,” she replied, forcing a polite smile despite her growing discomfort. The playful atmosphere began to shift, and she sensed Solas's irritation brewing beside her.

“You smell absolutely delicious. Roses? Who knew a heathen country could produce such a beauty?” he remarked, his comment dripping with insincerity—a thinly veiled insult disguised as a compliment. Isera felt her scowl deepen, irritation rising within her as she recognized the condescension in his words. The encounter was quickly souring, and she was determined not to let him get under her skin.

“Why don’t you come with us? We could… show you around,” one of the nobles suggested, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Isera scrunched her nose in disgust, her expression turning caustic. “And just where would you take me?” she retorted, the sharpness in her tone unmistakable. The implication behind his words set her on edge, and she wasn’t about to entertain their condescending offer.

“I have a key to the East wing,” the other man, shorter and dressed in blue, announced with a sly grin. “I could… show you around. The Empress has quite a collection.” Isera paused, a thought dawning on her. This might be her opportunity to explore the Winter Palace without drawing too much attention. The prospect of discovering hidden treasures within the palace intrigued her, despite the dubious intentions of her current companions. She considered her options, weighing the potential for adventure against the underlying motives of these nobles.

Isera hummed thoughtfully, a playful smile spreading across her face. “Well, do lead the way,” she flirted, her tone light and teasing. The shorter noble beamed at her response, eager to take the lead. Meanwhile, Solas looked alarmed by the interaction, his expression tightening with disapproval. He stayed silent, watching with a mix of concern and disappointment as Isera moved away from him, drawn into the orbit of the nobles.

[lykegenia]

C, H, and R for the fanfic ask meme? I hope you’re having a lovely day! Your fics are some of my favorites 🥰💙💙💙

Aw thank you! 💜💜💜 and thank you for the ask! I went to bed before I saw this ask but it was a lovely thing to wake up to!

C: What character do you identify with most? It's not really a secret that Leah from my TWC fics is pretty much a self-insert, I give her all my problems plus a few extra and let her loose - but that feels a bit like a cheat, since she's my OC. For characters that already exist, I tend to drift towards the (woman) warrior with bad social skills archetype, characters like Cassandra Pentaghast from Dragon Age, or Eowyn - people with good intentions who don't necessarily fit the role society wants them to play.

H: How would you describe your style? It's very dense, because I feel a compulsion to describe things in detail, and rich when I'm describing scenes or emotions. One big thing is that I love nature imagery, so I try to make my characters inhabit scenes with the sights, sounds, and smells (or absence thereof) of nature to help get across what they're feeling. Oh, and I love describing food.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? When I was a teenager I was really into Angela Carter's work, and a lot of my more prosy tendencies come from that, as well as from the lyricism of the ancient epic poetry I studied in school, which made me more aware of the literary techniques the poets used to convey emotion. Beyond that, the visceral nature of Neil Gaiman's work has probably had an influence as well - he has a great talent for using detail to inform readers about a character's personality.

fanfic writer asks

[pelle-lavellan-a]

Your Hand is a Weapon

@viircgo​ from X

The young elf’s face reddened at her response. Magic was not to be compared to a knife? He didn’t know why such a thing lit a small fire inside of him, but it made him angry to hear her say it. Was it because deep down he knew she was right?

There were dangers that came with magic that a blade simply did not have. He knew that better than anyone else he’d ever met. Even still he hated it when people who weren’t mages wanted to tell him about the dangers of magic as if they could possibly understand. He hated the way people without magic looked upon mages like a pair of scissors.: useful in theory but also dangerous if you chose to run with them.

“And why shouldn’t it be?” Asked Pelle, his tone much sharper than he’d intended. “It might surprise the lot of you that not all mages see their abilities as a weapon! Some of us can’t even use them for such purposes nor did we intend before someone forced our hand.”

He meant no offense to the seeker, none at all. But to have magic be described as a weapon as if that was all there was to it? He was seething from even just the slightest implication.

“My hands are no more of a weapon than yours Seeker. It’s what you do with them that determines that...not magic. Not all mages Cassandra, some us are horrified to even think we are capable of such things. Some of us aren’t capable at all. Some of us can heal, repair wounds and cure ailments most of you haven’t the slightest clue how to fix. If you truly believe that magic is a weapon, i would recommend you open your mind.”

[magicrobins]

[w-h-4-t]

How am I awake and why? Spite, rage and Apollo has blessed me with th o u ght™ (singular)

[call-2-arms]

Cassandra <3 

[fereldanwench]

the western approach

pillowfort | twitter | instagram | ao3 ⚠️ do not reupload or edit my shots without my permission ⚠️  

[greenteabtch]

Varric: everyday things happen

Cassandra: ? And?

Varric: ..? And they don’t stop? It’s like what the hell?

[redtrevelyan]

The women of the Inquisition, and the men who plague love them

[goolfriend-moving]

[dragonagecompanions]

DAI- The companions and advisors reaction to coming face to face with an Inquisitor who betrayed them before being utterly defeated. 

I love Evil!Inquisitor with all my heart. (Mage Inky uses a dagger now because yes. I feel as tho romances would be the same. I also couldn’t find the original ask for this and I may or may not have spent more than 12 pages writing this.)

-Mod Other

(Guys, this is as far as Mod Other got. She is not writing as much for the blog, but we wanted to share what she finished before stepping back)

Cassandra- If someone had told her that after Have, the Inquisitor, was working with the enemy and would betray them, she’d laugh. But now standing in another destroyed village she would believe them. Corypheus, the Inquisitor, and their army always seemed one step ahead of them. What remained of the Inquisition looked hopeless, felt hopeless but she would not give up. they traveled to village after village with no avail. Night began to fall on their camp, she and Varric were the only Inner Circle members there, the others were all in their own camps or on a mission. She lingered in her tent, nerves of uncertainty filled her. The thought of failure all to real. Still, they had a long day tomorrow and sleep called for her. When it was finally going to take her she heard telling from outside. It was not the normal commotion of a camp, but the rousing’s of battle. Sleep went away and was replaced with adrenaline as she quickly put on her armor. As she went outside, of all the people around her, she only saw just one. The Inquisitor, the one who had caused all of the pain and suffering. They did not look anything like how she remembered. what was once an inviting face was now looked cold and uninterested with the world around them. She could see the red in their eyes and the corrupted veins on their hand and face. They saw her and a twisted smile spread on their face, as if they finally found someone worth fighting. She could only stare before the anger came and she charged at them, but they were ready. Their fight seemed to last for hours, but it was just mere minutes. Her body ached with every successful strike they landed, the Inquisitor only seemed to get stronger with every hit. As she prepared to land another blow, she lowered her shield, and she felt it. Hot, searing pain in her abdomen. The smallest of all noises escaped her lips as she fell to the ground, she did not know what hurt more, the blade going in or it going out. All she could do was watch helplessly as they walked away. All she could think is that they won. Corypheus and the Inquisitor have won, the Inquisition failed. For the first time since Anthony died, she feels tears burn her face as she falls into darkness.

Varric- Writing letter in the middle of a war was hard, even more so when you’re in the middle of a battle. The camp was cold and dark but it didn’t bother him. He needed to try and contact the other Inner Circle members given that he and Cass were the only ones in the camp. He didn’t want to admit it but the Inquisition was loosing. So many had died, Ferelden and Orlais were falling apart, and Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden were missing. He was so lost in his letters that he barely noticed when his tent opened and in came the former Inquisitor. Then he could hear it, the yelling, fighting, steel on steel, magic being cast. He could only stare at them. they weren’t the person he knew. They stood still, blood dripping from their blade, and traces of red on their eyes and face. “Hmph, what took you so long?” He said oh so softly. He makes no move as they draw closer to him, he was tired of running,of fighting. Closing his eyes he remembered all the good in his life and felt a tear slip down his face,”Maybe, things could’ve been different.

Blackwall- When his own secret was revealed, the Inquisitor took him back, “You had good intentions, perhaps the wrong way to act upon them, but you did try.” He didn’t understand why they didn’t just leave him to die, he thanked them, now believing that anyone could find redemption. But, he didn’t want to give them a chance. While he impersonated a Warden,they were the reason a war had started, why it had gotten worse. The battles were hard fought, lasting for days. He didn’t know how many had been killed, but he knew that Cassandra and Varric had gone dark. He didn’t want anymore to die but would only want the blood of two others. When he came face to face with the Inquisitor at a village by themselves, he felt only hate. They seemed so lifeless, as if they were just a puppet, moving to the commands of its master. Bodies were scattered around them and they were covered in blood. He steeled himself, as much as they were an evil bastard, they were once a friend. He raised his sword, shield, and he charged. They deflected easily and unleashed their own attacks. Steel on steel rang in his ears, and after a series of successful hard blows he knocked them down. As he raised his sword to land the killing blow, he felt a sharp pain in his back followed by another and another. He looked behind him and saw Venatori and red Templar Archers as he looked back down at the Inquisitor they had a sadistic smile on their face. They pushed him to the ground and stood up smoothly. They picked up their own weapon and dangled it close to his neck before walking off. He heard them yell something to the archers and when he turned ot face them he saw them all with their bows drawn. He closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in many years and asked the Maker to forgive him.

Vivienne- She was leading a group of mages back to the remains of an Inquisition camp. They were to look for survivors, but she knew what they were going to find. Cassandra and Varric hadn’t responded to any correspondence but they all knew what that meant. Blackwall was also missing afer he set off on his own. Still, she kept her calm facade when in reality she was terrified.When they go to the camp she immediately noticed something was wrong. Thats when the Red Templar horrors came, making quick work of the less skilled mages. She fought them off, using her skills as a Knight Enchanter and ice magic. But she was the only one left standing and the horrors stopped. she could feel someone behind her and when she turned she saw the Inquisitor, “Quite the show, Madame de Fer, but not quite good enough I’m afraid.” Just by the lines on their face she could tell that red Lyrium was taking their mind. “Thank you Herald, but I’m afraid that you won’t be alive long enough to watch the rest of it.” The laughed darkly and only said,”My, my, Vivienne, quite the bravado, ‘Afraid that won’t help you. Just ask Cassandra, or Varric, or Blackwall. Oh, silly me. I forgot they’re dead.” She felt the disgust boil up inside her. As she charged a spell in her hand, she forgot about the red Templar horrors behind her. She did’t understand why they didn’t move until it was too late, the claws ripped through her back and burst through her chest. The spell discharged and she could feel fire inside her. “Oh Vivienne, you should have listened.” They walked away as the horrors continued to rip through her and she felt tears slip down her cheeks. Yet, she found solace in knowing that she would rejoin her beloved Bastien soon.

Iron bull- He was angry. The Ben-Hasrath warned him but he didn’t listen. Now he led the Chargers through an old ruin on a scouting mission. They needed to find a safe place to hide and regroup after getting word that more of the Inner Circle members were dead or missing. The Inquisition was falling apart with each new day. He was terrified but wouldn’t let it show. In the ruin it felt off, it felt too quiet, too calm. He signaled for the Chargers to get into formation. They moved slowly into the main chamber and into the center of the old building. That’s when the first shot came. It hit Skinner right in the chest and she fell to the ground with a soft thud. Stitches rushed to her side as Krem blocked them both with his shield. Grim, Dalish, and Rocky began to move to where the arrow was shot from. Bull remained calm and gestured to the far left hand side of the building. Yet, before they could reach it, a hail of arrows rained down on them. None of them stood a chance. Krem and Bull only standing because of their armor, but they were hurt badly. “Oh how the morning mighty fall.” He knew that voice. It was the Inquisitor. “Come out you coward!” He could hear their footsteps echo in the empty hall. They stood over him, evil in their eyes. “You think you’re so great? You don’t even do your own dirty work, Boss.” “What would it matter who kills you? We all die in the end.” They lifted up their marked hand and in the quiet he could hear archers drawing back their bows. He closed his eyes and waited for a sting of pain but it never came, instead, a noise from beside him and Krem laid in a pool of blood. “I’LL KILL YOU!” He pushes through the pain and charged but before he reached them, a Red Templar Knight came in and knocked him to the ground and dragged him to a crumbling pillar. “This will be your tomb.” They walked away with their minions in tow. When he watched the doors close behind them, he had hope that the remaining Inquisition members would come for him, but then the walls around him began to crumble and crash all around him.

Sera- She knew this was serious and her normally carefree and joking attitude was gone. Even more with the death of so many Inner Circle members and missing Red Jenny’s. But she was still reckless, which is why she was at a Venatori camp by herself. The remaining Jenny’s said that he Inquisitor was there, and she just wanted them dead for hurting so many people. She saw them sitting on the outer edge of the cam away from everyone else. She felt the hate burn in her and so she took aim with her bow, but before she could draw back fully, she was yanked back by an unseen figure and pulled to where the Inquisitor was. She fought against them and as they neared the Inquisitor they seemed angry that their peace was ruined, but then they saw her and just smiled. “Well, what a lovely surprise, but you were never one for subtlety.” “Go to hell.” “Such a temper. Oh Sera, what am I to do with you?” She spat in their face but they made no move other than wiping their face. “Tsk. Shame your on the wrong side, we could have used someone like you. Just toss her in the hole, she doesn’t deserve to die by my hand.” The templars dragged her but she didn’t go easy. When they reached the ‘hole’ they tossed her in. Sera only thought she was afraid of ‘The Nothing’ but, the dark was too much.

Cole-

[pelle-lavellan-a]

I’ve Got You

@viircgo​ from X

A soft smile tugged at Pelle’s lips. “I know you don’t need help Seeker.”

She really did if he were to be pragmatic about it. The truth was not that Cassandra did not require medical attention, no it was much more that she was too proud to admit it. Pelle understood, she wanted to be self sufficient. She was a warrior, she did not need help, she was too tough for help. He got it. Still it was his job as a doctor as well a friend to put her well being above this.

“It may not look bad now, but left untreated opens the risk for infection. If that happened we’d really be in trouble.” He told her.

Sometimes, things did not look bad on the surface. As a healer Pelle had to learn to look ahead of the now and think about how a current condition might change later for better or for worse. it was always better to be safe than to be sorry.

[magicrobins]