#emile de launcet

[dragonagereversebang]

mage against the machine

Summary: What if ZITHER!, Dorian, Anders, Emile and Merrill formed a band? Perhaps it would look something like this!

Rating: G Artist: AnonymousBenefactorOne

A spotlight on the mages! Performing live near you! In a modern AU, this unlikely group is rocking out and raging! Go look a little closer and leave some love for this piece!

[anneapocalypse]

Okay so given the likely historical purpose of the monk's tonsure, what are the odds that Emile de Launcet was given this haircut deliberately by a templar? He's the son of an Orlesian Comte who lives in Kirkwall so (as discussed here) they aren't going to abuse him in the way they would feel free to abuse most other mages unless they have an airtight excuse to "punish" him. But noticing that he is lonely and obsessed with being attractive to women, and giving him an "unattractive" haircut as a way of humiliating him is probably something the templars could get away with.

[burnouts3s3]

In Bioware's Dragon Age 2, Hawke must assist Dulci De Launcet in finding her son, Emile, a blood mage. Except Emile isn't a blood mage, he made it up to sleep with Nella. If Hawke allows Emile to sleep with Nella, she will put ceramic cows in Dulci's garden.

[hollyand-writes]

Dragon Age II – Mark of the Assassin DLC

Comtesse Dulci de Launcet (right), with her daughters Babette and Fifi de Launcet

[sapphim]

so I've been thinking about the politics of tranquility. I've spoken before about tranquility and the fragile illusion of chantry control.

I've been thinking about how the objection as stated to Ser Alrik's "tranquil solution" isn't that mages are being made tranquil, but that they are being made tranquil unwillingly, having passed their Harrowings. how Hawke says, "Doesn't Chantry law say that mages who pass their Harrowing can't be made Tranquil?" how tranquility is so ultimately distasteful, how its optics are so poor, that it is never meant to be meted out as a punishment, but as precaution. how an entire class of enchanters are free of its threat by law.

it is a "choice," an alternative to attempting and failing one's Harrowing. "they chose this," you are meant to be able to say, of the tranquil, "of their own free will. they felt it would be better this way. they're happier and safer now." how even Meredith rejects Alrik's proposal, despite presiding over such unlawful rites of tranquility from at least as early as Maddox, prior to 9:31.

I've been thinking about the level of responsibility that is placed on the shoulders of first enchanters like Irving or Orsino. how they can't control that templars expect to mete out punishment, but they can try to direct that punishment at certain targets to spare the others under their care. how Irving and Uldred, in cooperation with Greagoir, honeypot apprentices into taking up blood magic, to feed a steady stream of untrustworthy delinquents to the templars. how Irving plays favorites. how the first enchanter presumably has full control over the details of each apprentice's Harrowing.

I've been thinking about the apprentices who are browbeaten into believing they cannot possibly pass their Harrowings, or denied their right to one entirely.

I've been thinking about how, for poor communities, who can't demand a level of accountability from the chantry, mages taken to the circle often might as well just fall off the face of the earth. Carver says of the templars, in act 1, "So, they don't always just make you disappear, like it seems?" it's different for mages like Finn Aldebrant, or Connor Guerrin, or Emile de Launcet, whose families directly empower chantry rule and could cause a scene if they didn't like what they heard.

I've thinking about how the tranquil don't get to go home to their families, once their existence has been rendered "safe." because unpaid slave labor is an essential chantry asset, but also because the families who would still claim their mage relatives are exactly the ones who would be most likely to care about their mistreatment.

[leliwardens]

rook inspos from (mostly) canon children

the free space warden/li + hawke/li child

the second free space of kieran with bonus NOT ogb!kieran

oghren/felsi's child canonly named after the warden

rica/bhelen's son

m!aeducan/mardy's son named endrin/trian/duncan/gorim or after m!aeducan

zerlinda's son

gorim/unnamed wife's child

not at all a child but the wife bodahn leaves in denerim would be extremely funny as a rook

the child they name after tamlen in the sabrae clan (and one of the few survivors if you play that way...)

ser jory/unnamed wife's child

iona's daughter amethyne

bevin from the green blade quest in redcliffe

arl eamon/isolde's mage daughter named rowan they have if connor is killed and likely not canon at all now but it is in my heart

emile de launcet/nella's possible? child? rip to any rook coming from this

in dialogue between blackwall and m!inquisitor he alludes to the fact if any of his trysts resulted in children he doesn't know

additionally duncan sleeps with a mage in the books and not confirmed child but What If

feel free to add any i missed

[miraculan-draws]

This is headcanon/magic speculation, BUT I've mentioned before that in Awakening, Anders isn't particularly observant when it comes to Fade stuff, in fact it's almost always NATE that mentions Veil-related anomalies. SO I PUT FORTH!

Merrill was four when she was traded to clan Sabrae as a mage. Emile de Launcet had been in the Circle since he was six. I put my Hawke as getting his magic right after the twins were born, so just around five years old.

ANDERS was twelve. Now I suppose we don't know that he WASNT doing magic before then, but the narrative certainly implies setting the barn on fire was a surprise incident.

Twelve is quite a bit older. That's a tween. Merrill was a toddler when she got magic and Anders was teetering on the line of puberty.

I wonder if having so many formative years of growing WITHOUT magic didn't allow for the same level of like intuitive sense for it that some other mages might have. It's not for lack of talent or skill, like there is NO support mage in the SERIES that can really hold a candle to Anders, but I think sometimes the ✨Vibe✨ of a room just goes over his head.

Nathaniel Howe, a noble-born ranger: hmm. This place is....unsettling. Something must have wounded the veil here. Be wary of spirits lingering about

Anders: man it's creepy as shit in here. Anyone else think it's creepy in here?

[tahopo]

emile de launcet going “I uh, started that rumor because… because I thought it would make me sound dangerous and… suave 👉👈” and sebastian immediately hitting him with “It would take more than blood magic for that” this GUYYYYY……..not even a moment to lose?!?!

[idolbound]

Meredith's response about Emile de Launcet is the only time we ever hear her laugh in the series, and it's so special to me.

[greypetrel]

Something Fishy

Ok, part two of the prompts asked by @ndostairlyrium. For a moment I thought of making Emile de Launcet the King, then I had an epiphany.

Tis the prompt list

16. Courtly/medieval "for the raccoon of our hearts and/or bearded king Garrett (but the king/queen is someone unexpected OO:)"

“I hate you so much!”

“Shut the fuck up and catch it!”

How the little rowboat they rented was still floating on the right side and didn’t break, flip or sink in the commotion that was happening on it, was honestly something that made Raina fill with a renewed surge of burning faith.

Or well.

It would have, if she hadn’t been busy trying desperately to aim the harpoon, balance on a boat that was swinging madly and had water to her ankles, and if the damn fish hadn’t been keeping on moving and slapping his fins on the surface and try to escape, slam the rowboat away, do something.

Become a knight, they said.

It would be fun, they said.

Sure, until you’re ordered to catch a fish in full summer, when fishing is prohibited, there’s no one around to help you set the trap up and the fish you need to catch is bigger than you and your brother tied together.

Your stupid, stupid brother who convinced you, all that long ago, that this would have been an easy job, easy-peasy lemon squeezy, the kingdom has been in peace since years, go figure, they’ll pay us for doing nothing all day.

Yes.

Doing nothing and risk getting killed by a sea monster in an artificial enclosure she and Garrett spent the last five days trying to put up.

Because it was summer, every one in town was busy on the salt mines, and all they could bargain for was paying extra money for the tools, set up the nets by themselves with not many instructions, the whole village that looked at them with suspicion, as two people that were there just to trouble the peacefulness of the community and destroy precious nets.

And the fun thing was that if they didn’t catch that stupid gargantuan fish and brought it to the king, they would have been left without a job and without a penny too, since they had just enough to get back to Amaranthine eating one meal per day.

So, Raina grinned her teeth, moved her foot on the side when Garrett swatted her ankle and went on using the bucket to pour out the water they were boarding, and tried to concentrate.

The fish shifted and moved, and for a moment, the woman was there, looking right into a big round eye full of fear and rage.

She felt honestly very sorry for the poor beast.

“I’m sorry, buddy.”

Unfortunately for the fish, Raina had a family to maintain, needed the job, and worked for a ruthless ruler.

She launched the harpoon in the water, with as much strength as she could, and prayed.

---

“I hate you so much.”

Raina reiterated, as she finished tying the stupid fish on the stupid cart, and her stupid hands slipped on the buckle because they were slimy from handling a fish that weighted more than her with armour on.

Garrett, in an equal state of misery, wet and slimy all over, black hair spiking in every direction and beard uncharacteristically ruffled and untidy, peeked from the other side of the fin to look at her in the same way their mother did… Well, most of the time.

In the same way their mother had looked at her when Raina had declared, bag already on her shoulder, that she was following Ser Meeran as a squire for his mercenaries. At least, the way Leandra had looked at her daughter before understanding that it wasn’t a joke, that Raina was indeed leaving.

“We would have been on the first line in Orlais, if it wasn’t for this job, my dear sister.”

“We wouldn’t smell like Hell’s own armpit, if we were in Orlais.”

Garrett groaned, fishing a handkerchief out of one of the bags and cleaning his hands and face, as much as he could with the little strip of cloth.

“It was your idea to enroll with Meeran, if I recall correctly.” He grumbled, weaving his hands in a circle and muttering a spell under his breath.

The space between his palms shone blue, and after a while, when the magic had started tinging blue the mage and reflecting on the scales of their prey, he moved them to pass over the fish, minding to cover it all. It took its time, seen how big it was, but it would have kept it fresh and good until they got back to the Castle. Raina, who forgot her handkerchief at home, back in her nice, cozy, warm, not smelling like Hell’s own armpit room, rubbed her hands on the back of her breeches. The part still more or less clean. It didn’t do much, but it was better than before. She ignored the urge to unsheathe one of her daggers and cut all of her hair. It was already short and cropped in a masculine way, but right now, filthy with fish, she wished she had gone bald instead.

“We could have been knight-errants, but oh no, let’s enter the service of the Red King, the Scourge of Amaranthine, what could ever go wrong!”

She tossed her hands in the air, stepping towards the front of the cart. The mare they had wasn’t old and complacent enough to not whinny as she smelled the woman approaching. She also kicked back, having Raina jump away from the hoof, cursing aloud. The one thing she missed today was a good horse kick.

She flopped heavily on the seat, crossing her arms on her chest and waiting for her brother to reach her. He did, after a couple of minutes, the fish oozing waves of cold from behind her, prickling the back of her neck.

“Well, I could be back home and have my pumpkin fields.” Garrett grumbled, getting comfy as he could on the stiff sittee of the old wagonette. “We’re both at a loss, so you could as well stop being a bitch with me.”

He took the reins and clicked his tongue on the palate, whipping the leather to get the mare in motion. Nobody said anything, letting the road take them inland. Nobody turned to cast one last look at the sea, and sea daffodils soon left space for fields of sunflowers, bent downward and dried in the hot summer sun, almost ready for harvest. The sun, gentle and still hot from the day, soon dried them, and even if both sported two different shapes of the same shade of black, thick hair sprouting in every direction and no order, it put them in a better mood.

“I’m sorry I was a bitch.”

“Don’t be. You’re always a bitch.”

Raina swatted Garret’s shoulder, not caring to be gentle about it. He chuckled, rubbing the offended point.

“Well, your being a bitch got the job done.”

“Wow, thank you, my pride is so much better now.”

“Just use your bitchiness and silver tongue for buying me a pumpkin patch, and I swear I’ll stop dragging you in the silliest, smelliest missions.” Garrett sighed, dramatically, leaning on the side to lean over his sister, affectionately.

She laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. Playfully, this time. He did the same.

The rest of the journey back was not as bad.

---

“Sir Raina Hawke and Sir Garrett Hawke, returning from the coast, your majesty!”

Seneschal Varel announced to the whole throne room, filling the vast space in Vigil’s keep with his shrill voice. The two siblings marched towards the throne, cleaned up and donned in their best court clothes. They still smelled faintly like fish, but at least the worst of it was gone. Raina ignored a particularly hateful Lady who fanned herself eloquently when she passed close.

Alas, it was a woman who always did fan herself when they passed, not agreeing to take commoners as knights in the court.

Luckily enough, tho, it was true that the Crown of Amaranthine cared little for the provenience. And was easy enough on its subjects and knights. So, the siblings ignored everything and kneeled, obediently, in front of the tall ebony throne, heads bent down in respect.

“Let the prize be brought to the King!” The Seneschal announced again, and the whole room stilled.

Two sets of steps echoed in the room, skittering quickly from a side door to the dais. One page, Raina saw peeking from one eye, brought a small table of marble and gold -a table fit for a king- that he positioned in front of the throne, bowing deeply as he did so and never turning his back to the King, as etiquette and good sense wanted. It bode not well, for everyone who turned their back to the Red King.

The other page walked more calmly, with the utmost care, bringing in both his hands, outstretched, a plate of the finest china the castle could offer, delicately painted in flowers and trimmed in gold, with a thick, fat fillet of the fish Raina and Garrett caught the day before exquisitely plated in the centre.

The dish was carefully situated in front of his majesty, and the second page bowed and ran back as well, walking backward.

No cutleries nor napkins were brought, but the king needed no such pointless fineries.

The whole Court caught their breath as His Majesty got closer to the dish and the offering. Raina’s heart beated fast, as her irritation grew.

And then-

“Mrowl.”

The silence was broken by the shrill noise of the finest china in the castle being shattered on the stone floor.

Someone gasped in the crowd behind the siblings, a Lady swooned with a loud whine, and the court started to buzz.

The king had refused another meal.

The king would starve.

“Loyal knights, raise.” Another voice rose from the dais.

Raina rose on her feet, looking up at the throne with a challenge in her eyes. Sitting on its hind paws on a velvet pillow with golden tassels at the four corners, His Majesty was morosely licking the paw that pushed the dish to the ground, without seemingly a care in the world. His orange tail, tipped in white, snapped left and right behind his body, signalling his displeasure, and a triangular ear on top of his round, fluffy face, flickered in irritation.

“His Majesty, King Pounce-a-Lot, third of his name, the Red King of Vigil’s Keep, the Scourge of Amaranthine, has refused the meal you brought to him.” Anders announced, standing tall on the right of the throne. “Let it be known that tuna doesn’t please the king!”

“Please.” Raina muttered under her breath, pissed off with the whole charade.

The whole room, tho, chanted in choir, as Garrett elbowed her strongly and casted her a reproaching look.

“Tuna doesn’t please the king! Long live the king!”

Raina looked back at her brother, with the same reproach. But Anders cleared his throat and called her back to attention.

“I apologize that Tuna revealed itself to be not the delicacy it was famed to be.” She bowed again, deeply, hating every centimeter she lowered her bust. “How could we humble knights make amend for bringing him a morsel not fit for his palate?”

She looked up at Anders, who kneeled down and offered his ear to the King, to hear his voice. The cat sniffed twice at the mage, and rubbed his head against his temple, left and right. With another delighted gasp from behind, his majesty also licked Anders, before raising on his four paws and curling on the pillow, head resting on his crossed front paws.

Anders rose back, raising both his arms towards the crowd.

“Praise king Pounce-a-Lot, for He has been magnanimous!”

“Praise the king!” The crowd chanted, again.

“For fu-” Raina stopped with another elbow in her ribs from her brother.

“Your service, loyal knights, has been appreciated. You can dispose of the tuna as you see fit, as well as you do outside the King’s Castle. And that will be your compensation” Anders nodded at them, with a smirk. Raina tightened her fists, casting a firey glance at the man. “And let it be known that his majesty, through his Spokesperson Anders, declares all tuna banned from the Kingdom!”

The crowd cheered. Less enthusiastically than for the great rat banishing of two years prior, but that was a hard comparison, by everyone standards. Raina, forced herself to smile and clap as well, brain going blank as Anders kept on stiling punishments and fees for every fiend who was caught in the act of housing the offending tuna. Fucking Anders that kept on glancing down at her with a challenge on his face that made Raina wish her position at court was strong enough to jump up and strangle him.

The ordeal finally ended, and court was dismissed. The Seneschal came to scoop up the royal pillow from the throne, with His Majesty still curled on it. But the royal feline was offended by that gesture too. Maybe the Seneschal was too brusque, maybe he jostled the pillow too much, maybe the damn cat just wanted to take a nap on his throne to mock his nobles. In any case, the cat meowed with displeasure, unfurled and jumped down the pillow.

As His Majesty trotted towards the main stairway, tail raised proudly up to show the royal butt and jumped the steps two by two, the Seneschal paled, looking at Anders with terror in his eyes.

A moment of silence: displeasing King Pounce-a-Lot could mean death.

Anders, tho, huffed and dismissed the old man with a swirl of his hand.

“Be at peace, Varel. His tail was up, it’s all right.”

Varel sighed, relieved, before going too up the stairs, following quickly the running cat.

Raina, finally, relaxed, as the room beside her and her sibling did the same, and chatting began to fill the atmosphere again.

“An easy job.” She grumbled.

“Think that thanks to the banishing, we won’t ever need to fish a tuna ever again.”

“Sure, until his royal shit will decide that he wants to try tuna another time because he got tired of sardines.”

Garrett covered his mouth with a hand. Making fun of the King as if it was just another cat was prohibited. By Anders, but the confine between him and the Royal Cat wasn’t that clear. Without being too open about their amusement, tho, in a very practiced game, they did some greetings, faked an important mission, and quietly slipped away from the throne room, avoiding much of the fuss.

The courtyard outside was another kind of busy, and the kind of busy they both liked best. People who worked, people who ran the castle and allowed the citadel to keep on living. Clang of hammers on metal, carts of food headed to the kitchens, guards walking on the ramparts, pages and maids and workers.

“So.” Raina said, as they hopped down the stairs.

“Mh?” Garrett answered, not looking at her.

“We got a tuna to sell. What do we do?”

A deep sigh from her right. Finally he was starting to yield too, apparently.

“I have no idea. Eat it? Give it to Wade and hope he’ll be inspired?”

“And having then to wield smelly weapons? Oh no no no, Wade is the last person we should give it to.” She snorted. “What about bottling it and selling it?”

“How do we bottle tuna?”

“I don’t know! It must be soft, invent some spell to make it so. So soft you can cut it with a breadstick.”

She illustrated, upkeep about it and about the slogan. Garrett looked cold about it, shrugging it off with nonchalance. They turned, headed to the tavern in automatic, by now. It was still a little early for the full revelry to unleash inside, but nobody really cared.

“You should really try and make a poker face when we’re at court, tho. Anders is going to notice, sooner or later.”

“Notice what? That I am a dog person? What a novelty.”

“Insulting the King will get you into trouble! Will get us both into trouble!”

“So what? It’ll be revealed that it’s really Anders ruling the land, there’ll be an uprising and I’ll be the one to its head, wait and see.”

Raina entered the tavern, strutting in like she owned the place. And seeing how they spent most of their free evenings there, with their group of friends and Raina bullying the minstrel to make her sing, she could as well. People made her pass, greeting her, and she waved at the host with familiarity. A boy noticed them enter, and was quick in skittering away from their table, as they approached, apologizing profusely for occupying their spot.

As regal as a queen, indeed, Raina flopped on her seat, crossing one leg over the other dramatically and sighing heavily.

“And what would you make with the throne? You? Miss I don’t want to lead the family and run the farm so I’ll enter the service of the first mercenary I meet instead?” Garrett quipped, sitting as per his usual, in front of her.

His sister rose one eyebrow.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“What?”

“I’ll put Beowoof on the throne and laugh when aristocrats will shit their pants because they didn’t find a suitable stick to throw him.”

She earned a look full of disbelief and reproach -Garrett was all too similar to their mother- and smiled amiably at him, thanking Corff for the pint and taking a sip with her best manners, bowing her head to her brother.

“And you complain about Anders.”

“I’d find him extremely reasonable and a genius if he didn’t force us to fish a fucking sea monster and then pay us with the banned carcass deprived of its tastiest cut.” She shrugged.

“And you would be different because…?”

“I wouldn’t. Never said that.” She looked up, deadly serious. “Beowoof would be less of an asshole than King Pounce-a-Lot.”

“He would need a bigger throne, for sure.”

“See? Now we’re talking! Now, we just need a convincing slogan and some promises… We could gain some popular consensus with the tuna, and then-”

“Wait.” Garrett interrupted her, a hand coming to rest on her arm. “You’re serious.”

Raina blinked twice.

“Of course I am.”

“What the fuck, Raina?”

“Listen. Listen.”

She placated him, pushing on both his arms to make him sit back down on his chair, when he tried to raise up and walk away. Groaning aloud, Garrett sat, leaning in on arms crossed on the table to be closer to his sister, who did the same. His damn older sister who had way too many ideas.

“If Anders can rule, I can too, no? If the nobles accepted a cat, they would better accept a dog.”

“What makes you think so?”

“It’s fucking Ferelden, Gee.”

A moment of silence.

“… You’re not wrong.” He had to admit, through his teeth.

“Oh, don’t make that face, see the silver lining.”

Garrett groaned again, falling back against the backrest of his chair, butt sliding forward, and taking a big gulp of his pint, savouring it and dragging it long. Raina waited for him, patiently, with a big smile on her face.

“What’s the silver lining in you organizing a coup?”

“I could give you the biggest field of land and order you to grow pumpkins on it. The biggest pumpkins you can get, because King Beowoof wants them huge.”

The two stood silent, looking one at the other and thinking about it. Garrett squinted at his sister, who just replied by widening her smile and bending her head gently to the side, wiggling her eyebrows at him. The stall lasted all of two minutes, but as it went most of the times, it ended with the brother groaning aloud, and massaging the bridge of his nose with a hand.

“So?” Raina asked, antsy.

“… I hate you.”

“You’re my favourite sibling as well. In or out?”

Garrett looked at her, raising one eyebrow.

“I want Esmerelle’s lands.”

“Now we’re talking. So, you need to find a way to bottle the tuna, and then-”

[dragonagekeeper]

Disclaimer: The keep does not record whether or not your Hawke lets Emile sleep with Nella.

DA2 Act 3 Polls

Dragon Age 2 Polls

See quest and choice descriptions from Dragon Age Wiki/Keep below

Emile de Launcet is the fifth son of Guillaume de Launcet and Dulci de Launcet, two minor nobles from Orlais. Emile was born in Kirkwall, but was discovered to be a mage at the age of six and taken to the Gallows in Kirkwall.

Meredith requests that Hawke track down 3 dangerous apostates (Huon, Evelina, and Emile de Launcet) and bring them back dead or alive.

If Hawke returns Emile to the Circle:

If Hawke sides with the Circle of Magi in The Last Straw, Emile is present in the Gallows just before the final battle starts as well as during the first stage of the final battle. Attempting to speak with him will have him say that he regrets not being able to say goodbye to his mother, his cluelessness in helping due to his lack of skills as a mage, Meredith being a pretty woman despite wanting kill him, how he regrets coming back and blaming Hawke for his predicament, and (if Hawke allowed him to sleep with Nella) him stating that they are all going to die, but he is glad he was able to have some fun with Nella.

Returned Emile to the Circle, after allowing him to sleep with Nella

Before returning him to the Circle, Hawke can allow Emile to sleep with Nella. If so, she will later show up at the Comte's estate claiming to be pregnant with Emile's child. If Isabela is in the party, Hawke can also propose that she sleeps with Emile. She refuses, saying that she can whore herself without help (this is possible even if Isabela is in a romance with Hawke).

At some point during the party at Chateau Haine, Emile's sister Babette wrote him a letter telling him of the excitement at the party and of seeing a laborer crushed to death when he rolled down with a barrel of wine.[2].

If Hawke let Emile sleep with Nella and he speaks to Dulci at the party, Dulci will bemoan to Hawke about the fact that they weren't able to stop him from doing so, claiming that they would have rather handled blood magic rather than Emile's scandal.

2. Returned Emile to the Circle, but not allowing him to sleep with Nella

I did not find anything specific about what happens if you do not let him sleep with Nella other than the obvious outcome that she does claim to be pregnant with Emile's child.

3. Allowed Emile to go free

If Hawke allows Emile to leave:

Emile leaves Kirkwall. His mother sends Hawke gold along with a thank you letter. When reporting to Meredith, Hawke can either tell the truth or tell the Knight-Commander that Emile is dead. If Hawke tells Meredith the truth, Meredith will simply state that they will track him down soon enough. If Fenris is in the party and not a friend or a full rival, he reveals Hawke's lie. Meredith then says that her templars will pursue Emile.

[jazzajazzjazz]

The aim is to do something like this (a default look) for each of my canon DA characters before DA:D comes out--let's see how feasible that actually is--and I ended up finishing this one first.

Learn more about my canon Hawke Adalie under the cut! ↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

BASICS - Mage (Force Mage/Spirit Healer) - Sarcastic - Pro-Templar - 25 yrs old - When they were really young and just learning to speak neither Bethany nor Carver could pronounce her name properly so they simply called her Addie--that nickname stuck and endures. :P

APPEARANCE - 5'7"  - Body type can best be described as bony; doesn’t have much of a shape and is very flat chested. She’d probably never admit it, but her small bust and (to her) perceived lack of an ‘attractive’ figure is a huge source of insecurity to her, particularly when she compares herself to Isabela. - Very pasty. Was a very colicky and sickly baby prone to frequent yet minor illnesses. She doesn't get a lot of sun either. - Is one of those people who just always looks tired?? - She's a bit apathetic when it comes to her appearance so her clothes aren't very well looked after. - Resting bitch face

PERSONALITY  - Hates being a mage. She resents that her family could never stay in one place for too long, and even though she wasn't the only mage in the family, she often blamed herself for their frequent moves, despite reassurance to the contrary. Her hatred of her own talents begins to soften as DA2 progresses--encountering several examples of truly terrible mages has a way of convincing even the most self-deprecating person that they themselves are actually not so bad--and by the end of DA2 her relationship with her magic is more like a love/hate one than simply a hate one. - Introverted and not very good with people. She isn't shy per se, moreso convinced by default that people won't like her, so she doesn't really bother. - Very hypocritical when it comes to the subject of mages. She's confident enough in her abilities that she can resist possession and doesn't need the Circle but other mages? She's not convinced. With the exception of Ella and Emile de Launcet she doesn't hesitate to hand other mages over to the Circle. Her own resentment of magic colours her opinion of other mages without her even realising it. - All that being said, she's not a bad person. She doesn't support the Templars because 'mwahaha evil' but because she genuinely fears the power of magic and believes the Circle serves a very important purpose; saving mages from themselves and ensuring they can't hurt others. - She's absolutely one of those people who gets reluctantly dragged to gatherings by friends but ends up having the best time

RELATIONSHIPS • Anders - RIVAL • Aveline - FRIEND • Carver - FRIEND • Fenris - FRIEND (romance) • Isabela - FRIEND • Merrill - RIVAL • Sebastian - RIVAL • Varric - FRIEND

[anneapocalypse]

On the actual significance of the "Grand Game"

In the three Dragon Age games thus far we have seen Orlesians from three perspectives. In Origins we get the Fereldan view, Orlesians Are Evil, this from a nation occupied and oppressed by the empire and not yet over it. In DA2 we get the Marcher view, or you could call it specifically the Tethras view, Orlesians Are Stupid, a view no doubt cultivated by the fact that the only Orlesians you meet in Kirkwall are rich expats wealthy enough to have a second home in the Free Marches but not important enough to actually need to be in Orlais. And in Inquisition we get I think the closest thing to the Orlesian view of Orlais, which is: we're very powerful and you should want to have us on your side; please ignore all the chaos and civil war and how expendable we consider the lower classes.

Throughout all of this I think it is worth noting that the only people who think Orlesians are so subtle and clever are Orlesians, and mostly it's just the nobles and their hangers-on who think that about themselves. We're introduced to the concept of the Grand Game through Leliana, who romanticizes the whole thing due to her life as a bard. Varric by contrast has very little in the way of romantic notions about Orlesian nobles and mostly portrays them as comical buffoons, from Emile de Launcet to Duke Prosper de Montfort; not one of Varric's Orlesian characters is ever meant to be taken seriously by the audience. In Inquisition, a lot of hay is made about the Game and the need for favor and so forth but it pretty much all boils down to "Nobles have money and troops. We need those. Make them like you."

To me, the interesting thing about the Game is not that it's actually deeply complex or intricate, but how central it is to Orlesian identity. Of course there are intricacies to court politics, but most of it comes down to knowing whose interests and connections lie where, and how those interests may be successfully manipulated. That's not "Orlesian politics," that's just politics, and it's not meaningfully different from politics elsewhere. What sets the Orlesian aristocracy apart from Ferelden, when you look past the cultural trappings and the aesthetics, is mainly that Orlais has much stronger barriers to upward mobility in place (freeholds, or land owned by commoners, are practically unheard of in Orlais, whereas the freehold is the backbone of Fereldan culture).

But where I think the cultural significance of the Game truly matters to Orlesians is in the way it's meant to set them apart as the Good Empire. The empire that is cultured, sophisticated, civilized--you know, not like that other, bad empire up north, the one with the blood magic and the legal slavery. Please pay no attention to the blood-soaked floors of the servants' quarters (or the illegal slave trade that flourished in occupied Ferelden and behind closed doors of remote estates). We negotiate power with subtle words and gestures, and definitely don't sustain it with the blood of the powerless just like the magisters do, but without the magic. It's the magic part that makes blood magic bad, not the murder part. (This is a big part of why I love The Masked Empire, so much, as it really has so much to say about the nature of power and empire and who truly suffers for the games the nobles play, but it's also why what we see in the servants' quarters in "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts" is so important.)

And this all ties into Orlais as the seat of the southern Chantry as well, sitting in opposition to Tevinter politically, culturally, religiously, all of which are inexorably intertwined.

[mabaris]

having the horrifying realization that i’m emile de launcet in real life 😟

[hollyand-writes]

While everyone else observes the 10th anniversary of Dragon Age II’s release by releasing thoughtful, beautiful, appropriately commemorative content, *I* celebrate it by uploading Emile de Launcet singing “Don’t Cha” by the Pussycat Dolls. That seductive eyebrow wiggle is sending me 😂

@delancet I think this is relevant to your interests 😆 

Also inspired by the hilarious Garrett Hawke version I saw on Twitter [x] 

[sapphim]

all the companion quests in act 3 that don't trigger until after on the loose is completed, and they let you start fenris's alone right at the top of the act and get dragged into a fight to the death with danarius when you're just trying to go talk to emile de launcet? really?