#duncan cousland-theirin

[pumpkincalico]

The Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens, as no sacrifice is greater than theirs.

[queenofferelden]

We lit a signal fire. But we had no idea what was going on below.

[idlenight-art]

A little personal project to visualise some dragon age origin kids alongside their parents.

If you noticed the difference in quality that would be because I made them months apart of each other. And on different canvas sizes. Because consistency is dead I guess.

More on the kids themselves below the cut: (it is just me yapping about my blorbo's)

Firstly there is my oc kid Duncan Bryce Theirin, son of King Alistair and Queen Gwendelyn Cousland.

Gwen isn't a warden in my canon, nor did she romance Alistair. Instead she is romantically involved with my Surana (also a non-warden). Alistair and Gwendolyn are great friends though, and they got necessarily involved enough to have an heir, a son they both love dearly.

Duncan would be born a year or so after Origins, in 9:32 dragon. Being the only heir to the throne resulted in being raised somewhat sheltered for his safety. He's a curious kid but ultimately shy, though he's well trained enough by his tutors to be able to put up a front of confidence in court. While trained as a warrior like his father, Duncan prefers the bow, he also enjoys horseback riding.

Kieran Adai Tabris is my own spin on canon-kieran. The son of Morrigan and the Hero of Ferelden, Dane Tabris. Born with the soul of an Old God. He is a mage and shapeshifter.

I refuse to believe a Morrigan that had a very good relationship with a non-romanced warden would not at least let him meet his own child. So Dane, while not responsible for fully raising him, spends a good amount of time with Kieran throughout his son's life.

As a child this Kieran still says equally weird shit as canon-OGB Kieran, except this one does it at high volumes. Can be seen playing swords or running around on his own two legs when he isn't doing so in animal form (his favored shape is that of a mabari).

As an adult, Kieran will identify as agender. Going by he/they/it pronouns, and begins identifying with the 'Witch of the Wilds' moniker that its mother is also labeled as.

[captainderyn]

[Fic] Unwilling Vows

Summary: Duncan returns from a recruitment trip bearing two recruits. Alistair thinks it is a joke when Duncan says one recruit is the teryn of Highever's daughter, Baraneth Cousland. From the way Duncan refers to her, Alistair imagines a stuck up princess chasing glory and facing reality of what a Blight really is. Instead, he finds a deeply broken woman who has had everything stripped from her, and is forced to face the thought that conscription into the Grey Wardens is not always the life line it is painted as.

Warnings: Mentioned/Implied Character Death, Mentioned/Implied Violence

--

Duncan was displeased with his most recent crop of recruits. 

The more the Blight loomed on the horizon, the less recruits successfully made it through the joining, the more often that seemed to be the case. No matter how much the Grey Warden of Ferelden’s need grew for warriors, for bodies, the supply was never enough. 

As it turned out, when the recruitment model involved people with nothing to live for and nowhere to go, it wasn’t exactly the highest quality characters going through the trials. 

It wasn’t easy to become a Grey Warden, and somehow that fact was always left out in the pitch to the criminals, the destitute, and the vagabond. They were hemorrhaging people, whether it was those who fled and were hunted down before they reached the edge of the Korcari Wilds, or those who died within minutes of the Joining chalice touching their lips. 

Alistair hadn’t seen Duncan this ruffled and discontented in a long while, however. 

“You brought two recruits back, that’s two more than last time. Was the travel talk really so horrific?” he tried to jest as Duncan paced by him once again. 

Duncan sent a dark look his way, and Alistair pressed his lips together with a wince. Rarely was his senior in a joking mood, but more often than not he tolerated Alistair’s attempts to diffuse the tension that only seemed to grow with each passing day. 

“The best they could offer me was a mewling welp of an elven mage, too scared of her own shadow to even think of doing the heinous magic her Circle accused her of, and a prideful noblewoman’s daughter who sees becoming fodder for maggots a better alternative to serving her country.” Duncan spat, running his hand over his beard, “I am not confident either will make it through the Joining.” 

Alistair crossed his arms over his chest, muttering, “That seems a little harsh.” 

Any information on the two new recruits had been sparse. They’d arrived a few hours earlier and been shuffled off to a space with open bedrolls to rest from the long journey. The elven recruit, a tiny waife of an elf that was all gangly skin and bones, had passed by earlier with Duncan as he’d led her towards the mages’ tents to get new robes that weren’t blood stained and tattered. She’d kept her head down, her faded ginger hair obscuring her face. 

He’d seen nothing of the other recruit and Duncan’s description finally caught up with him. 

“A noble’s daughter?” he spluttered, “Duncan, we don’t recruit noble’s daughters. They don’t give up their own to our ranks.” 

The Grey Wardens were respected when they’d done their duty, repelled a Blight, and gone off to die in the Deep Roads when their usefulness reached its end. That was their unspoken agreement with society. They were meant to exist as legends, as heroes in stories. Not for the children of nobles to go running off to. 

“Baraneth Cousland.” Duncan said, voice dropping to a near growl. Something had happened either on their journey or during recruiting that was left unspoken and Alistair frowned. Duncan continued, “You would do well to avoid her at the present, Alistair. She is a wretched sort without a grateful bone in her body for what she was spared from. Perhaps she will come around when she sees what the Wardens will provide her with.” 

“Cousland?” Alistair repeated, incredulous, though Duncan was already disappearing into the sea of tents, called to some meeting or another. 

“Cousland.” he repeated, softer to himself.  An old family second in wealth and influence only to the royal family itself. 

Alistair’s frown deepened. He would bet his meager coin pouch that neither the teryn or teryna would give up their daughter willingly to the Grey Wardens. Though he knew they had a son, a few years older than Alistair and well known to be the one in line to inherit the seat of power at Highever, they were not a family known to discard their second borns. 

But if a Cousland was among them, Alistair could not imagine why Duncan would not have taken her to get supplies and why he would have simply dumped her in a spot to rest and recover from the journey. 

Stay away from her sounded an awful lot like he should go seek her out. Casting a furtive look over his shoulder and finding nary a Duncan in sight, Alistair set off to find where the cart had discarded the recruits. 

The elven girl still had not returned to her bedroll, presumably still with the mages at the center of camp. But sitting on a bedroll beside the empty one, a woman his age sat untangling hair with shaking hands.

For a prideful, ungrateful brat as Duncan had described, Alistair expected a prim princess in a flouncy outfit, not a hair out of place with her nose upturned to the commoners around her. 

Instead, all the air went out of his chest. 

Perhaps at one point the well-made tunic she wore had been the deep Cousland blue, the embroidered, interlocked laurel branches once silver. Her tunic was black with dried blood, shredded at the hem and ripped in places with what looked to be oozing nicks from swords and daggers. 

Prideful, he saw in the way she squared her shoulders up at his approach, sitting ramrod straight and folding her hands in her lap. She was every bit a teryn’s daughter as she lifted her chin and as her mabari, a young brindle pup, raised his head in kind to fix too-intelligent eyes on him. 

Maker’s Breath. She still had flecks of blood on her cheeks, matting the strands of her hair into clumps. 

Where could ungrateful fit into that? 

“Baraneth Cousland? I, well, I heard you were here. Not like that, but I’d heard we had a new recruit.” Alistair fumbled under the heavy weight of her stare. Striking, yes, but empty. As if she wasn’t totally there. 

He cleared his throat, “I didn’t see you pass by to the supplier. I thought you might need something.” 

Perhaps he expected something to click and for her to start making demands, ordering him around like her little manservant. That would sound about right for most of the interactions with nobles he had. 

She looked down at herself, running her thumbs along the sides of her hands. Russet stains and dirt flakes off. When her eyes settled on him again, it was like another candle had been blown out within her. 

“Might you show me where to find a wash basin and cloth? And perhaps a change of clothes.” she asked and he was taken aback by how it sounded as though she was concerned about inconveniencing him. 

What had Duncan been on about? 

“Of course!” he shuffled, gesturing towards where the supplier would be, who was supposed to issue all new recruits their clothing, food, and water rations gifted to them before the process of the Joining began. “I’m not sure why Duncan didn’t take you there when he delivered the other recruit to the mages.” 

Baraneth’s expression darkened, “I don’t believe the Warden-Commander took very kindly to me nor I to him.” 

Duncan was not the easiest to get along with, Alistair would concede to that. His Warden-Commander was prickly, overly serious, and all-consumed with the oncoming Blight. Yet even still, it was unusual that he would be outright hostile towards a recruit. 

“Did you not get off on the right foot? I promise he isn’t as harsh as he seems--” 

Baraneth’s lips curled, stony anger sharpening her features. She snarled like a mabari, fierce enough that Alistair almost recoiled. 

“Your wretched leader used my father’s dying breaths to barter for me like chattel! I would’ve died defending my mother and father as was my place, yet he ripped that choice from me, dragged me away as my father bled out on the cobblestones of our estate--” 

Baraneth sucked in a sharp breath, pressing her mouth into a thin line. The young mabari by her side lifted his head, grumbling discontentedly at his mistress’ apparent distress. 

“And you would not call that harsh?” she finished, voice evened out and flat almost on command. 

Alistair’s mouth went dry and he rocked as if struck, “I believe there’s a misunderstanding, I do not know what you’re talking about.” 

Baraneth looked stricken, her brows knitting together, “Word of the slaughter of my family has not spread? Howe has covered it so flawlessly?” 

Slaughter. Family. Dying breaths and bargains. Alistair’s heart felt like it was plummeting into the earth, his stomach flipping with how horribly out of touch his comment had been. 

“There’s been no word of what happened at the Cousland estate that has reached here.” 

“Then Fergus does not know…that man promised. My papa’s life for getting my safety and word to my brother.” She said, speaking to herself. 

Baraneth fixed Alistair with glassy, empty eyes. He feared he’s well and truly shattered something within her. “We saw my brother off to fight darkspawn in the south, and I damned to be here.” she gave a mirthless laugh. “I have no way of sending word to tell him that his mama and papa and his wife and son were slaughtered like cattle in their beds.”

 There were no words that Alistair could call swiftly to his mind to say. This was well and truly more horrific than anything he could have assumed brought her to Ostagar. He had thought he would find a woman who bit off more than she could chew, seeking glory. Not a woman the same age as he who’d been so thoroughly stripped of everything that had been hers. 

People came to the Grey Wardens when they had nothing left to live for. The Grey Wardens were not supposed to leave them with nothing to leave for. 

Questions swirled around his mind; what had happened, what had Duncan done to aid her, why did she speak as though he’d given her no choice about taking a Warden’s vows. 

Silent tears tracked down her cheeks and it was clear that she was no longer seeing him. 

“Can I bring you a basin, some clothes, and perhaps some food? You’ve traveled far.” Alistair asked softly. “Some food for the hound as well? We have a small kennel with supplies.” 

For it sounded like what she needed was someone to extend human kindness to her. 

A brief moment of clarity swept across Baraneth’s face and she looked almost surprised at his offer, looking at him the way one would look at the glimmer of the sun after weeks of rain. Then it was gone, her face hollowing out again. 

She squeezed her eyes closed, and whispered, “Please.”

[monabee-draws]

Thinking about how its been 8 years since Trespasser, 15 since DA2 and 22 since Origins. Thedas is burning and all its heroes are old and greying.

Can't wait to finish this tbh. The way DAV forced me to rise from the grave, no necromancer required

[stuffeddrawer]

I Didn't Ask For This

Rating: Mature TW: Character Death, PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, mentions of body horror, hurt no comfort Fandom: Dragon Age Word Count: 1902

MDNI

⁽ᵖᵒˢᵗ ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳ ⁻ ᵃˢᵐᵒᵈᵉᵘˢ⁻ᵖˢᵈ⁾

This isn’t what I wanted!

Gaius fell to his knees at the sight of his home on fire, knowing everyone inside was dead, his parents included. He could hear his mabari, Ronan, whining and begging for his attention when all Gaius could do was stare hopelessly at his burning home. It was like he could feel the heat of the flames from even here, burning deep down into the depths of his chest, licking at his lungs and curling up and twisting in his veins until all he could see was fire. He didn’t even realise he’d been crying until Ronan licked at his face to grab his attention.

“It’ll take us two weeks… to…” Duncan’s words trailed off when he heard a lack of following footsteps. He turned to see the youngest Cousland on his knees, slack-jawed at the sight of his home on fire. Duncan’s heart ached at the sight – it wasn’t an every day occurrence that one’s home was ripped out from under their feet and their life turned upside down. In a way, Duncan could relate, but he had Genevieve to thank for that. It was just a shame that he couldn’t use her words of wisdom for Gaius now.

Gaius continued to stare blankly at his home, tears still falling down his face like waterfalls and unable to move. Ronan whined next to him, trying to get him to move, to just snap out of it, if only to survive until Ostagar.

“Your parents wouldn’t want their sacrifice to be in vain, Gaius.” Duncan said, his low voice almost snapping Gaius out of the trance he’d found himself in.

I lost everything. My home, my mom, dad. I lost my oldest friend. I should have fought harder, should have stayed behind with Gilmore. I should have-

“Gaius, we need to move. Now.” Duncan ordered, tugging Gaius to his feet and urging the man to move. Gaius was barely lucid, but Duncan was able to hear that some of Howe’s soldiers had begun their march along the roads, ensuring no one survived the fire and no one could spin stories.

Gaius knew he wasn’t an easy kid – he knew raising him was difficult. When he was in his later teen years, closer to eighteen, he’d slip out and head to the brothels, masking himself to be someone else for a few hours before heading back home, drunk and smelling of cheap perfume and instantly getting yelled at by his mother for making her worry.

He might have hated living in the castle, but it certainly didn’t mean he wanted it burnt down.

If I had just stopped being such a damn fool…

The first night was the worst.

Duncan was kind enough to set up a fire for them, kept an eye on him, but it took Gaius longer than he liked to fall asleep.

Even after he’d fallen asleep, Gaius could still feel the lick of the flames on his skin, the intense heat of it all, he could still hear the screams and cries of the fallen. He could still taste the ash on his tongue. The sight of his home burning down before his eyes was so vivid that when he’d jumped up to wake himself out of a nightmare, he couldn’t tell if he was really awake. He’d woken himself up, staring at the fire and felt a fresh wave of hurt and grief wash over him.

The loss he’d gone through was still so new, and it didn’t surprise Duncan in the slightest that this young man was struggling. He just wished he knew what to say.

Gaius forced himself to keep his sobs as quiet as he could, though his shoulders shook with each heavy breath he took.

The remainder of the journey to Ostagar was painfully quiet. Gaius barely spoke beyond simple responses. He found himself flinching whenever Duncan lit a torch and he hated himself for it. He needed to steel himself, he couldn’t fall any deeper into this pit he’d dug himself. Gaius still blamed himself; he knew he should have fought harder, should have taken the fight directly to Howe for his betrayal.

“I should have stayed behind.” Gaius finally spoke, one final sleep away from Ostagar. It had gotten colder, and Gaius clutched his heavy fur cloak to him tightly. He refused to get anywhere near the fire Duncan had built, and he could swear he still felt the heat of it on his skin.

“You would have died alongside your parents.” Duncan calmly explained, tending to the fire. He poked and prodded at a few logs, ensuring he got the most of the heat. “You’re shivering.”

“I could have made a difference. I could have saved them. I could have—”

“Gaius, you would have been stuck in the same room as your father and your mother. No one else would be able to tell Fergus what had happened if you had died.” Duncan continued, his voice a bit sharper. He could see the spiral Gaius landed himself into, and he visibly saw the change he’d gone through. When Duncan first arrived at Castle Cousland, he’d seen Gaius as someone carefree and charismatic and charming. Now, that same man was a recluse, refusing to talk, refusing to join in on conversation. It was concerning, even for Duncan.

“Your parents begged for you to survive, to stake your claim and make something with your life.” He continued, staring right at the rogue over the flames in front of him. “It is your duty to follow through with it, to ensure their stories aren’t forgotten and that you live.”

Gaius was silent, looking away almost in shame before anguish took over his sharp features again. Duncan ignored the gentle quiver to Gaius’ lip, allowing him a moment of silence. He was about to speak up before Gaius spoke before he did.

“I don’t know how.”

“You’ll figure it out. After the stories I heard from the servants at the castle, you were quite the cunning man, sneaking out past the guards late into the night. Someone as subtle as you, as smart and resourceful as you, will find out how to make it past all this.” Duncan said, looking away and poking at the fire again. “If not for yourself, then at least for Fergus.”

Gaius shut his eyes tight, willing the tears away. He had to stop crying, had to stop wallowing in misery. He had to start moving again, before it swallowed him whole.

Ostagar was an odd sight – it looked abandoned from Gaius’ view and Duncan’s information on how there were few Grey Wardens made him understand why it looked so deserted.

He didn’t bother to pay attention to the man in shining gold armour, clocking in long after the meeting that he’d basically ignored the king in favour of becoming more lost within the deep spiraling of his mind, the afternoon sun hitting the breastplate in a way that nearly blinded everyone. Gaius barely held back the flinch as that feeling washed over him again, something he knew he had to work on. He felt disgusted, repulsed even by his own skin, like even if he’d clawed and ripped the flesh from his body, he’d still feel that fire licking in his veins, sobbing for people who were ash.

As time went on, Gaius would grin and bear the cold if it meant he didn’t have to go anywhere near fire. He grew more and more resentful of even living, angry and wondering why he was the Maker’s punching bag.

He remembered what Mallol told him, that everything happened according to the Maker’s will, but Gaius’ resentment only grew. He fought like he didn’t have a care in the world, throwing himself into fights that damn near killed him. Ostagar nearly killed him and he was angry that it didn’t.

For weeks after the battle of Ostagar, Gaius was slowly recovering, though he was still refusing to go near the fire. Even from his spot, he could still smell… whatever it was that Alistair had thrown into the pot.

Must have used lamb – Ronan loves lamb.

He peered over his shoulder, looking at the small group of people he’d met. He couldn’t quite tell what Morrigan was doing, but he could feel her gaze on his back, though it wasn’t hostile. Alistair seemed to be fighting a losing battle with keeping his bowl to himself, Ronan pawing at the man’s arms every other minute and whining as if he was starved. Poor beast. He didn’t quite notice what the others were doing, his gaze slowly moving back towards the fire in the middle of camp.

He could still feel the heat, could still taste the ash on his tongue, the debris coating his throat, could still fell that overwhelming guilt at being the only one who survived. He couldn’t find his brother at Ostagar and was forced to accept that perhaps Fergus had died. He didn’t want to believe he was the only one left, didn’t want to feel so fucking alone.

“Gaius.” He could hear a voice shouting for him – Alistair? “Gaius! Come join us, you look freezing over there.”

Gaius stood, but he slowly and almost haltingly made his way towards the fire, like it would jump out at him and swallow him whole. He ignored the panic as he got closer, hiding how his hands began to fidget, fingers picking at the seams of his gloves and threatening to ruin them.

Unfortunately, Alistair noticed, his brows furrowing in confusion, watching Gaius closely as he sat next to the blond. “What’s wrong? You look tense, and you’re…” His amber gaze darted between Gaius and the fire. “Glaring at the fire as if… it…”

“Fire took my family.” Gaius’ answer was curt and quick, and he missed how Alistair’s face shuttered, brows raising and a sad look plastered on his face. “Well, Arl Howe took my family, but… The fire made it so I can’t even give them a proper burial. I can’t even go back; Howe might actually finish the job and make sure I’m dead.”

“And they couldn’t find your brother.” Alistair sighed, the pieces falling into place for him. “No wonder you seemed distracted when we were in the Korcari Wilds.”

Gaius hummed, answering without really saying anything for a long moment. “I never asked for this… Sure no one here has, but even though I ran off often, whoring myself and drinking until I was blacked out and hauled back to the castle by guards who couldn’t look me in the eye, it didn’t…” Gaius’ voice cracked, more tears threatening to spill the longer he stared into the flames.

He could have sworn it licked at him again, could have sworn they were under his nails, in his veins, poking and prodding its way free until all that remained of Gaius was ash and armour. He felt so hot, yet at the same time, so completely and irrevocably numb. He wanted to scream and shout and cry how it wasn’t fair that he got to live when the others died.

“I should have died with them – if I had just snuck away when Duncan’s back was turned and tried to fight back, tried to make a final stand… I should have fought back against Howe; I never asked for this.”

[vulptilla]

don't talk to me or my overly modded dragon age origins ever again

[edenxroseyposey]

Your warden rolling up the Ostagar walking away from a burning home only to have the world unloaded on their shoulders </3 Hopefully the time taken to travel across Ferelden was restful because good LORD they hit the ground running from here. Anywhoodles, Aileana was grateful to see a familiar face in Cailan, though his over-cheeriness bordered on annoyance.

[lothrilzul]

The Grey Wardens of Ferelden in 9:30 - 9:31 Dragon

Duncan : Alistair : Emmie / Anders : Oghren : Nathaniel / Justice : Sigrun : Velanna

[where-dark-and-light]

[aki888]

I blame both youtube for recommending me new Dragon Age clips as Dragon Age: Absolution for giving me the Dragon Age Bug again. But it also made me realize that I never finished my Couslands playthrough back in the day (I play way to many elves, dwarves and mages) soooooo made a new Cousland. Meet Elissa Cousland (I loved the default name bite me) gave her a big ass 2 handed sword because if you're gonna stomp Darkspawn back into the ground as a lady you need your big ass sword and stomping boots. And i'm not gonna romance one of the rogues this time, imma go with Alistair this time and make her Queen, never actually done that in a playthrough as I usually go with Zevran (like 70% of the time) or Leliana so gonna be interesting to see

[paranormal-potatoes]

Calan: *bites someone's throat out*

Duncan: *visibly alarmed*

Alistair: *making heart-eyes at his wife*

Duncan: ?????

[queenofferelden]

🌲🐺 Deep in Brecillian Forest we found a ruined temple. 🐺🌲

I think the answers to what happened here lie here.

[vigilskeep]

when you first start the cousland origin, you can have some conversations with arl howe, teyrn cousland, and duncan that shed some interesting light on the political situation in ferelden. it’s definitely the origin where you get the most context on the rebellion and on cailan and his father. while howe isn’t exactly the most trustworthy of sources, he is also one of the most openly critical of cailan that we have access to, which i think is worthy of interest

howe remembers maric with what the toolset describes as “genuine fondness”: “your father hasn’t spoken of our time with him? that man took care of his friends. as they say, he was large as life and twice as tall!” i think we should pay particular attention to that man took care of his friends.

what howe’s talking about is a really important aspect of kingship, where you win the consent and enthusiasm of the nobility for your rule by offering rewards like wealth, land, and prestige to the loyal. kingship is always less stable than it’s portrayed, and this is one of the ways that kings must essentially sell to the nobility that answering to them is worth their time, which would be especially important in ferelden given everything we know about its culture. fereldans believe someone only has power when it is given by the loyalty of those below them, who have the right to freely rescind that loyalty. the dao codex says that “the sight of [fereldan kings] asking for—and working to win—the support of ‘lesser’ men is a source of constant wonder to foreign ambassadors.”

i suspect howe is remembering a maric fresh from the victories of the rebellion, who was able to reward those who had followed him with the spoils of those victories. at the end of the stolen throne, we see that in the final days of the rebellion, maric was killing those who had betrayed his mother to the orlesians even when they arrived under truce to meet him on holy ground. in dao, we see no lingering orlesian nobility except for those who married in and continue to be met with marked hostility. i think we can safely surmise that maric elected to make no conciliatory measures and give everything to those who had followed him; with the orlesians on the run and his people out for blood, he was in a strong enough position to do so, and it certainly served to win the fond memories of men like howe.

by contrast, howe goes on to say, “it’s too bad cailan isn’t half that.” the toolset notes establish very clearly that it’s the same issue, elaborating on howe’s thoughts: “bitter turn, i don’t get as much from the current king”, and “disdainful, i have no use for him, he does me no favours”. this isn’t a minor character detail, if howe’s last words when killed by the player are anything to go by. “maker spit on you... i deserved... more...” whatever it is that howe feels he should have been given, by the crown or anyone else, it characterises his actions and his defining treachery.

it’s in these same conversations that we see another side of this demonstrated. there are two points where howe can openly criticise the king, and bryce immediately admonishes him for both. one even has the toolset note: “speaks sharply, as a lord to a lesser man, not a friend to an equal”. it definitely comes across that way; the way he tells howe “that’s enough” is not far off the voice he uses when the player, his child, displeases him. bryce can’t tolerate any criticism of cailan, as the couslands in dao are ardent supporters of the king. to venture some hc, i suspect that this is not merely royalist fervour, and that howe’s resentment for having been given less is matched by bryce’s awareness of the precariousness of having more.

over the centuries, the theirins have consolidated their power and eradicated almost all the teyrns (the noble rank that is second only to the king). with the only other lingering teyrn being loghain, who is essentially part and parcel of the royal family, the couslands stand alone as the only real rivals to theirin power within ferelden. there are rumours that bryce was once considered for king instead of the theirins; he too could have decided to believe he “deserved more”. but unlike howe, and perhaps understandably given his strong position and happy growing family, he is satisfied with what he has. he will not take the risk of even the slightest challenge being made within his hall

(i expect that bryce’s satisfaction with the current situation further spurred howe’s dissatisfaction to its heights, given the complicated cousland-howe history and the fact that he was expected to accept a friend he had fought beside as a superior for the rest of his life.)

i don’t think howe’s judgement on cailan is likely to be without basis. we don’t hear about any victories the young king has to his name, from which he could have passed around spoils. (to be fair, cailan had harder luck than maric in this regard. a king who raises a successful rebellion gets to bring glory and prestige to everyone who follows him, whereas a king trying to rebuild after that rebellion mostly gets to bring, uh, taxes probably. especially on wealthy centres of trade like howe’s amaranthine, one might assume.) cailan also takes a far more diplomatic approach to the question of orlais, which perhaps predictably did not win over many nobles of howe’s generation. it makes sense that cailan’s strongest supporters would instead be men like bryce who hope for things to simply continue, peacefully, as they are. perhaps in another world where cailan had won the battle of ostagar, he might have earned wider respect. (you could actually argue on this basis that there’s more sense and purpose to cailan’s glory-seeking than he usually gets credit for.) but howe already acts before ostagar, which can only demonstrate his certainty in cailan’s failings at this point: his belief that even if cailan could win, he would not be stable enough to pursue justice for the couslands

[vhenad4hl]

CODEX ENTRY: ALETHEA COUSLAND

Queen Alethea Cousland was the daughter of Bryce Cousland, teyrn of Highever. When Arl Rendon Howe's forces attacked Castle Cousland and murdered most of the Cousland family, Alethea escaped to safety with Grey Warden-Commander Duncan, and elf Dinaya Tabris, who would later become known as the Hero of Ferelden.

Queen Alethea was crowned after the end of the Fifth Blight; her people consider her a hero for fighting against the darkspawn as a Grey Warden. Few Warden's have left the secretive order, and she is one of two to have went on to rule a nation; she rules at the side of King Alistair Theirin, a Grey Warden hero who helped to defeat the darkspawn and end the Fifth Blight. They announced the birth of their daughter, Princess Eleanor Theirin in 9:31 Dragon.

Although Ferelden has prospered under their reign, it was greatly weakened by the Blight. Tensions with neighboring Orlais has been high, and many believe a renewal of their long-standing conflict is inevitable.

art by @sinizade

[ Dinaya ]

[phoenix-wulf]

DRAGON AGE SUMMMMMMERRRRR!

Kicking it off fresh and good with some post in chronological order

Protagonist #1 is Hero of Ferelden, referred to as Warden-Commander Cousland in the order, and Her Majesty Queen Moira Theirin.

Her in Dragon Age Origins and her later after curing the Calling (bc that’s canon I’m putting my foot down >:(!)

More info below~

Full name: Moira Iona Cousland

Class: Rouge

Romance: King Alistair

Team: Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana

Awakening team: Anders, Nathaniel, Ogren

Backstory: Growing up noble was very limiting for her as a child. Her Mother expected her to be the Lady she was born to be. Moira couldn't disagree more. She'd sneak off to hide from Mother in abandoned places of the castle or watch the guards train. Years go by and Moira eventually sits in her all her "lady classes" in exchange of letting her train as a rouge. And what a master she turned out to be in both.

After game: Once she becomes queen, she assists Alistair into understand all that goes on in the court. Along the way she personally dispatches would be assassins that look to harm her king and husband. But more often than not, she's away from court to direct wardens as Warden-Commander.

Canon divergence: -Two years after defeating the archdemon, she successfully birthed a baby boy named Duncan Bryce Theirin, named after the important men of her and Alistair’s lives, in 9:34 Dragon. She left for her mission when the Prince was just a few months old. -Moira returned from curing the calling after the events of Inquisition but before trespasser. In finding the cure, she lost an eye and started to grey prematurely in her 30s. -She ignores all letters and orders from Weisshaupt, planning on fully committing to her country and family after missing almost ten years of her sons life.