#did he mourn dorian

[minty-bunni]

What I wouldn't pay to have Joss as a protagonist for a book taking place during or after the last TCoVT book.

I want to know what was going through his heads at certain points.

[screechingfromthevoid]

"I don't think I have anymore hard nos" EXCUSE ME MR. O'BRIEN CAN WE TAKE THAT BACK A SECOND

[endofthelinecaptain]

When Dorian said “I’ve just wanted the tiniest moment with you” one of my first thoughts was that they HAVE had moments where they could have talked (and we’ve all been begging them to). But it’s so telling and makes so much sense that they haven’t seen it that way.

Dorian said it feels like the world is keeping them apart since he got back, and of course it does. They’ve found themselves on opposing sides of the whole gods debate, Dorian’s been mourning Cyrus, and they’ve had a deadline looming over their heads the whole time. Maybe there’s been time for them to have a conversation, but no time for anything to come from it before the end of the world. So of course it was easier for them to avoid talking at all, because like we saw tonight, all it took was one private conversation for them to spill their true feelings. They both must have known the dam would break the minute they bridged that gap. And why risk starting something between them now, when it could easily be lost in this apocalyptic battle? So, better to avoid talking at all.

And it just feels so perfect that when they did finally get the nerve to speak, after days of avoiding each other, it hit them both at the exact same time. It could have been either of them to initiate that moment, because somehow they always mirror the other. Even when they disagree, they are always so in sync. Both scared to talk for so long, and then both deciding that now is their last chance. Both waiting till the last moment, and both agreeing it’s worth it, whether anything can come from it or not.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Veilguard Review: Doom Upon the World

Warnings: Spoilers for Veilguard, very political review (considers race, gender, religion and choice consequences centred around established Thedas).

Another long post: 4k words

In my first review (Love, Wisdom and Pride), I focused on the relationships most pivotal to Solas’ arc reaching resolution: Inquisitor and Mythal (though heavily Solavellan inspired, I tried to be aware of how the Inquisitor’s role as a rival/friend outside of romance was still considered as an important relationship in his story). This review, on the other hand, will focus on the worldstate and what we lost [x], as well as my speculations on which story beats/companions/advisors I feel should have been integrated into the story for a deeper emotional payoff for past Dragon Age players (and overall story cohesion).  

N.B: This review is definitely a critique of something I love, born from love, because—yes, I had expectations; yes, they were high; no, I don’t think that’s a problem; no, I do not hate the game we got, but I mourn for what the devs clearly were building towards with the last 3 games in the series, and from what we know from the internal struggles with Bioware under EA’s helm (as evidence from the development time, layoffs, staff’s disappointment, and the differences between the final game and the concept art) the only thing getting in the way of a truly epic game was corporate meddling and greed.

Spoilers below the cut.

Without further ado, the primary criticism I have is that Varric should not have been our advisor! I read a post somewhere that succinctly surmised the that Varric was chosen as our Advisor so that:

Solas would make an “irredeemable” mistake for all the Solas haters to use as an excuse to simply view him as an antagonist, simplifying the goal of the game to: stop the elf from bringing down the Veil.

Varric was used for marketing purposes rather than story depth choices; he’s popular, beloved and an easy carrot for the EA stick to dangle in front of loyal fans.

His writer has literally been trying to kill him off for the last 2 games! Varric was supposed to die in Inquisition! (lol)

I firmly believe he should have been holding the blight back in Kirkwall, and that his position as Viscount of Kirkwall should have affected the outcome of the blight spreading in the South!

Advisors in the North

Right off the bat, the two best choices for advisor, (excluding the Inquisitor out of favouritism) should have been Dorian and Morrigan.

Dorian: because we’re in the North, the Shadow Dragons are by far the more “grassroots organisation against imperial power” kind of organised body the Inquisition started out as. Since we don’t have a calling to fight against like the Wardens in Origins or a family to try and keep together in a city on the brink of implosion like Hawke, or a pseudo religious-political body to inspire Hope in the faithful like the Inquisitor, Valour, Love and Hope cannot be at the heart of this story. It has to be JUSTICE [x].

Justice for the culmination of Anders’ story; for Merril and everything she endured to repair the eluvian; for Fenris, the origin of his lyrium tattoos (which according to GhilDirthalen’s post, there was a plot point linked to elves whose lyrium bodies did not possess latent magical prowess) and the slaves in Tevinter; for the rebelling elves that should have formed factions as the Dread Wolf’s Agents like the Trespasser epilogue hinted at; for misunderstood spirits hurt by mages like Cole; for the ancient elves like Abelas; for the templars who saw the corruption in their ranks but had no way out because of lyrium addiction like Sampson; for those corrupted by red lyrium that was spreading throughout Thedas with no cause or cure; for the dwarves like Branka, obsessed with the answers held in the Anvil of the Void, or Harding, or Shaper Valta who saw a Titan and witnessed the death of the Legion of the Dead; for Sandal’s prophecy!; for the qunari oppressed by the Qun, turned talvashoth, searabas, hisraad like Bull! Justice for two decades worth of worldbuilding on the part of the writers and the devs who loved telling these stories.  

Morrigan: is self-explanatory to the story they were crafting between Solas and Mythal. And what would have been even better is if they actually just explained away the Well of Sorrows’ choice unaffecting the Inquisitor because Morrigan eventually had to assimilate the essence from the well to keep the Inquisitor from going mad—like the anchor had to be tempered by Solas in Trespasser. Easy as that!

The best part is that pitting Morrigan and Dorian as foils of each other further allows the game to have greater stakes and tension because Morrigan (changed by Mythal’s righteous anger and need for justice for what was done to her by the Evanuris) could champion making choices more detrimental to Thedas but ultimately in line with Solas’ plans. And Dorian could make choices that put the safety of Thedas’ citizens at the forefront by sacrificing headway in stopping Solas and his Agents from advancing with their plans!

Best yet, we could have had a hardened vs softened Dorian depending on whether you recruited him in Inquisition, and/or did his quest.

[Inquisitor concept art by Matt Rhodes]

Favouritism Bonus Round: The Inquisitor (or alternatively Morrigan) should have been the voice to champion Rook to seek out the wolf statues, and they should have been present when discussing the memories, as it would have given them more gravitas when uncovering the literal story of "Solas is Andrastian God creating the Veil" or "the Dalish Dread Wolf is being proven to be a saviour" or "Elves originally being spirits in the beginning", or "Titans were at war with the elves" beyond comments like: “Oh, Solas regrets this” or “They were doing it”. (This is the issue with having a “couch setting” for a “war room”—discussions feel less intellectual, factions don’t necessarily bring their own unique viewpoint into the interpretation of Solas’ decisions/Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain’s presence, etc.) Everyone is not digesting the material given like it’s a clue to stopping the world from ending but rather like gossip. With the Inquisitor, as either a friend to Solas, a rival or a romanced Lavellan, finally finding the Dread Wolf’s Achilles Heel after vowing to stop him would have rung true, closed the loop.

Sigh.

This is also why I feel the Inquisitor should have been the one in Varric’s place—like literally. I mean recovering from an injury after failing to catch up to Solas in ACT 1, possibly dispatched by Agents of Fen'Harel! Because they could then be forced to pass the mantle to hunt down Solas to “Rook”. Not dead. Or a blood magic illusion. Just, Inquisitor, wounded, making small talk, sometimes bringing up plot points from Inquisition—your Hawke on the battlements in DA:I or Alistair in the gardens with Morrigan and Keiran.

It would also make more sense for the Inquisitor to be able to use the eluvian to travel between Skyhold and the Lighthouse, allowing for believable absences during plot points where their lack of action inspite of their presence wouldn’t make sense. Not to mention more gut-wrenching if we heard about the South from Inky rather than reading 4 letters!

Previously, I stated how the Inquisitor’s presence needed more weight in the non-Solavellan endings! Some people’s Inquisitor befriended Solas, some hated him, either way, the Inquisitor should have been present for the final showdown beyond a passive observer! If the Inquisitor ended up being the last friend/former love that Solas destroys (in a bad worldstate end where you don’t collect Mythal’s essence), which then prompts Rook to fight him because Solas’ last tie to empathy failed to redeem him, that would have added so many layers! The Inquisitor falling is the last straw for Solas too, whether friend, lover or foe, he fought beside them, stopped Corypheus with them! The Inquisitor was partially his making of a hero; his first “good” mistake! It would then make sense for him to snap, choosing to be a villain in the hopes of being stopped because he can’t stop himself, he’s come too far! Rather than the ‘I am a God’ ending they gave us.

Agency of a “Rook” on an Empty Chess Set (Factions and Backstory)

Personally, from both a writing and a viewer’s perspective, I think our protagonist should have always been linked to the Shadow Dragons (and the factions choices shouldn’t have been incorporated). This is more because, framing one’s backstory as being a member of a faction—not a people with established political positions in Tevinter—siphons the narrative of personal stakes. Imagine being a mage who could have begun with higher approval in Tevinter but lower elsewhere, maybe they’d be saved from the Venatori’s thrall that was linked to Neve’s companion story—again linked to Ashur and the Dragons. Or an elf mage could begin a storyline like that of the city elf in da:o but focused on the Shadow Dragons’ tackling slavery’s presence in Tevinter. A Qunari origin could explore being a refugee aided by the Shadow Dragons as they flee the Qun because they don’t fit in the dogmatic religion. A warden could be a criminal in Tevinter, showing us what is considered ‘rules for criminality’ in a city that corrupt and extremist.

Overall, the factions don’t add much diversity to Rook’s background, backstory, dialogue tree or influence on the world state beyond a last name that doesn’t really matter. With a Shadow Dragons’ background, the very ethos of “Rook” would have been about overcoming oppression, and then the nickname makes sense too, a name to stay concealed, to keep loved ones safe while DAV’s protagonist battles politics, blood mages and blighted gods. It would have been even more meaningful if the nickname “Rook” paralleled “Dread Wolf”, in that it was bestowed by your origin-based backstory antagonist and then used as a call to freedom (we wouldn’t even need a cutscene, this could have been revealed in part of their banter/dialogue). This simple choice would have allowed us to focus on Treviso and the Antaam’s occupation and Tevinter and the Venatori’s rise to power on a more personal level. It would also place our Rook in a position to be a foil to Solas’ “do what is necessary for the greater good” vs “be better than those that came before” plot lines. Building off this, the hardened companion status between Neve and Lucanis should have formed a parallel, with one tilting towards understanding Solas’ extreme efforts to stop the Gods, whereas the non-hardened character should have taken the role of foil. Both of whom would add balance to the tension when discussing Solas’ memories or even in exploration banter during missions (one the “devil” on your shoulder, the other your “angel” depending on where Solas’ actions stand for you since Inquisition).

Finally, the Shadow Dragons' should have been linked to Dorian more directly, potentially created with backing/support from the Inquisition’s advisors/Inquisitor directly (since their default attire is the Shadow Dragon apparel).

Companions: Cole for Compassion; Briala for Rebellion and Revenge

Cole

In my review Love, Widsom and Pride, I briefly touched on the fact Cole (whether recruited, not recruited, kept spirit or changed human) was absolutely necessary as a companion. Because it doesn’t matter which version was present in the world (RIP the tapestry), every iteration of Cole works synergistically with appealing to Solas’ spirit side:

If he wasn’t recruited in Inquisition, he could simply have his default origins as a compassion spirit that ‘follows’ the greatest pain in the Fade that yearns to be healed, giving a compassionate viewpoint to Solas’ folly.

Recruited-to-the-Inquisition Spirit Cole could have a greater connection to Solas than even Varric, seeing as Cole was most likely a literal representation of Solas rewriting his own history of corruption by preventing a spirit from becoming something against its nature.

Human Cole would have a deeper connection to the world of Thedas, and could have been a great tool to prove how change was inevitable, not always a bad thing, and inevitably out of even Solas’ control. And he could still offer insight into Solas' mind via 'remnants' of the time he was more spirit.

Briala

What I enjoy about this companion head canon is that Briala is literally Solas’ direct parallel story-wise:

She’s in love with Celene, the ‘best’ choice for ruler in Orlais even though she burned Briala’s alienage. They share a great power imbalance, with Celene able to affect the fate of all elves in Orlais, yet is unwilling to free them, return the Dales, or concede power even though she claims to love Briala, too. Briala is a rebellion upstart, raised by Felassan for crying out loud. She controlled the eluvians and knew how to get around the crossroads, she has more of a bone to pick with Solas than any other NPC not close to the Inquisitor! (Celene and Mythal share many similarities as well, with Celene seen as the more benevolent of rules when compared to Gaspard the Warmonger; and if Gaspard is in power but controlled by Briala, her being dethroned from her seat of power by Agents of Fen’Harel when she lost access to the eluvians would have been a great story arc to explore).

Sidenote on DAV's Romance, Companions and Choice Consequence

Building off having either Cole or Briala as a companion, I do think it would have been nice to have them as non-romanceable too. Don’t get me wrong, I know it's great to have options, but I do feel making everyone “pansexual” wasn’t the right way to go for all the companions. It takes away character choice, personality, taste and individualism from the companions. Dorian’s story would not be nearly as impactful if he could have been romanced regardless of gender. Solas being unwilling to romance any race/gender besides female elf (though a direct correlation to the developers being afraid of the ‘evil bisexual’ trope that was popular in the 2010s) also adds to his story; where he’s reluctant to see the world as real, to accept non-elven people as having agency, because that would mean he wasn’t walking through a see of Tranquil, but instead, he was the Forgotten One out of time.

I also firmly believe that a possible reason Cole wasn’t a companion despite there being plans in place that he’d return (Trespasser epilogue slide, I remember you), is because I can 100% see an EA big-wig being like: “He’s unfuckable. Give us someone hot and brooding and slap a demon in them and you’ve got fuckable-Cole” and then we got Lucanis.

I like Lucanis. I’m not crazy about him, but I enjoy the Machiavllian family drama. Very Renaissance Medici story beats. I adore Mary Kirby as a writer, too, but I feel the introduction to the Crows of Antiva should have been Zevran’s mantle, or he should have at least haunted the narrative and missions related to the Crow factions (of which there should definitely have been factions within the Crows). Considering the fact I romanced Lucanis, I couldn’t shake the fact that a lot of his “acceptance for being bound to Spite” beats paralleled a Human Cole having been ‘cured’ from Compassion.

The romances seem less… memorable to me than past games. The importance of choice means you have to accept the story unfolding based on the consequences of your choices; and gender-locking at least one companion would show the cause and effect of beginner choice. Taash is actually written to prefer women over men, which is vital to their arc around gender dysphoria and being non-binary, they would have been a perfect candidate! I imagine their story would also be a great way to explore how being one race attempting to romance another could have a slower progression rate (again, because of Taash’s multi-cultural background, and their complex feelings at having been raised by a mother so tied to the Qun, them being cagier around a qunari Rook romance would also have added layers!) But with everyone available to be romanced, and having no initial repercussion for early game choices despite which character model would have bruises or cuts (Neve or Harding), genuinely roleplaying as Rook, and not as someone using Rook as a stand-in for ourselves, is more disconnected than previous games. This is why the romances feel off to me. Doing the romanceable companions’ storylines seem like I’m the one trying to date them, not Rook. Maybe it’s because Rook’s established personality is the direct repercussion of a sanitized worldstate!  

Foibles of being ‘Unproblematic’: A Sanitised World

The issue with trying to make a game that won’t touch on difficult topics, is that, when you make that game a sequel to a series that was literally built on the backs of tackling real world politics, it makes a lot of the world seem plastic. A poor imitation perhaps.

The World of Thedas book actually tells us that Thedas is a fantasy setting that uses the real world as its backdrop for conflict and world building. Andraste is Joan of Arc. Andrastian faith is Christianity founded by a woman. Orlais is the French bourgeois era. Fereldan is more Highlands/Celtics region if it never had a chance to expand because of the blight. Elves are the disenfranchised (and a direct parallel to popular elven cultures that were often portrayed as the pinnacle of advanced magic/civilisation). City elves live in alienages (literal ghettos). Dalish elves (native to the land) are being run out of their homes, the Orlesian’s are trying to claim the territory for their Empire, and their numbers are dwindling, their culture and language a poor imitation of what it had been, barely surviving colonialisation! Dwarves have a caste system that determines everyone’s future! Dagna had to leave her home! Harding grew up on the surface. Varric’s whole plot thread anchoring him in act 1 of DA2 is helping his brother discover Deep Roads riches so they can get their family’s title again.

And through all 3 games prior to Veilguard, we’re told the Ventaori are monsters, the Imperium is crueller to its elves/slaves than any place in the South! The best option beyond turning Feynriel tranquil in DA2 (one of the few Dream Walker mages) is to send him to Tevinter. What becomes of a half-Dalish mage in Tevinter? Neve, our first companion beside Harding, is determined to make Dock Town a place worth living! So, to walk into Veilguard and have no slavery storylines in a place called the fucking TEVINTER IMPERIUM (modelled after the fucking Roman Empire close to collapse) is so jarring. So unbelievable. What injustice is Neve battling? What woes has Dorian been dealing with in the Magisterium?

The closest we get to seeing the darkness that exists in the world (besides the hanging corpses lining the streets of Dock Town if you save Treviso) is the side quest where a father makes a deal with a demon to keep his child alive by sacrificing so many innocents.

And then there's Tevinter's "savage" neighbours, the Invading forces of the Qun! Frightening, right? But from the blasé manner the Qun's rigidity is discussed, it is framed as though anyone can simply up and leave the Qun if they so wished it, according to Taash’s mom. Yes, Taash is being hunted, and their mom is taken prisoner, but it was all in service to a tablet that discussed fire-breathing, not about returning to the Qun. Iron Bull being deemed hisraad holds less severity when the consequences of leaving a subjugating, dogmatic, religious-political society are simply... nothing. There's no anchor to Taash being raised in Rivain for safety reasons beyond keeping their fire-breathing secret. And what of all the elves that commit to the Qun? Why are there no elf converts among the Antaam? What about the fucked-up stuff the Dwarves of Kal-Sharok were doing before Veilguard? Kal-Sharok dwarves apparently were changed by the First Blight, and are supposed to have a ‘tainted’ appearance according to the World of Thedas concept art book. Why are they just... normal dudes in booby armour (lol)?

[Imshael! A demon/spirit of choice & Calpernia as potential companions is insanity>>!]

I possibly wouldn’t have these strong opinions if the games gave the companions more… just more ‘controversial’ stories with harder choices! Veilguard in a way feels like playing a game with child-lock on. Yes, what happens to Tevinter or Treviso looks awful when you see it, but the side-quests, companion stories, NPC dialogues and world around the ‘mise-en-scene’ don’t reflect this--it's like set dressing. The “I can’t believe the Venatori are evil” side comments by Rook in Tevinter when the Venatori takes over become whiny, child-like and “hopes and prayers” coded. Do something then, Rook. You are the hero of this story, are you not?

I am forever grateful that Lucanis is actually hardened and removed as a romance interest if you sacrifice Treviso (finally, good old dragon age consequences).

Now onto good criticism of our companions!

Companions: The Good, the Balanced and the Essential

Good: Neve and Davrin.

Neve is our eyes and heart to Dock Town, our humanising presence for the Tevinter Imperium. She is also written in a way that I find her to have the best agency as a non-romanced character than most.

Davrin is a breath of fresh air for the reputation of the Grey Wardens, he’s the genuine article. Him owning up to being young and foolhardy when he rejected the Dalish ways in search of adventure, only to be battle-hardened and then become more appreciative of the fact he was taught to live in harmony before he was exposed to the discord of the Deep Roads is such a good character growth moment.  

Balanced: Harding. Harding grows into a much more invaluable story piece when she unlocks the Stone Sense and uncovers her people’s history. It’s a rather short-sighted choice to have her be one of the Ultimate Sacrifice characters because what becomes of the story of the Stone? Who hears the song? Who will speak of the Titans to other dwarves if she is chosen to go on the final mission?

Essential: Antoine and Evka! No notes, they should have been conditional companions in a side quest! They’re fleshed out so well, and their relationship is real and built into their character, but it’s not all they are! Antoine is smart, hopeful and also tortured by the new blight. Evka is powerful, pragmatic and also caring.

The Red Herring that should have been: Bellara as an Agent of Fen’Harel! Her storyline would have worked with the concept of being found ‘suspicious’ by players if the Agents of Fen’Harel were an active group. A Veil Jumper in Arlathan whose brother got entabgled with a Forgotten One? Someone who is an outright believer in the elven pantheon? O, Bellara, the power you would have had as a possible double-agent in our midst, only for us to have been wrong in doubting her and having it be someone else! Race and position to power should have inforced so many story beats in this game, man!

Finally: Religion, Where?

I’m a little exhausted, so I’ll wrap this part a little quickly. Religion is paramount to understanding the decisions and states of mind of so many characters in Thedas. Leliana’s arc alone is one of the most intimate insights into Andrastian faith! The Inquisitor is literally responsible for appointing the Divine! The Divine can call for an Exalted March! The Black Divine is a huge plot point when discussing the differences between the Southern and Northern iterations of the Chant. Tevinter’s Old Gods (Archdemons) are blighted dragons linked to the Evanuris that whisper the will of their masters to humans. Archdemons are responsible for the Blight, our first “save the world kiddo” moment in da:o! So where is the disbelief in the streets that Elven Gods exist? Why is it always “Our Gods” are back? What about city elves who believe in the Chant of Light? Where is the Black Divine? Why is everyone okay remaining Andrastian when the fact Solas made the Veil is revealed? Where is the politics and religious civil war in the streets between NPCs?! Between companions? Why isn’t there a cultish, zealous group of extreme Andrastians following Solas around? Why isn’t there another version thinking of Solas and all elves as the second coming of Maferath? How are city elves fairing compared to Dalish elves at the reveal it’s their pantheon gunning to end the world? Again! RACE AND POLITICS MATTER! They always mattered in Thedas before, yet here they are anecdotal at best.

The Veil Should Have Come Down

It’s apparent to me, and numerous others, that Veilguard was stunted by its attempts to be an entry piece that wasn’t alienating to new players of the RPG game format, but it was also haunted deeply by it’s very EPIC tapestry mechanic (chocies mattered!). Ironically, Veilguard served to be a soft re-boot of the series. This, I think, was the grandest mistake. If they meant to reboot the series for future instalments, we should have fundamentally changed the physics and rules of Thedas completely to allow the next instalment to start from the literal ground up. By bringing down the Veil, we’d finally free the Titan’s, introduce the concept of Dwarves with magic, awaked the Forgotten Ones and maybe allow for new species/lore/concepts to shape the future. And to work around the tapestry, they could have simply set the next sequel 200 years later. Sent our heroes to rest. Ended with a new canvas.

It should have concluded with the very ending that was prophesied by Sandal in DA2:

“One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, the skies will open wide. When he rises everyone will see.”

Bonus: Anaris should have been a DLC boss with Fenris involved!

Why, you ask? Just this data-mined codex entry still present in the game:

Truth be told, like they did with Corypheus in the Origins DLC, I think they could very well bring him back as the big bad of DA5—which I think should have always been about fleshing out the war between the Titans / the Forgotten Ones / Evanuris!

Anaris and a waking Titan?! That would have been beyond amazing!

Which… again, is why the Veil should have COME DOWN!

P.S.: I know a lot of these criticisms seem like unhappy nitpicks, but I did enjoy Veilguard, I got an ending I could live with. BUT I am so angry by how many roadblocks are placed before game devs with a clear story in mind--as is obvious with the concept art book. Obvious threads were leading to Veilguard having always been the end of the Dragon AGE! We kill the last Archdemon! The last dragon linked to the Gods and the blight! The game developers have even alluded to having fought tooth and nail with EA's suits, but could only manage to give us the game we got. And I'm beyond grateful. But MAN does it hurt!

Remember to say thank you to the writers/artists/voice actors on their socials, they deserve a little love too.

Fin!

[beauregardlionett]

did i rant to my friends about dorian and orym just to be called a simp? yes i did. and i'll do it again.

these two characters? consume my waking thoughts. because just fucking think about this from a timeline/literary point of view for a second with me.

orym lost his husband and his father-in-law (who he always calls dad because he didn't have a dad growing up) in a violent attack on his leader a while ago and whatever magic was used to kill them kept them dead - no reviving magic worked to bring them back. in the space of a single attack, he lost two of the most important people in his life, and now he's a widow who still mourns and loves in equal measure even while far from home trying to save the world. he loves even though he's scared of losing again.

dorian is a runaway heir to a title he never really wanted, a musician for himself, a charlatan hiding behind an easy smile, who has really only ever wanted to see the world in his own time and make real friends for once in his life. and he did that! all on his own! he was with the group at the beginning of the campaign but then they ran into his older brother who was in trouble and needed to lay low and dorian went with him, falling back on old instincts that family by blood comes first. he ran from the group and from the foundations he was building with them. because dorian has only ever run from the things that scare him. but now he's back, re-traced his frightened footsteps toward the daunting promise of tomorrow - not yet with the group, we're getting his side of the story first. and he even said it himself, that he ran from the group and now he's not sure why he did it, why he left, when he stands here now and realizes everything he wanted was already in front of him.

they have sending stones, a once a day chance to say something to each other in 25 words or less. they've been using them, keeping each other updated on where they are, that they're still alive, and kindling this flame even without dorian at the table, without even seeing each other, and liam has been carrying this torch alone for 78 episodes but damn it the flame is still lit regardless!

and orym always updates on their progress and location first, and with whatever words he has left he drops in a sentiment to remind dorian that they still care - that orym still cares. and orym is practical through and through, he's a strategist so he always always always uses his words wisely because he's so fucking limited by this spell but the last message he sent? he repeated himself, he admitted a weakness, he faltered.

he told dorian where they were. he asked if dorian could come their way. he admitted to struggling while his voice broke. he asked again but in a different way if dorian could come their way. he ended the message with the most heartbreaking "fuck, i miss you," i have ever heard in my life.

orym, the man who messaged dorian 52 episodes ago and said "glad you're not here, wish you were anyway." because they're constantly in danger, and he wouldn't wish that on dorian, but he still aches to have him near. orym, the man who confessed 13 episodes ago during a trial with his friends that he's lonely, that he misses dorian and sometimes he thinks it's okay and sometimes he doesn't - because he was married and is still mourning and how dare he have feelings for someone else? how dare he move on even when his husband would WANT him to be happy again? he indicated dorian was missed by everyone in three of his previous messages before the trial, before finally shifting to 'I, orym, me - it's me who misses you'.

and dorian, the one who replied to a message orym sent him with "stay steadfast, sending you fairer winds" in the most longing tone i have EVER heard. dorian, who kissed orym's forehead when they parted ways but that is the closest they have come to acknowledging whatever is between them. dorian, who has been to orym's home between exu and c3 and met orym's mom and knows about orym's husband.

when orym died 58 episodes ago, he went limp and the sending stone slipped out of his hand because he was trying to message dorian before he died, before he ran out of words and breath. before he was revived, there was a moment he stood in the beyond and saw his husband and he told orym "you're not done," and orym said "i really wish i could stay," and then his husband said "i'll still be here," and orym said, heartbroken, "oh, i miss you so bad."

he told dorian, "i've really missed you," and "fuck, i miss you." i miss you is orym's way of saying i love you.

they're so close. they are so close. and orym fully died 19 episodes after dorian left, but he was revived and then never told dorian via sending that happened. part of me wants dorian to find out and the other part hopes he never has to feel like he failed orym by leaving. because nothing could have changed that from happening, not even dorian.

they are so close to reuniting, orym has needed dorian back for WEEKS and he's so close. i'm begging them to hold on so they can hold each other again.

and, again, from a literary point of view, you know the wildest part about all of this?

none of it is scripted.

[hydrangeapartridge]

The Lilac Dress (EmmRook One Shot)

Summary:

Rook was wearing the lilac dress. Emmrich's favourite. The one that made Rook’s leg look impossibly long with the slit on the side. The one that drew attention to her lovely cleavage without being too revealing. The one that hugged her forms but with elegance.

The one that always promised heights of intimacy after a fancy outting.

Or.. A tipsy Emmrich with lowered inhibitions f***s Rook's brains out.

Warning : E-rated content (5k of it...). Set post game in my head but no real spoilers.

Cross posted on AO3 (where you can check my other fics for them in my dedicated series)

Rook was slowly sipping a glass of gooseberry wine alongside an unusual guest. Dorian Pavus sent a letter a few weeks ago informing her that he was traveling around the continent, and would enjoy making a stop in Nevarra to greet her, as well as his former teacher.

Rook and Emmrich were delighted at the prospect of seeing him again and gladly accepted his invitation to share a meal in a famous and pricey restaurant of the capital.

Initially, they were supposed to meet there, but Dorian in his spontaneous fashion, decided to drop by their place before the scheduled hour of the meal, claiming he needed to see the décor of their shared lives.

So after a short visit of the house, Rook offered drinks while they waited for Emmrich, who was getting a bit tardy, retained no doubt in a longer than expected meeting.

Dorian started on his second glass as he admired the numerous displays of plants and flowers scattered around the living room, all lush and vibrant, visibly well nurtured.

“Professor Volkarin is ever the romantic man he was often accused to be it seems. So many flowers he offers you” He remarked, taking a large gulp of wine.

Rook smiled, but corrected him. “Actually, those are all gifts from me to him”

She brought those flowers back from her travels because she knew Emmrich had a passion for plants and botanic. He even told Harding once that he would have been a botanist if he did not happen to manifest a gift for corpse whispering.

At first, Rook would gift him bouquets, in the traditionnal way lovers did, but she quickly switched to potted plants that were more convenient to bring back, and avoided her the heartbreak of seeing Emmrich’s saddened expression when the fresh cut flowers eventually wilted. Only her sentimental lover could mourn flowers with such longing.

She loved how his eyes lit up each time she gifted him a new exotic plant, and how he got excited to research it aftewards. She became enamored with the way he would admire the frail blossoms every day; caress their pretty velvet petals each time he passed by, slowing down to take in their subtle perfume. Emmrich fell in love with flowers like he always seemed to fall in love with the beauty of life; with the magic of existence and the diversity of all things living. And it filled Rook’s heart to the brim with love for him.

Dorian was surprised by her confession, but mostly amused. “I understand now how you swept away the coveted and dashing Professor. You appealed to his tender heart”

Rook knew Emmrich had many short idylls when younger, both with men and women. But none of them ever connected to him on the level Rook did. She came to suspect that Emmrich’s good looks attracted the more flighty lovers. Passionate no doubt, but quick to tire when they found out he was looking for a more significant bond. And despite his openess and kindness, Emmrich’s collected and controlled attitude could have intimidated more earnest options.

Rook was saddned by the thought, but glad that fate made it so that he waited for her.

“Coveted?” She asked curiously. She was admiteddly eager to hear more about her lover’s life before her, and Dorian was happy to provide.

“Of course. You can’t possibly ignore that he moved many student’s hearts. Mine included”

Rook blinked owlishly, setting her glass down and leaning toward Dorian with renewed curiosity. “Really?”

Dorian shrugged. “Well he is a passionnate and clever teacher; patient and sensible. I could listen to him talk about the most grotesque burial rites and ask for more” Dorian leaned forward too. “And you’re familiar with his-” He cleared his throat, reining in his gusto. “-his elegant figure”

That she was familiar with indeed. Rook pictured the poor students, young and raging with hormones, having trouble focusing on the fascinating lessons just because Emmrich was the one who taught them. She wished she could spy on a lecture one day.

“Don’t go stealing him away” She exagerratedly frowned at Dorian. “I’ll get angry” She joked but still made her claim in a vain ugly and unecessary jealousy. She knew Emmrich was hopelessly devoted to her and her to him.

Dorian laughed, airy and bright. “I wouldn’t dream of it!” He got more serious then. “I know how strong a bond forged in facing death together can be”

At first, Rook thought he was refering to the Inquisitor and Solas, that Dorian knew very well. But he seemed to speak of an even more personnal experience. Maybe he had someone dear to him. He told her once about a friend he visited a few times a year, whom he seemed closed with but couldn’t introduce for political reasons. Someone special, but probably scandalous. Maybe he even had been visiting them before coming to Nevarra?

Rook desperatly wanted to ask for anecdotes from Emmrich’s younger days, but just when she was about to gather the courage to do so, the front door opened, and the subject of her curiosity soon entered the room.

Emmrich greeted Dorian, and apologized for his tardiness, claiming there had been complications with a routine cleansing of one of the Necropolis’ chambers. He then turned to greet Rook, but froze when he saw her outfit.

She was wearing the lilac dress.

He loved Rook in all states of dress or undress, but this one was his favourite. The one that made Rook’s leg look impossibly long with the slit on the side. The one that drew attention to her lovely cleavage without being too revealing. The one that hugged her forms but with elegance. The one that always promised heights of intimacy after a fancy outting.

Emmrich didn’t have much time to delve onto Rook’s outfit choice for they were awaited at the restaurant. And what a lovely evening it was.

They sat at a quiet and cosy terasse under the moon and the stars. Each dish was better than the previous one, and accompanied by passionate discussions about magic, politics, as well as reminiscing of fond memories. If Rook drank a few glasses of wine, she stopped before she felt too inebriated. Emmrich and Dorian weren’t as reasonnable, and kept filling the other’s glass almost on reflex as they became absorbed in deep talks about necromancy and art.

When dessert was served, Rook mostly listened to their heated discussions with a smile on her lips. But she knew she was not forgotten. Far from it.

Emmrich kept stealing glances her way, his gaze filled with adoration. His fingers found her hand from time to time, and her thigh on rarer occasions. There were a few stolen caresses from his leg on hers too.

It could not be helped; she wore the lilac dress. The dress that made her look the most desirable and exquisite. She could feel herself longing for the end of this admitedly pleasant meal so she could steal her lover away for the night. Her excitement was buidling up from the looks he gave her and the prospect of a night of the passion that the lilac dress entailed.

They were in such good company and at their age, both Emmrich and Rook knew how to control themselves. But at one point, the meal started feeling endless, and Rook wondered if maybe she had been too adventurous when chosing that dress that she used to wear only when going out with Emmrich as a couple. She was delighted to reunite with Dorian, but eager for meal to be over.

When they finally stood up from the table, after hours, they were the last patrons in the restaurant. Emmrich was charmingly fuddled, but Dorian turned out to be completely drunk. He ingested more alcohol, given he started on an empty stomach while waiting for Emmrich with Rook.

After a small exchange in front of the restaurant, Rook and Emmrich insisted the tevinter mage slept at their place for he was in no capacity to walk back to the room he rented. It would be better if someone was around were he to feel sick, and also, despite the safety of Nevarra’s streets, Emmrich worried about muggers.

Dorian easily complied, letting himself be guided back to Rook and Emmrich’s shared house. While Emmrich wobblily dragged him to the spare bedroom and made sure he was comfortable, Rook stayed downstairs and set to cleaning the wine glasses they left when they departed. She hoped a distraction and a grounding and boring activity like cleaning would ease the tension inside her.

She was getting frustrated. She waited so long to go home with Emmrich, so sure they would soon be alone and the torture caused by her rising desire would end. But alas, things did not go as planned. Were higher forces punishing her for mischeviously planning ahead to have groundbreaking sex with her lover after an outting with a friend?

The problem was the lilac dress. It automatically gave expectations for the night’s end. An automatic response to it that they built during months of her going out in it and then taking it off in front of Emmrich’s eager eyes. Usually the built up led to the most rewarding conclusion, but tonight, it was a trap of frustration.

Lost in her thoughts and memories of nights between the sheets, the lilac dress forgotten on the bedroom’s floor, Rook didn’t notice Emmrich presence behind her until he hugged her from behind. She jolted a bit but soon relaxed as she recognized his touch and the scent of his cologne.

He rested his head on her shoulder with a long sigh.

“What a night” He commented, both exhausted and giddy.

Rook hummed in agreement and put away the glass she just finished wipping clean. It was late, and they would have to go to bed without their usual post outting naked embrace. She was slightly disappointed, but knew there would be many other occasions.

She tried to turn around and step away from the kitchen’s counter but Emmrich held her in place in a tight embrace. It seemed he was mourning the loss of their potential fun too.

She lifted her arm and threaded her fingers in his soft hair, lightly scratching his scalp before her hand traveled down and caressed his cheek. Emmrich responded with a few loving kissed on her palm. His right hand dropped down to the slit in her dress, parting it so he could touch the bare skin of her thigh.

Then he pressed himself harder against her back and she felt his need for her against her backside.

This was bad. Because she didn’t want to move away and neither did he.

“We shouldn’t” Rook still whispered, trying to be a voice of reason.

Emmrich hummed but didn’t let go. His rings were cool on Rook’s thigh as his palm hiked up her dress, deliciously contrasting with the heat of his skin. His left hand moved up from her waist to cup her breast, feeling the enticing weight of it in his large palm.

“I’m afraid I can’t wait” Emmrich breathed into her ear, placing a kiss to her lobe, pulling on it lightly to make her shiver. “That wicked, lovely dress… I wanted you out of it the moment I came back home and saw it. Hadn’t we have company, I would even have considered doing something about it before going out this time”

Rook had misplayed. She should have changed the second they came home. Or better, shouldn’t have worn the damn dress at all. The Lilac dress was irresistible.

“Dorian could hear” Rook tried to argue with both her lover and her own desire. She had hoped for a night of fun but not with a guest in the house!

“Oh. Not in the state he’s in, I don’t think so” Emmrich chuckled, the sound rich and deep, making Rook want to hear more in that low voice of his.

His hand on her chest gently pulled down the fabric hiding her cleavage from him, and he inhaled sharply when his eyes discovered her underwear.

“Oh but this is gorgeous dearest” He praised her choice of a refined creamy lacy bra.

It was a new one; really, what was she thinking when she dressed up? Horny. That was for sure.

Emmrich then hiked up the bottom part of the dress higher to uncover the matching panties.

Withtout hesitation, he slipped a finger underneath the fabric. Of course she was already soaked from hours of imagining a more tender version of this.

“What about Manfred ?” Rook choked out, her restraint and decency barely holding by a thread of lucidity.

Emmrich’s hand retreated to her hipbone. He hesitated. Manfred could be imprevisible and he once barged into their bedroom while they were in a compromising position because he heard Rook cry out and thought she was hurt. The explanation that followed had been laborious and the mood had been killed. Spirit’s behavious sometimes were unpredictable, and the watcher pondered the risks and benefits of the situation.

Rook and Emmrich weren’t exhibitionnists, or careless about risking to be caught. They were usually quite vanilla and prefered to have tender sex in the intimacy of their locked bedroom, sure not to be disturbed. But Emmrich had a little bit too much wine and Rook was wearing the lilac dress. It was a devastating combo.

One other look down her cleavage, where the lace teasingly peeked out of the lilac fabric and Emmrich made up his mind. “You will have to keep oh so very quiet then darling” He whispered into her ear, sending delicious shivers down her spine.

They never found themselves in this situation, and Rook started to feel impossibly excited by her lover’s boldness about taking risks. However she knew from the start that she simply couldn’t stay quiet. She wouldn’t be able to with how much she wanted him already and how well Emmrich always took care of her needs. Plus she was usually a bit vocal in bed.

“I can’t do it” She shook her head, but Emmrich grabbed her chin, angling her so he could place an insistant kiss on her lips.

“Nonsense, I’m sure you can dearest” He encouraged her, leaving no room for discussion as he focused on pulling down her panties until they hit the floor.

His fingers found her clit not a second later, and already, Rook had to place a hand in front of her mouth to stiffle a loud moan. She waited so long for this and it simply felt too good to finally be touched.

She supported herself with her other hand on the counter as Emmrich began undoing her in a way only he had the secret to.

His gloved hand caressed her breast, fingers only brushing against her nipples from time to time, teasing her in the best way possible. He kissed her neck, her jaw, nipped at the sensitive spot below her ear.

“You look so lovely in that dress darling. I am a lucky man indeed to be blessed with such a view”

While praising her looks and the softeness of her body, Emmrich abandonned her drenched core to expose her naked backside, bunching up the fabric of the dress at her hips. He pressed his clothed erection to where she most wanted him, unusually careless about the stain her wetness would leave on his clothes.

His teasing was the best kind of torture, and Rook ground back against him with an enthusiasm of a woman who had been abstinent for months and not only a few days.

He caressed her backside while he rubbed himself against her through his pants until she whimpered against her own hand, struggling to keep quiet, and his erection started to ache from the restraint of his clothes.

The sound of Emmrich’s belt being unbuckled was music to Rook’s ears. The watcher only opened a few buttons of his shirt to fight the heat creeping under his skin before he opened his trousers and freed his erection from his underwear.

The sensations from before heightened when this time Rook directly felt the velvety tip of Emmrich’s desire against her folds. He thrust against her first, sliding into her wetness, purposefully letting his tip graze against her clit with each lazy move. His fingers joined in to tease her, petting her with barely enough pressure, circling her entrance where the nerves were sensitive and alite with a burning need, but never penetrating her fully.

He was teasing her in the best way, slowly, meticulously escalating the burning desire that only grew crescendo from the beginning of the evening. She didn’t think she could want it even more, but he drove her mad with his caresses. Which each new touch she felt like coming undone, but it always was robbed from her from a purposeful lack of the last little push she needed.

Emmrich was not one for quickies so him taking his time even in those circumstances shouldn’t have surprised her. Despite caving and indulging in taking her in the kitchen, he was still so in control compared to her. She was sure he wanted to ravish her, but he kept them on edge, enjoying the thrill of it. He knew their bodies so well that he could keep her just right there for hours. She knew it, and the prospect of it both excited and terrified her. She had been waiting for so long already. She deserved to be rewarded and for her devoring lust to be satiated.

“Please Emmrich ” She finally begged, bordering on insanity, her words escaping between the moans she kept in check with her hand over her mouth.

Emmrich pressed himself to her entrance, barely breaching her before retreating, taking her breath away and making her thighs tremble.

She whinned with longing and frustration. She had never been so eager to feel him inside her in her whole life. She almost felt bullied, and tears started to form at the corners of her eyes. As if the stress from the risk they were taking and the fatigue of the evening weren’t already taking enough of a toll on her body.

“I know mylove. I know” Emmrich caressed her back soothingly and ran a finger from her clit to her entrance in another agonizing caress “I’ve got you darling, trust me, you won’t regret it” He promised.

He moved the hand that was placed on her back up to the back of her neck, gently applying pressure to guide her down until she obendiently pressed her torso against the counter. She surrendered to him, head floppping onto her arms on the countertop, getting as comfortable as possible in this position.

“Good. There you go”

Emmrich kept a hand on her neck, not restrictive but still assertive enough to make Rook’s mind spin. As he praised her, he swiftly entered her fully, her core welcoming him without an ounce of resistance. He paired the gesture with a wicked flick of his thumb on her puffy clit and before she knew it, Rook was screaming into her first, the sole feel of him finally indulging her after hours of waiting making her come harder than she ever expected.

Emmrich stayed burried deep inside her as she rode her height. He soothingly caressed her thigh when she started getting down from it, her breathing coming into short pants. He leaned forward and kissed her temple, where her hair clung wet to her sweaty forehead.

“That was truly marvelous darling” He complimented her with both tenderness and raw desire. “I always wanted to try this” He confessed, the alcohol lowering his inhibitions and abolishing his restraint.

Rook mumbled something incomprehensible as he continued to praise her like she just did something incredible and he wasn’t the one who just blew her mind.

“Let's continue in bed” Emmrich offered in a flash of lucidity upon seeing the mess he already made of his dearest.

But her hand quickly grabbed his hip. No, this was too promising. She waited so long to have him inside her. And she wanted him to find release too. She shook her head.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in bed?” Emmrich insisted, but inhaled sharply when she clenched around him, holding him in place in a vice grip.

She didn’t need to use her words, only pressed her behind to his bony hips and arched her back. She raised herself on the tip of her toes to angle her hips so he would reach deeper inside her, lewdly presenting herself for him to take full advantage of.

Emmrich had always been weak to her desires and so, he obliged her wordless plea. How could he not? She felt so good around him.

Despite his urge to ravish her, Emmrich started thrusting inside Rook at a slow pace, assessing what she could handle in her sensitive post-orgamic state.

He was rewarded with the most unashamed moans each time his tip caressed her deep inside. He rarely took her from behind, for he enjoyed more romantic embraces where he could see her face; but when he did, it made for the deepest and most groundbreaking penetration.

Rook didn’t care for her noise anymore, her brain too scattered to remind her of any sense of shame or decency.

“Shhh. Quiet darling” Emmrich tried to get her to lower the volume, but he could not resist increasing the pace given how well she was taking him.

She responded marvelously to his new tempo, her back arching and her mouth opening on a series of short blissfull whimpers.

Emmrich had trouble controlling his pacing from how she was sucking him in, openly invinting him in the very core of her intimacy. But she was growing too loud, even for this thrilling risky tryst.

“Quiet dear, or we’ll have to stop” He repeated, voice hoarse but assertive, one hand coming to press on her lower back to stop her from grinding back into him as she chased her pleasure.

Rook felt the pace slow more than heard her lover’s warning. The loss of friction left her distressed and still so impossibly aroused. It did not feel like she just came. She needed more. She felt insatiable, desire running wild and electric under her skin.

“No please, please don’t stop!” She begged, high pitched and teary.

Emmrich winced as she squirmed, squeezing him. Her voice was even louder as she pleaded with him; alarmingly so. He couldn’t possibly get her to their room without her waking the whole household with her lament. It was almost worse than her moans. His teasing and the evening in the lilac dress had rendered Rook so scatterbrained that she couldn’t be reasonned with anymore. Emmrich had to do something to end this disaster.

And so he took it upon himself to help keep his dearest quiet.

A yelp of surprise escaped Rook as a gloved hand pressed against her mouth, followed by a shameless moan as the leather on Emmrich’s fingers pressed into her cheeks. His work glove was opened at the palm, where she could lick and press kisses to the warm skin. The contrast of both sensations drove her crazy with need.

It was so rare of Emmrich to be so bold and bossy. She had to seize the opportunity. This was probably the most adventurous sex they had in many years.

Rook grew quiet and went immobile under her lover’s touch, surrendering herself once more to him, letting him dominate her fiery spirit because she knew he would take good care of her and bring her the best of gratifications.

With one hand on her mouth and the second one gripping the dip in her waist tight, Emmrich guided Rook back against him and started fucking her again. Deep and slow at first, then quicker, almost punishingly so as he lost himself into her. She resumed her loud moaning, thankfully muffled this time by his glove. Her bouncing on his hips was a sight for sore eyes, the slapping of skin against skin obscene in a way that usually could have revolted him, but mesmerized him tonight. Rook, indomitable Rook, was gorgeous and at his mercy, trusting him to fuck her brains out like she dreamt of all evening.

Emmrich himself imagined a few scenarios during the meal, all inspired by that lilac dress. But to be this lewd; he never would have thought it possible at his age.

He was surprised he could even handle the impossible rhythm with which he bullied Rook’s pliant body. She was wailing into his palm, drooling even, and he soon brought her weakened body closer to him, holding her steady as her thighs quivered. Her breast was escaping the restraints of her pretty lacy bra from the force of Emmrich’s thrusts in sinfully marevlous bounce. Truly, he never put her under so much vigor, and some part of him almost felt bad for making her cry out like she did. But Emmrich knew her body too well to not understand she was enjoying herself very much.

That height he was guiding her to would be devastating, and she feared it just as much as she wanted it.

Emmrich’s panting breaths fell into her ear and it felt amazing to witness him so hot and bothered. From the corner of her eye, she could see a few lose strands of hair falling on his forehead and sweat pearling on his temple from the effort of it all.

“Come on, take me with you my love” He encouraged her in an impossibly deep hushered voice as his rhythm started to falter from exhaustion, as well as his imminent release.

She felt on the precipice of death. The last small push of her undoing was a hard press of his hand between her legs; probably too rough, but perfect in that moment. With a cry of relief and bliss, she died a little death. Her whole body tensed and shook before it became impossibly relaxed, like she was floating, envelopped in a warm blanket of pleasure.

Emmrich followed after her, releasing as deep inside her as he could with a quiet moan, so careless and indecent compared to his usual habit of pulling out.

He hugged his lover close to him as he tried to get his breathing in check. His heart was thundering in his chest, his pulse thumping in his ears, making him a bit dizzy. He kissed Rook’s temple lovingly to ground himself and comfort her, but for one second, he was afraid she had passed out on him. Her pulse was quivering but weak, and her breathing surprisingly deep despite their recent activities.

“Darling. Are you still with me ?” He asked, worry seizing him once the post orgamisc haze had lifted.

Rook hummed, still conscient but her mind far away as she rubbed her cheek against his lovingly.

“You were amazing. Truly beautiful.” Emmrich praised, relieved. His palm possesively splayed on her lower abdomen, where he filled her more than he ever did. Where she welcomed him and only him.

“Now” Emmrich did his best to gather back his wits and be a gentleman again. “Let’s get you to bed”

When he pulled out of her, he realized how much of a mess he made of her. An alarmed “oh dear” conveyed both his mortification and his pride when he saw traces of him and her drip down her thighs. He carefully bunched up the lower part of her dress, and held it up in one hand so it wouldn’t get stained. He then managed to lift Rook in his arms and carried her bridal style upstairs to their shared bedroom while she giggle blissfully.

There, he took care of her, cleaning her up and helping her change before he brought them both a glass of much needed fresh water. And maybe later, with the lilac dress forgotten on the floor, there was room for another (few) more tender embrace(s).

<center>- - -</center>

The following morning, Emmrich had trouble getting up as early as he usually did. Despite knowing they had a guest to tend to, he still sneaked down to the kitchen in his fanciest velvet dressing gown instead of actual clothes.

Downstairs, he found Manfred calmly reading in the sofa. Emmrich greeted the curiosity spirit, and congratulated him on his quiet behaviour. Together they then started making tea. Strongly infused tea.

Dorian’s footsteps were soon heard in the living room. He flopped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. He tried his best to maintain his usually smooth and charming attitude but there were noticeable dark circles under his eyes. His complexion was a bit dull too.

Manfred placed a breakfast tray in front of him and Dorian turned away from it, visibly a bit nauseous. He looked up to find Emmrich approaching, nursing a cup of tea. The younger mage couldn’t controle his surprised expression upon seeing his former professor in his night clothes.

“I am truly sorry for the poor display I offered last night Professor. I was so delighted with the evening that I got tricked by the port like a young boy” Dorian said, running a hand through his hair to coiffe it better.

“Oh don’t worry about it. It happens. I myself overindulged too I fear” Emmrich sighed as he sunk onto his favourite armchair. “And please, I already told you to call me Emmrich” He tiredly added.

“Right” Dorian nodded before he asked. “Rook was the most reasonnable one it seemed when it came to intoxication”

A flashing image of Rook’s naked and soundly sleeping figure crossed Emmrich’s mind. When he woke up, he had lovingly pulled the covers over her to keep her warm and comfortable. At this hour, she was still recovering from a different kind of intoxication; one he tried not to think about, least he found himself embarassed in front of their guest.

“If you wish to take a bath, please be my guest” Emmrich redirected the conversation away from his lover, while also doing his best to be a decent host.

Dorian shook his head. “I think I shall leave you. I wouldn’t wish to impose any longer. And I long for a few more hours of rest somewhere I won’t bother anyone.”

Emmrich nodded, placing his cup on the coffee table before getting up.

“I suppose I shan’t see Rook before I leave?” Dorian asked, the hint of a smile lighting his tired expression.

Emmrich cleared his throat and put on his best charming smile, joining his hands together as he did when lecturing. “I am afraid she is feeling a bit under the weather. I could wake her if you’d like…”

Emmrich let Dorain interrupt him on purpose. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to disturb her… restful sleep”

Both men exchanged a look that made Emmrich realize they hadn’t been quiet enough the previous night. The tip of his ears turned visibly pink, but Dorian knew from the glare he received that he better not comment on what he suspected.

“I shall leave her a note then” Dorian said, amusement in his raspy voice.

“Yes, yes, perfect” Emmrich agreed and told Manfred to fetch some paper.

<center>- - -</center>

When Rook finally rose from the bed, it was well past noon. Emmrich greeted her with a kiss to her forehead, asking if she slept well. Honestly, she slept like a log. After she nodded, she looked around the house.

“Dorian is gone?” She remarqued, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“I’m afraid so dear. He wished to be at peace to nurse his hangover. But he left a note for you” Emmrich told her as he sat back in his armchair, the newspaper in hand.

Rook took the carefully folded paper from the coffee table. As she scanned the words, her expression switched from amusement to mortification.

“Did you read it?” She asked Emmrich while Manfred brought her a cup of tea that she accepted with enthusiasm, thanking the skeleton like he just brought her the most wonderful of gifts.

“Of course not. That would be most impolite and respectless of me. It is adressed to you dearest”

Rook crawled to the edge of the couch and handed her lover the small piece of paper with a flushed face.

“Dear Rook, I thank you for your hospitality. I had a wonderful evening” Emmrich chose to read aloud, but his voice faltered as the text came closer to its end. “But probably not as enjoyable a night as yours”

Emmrich gulped and Rook hid her face in her hands in mortification as her lover whispered the last line. “I was glad to see you and the professor are blissfull in all aspects of your life as a couple”

Emmrich ran a hand over his face with a muttered “oh dear” and Rook decided that from now on she would wear the lilac dress only when they got out just the two of them.

[alongtidesoflight]

so here's my honest thoughts on dragon age: the veilguard, after ~40 hours of playing. i finished the main quest after having finished all companion quests and major faction quests. just to clear up what content i saw, i played as an elven transmasc rook who is a member of the lords of fortune. he romanced lucanis (although after finishing the game i'm now leaning towards taash). i don't know what's happening in playthroughs that have a different race, gender identity, romance or faction going on.

full spoilers ahead, i mean it. don't read further if you want to avoid them. i don't want complaining about it in my asks.

oh and also, if you're worried because of a few negative reviews online i can comfort you by saying don't give a fuck about a certain big name youtuber who is very much tied to bethesda franchises giving this a negative review. i'll explain why.

i'm starting off with the things i liked

the game looks really pretty. i was worried it wouldn't feel like thedas anymore (with them trying to "focus on northern thedas only" i thought they'd make a clear cut in environmental design. they do and they don't. it's complicated. i'll elaborate on it when talking about the negative stuff). anyway it does. minrathous feels like kirkwall. treviso enchanted me like the winter palace did. the hossberg wetlands reminded me of the hinterlands and a couple other inquisition maps. arlathan looked like... arlathan. the crossroads were different, but familiar. overall i like the way it looks and feels. it's thedas, with a twist. it's a good one, and gives everything a solid but unique feel.

combat is top tier. if you're a hardcore dragon age player you WILL miss the tactical aspect of it for a bit, but i promise you, once you're used to the way the combat works, you will be lapping that shit up. and once you get to ability combos you'll mourn the control you used to have over your companions in battle a bit less

the MAIN quest and its story. i expected worse, way worse. and for a while the game even had me tricked (harr harr you'll get it in a second) it is Really That Much Worse. but holy shit was it good. i walked away satisfied ngl.

your choices have SOLID weight. there's consequences, good AND bad. i got minrathous blighted, ruled over by venatori, and the leader of the shadow dragons ultimately died because of my decisions. i made those at the beginning and throughout the game. he died at the end. DAVRIN died because i didn't expect what i was saying to have that much weight. i thought i was in the clear. he had hero status. well turns out, your choices can still get your companions killed even if you do everything right. i fucking love him. he shouldn't have made that sacrifice just because i told him to do everything it takes once.

the inquisitor, morrigan and dorian being there, surprisingly. there's also negatives to this though, see below.

speaking of companions dying and the inquisitor playing a bigger role: the final quest feels like me2's suicide mission. i was blown away by it and the fact that i got to see the results of all my efforts playing out in front of me.

bioware are NOT trying to redeem solas. they love him as a character yes, but i wasn't forced to see any good in him. he betrays you. he fucked my rook over twice. he fucked him over right back, for good this time (the veil wasn't torn down, i anchored it by binding him to it, he's doomed to uphold it). but solas really lives up to his name as the trickster elven god. rip to all the people who grew really attached to him over the years.

varric died. if you like him that's probably as hard reading it as it was watching it. varric died and the game lies about it until the very end. when the realisation hits, it hurts. but in the very best way.

the amount of care they put into gender expression and trans identities this time around. (i'll add onto this with negative points as well too).

rook feels very much ingrained in the world of thedas. he doesn't ask questions that expose the player to lore through dialogue as if he's stepped foot into thedas for the first time. those conversations feel very solid and good. i hope other faction players got as much joy out of this as i did.

and the things i didn't like and boy there's a lot unfortunately

the music. let's just get that out of the way holy shit. it doesn't feel like it belongs in this universe. it gets so incredibly sci-fi-y at times you'd think it's taken straight from mass effect andromeda. there's not a single song unique to veilguard that i really enjoyed. it broke my immersion, real bad. hearing a busker play the tavern songs from inquisition on a lute right after i killed some venatori with wobbly bass songs playing in the background is just odd. weird tonal shift. don't like it. it's made for people who like flashy light-weight cinema.

tevinter nights is required reading. the podcasts are required listening exercises. the game is so fast paced, especially at the start, that there's no time to introduce you to characters and how much weight their names carry in-game. i would not have known who half these people are if i hadn't skimmed over tevinter nights. i'd care even less about them than i already did. there is no time to get properly attached to them. people will act as if you're talking to a legend personified and you'll be thinking man goddamn which chapter of tevinter night were they in again and what did they do???

there's a weird mismatch with the animations. you'll have beautifully fluid ones, like emmrich casting spells. and then you'll have rook's face animating in the most unnatural manner that's sorta reminiscent of mass effect andromeda's "my face is tired" addison, when their emotions SHOULD be landing with the player rn instead.

i'm not vibing with the art style. sometimes it works. most of the time it doesn't. at points i felt like i was watching tangled.

that also brings me to some of the dialogue. same issue. i am watching frozen. i am watching tangled. someone on the writer's team really likes the adorkable trope. bellara is its victim.

for all the talk about identity, bioware sure doesn't like theirs. the grey warden armor got a redesign again and it just makes them look like a generic army. i hate it lol

in general, i don't like the armor design. the wardrobe/appearances system is fine, but it's just not helping if all the armors are just... kinda bland or downight bad looking? and don't get me started on the lords of fortune armor. that is orientalism personified.

the world states should have been carried over, full stop. i know they said they didn't because they want to separate what happens in the north from what happens in the south, which... i could have lived with that. but the inquisitor sends you letters that keep you up to date on... the south of thedas. you learn that there's a blight again, that people are standing strong but it's difficult, denerim's fallen, the rulers are taking care of it, orlais is fighting and they're successful for a while, etc etc. what's good bioware. i thought we don't care about the south this time around. why are you feeding me so much boring generic information. if you're not gonna show any of it and just write letters, then carrying the world state over should not have been an issue. i have a game dev background. those few lines of code would not have broken your budget or pushed your engine's limits. fuck right off.

this gripe of mine carries over to all the cameos. as a lord of fortune you have to deal with isabela a lot. it's fun. i missed her. you get to go drinking with her and taash and bellara! also my hawke romanced her. she's not mentioned once. they had the opportunity to put a sentence or two about her in there with not a lot of effort, trust me.

when varric dies, all she has is a single line about it. for gold, for fortune, for varric. she only says it if you interact with her on your way to the final push. that's not mandatory.

morrigan is there. kieran isn't. the old god soul that mythal and then solas absorbed? who cares at this point, the gods are dead now and solas is locked away for eternity. i suppose? why is morrigan there. she feels unneeded. i wish they'd just left her down south, at least that way i wouldn't have had to witness her god awful redesign.

dorian at least feels as if he belongs in this story. the shadow dragons are a crucial part to protecting minrathous. he's also weirdly underutilised. isabela and morrigan had more lines than him in my playthrough.

on the topic of romance: bro that was underwhelming. no, genuinely. you know when romance picked up a bit? after the point of no return. i heard maybe two lines of companion banter about it before that. maybe i missed something which i honestly doubt, but romance did not play much of a role in lucanis's storyline. i saved his grandmother as he wished me to (and if you read tevinter nights you know she was rather abusive and their relationship not the healthiest) and told him to focus on his family. a reunified family my rook wasn't even introduced to as a partner at the end of all that.

really, do not buy this game if you're only in it for the romances. others might be better, lucanis's basically gave me nothing. except for an outing (the second coffee date i had with him, it was getting repetitive) all of it played out once i committed to the final quest. the sex scene was a fade to black. annoyingly right after davrin died. if you're looking for well paced and good spice, pick up something else. the sweet talk and the final goodbye were nice though.

for all the good the ever-presence of gender identity does, it is brought up in such a disruptive manner too. it doesn't even play out naturally if you CHOOSE the lines that are meant to be said. hearing the words trans and non-binary in this setting doesn't feel right, and i'm saying this as a trans guy. i think it could have been handled more gracefully. the amount of times my rook went "i'm a MAN" as if he's about to start drumming on his chest and roaring any second now got super nerve-grating. "i'm so glad you're into me... the me who is trans. remember?" just. tell me one trans person who'd talk like that to a person they've grown close with and are trying to romance. this game doesn't handle sexuality well, so all this hey my body might not look like the way you're expecting it to look talk amounts to nothing anyway. i feel about this the way i feel about krem: this is partial exposition to trans experiences... packaged up for cis consumption. the ONLY exception to that is interacting with taash. holy shit was all of that heartwarming and bro did it feel good and natural to talk to them about theirs and rook's gender.

rivain and nevarra are new locations added by veilguard. they're also incredibly underwhelming, small and constricted maps. rivain is a coastline with a few ruins. the hall of valor is a partial ruin nestled into a cave on a beach, with a fighting pit. isabela is there in her skimpy outfit commentating your pit fights. that's it. i'm sorry if you were looking for a bustling pirate cove or whatever. you're not gonna get it. the nevarran crypts btw are a long ass dungeon crawl. that's it.

speaking of maps. i thought people were being dramatic when they said you're gonna be fighting the same enemies on them again and again. i thought they were figure of speeching it. they're not. you WILL fight the same amount of enemies. in the same spot. every time you reload the map. best to stay on a map and clear out the enemies and do as much questing on that map as you can before leaving, because you WILL have to do it all over again once you return.

the three choices i made for my inquisitor didn't matter lol she didn't have to face solas and therefore couldn't stop him at any cost as she had sworn (maybe because my rook tricked solas into binding himself to the veil, there was also an option to fight him. would she have stepped in? who knows). blackwall wasn't mentioned. and either her using a small amount of her forces in the final fight was the reason the civilians of minrathous fared so well..... or it just didn't matter. ultimately i think she had very little impact on anything

[dragonagecompanions]

DAI: What is going through the minds of the Inquisition and the advisors, especially the romanced ones, upon realizing that they are going to lose the Inquisitor to the anchor?

Cassandra: Even the greatest fairy tales have an ending, but somehow Cassandra had always hoped that theirs would be happy. Their love was so unexpected, so sudden, and yet she had known from their first kiss that in him she had found a love for the ages.

Her uncle told her she was unlovable, her oath made her unlikable, but beneath it all her herald had seen the woman within the warrior--and still called her his own. He did not forsake her, even when she was unsure of herself with him. If these are to be their last hours together, she will not forsake him.

And she wishes now he had proposed.

Solas: He is not even sure he has the right to grieve, and yet he mourns every minute she is in pain and far from his side. This was always coming, of course-- he knew it from the first moment. And yet that cannot offset the suffering his Vhenan is undergoing.

It is another regret on his shoulders, but he must perservere.

Blackwall: Warden or wanderer, Blackwall or simply her Thom, the news brings him to his knees. How can a woman who has saved so many others be beyond salvation now? For all the power their inquisition has garnered, how can it fall short of saving their leader? How is that any kind of justice? Where is the Maker, when Andraste's herald needs him most?

There are no answers, of course, and in truth he does not wish to waste the time looking for them. As the mark sputters and sparks and threaten to consume her he rarely leaves her side. Through the eluvians or simply through politics he is her strong arm when pain makes her weak, a bulwark against a pain no man can truly fight.

And if he only leaves her side once while she fights for uneasy sleep, to seek out the dark alley shop with its nervous proprietor, no one else need know. The bottle of Quiet Death sits in secret in the bottom of his traveling pack, the most honest choice he has ever made. There is no world, for him, when she is gone. Let them accost the Maker together.

Sera: She knows.

She knows before anyone, knows when her honey tongue's hand starts burning like a green candle and she stops sleeping as well. When you grow up little, grow up afraid, you learn to expect the worst so that the worst doesn't surprise you. And so Skyhold's Red Jenny is braced for the blow for a long time, but it still hurts. Shite, it hurts to know it for real, to see it for real.

She never loved anyone, not like the Inquisitor. No one ever believed in her like the Herald, nowhere felt like home like the Inquisition. She can't do without it, without her, and part of Sera wants to leave before it hurts more. But even thinking about not being there hurts too, hurts like someone is stomping on her heart.

And so she stays. Stays to make her love laugh, stays to make the bad days better. Stays and impulsively drags her honey tongue off to get married, to promise to love each other for ever even if thats not very long anymore. But Sera isn't going to run, and if this is how it ends...she wants the world to know who her herald belonged to, and for her herald to know how much she was loved.

Dorian: It was supposed to be him. Maker's breathe, it was supposed to be him! It was supposed to be him that went first, a martyr to a better Tevinter, a beautiful profile cast forever in marble for his amatus to weep beautifully over and curse Dorian for ever leaving him behind. Even before his father's murder he expected such an eventual fate, and in truth had stayed so long in Skyhold so as to make those memories before Tevinter took her blood price for trying to change her.

But it was not supposed to be the Inquisitor fighting a losing battle with his own sodding arm, not Dorian left to only wring his hands and hold the man he loved close while he suffered. He is the product of a thousand years of careful breeding, graduate of the finest academies in Tevinter, a Maker's damned magister, but it's not enough. The anchor is taking its price, almost right before his eyes, and there is nothing he can do.

He'd always known the inquisitor would break his heart. But...kaffas, it was meant to be him.

The Iron Bull: Katoh.

[princessanonymous]

Your platonic yandere vampire fuckin slaps, its so good i want to eat it

Since after turning, the reader is basically a NEET at this point cause I doubt Dorian would allow her to have a life. Are there like any expectations that he has on her on a day to day basis?

As in, does he expect a minimum amount of time spent together as a family (aside from dinners), having the 1700s equivalent of family game nights, does Dorian expect the reader to hug her dads at least once a day? Or does he let her rot in her room with dolls and just likes the idea of having his husband and daughter in the house?

Once again, love your work and great job , fuckin banger series you made thank you so much for the delicious food, looking forward for more

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓑𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 (Ask)

When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list

I'm glad to know you liked it! (*°▽°*) Thank you for asking! Sorry it took so long to answer, I just didn't know how to put it into words until today. o(TヘTo) But here it is :

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Surprisingly, Dorian did not expect a certain amount of time spent together. With time, he had grown to understand that forcing it would only make the girl pull away even more. He knew (Y/n) would come to him or Killian all by herself. Who else would she turn to anyway? Who else would she turn to, after all? Balls and gatherings where she could mingle with vampires of similar age and disposition were few and far between. Being in contact with mortals without feeding on them was even rarer. 

No, he knew she needed them. Leaving wasn’t even an option for one who looked so young, that, she was very much aware of. She wasn’t dumb, far from it.

But every three decades or so, the youngling would forget that and simply confine herself in her own quarters. Dorian learned not to make a big deal about it. Still, she needed company no matter how much she could forget that sometimes. Naturally, he would then find her company; that was his role as his caretaker, after all. The first time, it had been a grey cat which, for the life of him, he couldn't remember the name of. Next, it was a little puppy and, ten years ago, it was a small cat with bright blue eyes named Atlas.

They all died within ten years of their arrival. His little vampire took great care of them, but their mortal existence couldn’t be extended forever. Yet, every time, she would be devastated, mourning them for a long period of time. Just like she was doing tonight, in fact. Atlas had been buried earlier in the night. The poor girl was a mess sobbing in his arms. He gently rubbed circles in her back as she cried all the tears in her body. 

“Now, hush dear," he muttered with a soothing voice, “you gave it a wonderful life. I’m sure he is now thankful wherever he is.”

"Why did he have to go?" She sobbed even more.

"All mortals have to go, starshine, you know that," he reminded her softly.

The stark contrast between mortals and their kind was a truth they couldn't escape. Mortals, with their fleeting lives and fragile mortality, existed on a different plane altogether. They grew old and frail, their bodies succumbing to the relentless march of time, while vampires remained frozen in eternal youth, unchanging and immutable. Mortals came and went like whispers on the wind, leaving behind only the faintest traces of their existence, while vampires endured, their memories etched into the fabric of eternity. Dorian knew the pet would eventually die, just like the others. And yet, despite the inevitability of her passing, she still had them; her family. 

In the quiet darkness of the night, she sought solace in the embrace of the familiar, curling up in the comforting confines of Dorian's coffin. Her tears, silent witnesses to the turmoil that churned within her, traced shimmering paths down her cheeks. He petted her hair gently as Killian placed a kiss on her forehead. And just like that, everything was as it was before. She clung to them as she should.

She would always come to them in the end. Sometimes, it just took a little push, a reminder that mortal life was fleeting — and here she was once again, returning to them with a heart heavy with sorrow and tears.

She would come and they would be there.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Does he bring her pets so she can watch them die on purpose as a form of punishment whenever she pulls away for too long?

'Nooooooo, of course nooooot,' Dorian says, u know, just like a dirty filthy lying liar who lies.

[lindira]

I'm VERY excited about Essek and Astrid making their appearances, but... Can we just have Bells Hells take a little break? You're telling me they just got back from the fucking moon or fought the Spider Queen, lost someone very dear to them, and have barely said three sentences to each other, and they can't take a day to recuperate and mourn? To be thankful for each other's presence? To comfort each other after a very long, very difficult day? They barely got a long rest. Now they're off on some other mission?

This campaign is exciting, but I understand why some people are having a hard time connecting with it. Bells Hells has no downtime to bond and be stupid together. They're just always going from one mission to another, over and over again. Vox Machina had shopping hijinks in Vasselheim and vacations in Dalen's Closet. The Mighty Nein got to decorate the Xhorhaus and troll the Gentleman or Yussa and have Traveler-con. But Bells Hells? They have been bouncing around all the realms at breakneck speed. The time they were supposed to spend bonding in the Fey Realm was basically a spitfire of uncomfortable truths in amongst harrowing situations. They've grown a lot as characters, certainly. But we so rarely get to see them just be people for a little while, instead of would-be heroes.

I want to see them mourn Fresh Cut Grass and really sit in that loss. I want them to have actual talks with Dorian about what he's been through and what they've all been through. I want to see them lift each other up despite their respective broken hearts because they're friends and family. I want to see them address their messy emotions for once. Bells Hells genuinely needed to "nap and talk about [their] feelings" for at least one episode. It's been three episodes since FCG died. We need to address that enormous elephant in the room to give it weight and purpose.

I'm hoping they slow down, if at least for a day. The way they just go from one mission to another doesn't feel as much of a narrative as the previous campaigns did.

[towards-toramunda]

My brain wouldn’t shut up about Orym and now I have this:

There was a gnawing feeling inside of Orym. Not harsh or unwanted necessarily, but deeply uncomfortable.

He’d become so well acquainted with his loneliness that it shifted to a dull pull and rarely bothered him at all anymore. His bed was empty (metaphorically speaking) and he would one day be with Will again, and that was what he wanted. He would live the rest of his life in quiet peaceful mourning, enjoying the view as he lived, and then return to the love of his life in death and his loneliness would be resolved.

What he didn’t expect was closeness that would shift the dull ever present pulling into sharp focus. That the closer he grew to the bell’s hells, the lonelier he would become. The more he invited friendship and care and love in, the more he craved it. Familial platonic closeness couldn’t ease the pull when it begged to be touched intimately. Distant magic bringing images of dark hair shifting white tugged at his heart. Firm touches on stone skin became kindling. And the neglected loneliness made itself well known to Orym.

He was a romantic, and waiting to return to your love in the afterlife is romantic. Yet, Orym was a romantic without warm lips to kiss or strong hands to hold, and, as he became aware of his fresh loneliness, he realized he was not wanting for options.

The quiet pining for Dorian had become a constant companion of his, as did the pain that came from truly yearning for someone for the first time since Will. His feelings were a constant thrum, made stronger with sendings and glimpses in a scrying eye, but his guilt waxed and waned with the light of the big moon.

The slowly growing care and attraction for Ashton wasn’t something Orym noticed until it was too late; by the time he realized the depth of his feelings they were well and firmly rooted. Ashton’s proximity and recklessness made that attraction both a nervous and powerful one. He was different from Dorian, different from Will. Yes, they were impulsive and rude, but Ashton shared Orym’s jokes, promised protection, and held a deep well of gentleness that Orym was sure Ashton was unaware of.

The gnawing feeling of loneliness felt like a cavern to sink into. The yearning felt like a rowdy child let loose in his mind. The delicious possibility felt both harrowing and full of potential. But none of this would matter. Not if they all died.

He could live with the loneliness and yearning and possibilities for a few more weeks. Feelings would complicate the mission at hand, and likely he would die in the process of trying to save the world and, at least then, he’d finally return to Will.

Link on ao3:

[screechingfromthevoid]

I think the same reason I love Dorym is why I love Loquatious and Laerryn. One, the devotion of it all. But secondly, and more importantly, "But there's one story of a fairy who stumbled into this world and fell in love"

Because Dorian is an air genasi prince who left home to find something real. His home floats on wind and he's never wanted for a thing. And he came down from his clouds only to find himself stumbling, tumbling, into love with just a man.

There is something so earnest about a man who is considered magical and wondrous in a world that already has magic, falling in love with someone who just is.

It's a thought that scratches the back of my mind a lot. It goes hand in hand with Liam saying "he has no idea if Dorian returns his feelings". Because from Orym's point of view why would Dorian have feelings for him? Dorian. The beautiful blue prince who is extremely talented in both music and magic. Dorian is everything Orym admires in other people. Everything he doesn't see in himself.

But Dorian does have feelings for Orym. Because Orym is everything he's not. He's firm and reliable. He knows who he is and is unapologetic about it. Orym was the only one in the (original) Crown Keepers that wasn't tempted by the spider queen. Because he was too principled. He was too good. Dorian's alignment changed. Dorian felt himself getting worse. Yet Orym stayed steadfast. In the face of everything he did not change.

Their pursuits were the same. They wanted to protect their friends. At any cost. But Orym somehow stayed unchanged. He always knew the right way of doing things.

So the handsome prince fell in love with a guard and planned to stay with him until he no longer wanted the company.

I literally said to a friend "I know he leaves. But he is so devoted to Orym I don't know how they're going to get him to."

And it was the one thing neither could argue against. Family. Orym knew about family. He knew about duty.

But even a continent away Dorian couldn't stop thinking about Orym. His little tactician before he was the savior blade. Even when his world came crashing down, Orym called and he went.

Idk. I think there's something beautiful in the way that Dorian loves Orym. I think it is very reminiscent of the fey who stumbled into this world and fell in love. I think it will be a love that will always be with them. That they will have to recover from. A love they might have to mourn before they ever have it.

Even if they never... If there is no love confession, if they have to mourn the loss of the people they thought they were, if there's no way for them to be together; Dorian will always love Orym. In the same way Orym loves Will. First love often lingers.

[wootensmith]

Blighted

(or maybe it went this way... happy-ish? despite the title)

It started as a prickle along the tops of his knuckles. Right where the thin scratches had been from the ritual’s disastrous conclusion. Just that. A sensation so small he might have ignored it entirely, if he hadn’t seen how the Blight had transformed the Evanuris. Not that there was much he could do now. He’d tried to find the source. He wasn’t certain how long he’d searched. It seemed days, but time moved so differently here. Useless. He’d sought out any break in the Fade, any crack that the Blight could creep through. At last he’d concluded the source must have been the Evanuris themselves, the taint left behind, infecting the space and then himself.  He also decided it best that he not inform Rook, though his own terror pushed at him to plead for help in this matter too. He knew there was no help for this. And Thedas had larger issues than one man’s infection, even if Rook could have located him. A task that seemed ultimately hopeless because Solas had designed the prison to be as hidden as possible.

No, there was no purpose in alarming his temporary allies. If Solas could slow the progress of the Blight long enough to see Thedas safe, that would be enough. As the prickle spread slowly beneath his skin, he wished often that he could talk to Dorian. He even considered asking Rook to contact him. Just that much. If he’d had Dorian’s research on the Blight… but Dorian knew him well enough to ask the right questions. He would know within moments why Solas had sought him out. And he had ample reason to refuse.

Solas obsessed over what he could not see. The threat of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. The spirits and people who were no doubt perishing in violent conflict because he had not achieved a softer blending of the world. The unchecked ravaging of the Blight outside his prison. Lurking behind these terrors was the one he returned to again and again, even when it felt selfish to do so. Even as he felt deep guilt for mourning the Inquisitor’s peril above all, he could not help reaching for her in his mind. But dreams in this place were empty. Uninhabitated. Only the memories he already turned over and over in his waking hours. They brought him no peace, only more panic and deep, bitter regret. But there was still work to be done and he did his best to press his fear aside so he could concentrate on the disaster at hand instead. Resisted asking Rook of the Inquisitor or any of his former companions. Even Varric.

And then the whispers began. He was uncertain why it took so long to begin. At first, he believed it some symptom of the infection. A hallucination, perhaps. Not unusual, given he his isolation. More isolated than he’d ever been. Cut off entirely except for the brief moments that Rook intruded. Even the Evanuris had had each other. Whether they helped each other or tortured themselves, he’d never known. But they hadn’t emerged sane. Solas had no one, spirit or flesh. At times he thought he caught moving shadows from the corner of his vision that flickered away as soon as he turned to look. They always took the shape and movement of the Inquisitor before they vanished. He tried to hang onto his reason, repeating ancient formulae for spells to drown out the incessant murmurs of the Blight. He sympathized with the Gray Wardens who threw themselves into the Dark Roads to stop the constant Calling.

After a time, the whispers began to resolve themselves into words. The infection had gone deep by then, even with his magic slowing it. He could see it through his skin, a dark, pulsating red just below the surface. The words started making sense. It wasn’t long before he realized it was not the Blight itself, but the words of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. Whether they spoke to each other or their followers or just the darkspawn, Solas was uncertain. But he strained to comprehend more of what was said, hoping for some information that could help. He hoped they did not know he could hear. Every whisper that passed without the names of Rook’s companions was a tiny relief. More so that none of them named the Inquisitor. More thin dreams cropped up in his mind but they were not native to him and were filled with angry, bloody visions of what the Evanuris were spreading beyond his reach. He avoided sleep when he could. It only made the taint spread faster.

 The next visit from Rook was the one that exposed him as unwell. Solas was careful to disguise his illness, but Rook could tell that his thoughts at the very least, were elsewhere. That he knew things he should not. It was difficult to concentrate with the tangled echoes of others in his mind. And flashes of the Inquisitor still haunted him. Sometimes he would see her laughing before dissolving. Sometimes she wept. He began to wish even these flickers would cease.  By the time his allies faced the Evanuris, it was clear that he was struggling. Rook tried to persuade him to tell them where he was. He did not. He told Rook that time was short, that they could not hope to free him even if they knew his location. He didn’t tell Rook he was keeping it to himself to shield them. If they could avoid infection from Elgar’nan and Gilan’nain, then he would not expose them again. 

Perhaps, in light of what would come, this last decision was a mistake.

The stretch after that last visit was oppressive. Long. Long enough for his lengthy litany of regrets to repeat and repeat. The sibilant whispered thoughts of Elgar’nan wove through it all. Until he was certain he was, indeed, mad. And the prickle had become painful shards against the underside of his skin which was mottled and turning necrotic.

And then the whispers abruptly stopped. The flickering shadows, too, left him to himself. No dreams. No illusions. Just quiet stillness. It was initially a relief, to have his mind to himself again. He hoped it meant that Rook had been successful. He waited. But nothing in his cramped world altered beyond the sudden silence.  It is to be expected, he told himself. We were allies only so long as the larger threat remained. Rook has no need of me any longer. And reason to turn from me. He tried to prepare himself for Uthenara, now that the whispers would no longer wake him. Recreated the process as well as he could. But Uthenara eluded him. The Blight grew. Scraped the interior of his chest until every inhale felt filled with grains of jagged sand. It was his only means of measuring the passage of time.

When the air split in an emerald seam of light he believed it was another hallucination. One of his memories sprung into a vision before him. He didn’t even stand up in reaction, too exhausted by struggling against the Blight to consider it worth the effort. It would evaporate in a moment anyway. He had only to endure the vision to it’s logical—  Inquisitor Lavellan stepped through the widening crack. He waited for her to flicker out. Instead, she spoke. “You’re sure this is—” she stopped talking to whoever had been behind her on catching sight of him. The dawning sorrow in her expression made him stand, back up a step in shock. Though the shadows that had haunted him were not always happy, they were not like this. Streaks of blood muted the green of the anchor which had spread over her visible skin. She held herself as if there were an injury in her side that pained her. “I’m too late,” she said, and reached toward him. “Ir abelas.” Solas quickly backed up another step to prevent her from exposing herself to the Blight that crawled through him.

Varric stepped through the rift behind her, followed by Rook. Varric, too, was heavily bruised and limping. He gently stopped the Inquisitor from further closing the distance.  “He’s ill, Varric,” she protested. “I can see that,” said Varric warily, squinting through a swollen eye at Solas. “Tel’numin, Vhenan,” said Solas, forcing a half smile. “I did not think to dream again. And this is a good dream.” “You could have told me,” snapped Rook staring at the ruby patches in Solas’s skin. “We would have found a way to seek you out sooner.” Solas ignored Rook. “Ar nuvenan ma,” he admitted. The Inquisitor reached her hand toward him past Varric, though he tried to stop her. “And here I am,” she said. “Let us leave this place.” Varric shook his head. “He can’t.” She glanced down at him.  “He’s like the others. Look at him. We take him out of here and he’ll spread the Blight just like they did.” “He’s not like—” Varric gripped her arm, just above her elbow. Just above where Solas had wounded her. Solas flinched, but the Inquisitor didn’t. “He is,” Varric insisted. “He has their powers, he has their history, and now he’s got the Blight. Whatever’s left of him is— I’m sorry,  Inquisitor, but I’ve watched it before. Bartrand wasn’t Bartrand by the end. And Solas won’t be either. Look at him. He thinks we’re a dream still. He can’t be released from here unless we find a cure for the Blight.”

Solas backed up another step, slowly realizing that if this were a hallucination, it was a very different one than he’d had before. “He can’t stay here, Varric,” said the Inquisitor. “It would be kindest to end it,” said Rook, reaching for her weapon. “No! I can—” “If that were the way to solve this,” interrupted Solas, “The Evanuris would have escaped millennia ago. This prison held their spirit, just as it holds mine. Kill this body and I will remain. The infection would likely begin its process all over again.” “Then come through the rift with us,” the Inquisitor pleaded. “Dorian and I will find some way to reverse it.”

He shook his head. “Alas, Vhenan, Varric is correct. I am, indeed, like the others. It is my will alone that keeps me from becoming like Elgar’nan or Ghilan’nain. That will is… difficult to retain with the distraction of the Blight. I cannot push it back forever. And I can see the toll taken in battling the others has been dire indeed.” “You have no idea, Chuckles,” said Varric with a sigh.  “I cannot leave you here,” said the Inquisitor. “You must,” insisted Solas.  “But— an ‘eternity of torment’ that’s what you called this place. If it repeats and repeats, you would— you would go mad, Solas. I cannot bear that you have endured this long, I will not abandon you to this.” Her voice broke and faded. 

His fingers itched to wipe the blood and tears from her face. Do not make this harder, he reminded himself. “I never intended for you to witness this, Vhenan. But I can see no alternative. I wish it were not so.” Rook frowned. “I don’t relish the idea of you going mad in my head either,” she said. Varric looked around at the mural covered walls of Solas’s prison. “The others escaped, right? There were other Blights. Which means your prison isn’t perfect.” “You cannot recriminate me more for my failures than I already do, Varric,” said Solas. “I meant there had to be a way, Chuckles. We just have to find it.” Varric glanced around as if some crack or trap door or hidden switch would appear. “That is pointless. If I wanted to leave, you have already opened the door. I do not wish to discover an escape method because I don’t want to infect—” “Kieran,” interrupted the Inquisitor. “Kieran had the soul of one of the Evanuris. From the Fifth Blight. But he is not tainted. Something about the transfer must have removed the Blight.” Varric shook his head. “Even if we could find Kieran or Morrigan and they were willing to teach us how to do it, you’d have to find a— a vessel. Kieran was convenient and had no say in the matter. Whoever we found would have to agree to carry something… foreign. Who’d want Solas in their head for the rest of their lives?”

Solas held his peace, hoping Varric’s reasoning would win her over. He did not tell him the transfer was an easy process, something the Evanuris, including him, had known how to do for centuries. Rook cleared her throat and glared at Varric. “I wasn’t willing but as it’s already—” “Me,” interrupted the Inquisitor, before Rook could volunteer herself. “If he’ll accept that.” “I will not,” said Solas immediately, alarmed by the sudden shift in the conversation. “The idea of it is— loathsome.” “Why? Because it is me? If I can find someone more—” “It’s not you, Inquisitor. That’s not what bothers him. We’re talking about possession,” said Varric quietly. “It’s gone wrong before.” “I know what we are talking about,” said the Inquisitor. “It would not be like your friend. It would be like— like Cole.” She was steady, calm. It terrified Solas that she was seriously considering this.

“It would not,” said Solas. “One of us would always subsume the other. If you were lucky, it would be like Flemeth and I would be able to hold back enough to leave your will intact. But if I were unable… I begged you not to take the Well of Sorrows so long ago for the same reason. I cannot do that to you Vhenan. To anyone.” “Kieran was undisturbed by the soul he carried.” “Urthemiel had just suffered a massive defeat. It would have taken time to regain strength enough to exert influence over Kieran.” She took a breath. He thought she meant to admit defeat, to accept what they had all told her. Solas felt a flash of grief mixed with an odd sense of relief. But that had not been her intent. “I have faith in you Solas, I always have,” she said, a touch more pleading in her tone. “Will you not try to have some in my strength? I would not suggest it if I believed either of us would harm the other.” “It is not just you and I who are in danger should this fail, my love.” Rook crossed her arms. “We just defeated two Evanuris. I think we could handle you, if it came to that.”

He hesitated, not because he was wavering, but because what he had resolved to tell them physically hurt him to say. Do it quickly, before you lose your courage, he told himself. “I cannot do this, Vhenan. Ir abelas. It is not your strength I mistrust, but my own. We must say our goodbyes and you must close the rift. You have performed yet another impossible feat. Take it and rebuild your world in peace. Do not throw away your chance on this.” Rook glanced at Varric, but the Inquisitor only nodded. “You are utterly resolved then?” she asked, her expression grim.

Solas shut his eyes, unable to watch them leave. “I am.” “Very well,” she said. “You have done so well, Rook. I am proud to have traveled with you for such time as we did.” Solas opened his eyes, confused. The Inquisitor was hugging Varric. “Goodbye, falon,” she told him. “Remember to write yourself a happy ending.” “There’s still a lot of work to do,” said Varric over her shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry I will not be there to help you with it.” “What are you doing?” asked Solas. Rook walked back toward the rift. The Inquisitor released Varric. “Saying my goodbyes and closing the rift. As you suggested.”

“If you have anything you need to get off your chest, Chuckles, now would be the time,” said Varric. “I think this is a one way trip. If the Inquisitor’s staying on this side, then there’s no way we can get back in.” “Staying on— you cannot stay, emma lath!” he protested darting toward them. Varric pushed her behind himself. A gut reaction, useless, given the circumstances. “I told you I was not going to abandon you. You did not wish me to see you this way, but now I have. I cannot leave you in this— unending agony. If you will not go, then I will stay. If we are to go mad in this place, then at least it will be together,” she said, her voice treacherously serene. Solas could see from her expression that this was no bluff. He reached out, as if to bodily push her through the rift but Varric planted himself in front of her, a slight snarl on his usually comfortable face.

“You will die,” Solas told her. “Most of us do. But there is time yet to go before then. If you will let us, we could be happy. Even here. Even ill.”  He didn’t know what to say in response. Something that would sway her, push her back out into the world and away from the terrible dread that infected this place. Him.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” muttered Varric after a few seconds, “but she’s dying anyway. Look at her. And you could help.” He waved at the Inquisitor. “The anchor’s killing her. I know none of us want to say it, but it’s the truth. Am I right in thinking that’s going to be a problem for all of us when it happens?” “I— don’t know,” Solas admitted. “It’s possible that much loose power will damage a good deal. But I have been here for— I’m unsure. I don’t know the state of the waking world now.” “It’s not great, Chuckles. I think the world could use a break for a while. And you held the anchor in check before. If you went along with this insane plan, if whatever’s— you transferred to her, maybe you could… fix it?” “I— maybe. But would it be a life worth preserving if she were not herself?” “Shouldn’t you be asking me that?” cried the Inquisitor. “I will be myself. And I will have you always with me. What could be more worth preserving, fanor? Do not remain in this lonely place. Come home. Come home with me and heal. Sathan, sul em.”

His chest ached, but whether it was the result of the Blight or from the unexpected longing that threatened to overtake him, he wasn’t certain. He hesitated only an instant more and then slipped from his own flesh. He heard her shocked cry and Varric’s oath when his body dropped where he’d stood.  “Varric, he’s—” He melted into her, as snow sinks into thawing ground. The anchor was a pulsing, jittering web, twanging as if it were the too-tight strings of a lute roughly played. He gently prodded it, untangled it, smoothed it within seconds. Relief enveloped him. “No, he’s— he’s here,” she amended. Varric turned to her, surprised. “You’re certain? I didn’t think he knew how to do it, even if he were willing.” “It’s him,” she said, bursting into happy tears.

 It disoriented Solas. He had forgotten what joy was and she was overbrimming with it. Her side felt afire and her remaining arm felt weak, wrong. He sought out the broken places, slipping through her veins, enveloped with that flood of joy and— wholeness. He caught himself wanting to stretch into it, absorb it and it frightened him. Solas tried to make himself small, to fold himself away in a corner of her, become invisible. Don’t, she tugged at him. Don’t hide yourself away. Trust in me. Trust in yourself. Let us be happy, Vhenan.  “Is he all there? Still himself, cranky obsessions and guilty conscience and all?” Varric asked her. “I am here, Child of Stone.” “And the Inquisitor? Are you still.. You? Not going to get all glowy and angry like Anders are you?” His hand drifted to the dagger at his belt. “I was perfectly capable of being both glowy and angry without Solas,” she said. “Hopefully less glowy now though.” She held out her remaining hand to look as the anchor faded slowly from her skin. Varric squeezed her shoulder. “Hopefully less angry, too, hmm?” Solas felt another burst of joy thrum through them. “Yes, that too, falon. Thank the Cre—” she stopped for an instant. “I am grateful for that,” she finished. “Yeah, he’d never have said that. You’re you. Let’s go home, Inquisitor.” I’m already home, Varric, they thought. They stepped through the rift after Varric and then closed it with a thought.

[honoringthor]

I got curious about Apollo’s lovers after someone pointed out there wasn’t just Hyacinth or Daphne so I looked.

I found out that one kid can have a lot of different candidates for their mother.

Disclaimer: a lot of this comes from Wikipedia. I’ve included their sources in italics. It’s a long, incomplete list.

🎵🎶male🦢

There is Ademetus of Pherae in Thessaly. He was an Argonaut and hunted the Caledonian boar. His wife loved him so much that she exchanged her life for his so he could live until she was supposed to die. She did this with the help of Apollo. At one time Apollo was sent to work for Adementus as punishment for killing Delphyne, the serpent at Delphi. Apollo fell in love and after his punishment served Adementus out of affection.

Maybe Hymensias (Hymen*) god of marriage ceremonies. He’s also a Erotes**. In most stories he’s a son of Apollo by one of the Muses. Sometimes Dionysus is his dad, sometimes it’s Magnes. There seems to be a lot of instances where someone is either a son or lover depending on who’s telling a story. When he’s the son of Magnes, Apollo Falls in love and stays at Magnes house for a while. (Megalai Ehoiai) Unrelated but he and a bunch of women get captured by pirates and he and the women killed thier captors.

Adonis who it’s said “acted like a man with Aphrodite and a woman with Apollo”. (Ptolemy Hephestion, New History Book 5)

Maybe Boreas 🌬️ who’s the personification of the north wind, storms, and winter. You may know his name from the Hyacinth myth. Some of Boreas’ sons, Zetes and Calais, described Apollo as “beloved of our sire”. (Valerius Flaccus)

Branchus was a former Shepard in Miletus in what’s now Türkiye. Apollo gifted him with prophecy and he introduced the worship of Apollo to Didyma in the Ionian part of Türkiye then mysteriously disappeared.

Carnus was Acarnanian Greek and seer who was taught divination by Apollo who helped raise him. But in some stories they are friends and/or lovers. Unfortunately Hippotes used Carnus’ obscure prophesies as an excuse to murder him. And that’s how the Dorians got a plague, Apollo got a new cult, and the Spartans began celebrating the Carnia.

Cinyras was mentioned by Pindar as “beloved of Apollo” and priest of Aphrodite. (Pindar, Pythian Ode 2) Mars murdered him supposedly because he posed a challenge to Apollo. No idea why Mars would be involved, I’m pretty sure Apollo could handle it.

Cyparissus was loved by Apollo. He also accidentally killed his pet stag and turned into a cypress tree. The cypress then became associated with mourning and now it’s found in many cemeteries. The tree is also sacred to Apollo.

Helenus of Troy/Scarmandrios was a son of Priam and Hecuba and twin of Cassandra. Like his sister he was also a prophet. His name was changed from Scarmandrios to Helenus. (Photius Bibliotheca excerpt)

Hippolytus of Sicyon in the Peloponnesus (Plutarch, Life of Numa 4.5)

Iapyx/Lapis was a lover of Apollo who chose healing as his gift instead of prophecy. He became healer to Aeneas and founded the city of Apulia/Puglia in southern Italy, the stiletto part. He may be the brother of Icarus. (Aeneid XII 391-402).

Maybe Phorbas/Phorbaceus, son of Triopas and Hiscilla, prince of Thessaly, and hero of Rhodes. He was either a rival in love of Apollo or actually his lover.

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🌿🌿🌿🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐺🐺🐝🐝🐍🐍🐭🐭🐭🐬🐬🐬🐬🐂🐂🌻🌻🌻🏹🏹🏹🎵🎵🎵🐀🐀🐀🤧🤧🤧

🌿female🐍

Acacllis/Acalle, a princess of Crete. A daughter of Minos and Pasiphae and Ariadne’s sister. She may have had multiple children by Apollo and maybe other gods. Acacllis was a Cretan name of A narcissus flower.

Various Muses. Apollo is their leader and occasional lover who has father multiple children by some of them.

Aegle/Coronis the Lapith*** was a princess of Thessaly and mother of Asclepius. Coronis was turned into the constellation Corvus. (According to Istrus).

Celaeno of Phocis mother of Delphus by Apollo. Phocis is the area of Greece that Delphi is in.

Melaens/Melena was the sister of Celaeno and may have been the mom of Delphus by Apollo instead of her.

Aethusa was a daughter of Poseidon and Alcyone. She bore Apollo Eleuther and Linus making her the great grandma of Orpheus. She’s usually identified as a Thracian****

Chione daughter of Daedalion, By Apollo she bore Philammon, maybe. She’s also mother of Autolycus by Hermes. Then she got cocky and bragged that she was hotter than Artemis. Artemis shot her through her tongue, killing her. Her dad didn’t take it well and Apollo had to turn him into a hawk to save him. Philonis has the same story.

Alciope mother of Linus by Apollo. Maybe.

Chrysothemis maybe a lover of Apollo, she was a poet. She’s also the daughter in law to Dionysus and Ariadne.

Rhoeo was mother of Anius by Apollo. Her mom was Chrysothemis by Staphylus making her grand daughter of Dionysus and Ariadne.

Anchiale according to Servis, she was the mother of Oaxes by Apollo. Maybe.

Areia was a nymph from Crete, daughter of Cleochus, and mother of Miletus by Apollo. (Apollodorus, 3.1.2)

Arsinoe may have been mother to Asclepius instead of Coronis. She also had a daughter by Apollo. Arsinoe was honored as a heroine in Sparta.

Corycia was a naiad from the springs of the Corycian cave on Mt Parnassus in Phocis. She had a son, Lycorus, by Apollo.

Cyrene/Kyrene the lion killer was a Thessalian princess and queen of Cyrene. She killed a lion w/her bare hands and Apollo thought it was hot. She had Aristaeus, Atuchus, and Idmon by Apollo. Idmon was a seer, Aristaeus became a god. Apollo made her queen of Cyrene in NE Libya.

Dia may have been the mother of Dryops by Apollo.

Evadne, Apollo was her first love. She conceived a child, Iamus, on her.

Hecuba was queen of Troy and may of had 2 kids with Apollo, Hector and Troilus. According to Stesichorus,Hecuba was rescued by Apollo during the sack of Troy. She may have been turned into a dog in 2 different stories, one because of her reaction to being given to Odysseus as a slave. In either story This allowed her to escape, now she travels with Hecate.

Hyria/Thyria/Hyrie/Thyrie was mother of Cycnus/Cygnus. May have been turned into a swan like her son.

Issa/Amphissa. Her story was woven by Arachne during her contest with Athene. Achilles may have used this name when he pretended to be a woman.

Leuconoe was a daughter of Lucifer and mother of Philammon. Maybe.

Othreis was an oread in a relationship with Zeus and Apollo. With Apollo she had Phager.

Parthenope of Leleges*****daughter of king Ancaeus of Samos and Samia. She had one of the Lycomedes by Apollo.

Phthia was mother of Doris, Laodocus, and Polypoetes.

Psamathe her chile was torn apart by dogs sometime after she abandoned him. Her father had her murdered for some reason and Apollo avenged her and the child’s death with a plague.

Rhodoessa bore the hero Ceos.

Stilbe was the mother of Centaurus and Lapiths. Centaurus is the ancestor of Centaurs.

Syllis was mother of Zeixippus.

Thero, daughter of Phyla’s and Leipephilene, mother of Chaeron

Thyia is associated with the cults of multiple gods. One of the candidates of the mother of Delphos by Apollo.

Zeuxippe is daughter Athamas and maybe mother of Ptous. Ptous is also an epithet of Apollo.

*no relation to the body part.

**In some myths, Eros is separated into multiple deities called Erotes collectively.

***Lapiths were a legendary ethnic group who lived in Thessaly in the Pineios valley. They were related to centaurs and were excellent horsemen. Unlike their centaur cousins, Lapiths looked like regular humans. They were descended from Apollo. They also fought with the centaurs and won. (centauromachy)

****Thracians were cultures that lived in Bulgaria, Romanian, N Greece, and NW Türkiye. It seems to be an umbrella term, like Celtic or Slavic.

*****Leleges we’re president Greek inhabitants of parts of Greece

[secret-smut-sideblog]

The Mockingbird

Lavellan x Blackwall

PG-13 - morning after contraception, betrayal, (medical) shock, terror, animal abuse, child death, violence, out of body experience, eye trauma, seizure, catatonic state, loss of vision

Chasing after the trail of her runaway love, Vella is forced to see his crimes firsthand...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

Vella trotted down to the gardens. Head swimming with anxiety.

She didn't have time for this, but it wasn't optional.

"Ah, there you are." Morrigan appraised her.

"I'm sorry, we can't have a full chat yet. I need a favor."

"Oh?"

"Could you make me a witherstalk potion? Quickly?"

"I could..." She tilted her head at Vella. "But, you're bedding the Grey Warden...?"

Vella stared at her. Lost to the question.

"Did he... insinuate that you needed it?"

"Yes, why? Wait, what am I missing?"

"A Warden of his years shouldn't be able to sire children. I can still make that potion, if it gives you peace of mind."

"Yes, please." Vella sighed. "Maybe it's silly, but..."

"Oh, I understand. Does one no good to take chances." Morrigan beckoned her forward.

-

"This Mornay, any of us know him? Or of him?" Bull offered.

"Nah, but Beardy clearly does. Hope he's alright."

"Sera, you get softer by the day." Dorian praised. "But I have heard of Rainier. Mean figure he's alleged to cut, that one."

"Wait, so have I." Vella recalled, nearly pausing the fast clip of her stride. The chatter of Val Royeaux echoed in front of them. "A note, what feels like forever ago, in the Exalted Plains. He was a captain, if I recall correctly?"

"Orlesian army, yes. Let's hope he's not involved."

They moved into the crowd at the gallows. Vella searched but saw no sign of him in those gathered.

Anxiety hot in her belly. Unable to stop thinking of his note.

There is little I can say that will ease this pain. Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed. I will always love you, dove. I am deeply sorry.

As the bailiff read off the crimes and punishment, Vella stared at the man with a noose laced around his throat. The fight completely gone from him. Accepting his fate with a mournful stare. Not even giving last words, lost to the certainty of death.

Vella sucked in a breath, preparing to watch a man die.

"Stop!"

Blackwall stormed on the gallows, commanding in his thundering voice. Proclaiming the man's innocence, challenging the conviction.

"Oh, what have you gotten yourself into, big man?" Bull sighed.

Vella stared up at him. Fear tight in her gut.

"Then find me the man who gave the order." The bailiff stepped forward, staring him down.

Blackwall's silence fell like freezing rain as he turned to the crowd.

"No..." Vella breathed as her stomach dropped through the earth. "Blackwall!"

His eyes found hers. Shock, fear, then cold conviction. All warmth lost.

"No, I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall."

Her ears rang with fast blood.

And still he confessed. That he had ordered the massacre. That he had been hiding behind a dead man's likeness. That he had been living a lie.

"I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier."

Her blood ran ice.

His eyes stayed steady on her, even as the executioner and bailiff drew forward. Only breaking from her stare as he stalked away towards the prison.

Vella nearly fell to knees.

The world slid away beneath her.

A landslide ripped it all from under her feet.

"Vella...?" Dorian's eyes took up her shaky vision.

"I don't..." She breathed. Raising her hand to stare at the tremoring limb. The cold of shock left her mind sluggish. "I..."

"Bull?"

"Here, boss. Lean on me."

His large hand took up behind her shoulder, sliding her close. Vella turned her face into him, trembling uncontrolled. Letting his arms envelop her for a warm moment. Pulling away a little less delirious.

"I need to see him." She shuddered.

"Let's go, then." Sera nodded. Her voice thick behind the knot in her throat. "You better give whatever-his-name-is a piece of your mind. Shit ass."

-

Vella descended down the stairs. Her footstep silent, wearing the boots he made her.

How?

Passing cages of iron. Reality bending around her. The question circling her like a hungry hound.

How?

After all this time. He was one of them.

How?

The home of him had flooded. A place she felt such warmth she now drowned in cold waters.

When she saw him slouched in a cell, she froze. He stayed doubled over on his forearms. Refusing her.

They stood on a razor edged silence.

"I don't understand." Her heart rabbited against her chest. "I can't..."

He kept his eyes to the ground.

She came to kneel at the bars, searching his face. Searching for him.

There must be something.

"Please, get up." He growled.

Her eyes stayed on him. Seeking a change. Anything. Anything to prove that he was a different man. Desperate to separate the man she knew from the one sat before her.

"It can't be true. I would've seen it. I would've..."

Shock filled her limbs again.

Memory flooded her. All of his evasion. All of the vague responses.

It was right there. He was her blindspot.

How could she be blind to him?

"It is." His eyes finally met hers. Glaring ice into her. Standing and charging towards the bars. Shouting with the full of his chest. "This is what I am! You aren't supposed to be here! Leave!"

She backpedaled from the bars. Falling back onto her palm. An angry man bearing down on her again.

An old fear woven inside of her shock.

No, not shock.

A hand made of lightning grasped the base of her skull. Forcing her eyes wide open. Risen high onto knees.

A song of Mockingbird. A dog strung up by the throat. A mother's arm shielding. The slam of an axe into wood. The scream of a dog. The scream of a child. Her own scream, far away. Far under her.

Her voice begging. A father begging. Begging for them to stop. For it to stop. His hand reaches for a blade. Her hand. Someone shouts for her. For them to run. Seeing her hand underneath her. Don't they understand? The dog won't stop kicking. The child begs to not see.

Her hand fights her as it lifts the blade. The father's blade is kicked away. And still the child screams. Horses panicked. Trying to break loose. She forces her hand up. Eyes wide open but not seeing the blade. Someone is shouting again. Someone so familiar. It won't stop.

"Please, make it stop." She breathes. Blood trickles from her nose. Blood dark on the snow. Blood scratched into fence. A deep sting scratches under her eye.

"Vella, NO!"

Someone grabs her wrist. Knocking the blade from her hand. Chestnut eyes fill her vision.

Her mind comes to it's boiling point. Fever sends her eyes up into her skull. Feeling the first tremors wracking her body as it all goes dark.

-

"She was trying to blind herself."

Cullen's shaken voice.

She spins inside her body. A hand presses a cool rag to her forehead.

"You did well to arrive when you did." Solas' calm voice.

"Please, don't leave her alone." Cullen urged. His hand comes to her chest. Pressing a warm palm. "She... she helped me. When I was weak. I can't... I'll kill him, I swear..."

"We shall tend her." Morrigan's voice reassures.

Cullen's warm palm stays. She reaches for it. A tether. It pulls away again.

"Where are you?" Solas whispers in her ear.

"Apostate, keep reaching for her. She may find her way back."

A cool hand cups her cheek. She tries to focus. Forcing the touch to a narrow point. A rope she follows.

"Yes." Solas speaks in her tongue. "You are right here. Can you find me?"

She follows it up. Filling into her limbs again.

Her hand reaches out for him. Meeting the curve of his fingers. Her eyes slowly focus.

"Lethallin...?" She croaked. Solas' eyes creased with a smile.

"Welcome back."

She blinked at the low candlelight. Vision obstructed over an eye.

"What...?" She rose on an elbow. Gingerly touching the bandage.

"Gentle. You gave yourself a deep gouge." Solas led her fingers away.

"Quite a scare you've given." Morrigan sat on her opposite bedside.

"Yes. We were all concerned. You had been lost all night." Solas cupped her hand in her lap.

"Blackwall!" She gasped, sitting up sharply. Immediately dizzy.

"Careful. Rainier is safe." Solas assured.

"Rainier..." Her heart deflated in her chest. "Oh..."

"Josephine has sent for him. You were calling for him in your sleep, well, for Blackwall. Bear. He's being transferred to the Skyhold cells."

Awful memory returned to her. A throb of numb in her chest. Rising her palm to it.

And, just like that, she was empty.

Din. One who isn't.

All empty.

All shattered.

Cutting into her with every breath.

No tears came. No screaming or wailing or begging. Just the dull throb of utter absence.

"I will tell the others you've woken." Solas patted her hand and retreated from the room.

She sat silent for a long moment.

"Morrigan?"

"Yes?"

"Could you help me?"

Morrigan leaned her head inquisitive. Waving for her to continue.

"I don't want to see anymore. Is there a way to blind me?"

Morrigan turned fully on the bed toward her.

"Literally? Yes, that is very easy done. But I imagine you mean your sight beyond?"

She nodded.

"I've had enough. I don't want to see again. I can't do it anymore."

Morrigan went quiet in front of her. Folding her arms in thought.

"Well, we may not need Dirthamen's gift after all. I have something that will give us another advantage."

Din looked up.

"You may have had the right instinct. If your physical eyes are blinded..."

Morrigan stood and started to pace.

"Yes... it could force it to compensate. Keep it busy. If the whole world is a secret, that would hold priority."

Turning to her to stare determined.

"You wouldn't see, not like now. But it could release you."

Her chest filled with tender hope.

"Do it."

"Let me prepare. I'll consult some texts."

-

"Vella?"

She glanced down at him.

"That isn't my name."

"Ah." Solas smiled sadly. Climbing up the ladder.

They seemed truly determined not to leave her alone. Cullen walked with her the last few nights. Letting her lean on him as she eventually got wobbly. Shrouding her in his cloak. Sometimes, he took her hand. His warm and calloused. Giving a soft squeeze. Speaking sweetly as she spiraled.

"Then what shall I call you?" He offered, sitting next to her on the scaffolding. Both stared at the circle of his fresco.

"Lethallan is nice." She handed him a cup of lemon and cayenne honey.

"Ah, thank you." He sipped at the cup, eyes closing for a moment. "That's lovely. What is it?"

"Something I used to make when I was ill." She circled her fingers over the rim. "Small comforts, you know?"

She marveled at the murals

"But this is all so beautiful. You have a vision."

"You're too kind. They're about you."

She stared at him. Heart raw.

"Show me."

So he did. Pointing from mural to mural. Each a moment of her journey. Each a turning point. Explaining the significance of the choices.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to write it down?" She raised an eyebrow with a sly smile, then let it fall. It felt wrong to play. Cupping the mug in her hands.

"You take me for a scribe?" His voice picked up a rare tease. Despite herself, she smiled again.

"Just another way to spread knowledge. But it is much less breathtaking." She leaned her head back, closing her weary eyes.

She could feel his eyes on her.

"You've stopped singing."

Her eyes opened.

"What?"

"I hear you. At night. Why have you stopped?"

"I just..." Her heart dully ached, but still no tears came. "I think something is broken in me. I can't find the joy again."

He studied her quietly.

"Your vhenan, Rainier..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

They both sat in the inflamed wound. All tender edges. Weeping blood with the beat of her heart.

Solas leaned forward, urging her eyes back to him.

"You helped me. When I needed to find peace for my elgar falon. You've been..." He closed his eyes.

"You're unexpected. Wisdom, curiosity, beauty. You've had every chance to shut the world out. Please don't take that path. Stay open."

She shook her head.

"I want to. I do. But I don't know how to stay soft anymore."

He took a deep breath out. Resolving something.

"Let me help you."

Her eyes met his.

"Then Morrigan is right?"

He nodded.

"But you must meet me in the Fade first. Dream, Lethallan. I will follow."

"I can't."

"I will lead you."

She laid back on the scaffolding, resting her hands on her belly. Solas laid parallel to her.

Her body fell fast. Sleep enveloped her as a plunge into the sea.

"Solas?"

She looked around a great forest. An awe near fear sharp in her chest.

"I'm here." He cupped her forearm gently. "Forgive me, I forgot dreaming is foreign to you."

"It's so... it's breathtaking." Her eyes met his again. "Is this what it's always like?"

"Not for most. But my traveling is like this, yes."

He led her by the curve of her fingers to sit on a stone near the water.

"And perhaps, yours shall be too."

She looked up at him. Surprise heavy in her heart. Hope a poison she held in her mouth, ready to swallow.

"If your tie to Dirthamen is weakened, it may let you sleep like this. To dream. But yours is a heavy gift to discard."

His eyes searched hers. Seeking confirmation. Permission.

She held his hand in hers.

"I'm sure. This is what I want. I want to have my own mind. I want to be free."

He stared down at their joined hands for a moment. Rubbing her thumb experimentally with his.

"If that is the case, I must tell you something."

He turned her hand to stare at her palm, running a soft fingertip over the lines.

"The vallasin. I have journeyed far enough to discover what it truly means. They are slave markings. From the time of ancient Arlathan. When the Pantheon ruled elves."

"So my people were wrong." She nodded. Saddened, but not surprised. "Our history is so muddled, I could see it being mistranslated over time."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Thank you. For telling me." She sighed.

"If you like, I know a spell... I can remove the vallasin with your sight."

She lifted her hand to gently touch her face. Giving the ink a tender moment.

"This tattoo has kept me safe. It was subterfuge. A mask. But, I will no longer need it, will I?"

Solas rubbed her thumb, a silent assurance.

"Do it. It has served me well. I will discard it fondly."

He smiled, raising his hands to cradle the air around her face.

"Close your eyes."

"Wait."

She looked around the misty grove. Drinking in the full of the scenery.

"I'm grateful it was a beautiful dream. The last thing I saw. Thank you for bringing me here."

He paused, staring at her with soft eyes.

"Okay, I'm ready." She let her eyes fall closed again.

"You will feel some discomfort, but no pain. I couldn't let Morrigan butcher you. To send you to the dark that way."

She smiled with her eyes closed.

"She was just going to pour some acid in my eyes, wasn't she?"

"You're not far off. Now hush."

She smiled wide.

His hands were warm and tingled along her face, a light visible beyond her lids.

"It tickles!" She stifled her giggle.

He laughed.

"You are a strange, wonderful thing."

"Was that the vallasin?"

"Yes, keep your eyes closed, sulahn."

His palms settled on her temples.

"Song. I like that." She sighed in Elvhen.

"I hope you find a new name." He whispered.

His palms lifted slowly, and she could feel something pull behind her eyes. Squeezing her shut eyes to not squirm.

Then she felt it. A gentle pop. Something separating. Flashes of light filled her vision.

She opened her eyes as a curtain of dark fell. Gasping as it all fell to void. Eyes wide but seeing only velvet dark.

"Now... what do you see?"

She concentrated, feeling for sight deep inside her.

Just as she was about to give up, something bloomed. Gasping out as the world filled around her.

A circle of sight extended around her, definition of shapes like fine shifting sand. Color was gone, the world only shades of light and dark. Vision sliding along the physical as wind.

She reached for the stone beneath her, entranced by the sight of her own hand. The same thin particles dancing around her skin.

"Solas, it's..." She lifted her eyes.

"Oh..."

His body was ringed in many ribbons of soft blue light. Moving in languid circled rivers. Eyes glowing in it.

"Oh, Solas..." She marveled. Lifting her hand to gently twist her fingers in it.

He shuddered, pulling her wrist down.

"I'm sorry." She breathed.

"You're forgiven." He smiled. His face spectral in the shifting dark. "How do you feel?"

She closed her eyes. The vision slowly faded. Only imprints left. Then she opened them again. It refilled as gentle as before.

Her head was quiet. Tears bubbled on her waterline. Cupping a hand over her mouth.

"It's quiet. Oh Gods, it's so quiet. I've never felt peace like this."

She saught his eyes again. "And I can sleep? I can dream?"

"Yes." The soft triumph in his voice filled her heart.

"I've never done it before. I might need a guide."

His smile ached her heart. Cupping her hands in his again.

"I will find you. But now you must wake."

-

Din kneeled in the garden, focusing on a rose bush. Smiling at the way the particles danced around it. All shapes were made of silt caught in the flow of her river. The intricate layer of petals entranced her.

She wasn't used to the passage of time quite yet, but knew it was night. A new set of conditions she had to live by, ones she was eager to learn.

"Vella? Oh, sorry... I guess I don't know what to call you." Josephine called out sheepishly.

"Sera has too many offers, but Solas came up with Sulahn." She offered brightly.

"Hmm, that is pretty." Josie smiled.

If she focused, she could see the color of her. A warm orange that glowed deep at the crest of her ribs, under her heart. A sunset.

The color was much more potent around mages. Though, not as much as Solas'. She had already dipped her fingers into Dorian's deep crimson river. A sensation he found delightfully tantalizing.

"You seem so much better." Josephine sighed contented. Kneeling with her for a moment. "And no tattoo! But I'm sorry it had to be like..." She gestured to her blindfold. "This."

"You can see me, right?" Josephine held up her hand flat.

Din pressed her palm to hers.

"Yes, I can."

"That's remarkable."

She let out a deep sigh. "Blackwa- Rainier will be here by morning."

Josephine took her hand gently in hers.

"Do you think you're ready? To see him?"

"With new eyes..." She sighed. "I think so."

"I'm so sorry. I know his lie has been devastating."

"It still doesn't feel real. I still haven't cried." She pressed her palm to her heart, if only to confirm its beat. "Gods, it seemed like I couldn't stop crying before. Now I'm just..."

"Numb?" Josephine offered sadly.

"Yeah. So much of myself was braided into him. Having him severed... I don't know who I am here. I feel like I have to start over. I'm exhausted. I dont want to start over."

Tears finally started to pool in her eyes.

"Oh... there they are." She smiled. Wiping gently with the side of her thumb under the mask. Staring down at the shades of her hand. The light fluid slipped down her thumb.

"Are they..." She looked up at Josephine.

"Still silver. Sorry."

"It's okay. I've gained more than enough."

"You will have to sit in his judgment." Josephine sighed, taking her hands again. "Do you know what you'll say?"

She shook her head.

"Could you do something for me?" She hushed.

"Of course." Josephine smiled.

Din pulled off her blindfold.

"Could you tell me what you see?"

She opened her eyes. Staring at the beautiful shift of her face.

Josephine studied the whole of her face with parted lips, her sweet eyes centered back on hers.

"Well, that cut is going to scar, but your eyes are surprisingly beautiful. Like clouds caught behind your pupil. The color is gone, though. In your iris. But it's almost like moonstone. Melding with the white."

She leaned toward her. Voice falling to hush as she spoke.

"And I feel like I can see you now, without the tattoo. You have perfect freckles. Sun-kissed cheeks. Your lips are so..."

Her mouth slid into hers. So softly kissing into her. Just as Din started to lean in, she pulled away.

"Andraste's Mercy, I am so sorry!"

"I'm not." She breathed, pulling her back. Josie whimpered into her hungry kiss. Rising onto knees with her. Din's hand cupped under her ear. Breathing hard through the part of their lips.

"Thank you." She whispered when she pulled away. Josie's pupils were full blown, staring at her with sweet doe eyes. "I needed that. Maybe I'm not empty, after all."

"Happy to help." Josephine breathed.

She pressed a hand to Josephine's glow.

"It's orange. Your light. Marigold."

Josephine looked up at her. Letting out a dreamy sigh.

"I see why you have all the men in camp following like puppies. Mercy..."

"Ha, but I haven't kissed any of them yet. Maybe I'll start with Cullen."

"Don't." Josie laughed, pulling her to stand. Leading her hand over a bent arm. "That man is too sweet to not fall sword first."

"All you knights and ladies..." She laughed. "Nobody has fun, do they?"

"Absolutely not." Josephine patted her hand. "But we try."

~

Next Chapter

[lucrezianoin]

So I am playing as Crow, and in the past I played as:

Grey Warden

Mourn Watcher

Shadow Dragon

And I love how every background gives a different feels.

Playing as Crow makes me feel like I am the "rebel kid" who gets to banter with the parents/relatives. There is not a lot of camraderie with Lucanis tho, from what I see, just with the Crows in general. I liked the connection with Teia and Viago a lot.

Playing as Grey Warden made me feel like my Rook was doing a job and was kind of a wild card, alone (and with Davrin) against the world. The feeling of being "You and Davrin" is really very strong, especially if you know how he reacts to Rook in other games. Tho i did not feel like my Rook was particularly close to Evka and A.

Playing as a Shadow Dragon made me feel again like my Rook was doing a job, but also made me feel VERY attached to the city. I fell to Tevinter propaganda and my Rook was a Tevinter-patriotic-a-la-Dorian character. I was not feeling too connected to the Shadow Dragons, but to the city in general.

Playing as a Mourn Watcher was like HAVING PARENTS AND A FAMILY! Watcher Myrna and Volgorth felt like concerning parents, and the Necropolis felt like coming back home. A lot of Rook's reactivity and little sentences to bless/talk with spirits too.

I think it also really enriches the Emmrich scenes (even if you do not romance him) and adds a bit more on Rook's past. I am just sad that we never see Nevarra outside of the Necropolis tho.

I am curious about Lords of Fortune! Not sure I will play Veiljumpers.