#deirwen

[obsidianmichi]

HELLO!! ohmahgad im so giddy im disgusting. Am I disgusting? Definitely disgusting! Hahahahahahaha. Okay I'm sorry. I just can't help myself. So I just want to ask about Dirthamen and Eirwen is that okay? okay! 1. uh oh so in my headcanon both of them frequently doing intimacy you know *cough sex cough* does that make Eirwen pregnant? 2. its a spoiler for The Lady in Blue and White, um i want to ask bout vallaslin, dirthan said about marriage? what do you mean by that?

ITS ME MARIO! err i mean me. hehe the continued ask 3. does the vallaslin illicite some kind of pleasure? like dragon age version of vibrator thingy. lmao.  4. and this is stupid but i want to ask your opinion about these song and if they’re kinda related to their relationship? Dangerously - charlie puth, Treat you better - shawn mendes and Feels - calvin harris 5. the last question! Does Dirthan get obsessive/have obsession towards Eirwen?  thanks for answering and sorry for weird grammar :’)            

I’m actually kind of glad you’re so into the pairing. So, to answer your questions.

1) There are no plans for an Eirwen pregnancy at present, but who knows.

2)Vallaslin in The Lady in Blue and White:

I’ve gone back and forth about how I headcanoned this working in Arlathan, and I finally settled on there being a bunch of different vallaslin versions. The traditional ancient elvhen vallaslin works like a patron/protector relationship as a system for energy transfer. This can be Master/Servant, Lord/Knight, but the way it worked on the whole in Arlathan is as a patronage system. They join the rank and file of a lord, the lord acts as the receptacle, and then shares their strength back to their followers thus strengthening them beyond what they’d be able to achieve on their own.

Like all immortals, age plays a huge factor in Arlathan about who is at the top. The society had little to no upward mobility since those at the top never die except by non-natural factors and there was no real meritocracy. There were those who distinguished themselves, but it was incredibly difficult when management had a few 1,000 years on them.

However, every system has an initial stage. The elves were once spirits who transitioned into the bodies they now have. Blood magic seems to be a natural counter to that of the Fade, serving to aid in tying a spirit to the physical plane as they adjusted. The vallaslin Dirthamen put on for Eirwen is very similar to that original version, he understood the patron/client relationship between them wouldn’t be acceptable unless it was reversed. So, he intended to take on a role closer to advisor and siphon off the strength she couldn’t control as a way of quickly regaining the strength he’d lost. He also did it to save her life. He saw it as a way to even out the power imbalance by putting himself in a vulnerable position. He could’ve forced her to work with him but he decided against it. He’d rather give her a reason to trust him. He went with the tightest, strongest bond he could think of. He wasn’t trying to strike up a sexual relationship.

That’s not what he got.

He remarks on it being like marriage because in some ways it is, their mystical energies are bonded. They intermingle, forged in an unbreakable partnership that exists between the Evanuris and their oldest, closest seconds. However, because he’s also Evanuris, it becomes a bond similar to marriage (though not marriage the way we think of it, more like an arranged marriage. A formalized agreement between two people about X, who’ve bonded their magical energies in order to jointly strengthen themselves.) And now, suddenly, they must deal with a sudden closeness neither of them were prepared for.

On a basic level, Dirthamen’s vallaslin acts as a symbol of the union between the modern elves and the elvhen.

Dirth meant well. He also knows what the vallaslin means to him and to her are different, so what binds one way doesn’t necessarily bind the other. Eirwen gets to make her own decisions about how she sees their relationship.

3) Vallaslin in Sex

Vallaslin is a direct, magical blood link between two people. So, yeah, it can be used for pleasure and in a myriad of different ways.

4) Deirwen songs:

Deirwen is incredibly fluffy, so here’s some songs from their playlist.

Ever The Same - Rob Thomas, I Think We’d Feel Good Together - Rob Thomas, Heaven Help Me - Rob Thomas, Taking On the World Today - O.A.R., Accidentally In Love - Counting Crows, Untouched - The Veronicas, Just Say Yes - Snow Patrol, The Safest Place - LeAnne Rimes, The Stranger - O.A.R, Disarm You - Kaskade, Hang On -  Plumb. Steal Your Heart - BRKLYN, Did I Say That Out Loud? - Barenaked Ladies.

World Like That - O.A.R. is Eirwen’s personal theme, really. She’s had a lot, but that one’s stuck. She picks up Scream It Out - Ellie Goulding, and Wake the Giant - Tommy Trash, and Fight Song - Rachel Platten. Oh, and The Last Unicorn - America. (If that doesn’t make you worried, it should.)

The irony is most of the songs for Eirwen to Solas like Strange Sight by KT Tunstall work for Dirthamen except it’s in reverse. He’s the one stretching out his hand and pulling her out of the dark, offering her the acceptance she’s been looking for and doesn’t know what to do with. Thematically, he’s there offering her the home she offered to Solas.

Dangerously by Charlie Puth and I Can Love You Better by Shawn Mendes are ironically great picks for… dun, dun, dun SPOILERS… Falon’din… shh. (Also Think Twice by Eve6.) I initially envisioned him as the charismatic version of the fandom’s Dark Fen’Harel so he is territorial, obsessive, possessive, boundary pushing, and… lots of other things.

5) Is Dirthamen obsessive or get obsessive about Eirwen?

No, Dirthamen is not obsessive. He is protective, devoted, dedicated, and above all: patient. He’s willing to take what he’s given. He’s in no hurry. He’s an immortal, one of the eldest of the Evanuris. One concept he grasps better than any other is time. For him, relationships are not static. What one feels one century could be very different in the next. Eirwen may love Fen’Harel now and have residual feelings, but she won’t forever. She’s going to change, grow into herself, and may come around to see him as a good alternative. She also may not. Dirthamen understands, perhaps better than the others, that there are many different kinds of love. Their partnership isn’t reliant on a sexual bond, though that bond is nice.

He isn’t is possessive, or insecure, his willingness to put on the vallaslin for her was a sign of his willingness to give up control. He’s able to set aside his ego and his pride for what is necessary, because he knows who he is. Whether he wears vallaslin or not, it doesn’t change who he is or where he’s been. He’s willing to let her sort out the speed at which she wants their relationship to move, and be there as an advisor, counselor, or moral support.

He doesn’t see himself in competition with Solas, because he doesn’t need to be. There’s room in her life for both of them, really. He’s overseen and experienced a parade of ever changing relationships between himself and his siblings. Falon’din has been linked to Andruil, and countless others. Fen’Harel has been linked to Andruil. Andruil has been linked to Ghilnan’nain, Dirthamen has been linked to (though never in a serious relationship with) both Ghilnan’nain and Sylaise. Sylaise is also with June. His approach to relationships between immortals is that they’re fluid, and sometimes it’s necessary to take breaks. For him, real love is about who we return to and not who we sleep with.

He’ll probably end up worrying more about the way Solas affects her mental health and the fallout of their past relationship than he will Solas himself.

He has his dark side and he is ruthless, but he isn’t proprietary and feels no sense of ownership. He gives what he wants to give, and expects no reciprocation. She’s free to give him what she can, that’s enough.

There are those who make him feel insecure (*cough* Falon’din *cough*), and those he’s actively concerned about (*cough* Sylaise *cough*) should they ever find out. On the whole though, he doesn’t see Solas as a competitor. A screw up worthy of pity, maybe. He will not compete with a ghost, or place himself at the disadvantage of time. The new provides opportunity, he’ll focus on differentiating himself and building a relationship between them that isn’t reliant on Solas’ shadow.

See her in danger though or under threat, and you’ll see his knives come out. One thing you don’t ever do is hurt the bae. If he’s got a bone to pick with Solas, it’s that. Funny to say, maybe, but he’s disappointed in Solas.

He expected better.

I hope that answers your questions.

Thanks for asking!

[obsidianmichi]

Deirwen Headcanon:

Eirwen and Dirthamen do cultural exchange storytelling, where she tells him the legends and tales from Clan Lavellan’s Dalish tradition complete with acting them out and doing the voices for him. Then, he repays the favor by telling her Arlathan tales, sometimes even taking a day for memory sharing of their plays.

Then, like the nerds they are, they compare notes to figure out if one connects to the other and if they were handed down, how the stories were modified/changed to suit new circumstances, and what seems to be based on real events from Arlathan’s fall.

They have so much fun together.

[obsidianmichi]

The Evanuris that Dirthamen worries most about stealing Eirwen from him is, wait for it... June.

Yeah.

Dirthamen can share the cool tech he’s still got with Eirwen, but building it?

That’s a horse of a different color.

He normally wouldn’t worry about it as June is entirely uninterested in, well, people, (he transferred all bureaucratic rule of all his territories to Sylaise so he could spend more time playing with his toys) but Eirwen’s got some monstrous charisma and a relentlessly inquisitive mind. She’s also fearless about poking her nose into all the places it’s not supposed to be.

The same facets that both he and Solas found charming will eventually be of interest with June. Eventually. At some unknown point in the next 5,000 years.

This is the problem with the Evanuris. When one finds a person of interest, the others will all inevitably come over to check it out and see if the new discovery is worth stealing. Or murdering.

Dealer’s choice.

[obsidianmichi]

This song is just stupidly catchy, okay.

[obsidianmichi]

Picking Through Your Mind

Fiction: Dragon Age

Pairing: Deirwen, Dirthamen x Lavellan

Rating: PG-13

Description: Dirthamen and Eirwen walk the streets of Val Royeaux as they go out to eat, discussing revolution and conquest.

Dedication: for @vir-ghilani, happy birthday.

Eirwen led Dirthamen into the Val Royeaux marketplace. Warm sunlight dappled the flattened granite roads. Sandstone walls rose up on either side as the statues of various historical figures stared down at them.

“It smells,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Rank.” He paused and sniffed. “Like that flower from the gardens we visited.”

“Roses,” she replied. “It’s the Val Royeaux spring collection of perfume, popular among the nobility.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Perfume is it precisely, Renan. Rose petals attempting to hide the aroma of stale piss, moldy straw, sweaty armpits, and unwashed feet.” His upper lip curled. “These people, they do not bathe.”

Hiding a smile, Eirwen glanced up at him. “You wanted to come here.”

“I wanted to visit civilization,” he replied.

Eirwen grinned as he took hold of her right hand. “You didn’t specify whose.”

Dirthamen glanced down at her, shaggy black bangs hanging across his brow. He was dressed simply. A loose black shirt underneath a black doublet, and leather pants of the same color. “True,” he agreed. A grin flashed a perfect set of white teeth. “Well played, Renan.” He leaned a little closer, golden eyes glittering. “I will be more specific in the future.”

Eirwen swallowed, flush creeping up her neck. She suspected when he said civilization, he’d meant elven civilization. Specifically, the Dalish, and more specifically Clan Lavellan. I’m just not sure I’m ready for that. Especially given the way Solas reacted to the Dalish. She’d never taken him home, either.

“Mmm,” she murmured, looking away. “Do that.”

“So,” he leaned closer, calmly tucking her arm around his elbow. “Shall we explore this miserable mud pit?”

Eirwen tilted her head, lifting her brows as she swallowed a giggle. “If you think the marketplace of Val Royeaux is a mud heap, just wait until you find a Dalish encampment.”

One black eyebrow arched in return. “I’ve higher expectations of the culture in control of their lands. There is only so much one can do while living in a forest. These humans are the ruling class, correct?”

“The ones wearing higher quality clothes and traveling with entourages,” she replied. “The poor are the same everywhere, and we’re unlikely to see them here. The elves are confined to living the Alienages, down in the slums.”

“Allowed out only for work among the humans as a servant class,” Dirthamen said with a nod. Whether he’d deduced the information, yanked it from a nearby mind, or it was part of what he’d pulled from hers, Eirwen didn’t know. “Thus ensuring they remain separate from the humans, and reminded of their inferiority.”

“The elven merchants are also confined to the Alienages, where they sell their wares,” Eirwen added. “They can’t afford permits from the mayoral council. If they manage to acquire one, the nobles who rent space often won’t grant them use of their shops.”

“While the surface dwarves move everywhere,” Dirthamen replied, “though they have no organization outside the Carta. They are similarly stigmatized, but it takes on a different shape.”

“Mmm,” she nodded.

Eirwen discovered Dirthamen learned quickly. His powers of observation were formidable. Occasionally opinionated to the point of rude, he often kept his judgements to himself. Still, his forthrightness surprised her. Reminded her more of Abelas than Solas. However, Dirthamen was not safe in the confines of distant ruins but rather where any offended party might attack him.

If the idea bothered him, he never showed it.

No matter where they traveled, he never quite seemed to fit. He took no issues with the alien way he was treated. He had a way of standing out, but it didn’t surprise him. He treated the trait as familiar. Used to not quite meshing with the world around him, Dirthamen accorded himself all the respect of a poorly kept secret.

He didn’t seem to mind much if someone noticed he didn’t fit. When they questioned his behavior, he enjoyed it. Whether human, elven, dwarven, or Qunari, he approved of being noticed.

“Gaudy golden bannisters, marble walls, windows of stained glass, all the while unable to hide its stink,” he said. “Locking their mages up in towers when they could use them as cleaning crew.”

Eirwen frowned, the image of Vivienne bent over and scrubbing the stones, blasting away refuse with a few well placed fireballs flashing through her mind. “You’re cold.”

“Always be grateful for another’s lack of imagination, Renan,” Dirthamen said. “Their superstitions, their naivete, and their ignorance. Fear is a powerful motivator. If they are locking their mages away in towers, then they have no means of controlling them in their entirety.” He paused. “Or they do not want to.”

“The Orlesians are Andrastian,” Eirwen replied. “Most of them believe magic and the pursuit of power are the sin which caused the Blight.”

Dirthamen’s lips twitched. “They are not entirely wrong.”

She smiled. “I guess not, but magic must be safeguarded away to protect the population.”

“And blood mages punished,” Dirthamen added thoughtfully. “All while the uneducated locals associate it with demons.”

“You should watch out,” she said. “With your proclivities, the Templars would make you tranquil.”

He smiled. “They are welcome to try.”

Eirwen’s lips pursed. She doubted either the Seekers or the Templars would get very far, but bloodshed was preferably avoided. “You’re right, though,” she said. “The vast majority of the populations in every country don’t understand how to deal with magic. They rely on the Templars to keep them safe.”

“An interesting hole in their defenses,” Dirthamen replied. “One worth worrying until it gives.”

“What are you suggesting?” she asked.

“Nothing so grand,” he replied. “Only that ignorance and naivete are the means by which one slips in and seizes a government by its throat.” His eyes swung about the square, a canny smile on his lips. “There are always holes, Renan. Fear like this leads one to board up all the walls and windows, turn away. We move where they failed to look.” “Oh,” Eirwen whispered. A campaign built on the local’s fear and superstition. Why hadn’t she ever thought of it before? Probably because it worsens the problem in the long run. They hadn’t been planning a war then, though. “Yes, I see.”

“I know,” he said. “It is why I enjoy your company.”

“If we make them afraid, if they don’t understand, then they’ll think it’s impossible and give up.” She smiled. “You don’t think, you just run!”

“Exactly,” Dirthamen replied. “Fear, Renan, is how you win without losing a man or firing a single shot.”

“And by the time they realize they’ve been fooled, it’s too late. You’re already entrenched.” She grinned, the possibilities were endless. “Oh, I like that! They just open the gates and let you in.”

He chuckled, patting her hand. “You are easy to please.”

“I have a lot to learn,” Eirwen countered. “I might as well pick through your mind.”

“The same is true for myself as well,” Dirthamen replied. “You guide me to uncover what I do not know nor understand.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Eirwen said, gesturing toward the market with her projection. “We’ve all the necessary amenities in food, books, bedding, and clothing, with an additional serving of the most important factor any elf experiences across Thedas.”

Dirthamen glanced at her, then back at the crowd milling in the square.

A few human eyes had turned toward them, visible through their white masks. Ladies in small groups giggling behind their fans, eyeing Dirthamen with interest. Guards at the entry stared at them and only them. A few men leered at at her. A merchant behind the golden fence spat a gob of phlegm onto the cobblestones.

“Prejudice,” she said.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Yes, I expected this.”

“It’s one thing to see it in my mind,” she said. “Another to experience the reality.”

Dirthamen chuckled. “Then, we’d best ensure we do not end the day beaten in an alley.”

She smiled, letting him tug her closer. “I’d love to see a street tough try to mug you, Dirthamen.”

“Dirthan,” he said softly. “Your Divine knows Fen’Harel walks the world. Best not to raise suspicion.”

Eirwen sighed. “I know, even the walls have ears.”

“In Arlathan, they did,” Dirthamen replied cheerfully. “We required multiple wards to keep the ears out. Here, your mages lack the necessary skill to transform the local inanimate objects into allies.”

Laughing, Eirwen shook her head. “We may surprise you.”

“Then,” he replied, “when we wander the Grand Cathedral, we shall lay down a few spells.”

Eirwen nodded. She didn’t consider Cassandra her Divine, friend perhaps, and an enemy destined by beliefs and conflicting goals. She’d aided in placing her on the Sunburst Throne, but that had been with the goal of restoring peace to Southern Thedas. They did not see matters in Thedas the same way.

Cassandra was a moderate. She believed people were flawed, they failed the system. She’d never had reason to see it another way.

Eirwen could not look at the world and see the same dream made manifest. As an elven mage, she was doubly cursed. Safeguarded from a choice between a life on the run or a life in the Circle only by virtue of her status as the Herald of Andraste.

No matter what Cassandra and the rest believed, she’d never seen herself as a divinely chosen savior. The human god wasn’t any more real to me than the Creators.

It turned to her favor now. The world no longer saw the Inquisitor when they looked at her. Red hair turned silver-white, skin bleached to the same color of pure snow, she’d gone from conventionally lovely to what some humans considered alluring and mystically exotic.

She didn’t care for it. As a round faced, innocent redhead, they’d had a hard time recognizing her face. Unless she was in uniform, someone always mistook her for a servant. It didn’t change. White haired and without vallaslin, they just assumed she was a some lord’s mistress.

They see what they want.

“Dirthan,” she agreed. “What would you like to see first?”

“To begin, you ignored breakfast,” he replied smoothly.

Eirwen sighed. “There were council meetings.”

“No excuse, Renan,” he said. “I suggest we begin at a nearby restaurant selling whatever resembles sustenance.”

She glared at him. “If they don’t serve elves?”

“They will,” Dirthamen replied calmly, then he winked at her. “One way or another.”

Eirwen sighed. “Fine.” She doubted she could dissuade him. “So long as no one gets hurt.”

He hit her with a long, slanted stare from underneath long black lashes.

She smiled. “Much.”

Dirthamen sighed. “I will accept the compromise and rise to the challenge.”

Eirwen laughed, pulling him toward the gate.

Spending time with Dirthamen was more refreshing than she wanted to admit. His callousness toward life disturbed her sometimes, but he walked without any fear or doubt. He didn’t cling to the tattered shreds of pride or haul himself up in a society intent on dragging him down into the mud. He knew his worth. He didn’t sneak about on the edges hoping to avoid notice. He came from a time when elves were the center of the world. Sneering, jibes, slurs, and slights amused him.

Solas cared if he was liked or listened to.

Dirthamen didn’t.

He enjoyed the tests, and the way she attempted to suss him out. If he was running a long game against her, it didn’t rely on keeping her away from information about himself. He laid out his plans openly, re-take control of Thedas with a goal of ending the Blight.

Exhilarating, his thoughts on world conquest.

Arm in arm, they walked through the gate and into the market. Two elves out for a stroll, walking in one of the most dangerous places in the world.

Well, dangerous for their kind.

Without the veneer of status or Inquisition protection, they were just two nicely dressed targets. Minorities often were, especially those with money.

Eirwen led him past the fountain and down la Rue du Chevalier-de-la-Montrefont toward the only place she’d ever eaten at when visiting Val Royeaux, Café de Flore. An open air cafe which looked out on the Belle Marché, its long wooden tables and rough seating providing a rustic theme which amused the Orlesian nobility. The food was mostly edible, though most Orlesian confections were bathed in either sugar or gravy.

Vivienne, Cole, and Iron Bull enjoyed eating there, but Eirwen’s visits had often been more about business than pleasure. Varric preferred The Lady’s Armistice, what he referred to as “the stinking shithole” down by the docks. The stench of manure and ale that tasted like stale piss reminded him of home.

She’d wandered in a few times and promptly wandered right back out again.

Smuggler nests, gambling dens, hives of local thieves, and others considered scum are probably best to put off until I have a better read.

Dirthamen didn’t seem the type to take offense over a bit of honest spit to the eye or an attempted pickpocket, but she preferred if the nobles of Val Royeaux risked his wrath first. Of all those in the city, they were the least likely to experience harship while simultaneously the most deserving.

“So,” Eirwen began as they approached Café de Flore, “what was food in Arlathan like?”

“A broad question,” Dirthamen replied. “One should know, broad questions often lead to generic answers.”

“And the generic is the bane of your existence,” she laughed.

“It isn’t as useful as specifics,” he said. He patted her hand. “If you ask a general question, then I may answer however I like. I might answer what the peasants ate, where food was grown, or about the great hydroponic gardens in the Adahl’bellanar’dirtharan.”

“All of that sounds interesting,” Eirwen said. “I think I’d be happy listening to you discuss it.”

He chuckled. “Would any answer give you what you seek?”

She shrugged. “When one knows nothing, everything is interesting.”

“Yet it is just as easy to drown oneself in a deluge of information, which leads nowhere constructive. Driven mad in the roundabout of endless explanations, connection one to the other and all in interesting directions but ultimately goes everywhere except where one hoped it would.” He tapped the side of his long nose. “Secrets are not hidden in dark, hidden places, but in plain sight. Where only those who know what to look for might find them.”

“So, you’re saying I should ask directly for what I want,” Eirwen said. “If I hope you intuit it, then you’ll lead me every which way until we end more confused than we began.”

“I enjoy confusion,” he said with a smile. “Yours, especially. When you get lost in a logical problem a small crinkle appears in your brow, right above your nose. Then as you think, your nose wiggles, ma lapinette.”

It didn’t surprise her that Dirthamen understood Orlesian, or even spoke it. He had few issues with language. She suspected he’d picked up the Orlesian from the minds around them as he slipped across their surface thoughts, translating naturally from one to another. The same went with elvhen versus elven, he had no problems speaking more modern variants of the elven language or his own archaic form of the tongue. He’d informed her that Elvhen had several dialects for each territory controlled by a different Evanuris. He spoke Fereldan Common with no failures in inflection; naturally.

Ma lapinette. My little bunny.

“Rabbit is an Orlesian slur for elf,” Eirwen said, though she wasn’t offended.

“Is it?” His brows rose. “Interesting. Perhaps rabbit is a more apt comparison than they realize.”

She frowned, his mind often went in directions she had difficulty following. “Elves are weak, fluffy animals meant to be run down by dogs, torn apart, and thrown into stew?”

Dirthamen laughed. “That is the nobles’ interpretation. Perhaps, the hunter’s interpretation. They of the shiny masks, armor, and scent hounds.” His eyes swung away from her, moving back across the square.  “The Orlesians ought to be taught herbivores are more savage than predators. Then, they may see the irony of their own pronouncements.” He glanced at her. “What do rabbits excel at above all else?”

“Reproduction,” Eirwen said. Her eyes widened. She glanced at the street, there were many nobles but every one was followed by ten or twenty more in their entourage. Over half of the entourage was elven. The guards, human, many of the ladies-in-waiting human, but the servants were all elves. City Elves, rather than Dalish, but they outnumbered the humans three to one. “They have lots and lots of sex.”

He winked. “The poor and poorly educated often do.”

Eirwen pursed her lips. She hated to say he was right, but the image of many elven alienages and poor farms with families of six or seven filled her mind. Washerwomen carrying wailing babes on their backs, trailing a gaggle behind them. They needed hands to work their fields, sew their clothes, or take care of the wash.

Children were free labor.

“However, what is the most important component in any revolution?”

Her eyes returned to him and she frowned. Why have I never given this much thought? The idea of a true revolution was a bygone dream, one buried in a history of failures and generational success only to be met with more failure. A few breaths of freedom then the destruction of their culture. Promises paid with betrayal by their allies.

“Bodies,” he said, answering his own question. “When it comes to rising up against an enemy in revolution, numbers matter.”

Smiling, Eirwen rested her cheek on his arm. A warm soothing ball nestled in her stomach, contentment. After so many years of desperation, feeling lost and confused, it was nice to step out of the darkness. See the world in a new way with accompanying possibilities, even if they were bloody.

Her people were so used to seeing themselves as separate, even powerless. Deriding the elves who lived in the cities when their brethren were the key to carving out a place for themselves without needing to run, hide, or live on the edges of civilization.

“I like listening to you,” she said.

He chuckled. “I suspect you enjoyed your discussions with Fen’Harel as well.”

“Mmm,” Eirwen nodded. “Not as much. Solas’ perspective was interesting, but it never related to anything relevant. He tried to keep his knowledge entirely within the realm of the Fade. Always fascinatingly just out of reach, I suppose.”

“An issue when one attempts to avoid giving too much information,” Dirthamen said. “It’s a beginner’s mistake. Always craft an alternate identity near your reality, lying with the truth is easier than falsehoods. Present oneself as a wise voice of authority and you must say something, by saying nothing we arouse suspicion.”

“That’s good,” Eirwen laughed. “Sometimes, I think you say that just to soothe my ego but it feels nice.”

Dirthamen shrugged. “Why does the wise man have nothing to say? In order to be listened to, he must prove he is worth hearing.”

“Solas led a rebellion against the Evanuris,” she said. “Did he win?”

“Fen’Harel failed,” Dirthamen replied. “He succeeded in raising the Veil and ending Elvhen civilization, but he failed. What he had was rebellion, not revolution. You call him the God of Rebellion and his failure is implicit within the term itself. In order for a revolution to succeed, the majority of the population must give up their comforts and stand against the ruling body. Even with all the horrors of our time, the People did not stand with him.” His fingers traced the back of her knuckles. “Your legends began as warnings about the Dread Wolf. Told and retold as a way to remember their perception of what happened. They did not believe what he had done was necessary, and ensured their version of events would be remembered.”

She pursed her lips, mouth pulling sideways into an amused smirk. “Our conversations are always so heavy before breakfast.”

He chuckled. “Very well, we shall tone it down. Do you wish to hear my theory on the nature of the Orlesian undergarments?”

“No,” she moaned.

“Very well, I will tell you,” he continued. “As it relates to those girls who run around selling tins of gingerbread and Empress Celene’s latest proclamations on the importance of Andrastian holy days.”

“No!” she laughed. “Don’t you dare!”

He patted her hand. “Which in turn relates to you, ma mahvir.”

She snorted. “Where did you find one of Celene’s proclamations?”

“Refuse heap, three streets back,” he replied, producing a folded piece of parchment from a flap in his leathers. “Never mind the stains, it has been properly disinfected. Her people, it seems, paper them on all the local corners.”

Eirwen couldn’t help it, she giggled. “You wanted to eat with those hands?”

“I am offended,” he said in a dry tone, voice utterly bland. “One might think I was not an adult and did not know twenty-seven spells for grime removal and cleanliness for my person.”

“Only twenty-seven?” she teased. “You must be losing it in your old age.”

Dirthamen laughed. “For the hands,” he replied. “If you like, we might explore the nature of cleanliness via skin to skin contact.”

“Maybe after we eat.” Eirwen glanced up at him, her mouth pulled sideways. “I’m not wearing Orlesian panties.”

“Of course not,” he said with a smile. “That would defy the nature of the exercise.”

[obsidianmichi]

Dirthamen will probably take after Nine and Ten a lot. Nine, and Ten, and Lucifer. Now, he has dialogue like this:

Dirthamen: “Don’t you love how my people wrote every scrap of information down in cryptic riddles?”

Eirwen: “No.”

Dirthamen: “Me neither.”

Eirwen stares into the camera like she’s in the office.

If there’s one thing that Doctor Who is good at reminding me is that some immortals are far too old to give any shits and they’re silly, sassy, know-it all, pedantic assholes.

[obsidianmichi]

Deshanna's a light snorer, but for Lindrale's trained senses, it sounds like the braying of a charging hart. Lindrale usually falls asleep first, but if she doesn't manage it, she'll most likely go back to her own tent to sleep. She always wakes up earlier than Deshanna though, so she goes back to cuddle in the morning.

Ahhh, I went to sleep before I saw this. Also, that’s so cute!

If Dirthamen had his way (or possibly if Eirwen had hers), Eirwen would never leave the bed. She’d probably never sleep either, hur, hur, hur. But the one thing they always manage even better than that is ending up in the private bathhouse/hot tub she revived near her cabin in the Samhal valley. They both love that thing. Sometimes, they even hold group meetings up there just to make their attendees marginally uncomfortable while swathed in towels and ensuring that no one brought hidden knives.

Thanks for asking!

Send me a fact about your ship and I’ll answer with one of mine!

[obsidianmichi]

Ship fact! Elain still gets a little embarrassed by PDA with Revas. Some habits are hard to kick.

Awww. Elain, bby!!!!

Eirwen loves PDA, even when it outwardly embarrasses her. She’s always been a private person when it comes to her emotions and her feelings, especially when she was younger, but she really enjoys someone just draping themselves across her in front of other people. Them not caring what other people think, or trying to “protect her reputation”.

Dirthamen has no issues with PDA. In fact, he’s so proud he loves showing her off. He’s more willing to remind everyone that he cares. So, whenever I imagine them Dirthamen and Eirwen are always standing very close together if not outright touching each other in some manner just in general conversation. He doesn’t sit across the room, he’s next to her or if they’re facing someone then he’s right behind her unless there’s a particular reason for him not to be. Sometimes, they’re secretly holding hands behind their backs. He does a lot with subtle body language to indicate to everyone looking that they’re together.

Thanks for asking!

Send me a fact about your ship and I’ll tell you one about mine!

[obsidianmichi]

Thel noticed just how pretty Ellorian is when he was 17 and she was 14. He immediately squashed that thought and mentally kicked himself, because she didn't have her vallaslin yet and he felt like a dirty old man.

Ohhhhhh, so cute! Also, poor Thel! Good job squashing those feels, bro.

Dirthamen will never admit that with Eirwen, it was pretty much love at first sight. Or, well, love at first mind brush. He’s pretty slow on the uptake when it comes to his own feelings though, and it’s even more difficult for him to admit them out loud. So, he’ll tease her instead and give her nicknames that come close to what he means but also avoid saying it outright. So, “Renan” becomes his joking way of stating his feelings instead of “Vhenan”, and “Lovely” indicating her beauty instead of straight up saying, “love”. He sometimes feels a little guilty about her age and the difference between them is massive, but she is and has always been an adult woman to him. Her mind moves on a comparative level. She just needs patience, kindness, understanding, support, and time to finish growing into herself.

Eirwen is mostly, “I’m so comfortable with him. I feel like I could tell him anything. I like him? That’s probably a bad sign.”

Poor baby is always blindsided by emotion. Dirthamen is willing to take it slow when it comes to that side of the relationship. Eirwen is the kind of person where love just sneaks up on her and by the time she’s falling, she’s already in the hole. Dirthamen has a way of making himself indispensable to those around him and who he was matters less to her than who he is trying to be now.

Thanks for asking!

Send me a fact about your OC and I’ll tell you one of mine!

[obsidianmichi]

Actually Dirthamen’s whole concept of property rights is incredibly flexible.

[obsidianmichi]

vir-ghilani

omg i love this shitbird

He’s pretty great. xD

The more I discover about him, the more I love him. He’d also totally conquer Orlais just to impress his girlfriend. Would take back the Dales and Halamshiral for the modern elves as a romantic gesture. He doesn’t care about it, but they do. So, why not?

A lot of people will die in the in between, but might as well.

“Well, I don’t have any use for palaces. However, if you want one. I’ll get it for you.”

His followers are great too. The Melanada Vunin are just like, “Yes, this is Dirthamen. We waited for this guy for five thousand years. Here he is. What are you talking about? He doesn’t disappoint us.”