#ch. vivienne de fer

[irabelas]

Our enemy advances Inquisitor. We must not sit idly by. Act first and teach them to fear us.

↳ Dragon Age: Dialogue 1/00

[vilnan]

vivienne de fer, #girlbossing since 2014.

[contreparry]

happy friday! :') how about "rose garden" from the summertime prompts? hope you have fun with it! uwu

Absolutely! Here's some Inquisitor Trevelyan and Vivienne for @dadrunkwriting!

The air was heavy with the scent of summer roses. Sweat dripped down the flat bridge of her nose, down the curve of her cheek, and further down her neck to sink into the linen of her shirt collar. The leather gloves she wore were stiff with age. It was hard to move her fingers, but at least this didn't require any delicate maneuvering. Evelyn set the blade of small sickle against a thorny branch and cut into it. Bright red petals fell around her like raindrops as she cut the dead wood out of the tangle of rose bushes.

The roses in the garden were out of control. She meant to see to them earlier, but there was simply no time. There was never time. And when she found a moment to breathe, she hadn't the energy to do much of anything. But this morning she made the time to see to the garden, and she mustered up energy. She had an entire warehouse full of energy now. Anger always did more to motivate her than reason, a shameful blot on her character that Evelyn would ruminate on later.

"Far too dangerous to rely on magic," she muttered as she hacked at the rose bush and pulled another long, whip-like branch out of the tangle. "Not a good use of time and resources. Work on your control, Inquisitor, and closing the Rifts-" She hacked at another rose, and the heavy white blooms brushed against her cheek as she reached into the bush to cut away at the overgrown branches. The velvet-like petals were soft on her skin. A moment later a thin branch followed the flower, and a thin line of pain burned across her cheek. Evelyn jolted back and pressed her gloved fingers to the cut. It wasn't bleeding heavily, she noted when she brought her hand down and examined the small droplets of blood staining the leather. A compress and bandage would solve the problem. It was all merely... frustrating. That was all.

"You won't defeat me," Evelyn informed the rosebushes. The flowers bobbed in the breeze as if they were taunting her. Try and tame us, they dared. Just try. If it weren't for the fact that rosehips were useful and the roses were rather pretty, Evelyn might just set the blasted things on fire. But that would be a waste of her time and energy, and certainly wouldn't be a good display of her control. It would be dangerous, petty, spiteful-

"At war with the roses, Trevelyan?" Evelyn instinctively straightened her spine and slapped her palm over her bleeding cheek as Vivienne de Fer rounded the corner and glided over the gravel path towards her. Evelyn drew on a little magic, just a little bit of ice, to halt the bleeding on her cheek.

"Ah. Madame de Fer. I-" Evelyn greeted the woman politely. She was so poised, so cool and commanding in her ivory silks and impressive headdress. Evelyn felt even more gangly and uncouth in comparison. But she squared her shoulders and offered the woman a cautious smile. Vivienne did not return it. She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and cast her gaze from the sickle in Evelyn's hand to the rosebushes, to the pile of branches at her feet, and finally to Evelyn's face, where it lingered on her cheek.

The perfume of the roses hung heavy in the air.

"They needed trimming," Evelyn said, feeling pathetic and awkward. Can't even manage to do this without causing fuss, can't even breathe without someone noticing, can't even trim a rosebush without intervention.

"Not the season for rosebush trimming," Vivienne observed dryly. Evelyn shouldn't have been surprised. Enchanter Vivienne possessed a deep well of knowledge on many topics- she wouldn't have survived the cutthroat world of Orlais if she didn't know a little bit of everything. But Evelyn was surprised- surprised that she wasn't being chided for doing something that a gardener should be seeing to, surprised that Vivienne knew about the best time to prune roses, surprised that Vivienne chose to speak with her at all, considering the state she was in.

"The roses are growing into each other. Come autumn they might have strangled themselves to death," Evelyn replied. "And then there would be no roses."

"It can't be helped, then," Vivienne said. She lifted her head to the rosebushes, cupped a peach-colored blossom in her hand, and daintily plucked it from the branch.

"A singularly romantic flower, roses," she remarked. "Beautiful. Dangerous. There is a lesson to be learned in that, don't you think?"

"Not to judge by appearances?" Evelyn asked, and Vivienne almost smiled. Almost.

"And to have a care with beautiful things," Vivienne replied. She reached out, brushed her thumb along the cut on Evelyn's cheek, and then stepped away. For a moment- only a moment- Evelyn thought there might have been a trace of... something... in her eyes. It seemed thoughtful. Soft. She hardly knew what to make of it.

"That should hold better than your first cast, at least until you see fit to clean and bandage that cut," Vivienne informed her. "You possess a simple elegance to your spell work. Textbook. Very Ostwick." Vivienne left then, her ivory robes and headdress cutting an elegant, imposing figure as she walked down the garden path. Evelyn slowly reached up and traced her fingers along the ice that sealed the cut on her cheek.

It was cool to the touch.

[blarrghe]

Haven't really been on Tumblr, haven't been promoting my stuff. Oops. Anyway, Whumptober.

The Purge of Wycome

M | Graphic Depictions of Violence | M/M | Canon-ish | ch. 5/? (Not more than ten on god) | 9,817

Summary: Taren Lavellan has been captured. The Inquisition searches for him in vain as Venatori cultists attempt to extract the secrets of the breach, rather painfully, from his marked hand.

Ch. 5 Snippet:

The Venatori fell easily. Too easily. Dorian wanted a fight. Toe to toe, round after round, firing everything he had against their demons and mages and the worst of their red lyrium-addled warriors. Instead he had The Iron Bull and Vivienne de Fer shattering warriors together like glass, Sera and Varric firing explosive shots to take out crowds of shades, Cole slipping through the lines with his daggers, and Cassandra, Blackwall, and the Commander all swiftly sweeping through the rest. Solas put up a barrier, and Dorian penned in what was left in the tunnel before them with a wall of flames. 

Finally, the twisting tunnels came to a dead end. Dorian stopped a ranting villain with a grotesque projection of red lyrium stuck through his chest from giving his sermon with a bout of walking-bomb. He only kept the barrier up to keep the gore at bay. 

The entire operation was reduced to ash in less time than it took to fix his hair in the mornings. 

Too quickly. He could have done that all day. 

But then they found him, and Dorian could do nothing

[nithrissa]

The Bard and The Champion Ch 14 - Rewritten

Eloise stood on the balcony in the Great Hall, unable to get a place to stand below due to the plethora of bystanders that were there to see the judgement about to take place. She had never seen such a crowd gathered to hear the Inquisitor's sentence before, but the news that Anders was in the Skyhold prison must have turned many heads. It was but a mere hour ago that the news of Anders’ judgement spread throughout the Keep, reaching Eloise’s ears as she sat alone in the Herald’s Rest nursing a tankard of ale far too early. 

She was interested in seeing what Evelyn would do about Anders. It was true that his actions in Kirkwall were a controversial topic depending on who you spoke to, and the fact that they were allied with the mages meant that there were many who regarded him as a hero, though still some mages did not. 

Vivienne settled beside Eloise on the landing, arms crossed in indignation. “I can’t believe that abomination had the nerve to infiltrate the Inquisition. I do hope that our dear Inquisitor will be prudent in her sentencing.” She glanced sideways to Eloise. “Are you alright dear, you look rather flushed.” Eloise noted that there was genuine concern in her voice, perhaps the time spent away from Court has softened Madame de Fer’s heart.

Eloise, however, was in no state to drop her mask, lest she come undone completely. “I’m sure this mountain air has given me a chill. I do miss the weather of the Marches.” She smiled softly at Vivienne as she pulled her jacket closer around her, hoping that would suffice and the conversation would come to an end before it began. She felt her heart flutter as she felt the soft fur brush against her cheek.

Instead of taking the hint, Vivienne extended her arm around Eloise’s shoulder in a motherly gesture she had never displayed before. "I...am not one to be so forward.” She paused to take a breath and Eloise felt a sense of dread in the still of her voice. “You and Serah Hawke have been very close lately, and after your delicious display at the Winter Palace I must say I am curious as to where he is today. We are all aware of his entanglement with the accused.” 

Eloise felt the breath in her lungs deflate at Vivienne’s words. Typical, Eloise thought, Just another gossiping noble. Eloise frowned up at Vivienne, not wanting to turn her relationship - or lack thereof - into the latest juicy news. But Vivienne did not have the look of one who was hungry for gossip, but of one who was asking in earnest. Eloise felt as if she could be honest, they would all know soon enough anyway. “He left.” 

[thedosiansouls]

   @theharellan liked for a vivienne starter! 

    ❛ my dear, i do wish you’d stop looking at me as though i myself placed that skull on the pedestal. ❜ 

[destinyapostasy]

Last year I made some coloring pages for my patrons, I think I might have shared some of these ages ago but here they all are in one post! 

[capricious-and-melodramatic]

Dorian you smart ass

og under the cut

[mahariela]

[loveydoveypiperwright]

Did I mention I’m gay

[midnightprelude]

The Final Threshold | Ch. 1: Little Lotte

This is officially the time where Midnight up and lost it and you can officially blame @lethendralis-paints.

Summary:  When Vivienne, the lead soprano in the Val Royeau Imperial Opera, falls suddenly ill on opening night, production is thrown into chaos. Young, unknown Christine Lavellan is put forward as a replacement, much to Madame de Fer's chagrin. Guided by her father's memory and a mysterious tutor, she quickly wins the hearts of the Orlesian nobility and a mysterious masked man, known only as the Dread Wolf. Fandoms: Dragon Age; Phantom of the Opera Pairings: Female Lavellan/Solas; Female Lavellan/Cullen Ratings: Mature, probably will be explicit... ;) Read more on AO3!

She would recognize that voice anywhere. She stood instantly; her sleepiness was forgotten.

Looking around the room, she saw no evidence of the man who had only thus far sang to her while she slept.  

“Are you... The angel my father sent to me?”

A long pause answered her.  

She sat again.  

It was too much to hope for.  

[brialavellan]

Summary: It has been 20 years since Inquisitor 'Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain....until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, 'Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost. 

(Note: This has been a multi-year process just gathering the spoons, courage and will to write this idea that had percolated in my head for two years now - I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I enjoy telling it.)

CH 1: WICKED EYES AND WICKED HEARTS - A REPRISAL

20 years. 

Since the rise of Corypheus and his fall.

Since the shock of the Exalted Council and the unmasking of Fen’harel.

Since the rise and fall of the Inquisition.

And no one remembered.

Though there was a scar in the sky, a ribbon of lights to remind all of Thedas that the Veil had been ripped apart, the Orlesian nobility had already forgotten, reverting back to their petty squabbles and their delightful diversions of corruption, espionage and murder. Nothing had changed. Empress Celene still held the throne, she still had not picked an heir, and the nobles still whispered of rebellion. Marquise Briala held her lands and title with the tightest grip, in spite of Celene’s waning support. There was no room for elves in the Grand Game. 

Except for those who knew how to play. 

And tonight, at a soiree honoring the anniversary of the Divine’s ascension, two stood amongst them. A Right Hand and a Marquise.

The Right Hand, with dark copper skin and Elgar'nan's vallaslin, scanned the ballroom, quietly noting the motions and machinations of the servants and nobility alike. She still refused to wear a mask, as she always had, relying on her charm and the good graces she earned - shielded equally by claims of divinity and by powerful allies.

It had been eighteen years since she last set foot into the Winter Palace, yet Josephine’s first words still lingered:

Every movement, every reaction, is measured and evaluated for weakness.

And it did not help that many were eager to greet their former Inquisitor, purely to test their limits or gauge her power. 

Cassandra Pentaghast, now Divine Victoria, sat beside her, dressed in resplendent red and white, a golden Chantry Sunburst emblazoned on her chest and a deep scowl on her face. 

“I still do not see why I need to be here,” Cassandra said as she shuffled in her seat, fingers tightly gripping the armrests of her chair, “You and Vivienne were always better at tolerating these sort of….functions.”

“You are the Divine.” ‘Manehn, the former Inquisitor and current Right Hand of the Divine, replied with a small shrug.

“Yes, and therefore I have very little time for sitting like a prized doll for the nobles’s amusement. I do not need their favor.”

“Their favor isn’t the reason you’re here. Your presence keeps the nobles on their toes,” ‘Manehn said, with the slightest tinge of annoyance, “Did you really think your position would mean immunity to the Game? ”

“I merely hoped it would. We don’t have time for this, especially if what you expect to happen will come to fruition.”

‘Manehn pointed back towards the marble walls behind them with a small chuckle, “Well, at least the walls are sturdy for punching if you really need it.”

She motioned to a few guardsmen with a quick wave of her hand, who rapidly rushed to the Divine’s side, taking her place as she stepped off the dais and made her way towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll even see if I can send an enemy or two your way. Your glare alone could kill on site.”

“In the meantime,” she said, with a wide grin, “I’ll speak with our source.”

Another elf made her way across the ballroom, her cinnamon brown curls braided and pinned into a high bun and her freckled face obscured by a golden mask that highlighted the warm undertones of her tawny skin, nodding politely, making small talk, playing the Game just as deftly and as earnestly as she had done for decades. She approached ‘Manehn with a slight smile.

“My Lady, you’re looking radiant as ever,” ‘Manehn said with a coy smile as she approached, “and you are always a welcome sight.”

“As charming as ever, I see.” Briala replied with a smirk.

“I try.”

“Try harder.”

“Ouch, you wound me. Such barbed and wicked words from such a beautiful woman?” ‘Manehn said, placing her hand over her heart in dramatic fashion.

Briala started laughing, attracting a few glares from surly nobles eager for favor and angered by the elf’s presence. “And how many women fall for these lines?”

“None, my Lady,” ‘Manehn said in a surprisingly tender voice, “I save them for you.”

Briala said nothing as both walked towards the dance floor. ‘Manehn took her hand and they began to dance, Briala effortlessly matching ‘Manehn’s stumbling steps.

“So, was there anything out of the ordinary that you saw?” ‘Manehn said with a sudden crisp tone.

“Nothing yet,” Briala replied with a matching curt affect, “Wherever his spies are, they are well trained. I detect nothing unusual among these servants. Though I know one of his agents is here.”

Briala leaned in as the music slowed to a crawl.

“I leaked false information to three of my agents, an itinerary where I would be vulnerable and be acquiring “highly sensitive intelligence”.  Reinforcements showed up….attempted assassination. It’s likely they planned to frame humans for the murder, leading to a revolt, which would incite a crackdown…”

“Wait��.this afternoon?! Why didn’t you tell me?! I could’ve…”

Briala put a finger to her lips to silence ‘Manehn’s protests. “All you would’ve done is tipped them off,” she said, “Especially based on your reaction just now. I can handle one measly assassination attempt. Besides, the nobles here send so many that’s it become tiresome. I schedule time in between various masquerades and traipsing about with you.”

“I guess it won’t be an ordinary visit without an attempted assassination or two.” ‘Manehn replied with deadpan snark.

“An attempted assassination or two is an ordinary visit to every soiree, or has court life made you soft?” Briala teased.

“Now you’re just fucking with me.” ‘Manehn said with a smirk.

“Oh, I would never dream of it.”

“Are you sure about that?” ‘Manehn said with  knowing smirk, “or am I just imagining your hands creeping lower on my hips?”

A bright flush rose in Briala’s cheeks, red enough to show on her olive cheeks as she pulled her hands away, “They were not! And, if we could be serious for one second,” she retorted, “the agent who set up the assassination attempt is liekly here, since the first one failed and this soiree was next on my itinerary. But we need to establish who gave the order. I have traced the source to here, but that’s all I know at the moment. I have plenty of enemies.”

“And allies.” ‘Manehn corrected her.

“Never mistake alliances for allies,” Briala said, her tone still serious.

‘Manehn stopped their dance and took Briala’s hands from her hips. “So am I an ally or just a convenient alliance to you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I meant that you’re still used to open battles, clear targets, and eliminating them. You also have individuals you can trust to back you up. A war of subterfuge is long, arduous and always uncertain.”

She took ‘Manehn’s hips again and slipped an envelope into her belt as the music came to a stop.

“A map of the grounds. See what you can find. I’ll wait here,” she said between the nobles whistles and claps, “I’ll watch for trouble. I believe I saw Madame de Fer here as well, she could have see something.”

“And please be careful,” she warned ‘Manehn as she walked away.

‘Manehn retreated to the shadows as the music began once more, all the while seeking hidden blades among placid smiles. She pondered Briala’s words, machinations and motivations. They had worked together for decades, a slow friendship fire-forged after the battle at Mythal’s temple and after the Exalted Council. Yet still, she feared the Game more than she trusted ‘Manehn. She stared at the dais, watching Cassandra grow increasingly surly, almost sulking, her fingers now gripping her chair hard enough to steal blood from her fingertips. 

Suddenly, a clear whisper called to her, just enough to hear over the lute players and lushes in the ballroom. A call to action and a warning of danger.

She rushed back to the dais and slipped Cassandra her dagger.

“Keep this for yourself if the guards fail,” she said in an urgent whisper, “I must investigate something, and I don’t want you in danger.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra called after her to no avail. ‘Manehn had already rushed across the ballroom and out of sight.

The soft clinking of her armored boots against the gold veined marble sent prickles down her arms, already itching from the heavy fabric and leather armor. She pulled slightly at the leather straps that pinned a blade to what remained of her left arm.

Whether intuition or supernatural forces called to her was irrelevant. ‘Manehn followed the voice that lead and beckoned with urgency, past the gardens, retracing the same steps 20 years prior, when she wore an innocent, less world weary face.

More whispers followed as she entered the guest rooms, this time from three elves. Servants, she thought, as she ducked behind a trellis to catch some remnant of conversation.

- Are they in position?

- They better be, we’ve waited FAR too long for this moment.

- All of them die tonight. The Divine, the elven Marquise, the Right Hand -

‘Manehn released the pin on her prosthesis, revealing the silverite blade hidden within her sleeve, and bolted from the shadows as they approached. She slashed at the first attacker, sending him stumbling. Unhooking a small crossbow from her belt, she shot three bolts in the chest of a second and two bolts into the head of a third.

She crouched besides the body of the barely breathing man she had slashed and retrieved a small paper sticking out of his belt. Arrows whizzed by her head and sent her scrambling as a fourth person in hiding tackled her to the ground, pinning her sword arm in place.

“Elgar’nan!” ‘Manehn cursed as she struggled to gain leverage, releasing herself from the elf’s grip with a sharp blow to the temple and a quick thrust of her blade in his belly.

More arrows came and she bolted towards a wall, seeking cover as she searched the line of sight.

Spotting one of the archers, she lifted her crossbow, ready to fire before she heard the crunch of bone and loud screams. A shattering of ice and the clicking of heels on cobblestone followed, and ‘Manehn turned towards the sound of her rescuer. She was dressed in pastel blue and white, with a long silver chain hanging from a graceful neck and protective braids bound into a tight ponytail that swished back and forth as she walked.

“Lady Vivienne…” she addressed the woman with a grin and bow, “your help was appreciated, but I can handle myself, you know.”

“And you’re very welcome, darling,” Vivienne replied with a small knowing smirk. “You might have told me first if you were going to run off and leave me out of the fun.”

“I’m sorry…”

“All is forgiven, my dear. It is better to split our efforts and play to our different strengths,” Vivienne said, “But a word of advice: don’t confuse an ally and an alliance. This is the Game, and she plays it just like everyone else here.”

‘Manehn cocked her head and shot an incredulous look, “Are you talking about Briala, of all people?”

“Just don’t make the same mistake you made years ago - trusting the intentions of a person you didn’t know. We will speak again in -.”

The sound of screams interrupted Vivienne and ‘Manehn.

“Shit! They’re under attack, we have to go!” ‘Manehn cried, grabbing Vivienne’s hand as they raced towards the ballroom.

The ballroom was utter chaos as Vivienne and ‘Manehn flung open the doors, with nobles fleeing towards the vestibule while Briala and the Orlesian guard were racing to eliminate the attackers. But no attackers were in sight as ‘Manehn searched the ballrooms, eyes squinting and tearing from what felt like fire in her eyes. A thick cloud had settled over the ballroom and along the walls, thick and creeping, searing the eyes and mucous membranes of any and everyone caught in the cloud.

“There’s a mage here as well,” Vivienne said with disgust as she wiped hot tears from her face, “they help sustain this cloud. Be careful.” 

Against the wall behind the dais, Cassandra stood fast, dagger at the ready, with blood on her robes and dead guards at her feet. 

Another elf appeared from the shadows and quickly stabbed a noble in the back before rushing towards a chevalier with a quick slash at his throat. ‘Manehn stabbed him in the back then rushed towards the dais. The Divine had to be protected, at any cost. 

She heard the slightest whistle of a blade in the air by her neck, and slashed at the air, connecting with muscle and bone and revealing another elf as she fell. Another lunged forward but Briala sunk a throwing dagger into the back of his head.

Out of sight, Vivienne quickly cast a large barrier to protect the remaining nobles and guards. She cast another spell to dispel the mist, revealing four confused elves and a stunned human mage, whom ‘Manehn promptly riddled with bolts. The remaining chevaliers sprung into action as well as ‘Manehn and Briala, cutting down the elves that remained. 

The screams dulled to dead silence as the nobles that lived took in the sight of elven and human blood, and the Right Hand, Marquise and Arcane Adviser standing triumphant. 

None dared to speak until one person separated from the stunned crowd and began to speak as she stepped forward. A Grand Cleric, with wisps of silver and blonde hair sticking out of a disheveled hat and rouge tinted lips that sneered at their elven and mage saviors.

“Thank you. I’m impressed how quickly you dispatched these fiends,” she said in a lilting Orlesian accent that amplified her haughty tone, “It’s almost….too impressive.”

“I was not made Right Hand for show. And this was not the only spy that infiltrated tonight!” ‘Manehn said, producing the piece of parchment she had stolen from the dead elf’s satchel. “These are orders from Fen’harel himself, to murder the Divine and myself.”

Loud murmurs replaced the stunned silence across the ballroom and beyond.

“And how do you know? What evidence do you have to support these claims?,” she retorted, obviously flustered.

“I know because you’ll find more of these assassins in the courtyard. They tried to kill me first.” Vivienne piped up with the slightest contempt. “It seems that whoever was behind this wants those who oppose him out of the way. Why would he waste his time on us if we supported him? Lady Lavellan has raised her voice to oppose no one except Fen’harel. Maybe it’s time to take the threat seriously.”

She tucked a grey curl back into her hat. “And why was no one warned again, my Lady? Didn’t these same blunders lead to the disbanding of your former Inquisition? Did we not witness this same terror before at your hands? How can we trust you when they are elves as you are!”

“Do I not still champion the Maker’s cause? Do I not serve Divine Victoria, Most Holy, as her Right Hand? Did I not prevent the fall of Orlais, a great lion of a nation that stands against Tevinter? A shining beacon of an empire founded on the principles of the Maker and his Bride? Have I proven otherwise in twenty years? My organization is the only one mobilized against Fen’harel and his allies. Allies who have fallen tonight by my blade.”

She turned to the cleric, a defiant gleam in her eye, “Or do you know something about our enemy’s movements that I do not?”

“Let’s do another sweep before everyone leaves,” ‘Manehn said, still glaring at the Grand Cleric, “I don’t think that’s all of them.”

The rest of the guard rushed to action, leading the nobles away as ‘Manehn returned to Cassandra’s side.

“Looks like you got your wish after all, in the worst way possible,” she said, repentant. “I did not mean to abandon you.”

“My life matters little now if Solas has finally made a move,” Cassandra said, stone-faced and grim, “we have to consider our options carefully. I would ask you to pull all of our resources that remain.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” ‘Manehn said as she ushered Cassandra out of the palace towards a carriage. “However, I think we have to tread lightly. Enemies abound here.”

The Grand Cleric returned to the Grand Cathedral humiliated and red-faced, near fuming. The other mothers scattered out of the way as she approached, followed with low whispers and scandalized gasps. She flung open the door to her quarters and immediately stumbled back, shocked to see an elven woman sitting on her bed. She was fair, like Natalie, with light brown hair braided tight against her scalp and her brown eyes set close together, gazing out the window behind her.  

“I’m not happy with your performance, knife ear!,” Natalie snapped.

“Katrina,” the agent said, her back still turned. “And Fen’harel is just as displeased, if not more, shemlen.”

“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain. I told you I needed more assassins in that garden but only my agents were there!” Natalie screamed as she stormed towards the agent. “You’re supposed to work with me! you were supposed to - !”

The elf turned towards her, face blank of all emotion minus the smallest haughty smirk. “I did absolutely nothing wrong by standing back and watching you orchestrate your own downfall.”

“We could’ve eliminated the Right Hand and her Divine EASILY if you would’ve…..”

“No.”

“No?!”

“We could’ve let her continue to fade into irrelevance until she loses whatever political clout she has left by clinging to the Divine’s robes,” Katrina said, pacing around the increasingly flustered Cleric, “we could’ve waited for Celene to use that moment to formally withdraw her support from Briala without upsetting the Chantry and the Divine in any meaningful way. And then you would play your role expertly and all the pieces would fall perfectly into place.”

She stopped and leaned against the wall.

“Instead,” she continued, her tone as cool as it was patronizing, “your foolish shortsightedness almost got your cover blown, has now galvanized them into taking harsher action against anyone suspected of being one of our agents…..AND Lady Lavellan has used your failure as her opening to leading the forces the nobles now wish to raise. And all you have to show are one dead mage and nine dead elves. Some of who,” Katrina said with the slightest snarl, “were ours.”

“Don’t you dare place all of the burden on me!” Natalie said. “Doesn’t this ‘Solas’ not want both the so-called Herald and the Marquise eliminated as well?”

“He wants them disgraced, not dead,” Katrina replied. “If you kill them, how many alienages can you possibly purge? Can you stop an entire continent of elves rising against you?”

“I am less and less hesitant to wonder the longer your master drags his heels,” Natalie snapped back. “I am also more convinced he does not move against that heathen for…..sentimental reasons.”

“Death makes martyrs,” she said, folding her arms, “And trust me Natalie, the thing you want even less than an elven Herald, Right Hand or Marquise, is an elven martyr. The elves will invoke Mien’harel, and you will see your Cathedral, your throne, your entire country burned to ashes. Just proceed as planned. We don’t need much more time.”

[thedosiansouls]

   like for a starter from vivienne de fer!

[artistsfuneral]

THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN!!!

Last year I made some coloring pages for my patrons, I think I might have shared some of these ages ago but here they all are in one post!