#he never worshiped the Evanuris — or the Maker for that matter

[bithand]

God Vauquelin really does love his spirit neighbors . . . Catch him in the Converged City marketplace just shooting the breeze

[selfish-cat]

Veilguard Re-imagined

Given how DAV turned out to be, I think it would've been much more interesting if it was more in line with what Trespasser was hinting at. Spoilers below:

Instead of ooo bad evil gods and bad evil people, the factions could've been so much more nuanced. And you know who would've been super involved? The elves. Elves still struggling with the truth of their Vallaslin. Elves tired of being treated like dirt. Elves who are proud of their heritage.

I'm imagining the main 3 factions would be:

Evanuris: The base of their followers would be the Dalish who have worshipped them for centuries and don their Vallaslin. Whether or not the Inquisitor spreads the news about their tyranny (and whether or not they're believed), as a people who have lost everything time and time again, why would you turn away the chance to regain the former glory your people once had? The gods wouldn't have to try very hard. They were leaders once of course they know how to sway people. Make them sympathetic! Show them mourning their friends and lovers and lost empire. Have them cast doubt over Solas' claims! They can still have their "bullies and tyrants" and their blighted dragons but they would also have the desperate and disillusioned, maybe some of whom you can still reach out to and pull back.

If you want to bring the Blight in, it would be easy enough to blight their followers under the premise of empowerment (Solas isn't the only one who can lie). Instead of throwing a billion reavers at me, give me intelligent blighted creatures who think they're reclaiming their agency, who think they're avenging themselves, their loved ones, and their ancestors by spreading the blight to cities. It would also be a good way to distinguish between the gods' followers and other factions.

You know who wouldn't be joining them? Tevinter supremacists whose Imperium past prided themselves on conquering the elves. Or the Antaam who haven't renounced their beliefs and upbringing—you don't shake off that lifelong wariness of magic unless a lot of people get real chill with a lot of things real fast. I'm not touching the Butcher part because I still don't understand it although confused, lost track of the plot, wanting to turn yourself inside out? Relatable.

Fen'Harel: Rather than being relegated to a troll in the comments, let Solas lead the army he amassed in Trespasser??? All the Dalish and the city elves who are tired of being systematically oppressed and have been for literal ages?? He clearly cares for their freedom, as established in DAI (I had feelings when he finally called the Dalish "our people" but then it was followed by EA/Bioware nonsense). Other than the one line about him breaking the chains of slaves at the beginning, his deeds are never mentioned again other than to berate Rook.

I think his forces would be smaller. More scouts and spirits that specialize in skirmishes. It would be a three-way fight between the Evanuris, Solas, and Rook (with support from the Inquisitor and different implications depending on whether you disbanded or not). I think it'd be very interesting if you established a friendship/romance with Solas' and his forces withdrew when the Inquisitor appears vs. continue fighting if you decide to burn that bridge because choices matter EA. None of the elves in his forces will have their Vallaslin.

Keep the flashbacks. Keep the lore. Keep Mythal. But also keep the character instead of teehee lied to you again why would I listen to reason uwu.

Rook: None of the party needs to change or even the order of recruitment or any of the powers at play. They're all so charming and fun and clearly written with love.

Of course Harding will be there as a rep from the Inquisition. Let her work through her struggles with the Maker and the Golden City lore. Let her explore Titan lore but in a way that doesn't end with welp guess that's that and now let's not bring it up again since there definitely won't be implications with dwarves across all of Thedas. Neve works with the Shadow Dragons and would be sympathetic to the whole situation. Keep Aelia and involve the Venatori that way—strictly in Tevinter and unrelated to the gods. I imagine their forces were severely weakened after Corypheus. They can still kill the Archon in preparation of installing one of their own in if they want because that'd be in line with their established motives.

Bellara and Davrin can help shed a light on their perspective of things. Bellara tries in DAV but given how elf involvement was basically dismissed with "nah they're steering clear of the evil gods and we defs don't have a problem with any of this" t'was rough. It would've made more sense bringing Cyrian back aligned with the gods than suddenly bringing up a Forgotten One (excellent DLC option in the Tirashan though). Davrin struggling to distance himself from his heritage and empowerment via Wardenhood and fatherhood (lol) is very interesting to explore instead of idk being a farm boy even though it'd be awfully hard to farm without a permanent settlement, which apparently was a thing but I digress. Keep the griffons and Isseya but tie her to Ghilan'nain in a sympathetic but warped way (of course Ghilan'nain loves the griffons and is sympathetic to their plight. Why not make them better? Isseya's a city elf but why would she doubt the Mother of Halla?) Also definitely keep that chat with Solas and have more of that!

Lucanis and Crow lore. Imagine debating with him about practices of kidnapping and torturing children to train them. Characters can grow and learn (look at my best boy Dorian) and when he gets promoted to First Talon, maybe he'll keep your words in mind if your bond is high enough. Taash and Emerich had more personal things to deal with which is great. Not every character arc has to be directly tied back to the Big Bads. In DAV's case, it would've made more sense if they were just standalone issues instead of trying to be like "yeahh y'know, Venatori support. Yup."

And if you play Rook as an elf, there should definitely be a city elf and Dalish option because they're different cultures EA. You can't just have options like "I'm Dalish where it counts" and say "Our Gods" and "Your People" in the same scene because what even does that mean EA. Very good posts about this stuff here and here and here

Ending: At the end of this power struggle, where the gods are inevitably taken down, instead of a uwu everyone lived happily ever after except those who died, there are! Ramifications! Those were elven gods that almost destroyed everything! Why would they just let elves be and the Dalish chill and settle in Arlathan Forest (nvm why they were allowed back in the first place given how the Dalish treat the Dales and how they expect people to react to their presence there)?

Depending on how you play all your games (or a neutral score for new players), I think this is where you see the results of your choices. Did you garner sympathy and support from leaders? What leaders did you put in place? Will things return to a tense status quo? Will there be another Exalted March where they're driven even farther away? Or will there be introspection and understanding maybe resulting in a new Halamshiral for the Dalish somewhere and more rights for city elves?

As for Solas, I think his outcome would depend on the Inquisitor's choice in Trespasser. Do you kill him, leaving any future attempts to breach the Veil a risk? Do you fade into obscurity with him to live out a peaceful life in secrecy? Or do you convince him to give Thedas as is a second chance now that the gods are gone? He can disappear, maybe he occasionally has visitors or visits those he considers friends while keeping an eye on the world and the Veil (he'll be the new Veilguard which would make that ending line make more sense)?

[thekingofwinterblog]

So one part about the terrible direction Veilguard went, made me realize that there was one more prophecy/foreshadowing from across the Dragon Age franchise that was thrown into the garbage.

So in the endings, we learn that Dorian becomes Archon and the Tevinter Imperium lives to fight another day... And that really bothers me.

Not that he makes the attempt, but rather thar the empire survives at all, because the games had been setting up the idea that Tevinter's time was finally up and heading to a close.

The idea is first brought up when the Guardian of the urn of Sacred ashes tells of his duty of protecting the ashes for pilgrims... Until the Imperium has "Crumbled into the sea", and when the Warden tells him that the Imperium is no longer as strong as it used to be, he ominously says that perhaps this is the beginning of the end then.

In hindsight, what seems to be said here is that he is referring to the "Beginning of the end' as the first step to leading to the climax of the series as it was planned and already being set up this early.

The concept that eventually became Veilguard, when the Elvhen gods would finally break free and it would all end in a cataclysmic battle that would end the Tevinter imperium as the Guardian(By far the living person who is the strongest argument that the Maker was real after all) has forseen.

Obviously we didn't get that, but this isnt the only place where this idea is floated around.

We get talks here and there of there being a time for something new, a "next great empire" as one of the Inquisition soldiers calls it.

And time and again we are hit by the reminder that the Imperium has seen much, much better days... And that the Qun WILL invade again in the near future, and when it does, it will probably level it.

There is the mention of the elvhen revolts starting up, the culmination of thousands of years of abuse and slavery, and just the nastiness of tevinter in general having completely degrading their society and its hopes for the future.

Vivienne actually talks about this with Dorian, as she pretty much tells him that Tevinter WILL fall, and she would prefer he had a backup plan to survive and thrive when it does.

And most of this does happen... But in ludicrously cartoonish ways.

The Qunari Antaam does invade... But not for the Qun, but instead because they serve the Elvhen gods.

As does the Venatori, because... Why? Why does the Tevinter supremacist follow false gods none of them have worshipped for near a hundred years? That they now know are elves?

The elvhen revolt never really happens.

The Evanuris does break free and begin destroying shit... but rather than elvhen followers as all logic dictates, are instead backed up by humans and Qunari... Because.

Also, rather than turning all their wrath loose upon the Tevinter imperium, the logical target that should either be conquered or exterminated to begin the rebuilding of their ancienct empire, they isntead focus the wast majority of their attention on the south... Because.

Im just gonna come flat out and say it.

I 100% believe that when Bioware was originally laying the foundations for This story, the planned climax was going to LEVEL Tevinter and make it "Crumble into the sea".

THAT was the direction as originally planned, and was the logical endpoint that everything was hinting at, and building towards and frankly would have served as a great climax and ending to this evil, decadent empire.

Unfortunately, Veilguard had no interest in a climax where the parts of the world YOU the player fought to save would be utterly decimated no matter what you did, so instead the empire survived, while the south of Thedas was obliterated.

So hey, the evil, slaving empire that is the source of so much of the world's evil, and will innevitably fall back into utter decadence and never change it's ways got to live on...

While Ferelden, the true heart and soul of this entire setting, burned to cinders and it's was people exterminated offscreen because Bioware wanted to get ridd of all player choices.

What a climax.

[morganaseren]

Human/Goddess AU

I swear, I’ll think of a better title later, but guess who thought of a new AU about Leliana and her female Cousland?! I ended up writing like 24 pages this time around because I have absolutely no self-control over my creativity anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Things to know:

The premise was originally based off this short comic.

No Darkspawn or Blight threat.

Maker and Chantry don’t exist due to polytheistic God/Goddess system (with some inspiration taken from both Greek and Irish mythology). It’s broken down further into a multi-tiered structure of major and minor deities—a ranking determined by power essentially—but all the human and elf deities tend to get along fairly well with one another. Dwarves don’t have deities as they still worship The Stone, which they don’t consider a god, and Qunari don’t have them either since the Qun is more of a philosophy than a religion that follows any god.

The Evanuris don’t exist as we know of them canonically in-game, so Egghead never tore the Veil apart, and none of the Exalted Marches ever happened. Elves are still long-lived and have complete access to the Dales, which is essentially their kingdom of sorts.

No huge racial divides exist, but the dwarves (outside of surface dwarves) and qunari (outside of Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth) still tend to be rather reclusive.

Class stratification, however, still exists between the rich and the poor of Thedas.

Gods play a fairly active role on Thedas for those pious enough to worship them, but their work—stemming anywhere from simply helping crops to grow or even helping to turn the tides of a war—is often unseen. Very few among the faithful rarely ever get to see a deity in person.

Relationships with mortals and gods do occur—and children are born through such unions—but it isn’t considered official unless a courtship ritual is completed, where the mortal partner would be granted the same divine protection of the god and allowed access into the immortal world. That becomes relevant much later in the story.

In this AU, Leliana’s human (she’s 15 when she first meets Niamh, but nothing intimate between them happens until she’s well above age) while Niamh’s a goddess.

Like all my other AUs, this isn’t finished yet. There is a small intimate scene way down beneath the cut, but it’s nothing explicit. Still, if you’re interested so far, check out the additional content below!

Leliana had always been blessed, others had said, but it was not by simple chance.

She was born to a widowed mother—Oisine—who worked to provide for her child’s happiness so that she might one day have a better life than her. For such love and care, however, Leliana wanted to be able to return it one day. Perhaps beyond their quaint cottage by the sea, she could someday buy her mother the riches and luxury she so clearly deserved.

It was also—were she to admit it to herself—a wish of her own desires, for she had always yearned for more than just a simple life.

One day, Leliana wandered into the nearby forest out of simple boredom. She had played amongst its trees for as long as she could remember, and she knew the winding paths of it like the back of her hand. By chance, however, she came across a pair of black-furred wolves who stood upon a trail she had never seen before. The animals didn’t seem at all skittish, and as they turned to travel further into the woods, they looked over as if to beckon her into following. Leliana did, and she eventually found herself before an old, cliffside altar overlooking the sea.

It was remarkably humble in its appearance, Leliana admitted. Strangely enough, she felt more of a… presence to it than any of the ostentatious buildings of worship she had seen in the nearby city. The altar before her barely stood at chest-level, and beneath the light of the full moon, she realized the stone of its structure had been worn smooth by time and the elements.

She frowned when she saw the multitude of dead leaves and dirt gathered around the altar, however, and she wondered when the caretaker of such a monument had last seen to it. Leliana looked over at her two wayward companions, but one was already lazing about on its back in a nap while the other simply sat on its rump, revealing a maw full of pearl-white fangs as it yawned at her in boredom.

“Well, you two will clearly be of no help,” she murmured to herself before proceeding to clean up the various bits of debris around the altar. She began scrubbing at the top slab with a cloth to clean the dirt stain upon it, but she heard something akin to the sound of wind shifting followed by a person’s shadow falling across the stone surface.

Leliana looked up abruptly to see a dark-haired woman standing opposite of her and stumbled back in shock, especially given the path beyond the altar led to nothing but a sheer drop into the sea. There was no possible way someone else could have walked past her without her notice, so how had she gotten there?

Nothing in the woman’s posture indicated she meant her any harm. If anything, she seemed largely curious as she gazed upon the now clean altar while slowly walking around it to meet her.  

Leliana saw that she wore an impressive silvery-white pelt over the shoulders of her cloak—a shade so dark that she couldn’t see any of the individual folds in the fabric. It seemed to simply absorb any light that dared shed itself upon it. To her continued amazement, the woman’s eyes were also gently aglow, and for a moment, she wondered if she had trespassed upon a ghostly specter with that pale grey gaze quietly regarding her.

For even with all the tales she’s heard and even told herself, the utter truth of the matter seemed far too outlandish even to her.

“It’s been quite some time since someone last visited my altar.”

The accent was one that Leliana couldn’t readily place. It certainly wasn’t Orlesian, Neverran, or Antivan. The woman’s tongue didn’t linger on the vowels and consonants in quite the same way, but the intonation wasn’t quite Free Marcher in origin either. Still, there was a calm, soft-spoken nature to it—calling forth the mental image of a downy feather drifting along the sea breeze—that she found soothing.

“This altar…” Leliana swallowed hard to gather the courage to speak her thoughts. “It is yours then? I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude—”

But the woman gently waved off her apology.

“Had my familiars found you unworthy, you would not have been able to find the path here at all.”

At the title, both wolves behind Leliana immediately jumped up at the woman—no, the goddess—and proceeded to nuzzle at her face. They whined insistently for her attention, which only caused her to laugh. On their hind legs, the beasts simply towered over her apparently immortal guest, but she held their combined weight easily against her as she ran her hands through thick fur.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you. I didn’t see a name upon the altar when I was cleaning it,” Leliana admitted.

“Hm?” Luminous silver eyes returned to her before glancing briefly at the stone monument. “Ah. Time tends to pass rather differently in your world. As such, I shouldn’t be surprised to see the text long eroded. If it pleases you to call me something, however, then you may call me Niamh.”

Leliana’s brows furrowed as she tried to place the name from the multitude of deities she had learned about over the years. “You’re the goddess of storms and the night sky, yes?”

Niamh seemed pleased at her knowledge, emphasized by the smile she gifted her. “Indeed I am. In any case, as you were kind enough to clean my altar, you are welcome to ask a favor of me.”

“Can it be anything?”

The goddess’ smile turned a tad more enigmatic then. “So long as the request is of equal value, then yes.”

‘Equal value?’ Ah.

Her mother had once told her to be wary of asking gods for favors, as they would always ask for something in return. It was their Law of Equivalent Exchange. If one didn’t word their wish carefully, a person could end up losing more than they gained, especially if the deity in question felt a mortal’s request wasn’t worth what was offered.

Leliana bit her lip. It would have been far too easy to ask for the riches to bestow upon her mother, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious about the woman before her. She’d likely never get a chance like this again, so she asked for something more manageable. Something that wouldn’t leave her with regret.

“Then, can I ask about you? About where you come from, and what all your powers are?” she asked, excitement soon superseding any apprehension she might have felt. “Are you the only goddess in the area right now, o-or are there more like you?” When those glowing, wintry-grey eyes simply blinked at her, she couldn’t help but blush, wondering if perhaps her usual curiosity and enthusiasm was too much for such an ageless being.

A dark head canted itself. “Just so I’m not mistaken, you desire nothing material for the task of cleaning my altar? You merely wish for my company so that you might ask your questions?” When Leliana nodded earnestly in response, Niamh released a small huff of laughter. “Well, this is certainly a first for me. As you wish then.” She briefly looked over her own shoulder, focusing on a point beyond the horizon, where it seemed impossible to determine where the night sky ended and the starlit sea began. “You have until the sun rises to sate your curiosity. Mind you, I might not be able to answer every question you have.”

Leliana nodded, understanding there might be secrets that needed to be kept.

Niamh then gently pushed one of her familiars away from her. The wolf—a male from what she could readily determine—had been resting his front paws on her shoulder to better lave his tongue over the woman’s cheek in continual affection. At being deterred, however, he uttered a low huff of disapproval before grumpily brushing his side against Niamh’s leg. He circled once around her form after she gave him a few solid pats before he slowly trotted back to Leliana’s side.

At such a close distance, she was better able to tell the difference between him and his female counterpart. While they both predominantly had black fur all over their bodies, the underside of his chin held silver coloring that trailed down to his chest whereas the other wolf’s grey patterning extended from chest to belly. Both seemed remarkably intelligent as they regarded her with aurulent eyes.

Niamh motioned for her to sit, and she did so without question. Leliana gasped softly when the wolf near her immediately laid himself down so that he could curl himself around her body, likely as a way to keep her warm from the cold sea breeze. His counterpart did the same for Niamh, who then began answering a few of the questions she asked earlier.

Apparently, some of the tales Leliana had been told as a child were true.

Niamh was one of three children sired by a mortal warrior that her mother Eleanor—one of the most renowned sea goddesses—had fallen in love with. Her brother Fergus was the eldest and was a god of protection, and her older sister Saoirse was a goddess of victory. Niamh then went on to explain it was entirely possible for there to be multiple deities with the same responsibilities in a given area.

“Even for us, it is impossible to be in two places at once,” she further explained with laughter in her voice—the sound of it as ethereal as moonlight shimmering across the sea. “If one mortal has need of us somewhere, then it’s simply more efficient for there to have other colleagues of similar gifts nearby on the off chance a similar request is made.”

“And there’s never been an issue with sharing an area like that?”

“It happens on occasion. A stronger god might be able to force others out to establish a claim over territory, but it’s generally considered… uncouth to do so, especially if it was done without provocation.”

Leliana frowned. “Then why risk doing so?”

“To gain more worshippers essentially. I’m sure you’ve realized that it’s rare for any one of us to be seen these days, yes? Our ability to linger within this world stagnates the longer we go without worship. If there is no one to remember or believe in us, then we lack… presence here for lack of a better word. Eventually, it means the end of our time here on your world. Some of us might choose to stay here for whatever time we are allotted and simply fade into the ether, or we return home from whence we came.”

“Does this have to do with your Law of Equivalent Exchange?”

Niamh tipped her head, impressed. “You’re well-learned. Yes. As powerful as we are, for us to be here, we need you just as much as the opposite might be true.”

Leliana hummed thoughtfully. “There are still people who pray to gods of the sea and sky for a safe voyage through turbulent seas. I can’t imagine you’d be in danger of being forgotten anytime soon.”

“For the time being. That might fade eventually. While the requests I receive aren’t fleeting, they are made with hollowed hearts. The sailors I help guide may yet one day feel they have no need of me—that my name is merely superstition.”

“Surely not!” She felt indignation rise within her on the woman’s behalf, but Niamh merely chuckled.

“Your world changes at so rapid a pace that it even takes us by surprise.”

“Does it? Is it so different on yours?”

“It… is something I cannot reveal to you unfortunately.”

Leliana had expected as much, but she found another subject to latch on to easily enough. “Well, you also mentioned there were stronger gods before, yes? Is that a common matter?”

“Not entirely. We have a tiered system to judge our respective power, and it’s largely determined by how much we can affect the world around us. Imagine Thedas as a leaf resting atop a pond, and then consider the water’s surface area to be the power of a Sixth Tier god. By that same principle, a Fifth Tier god would be synonymous to a lake while a Fourth Tier would be more akin to a sea, and a Third Tier would be an entire ocean.”

“Then the first two tiers…?”

Niamh briefly pressed a tongue against her cheek in thought. “Hm. It gets a tad more complicated after that. Essentially, a Second Tier would be any combination of seas and oceans, but a First Tier would encompass every body of water mentioned. Again, this is all an extremely simplified explanation of our system.”

“And which tier are you then?”

Surprisingly, the goddess seemed reluctant to state her rank. “Let’s just say I… can’t readily determine the difference in power between a Fourth, Fifth, or Sixth Tier deity.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Niamh shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Yes. The power discrepancy between them all is too subtle for me to notice.”

Leliana was stunned at such a revelation, for save for the glowing eyes and a presence that exuded gentle, soothing power, Niamh seemed like any other woman. She was calm, self-assured, and—she waited until Niamh turned her attention down to her wolf companion and began petting it before finishing her thought—wonderfully attractive.

But Leliana chided herself for admitting the latter fact.

What goddess would be interested in a mere slip of a girl after all? Leliana had only lived a fraction of Niamh’s entire life. Surely someone of Niamh’s status would have her pick of any suitor—mortal or otherwise—over such a long lifespan. She was thankful Niamh was kind enough to indulge her with her questions, and she did have many of them.

As expected of her title, Leliana got to experience how the goddess could manage to change the weather around them to her whims. With a simple wave of a hand, Niamh effortlessly wreathed them all in warmth when a stronger gust of wind blew in from the sea, never once pausing in her explanation regarding her other abilities. She could switch between them with nary a thought, allowing ice to gather at her fingertips like icy talons before a simple flex caused them to shatter, allowing lightning to dance between them instead—a living cat’s cradle.

“They also call you the goddess of the night sky, don’t they? Are you only capable of appearing during the evening then?”

“It’s more personal preference. I like the quiet the night affords me; there is a different beauty to be found under the cover of it. When mortals originally saw me in the past, it was always in the evenings, so I suppose the assumption remained, but nothing prevents me from appearing during the day should I wish it. Ah.” Niamh turned to look back out to the sea. “And it appears our exchange has run its course.”

Leliana turned her attention to the horizon as well, and was surprised to see daybreak just barely beginning to crest it. She had been enjoying Niamh’s attention so much that she hadn’t realized so much time had passed.

“I’ll have Eimear—” The female wolf rose to her feet just as Niamh did. “—and Cillian escort you home, young one.” (Note: Eimear is pronounced “ee-mur” and Cillian is pronounced “kill-ee-an”)

“Leliana.”

“Hm?”

“My name.” She smiled as she pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. “It’s Leliana.”

“Ah.” Niamh nodded in acknowledgement. “Take care then, Leliana. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation this long with a mortal. It was a new but enjoyable experience.” From her smile, Leliana could see that she was sincere in her words, and she felt wonderfully dazed at the fact.

“Likewise, my lady.” She had the sense to curtsy gracefully before the goddess. “Will… Will I be able to find you here again?”

Niamh blinked. “Perhaps,” she replied, raising a brow at her curiously. “You would have to give something in return again however.”

“Would you be opposed to exchanging stories then?”

“Stories?”

“Yes, you mentioned how much Thedas changes each time you return. I could tell you stories of things that might have occurred while you’ve been away, and perhaps you might tell me stories of your own—the ones that might have been lost through the ages.”

Her request seemed to interest Niamh, for her lips turned up into a smile. “A sensible exchange. Very well. Should you wish to see me again, travel upon the path to this altar and press your hand atop its stone. I will know to meet you here.”

--

And once a week, Leliana returns to the cliff and that altar—always escorted by the guardian wolf pair—to meet the goddess who has very much become her friend.

As promised, they exchange stories and even songs—much to Leliana’s endless delight—but sometimes their evenings together are simply spent having meals together.

Niamh had confessed that foods of the mortal world provided no real sustenance for her, but she could still taste them all the same. As such, Leliana makes it a point to find new things for her to try, and she discovers the woman liked sweets the best. She can always tell by the way those luminous eyes widen by the barest fraction each time she samples something of interest.

The exchanges rarely last as long as that first night they met, but Leliana doesn’t mind. She enjoys Niamh’s company, and—from those little smiles that always send her heart aflutter—she thinks the reverse might also be true.

--

A year later, Leliana turned 16, and she went to Niamh one night in excitement. Her mother’s employer was taking them to Val Royeaux for a soiree!

“Can you believe it? Oh, it will be my first one ever!” Utterly filled with glee, she did a little twirl in place, and Niamh was the epitome of patience as Leliana explained how fortuitous an opportunity this was. “Val Royeaux is the crown jewel of Orlais, and there will no doubt be so many people there! Mother says there are always patrons milling about, looking for new talent. Perhaps I might be lucky enough to meet one, and I’d be able to sing for them and tell them tales, but…Oh. ” Her excitement then dimmed somewhat as her voice trailed off, something that Niamh noticed immediately.

“But what?” she asked, beckoning her to continue.

“But there must already be some aspiring minstrels there, those who have lived there their whole lives! How could I ever possibly hope to make myself noticed among them?” she asked plaintively, and she momentarily began pouting when Niamh laughed in gentle amusement.

“Leliana, your songs and your stories are wonderful. I have no doubt a true patron of the arts would appreciate your talents,” she reassured, but when Leliana tried to protest, the woman merely arched a brow. “A false sincerity—no matter how honeyed—is still a lie, and I would never be so crass as to do such a thing to you. However, if you feel that you truly need to give others further incentive to listen to you…”

Niamh paused as she reached into her cloak, and Leliana could faintly hear the jingling of metal before the woman pulled out a brooch so beautiful that it took her very breath way.

Multiple pearls of varying size were inlaid into a sharply-curved bed of obsidian, which emphasized the opalescence of the gems arranged artistically into the shape of a crescent moon. Tiny diamonds decorated the scalloped edge as they hugged each pearl, and bisecting the widest part of the brooch’s arch was a simple silver pin. When the goddess proceeded to hold the piece of jewelry out for her to take, Leliana was taken aback.

“But I can’t possibly take this!”

Niamh merely smiled. “I can always make another like it. When you wear this, simply run a finger across each of the pearls, and its magic will take effect. As you perform, those within hearing distance of you will have no choice but to have their eyes drawn upon you. I have blessed this brooch sparingly, however, so while it may help to draw an audience, it is up to your own skill to further keep them there, Little Bird. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but I didn’t even offer anything in exchange,” she said worriedly.

“When you return from this soiree of yours, tell me of it, and I will consider that payment enough.” The cold winds shifted then, and Leliana found that Niamh’s brows had knitted together in consternation. When she turned to her again, those glowing grey eyes were apologetic. “I am beckoned elsewhere, but I have faith that you’ll be able to be able to succeed in your endeavors. Farewell for now, Leliana.”

--

When Leliana returned to Niamh’s altar several weeks later, she was fresh-faced and beaming with delight, dancing in a gown of absolute finery. It was a gift from her patron Marjolaine—a wealthy, widowed woman, who had taken quite a fancy to her talents.

“Isn’t it beautiful? Oh, Lady Marjolaine is so generous! She’s been all over Thedas, and she knows so many things! She’s even teaching me how to use a bow!”

“‘A bow,’ you say?” Niamh frowned. “Any particular reason why?”

“For bard training.” When that only drew a further look of confusion, she hastened to explain. “It’s like… being both a minstrel and a bodyguard to your patron. Still, the world can be a dangerous place at times, no? Marjolaine wanted me to also learn how to defend myself.”

“I see.” If Niamh had any concerns, she didn’t voice them. “I imagine such training would take place away from here.”

“Yes,” she admitted, and an ache filled her then, causing her to slowly wring her hands together. “It is a wonderful opportunity. It is probably more than I could have ever hoped for, but it will also mean that I may not return here again for quite some time.”

“As expected.”

“You’re not... upset?”

“You are a young woman of incredible talent and determination, Leliana. I doubt there is much that even I could say that might deter you even had I wished to. Perhaps it was well past time you spread your wings from here and find what awaits you beyond the horizon. I will not keep you from it. Still…” She turned her gaze upon her altar. “I feel I must at least offer you a parting gift.”

The goddess flexed a hand, and Leliana was shocked to see that a broken corner of the altar’s foundation flew directly into Niamh’s palm. As pale fingers closed around it, energies of black and silver—the night and the stars made tangible—twined around the woman’s fist before disappearing moments later into the ether as she revealed her handiwork.

The stone had been reduced to the size of a coin, and upon its face was the image of a wolf’s head—noble and proud—set against the background of a raging storm. It was an icon often associated with Niamh, who wore two silver medallions of the same imagery on her cloak, which were connected by layered chains, fastening the fabric around her securely.

“Keep this upon your person, and should you find yourself in immediate danger, simply think of me, and you shall be protected,” Niamh said, presenting the gift to her.

“And…” She looked to her curiously. “What would you want for this in return?”

The corners of her lips turned up. “Clever girl… I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that outright before. Well. Would you be opposed to offering me a memory of yours?”

“‘A memory?’”

“Yes. I suspect you’ll make many more away from here, so I merely ask for one of your most cherished moments thus far. Would you find that acceptable?”

“Yes. What would I have to do?”

“Nothing on your end. Simply hold still…” Niamh reached out to press two fingertips gently against Leliana’s forehead, and she felt the warmth of a summer’s kiss gathered there for a brief moment before the woman then pulled away, blinking consecutively several times.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Niamh said, looking at her with seeming consideration.

“Oh.” She didn’t feel like anything was amiss. “Which memory was it?”

Those lips parted briefly in an attempt to form an answer, but she soon shook her head, an enigmatic smile burnishing her features—one warm enough to ward Leliana against the cold of the winter sea. “It is irrelevant. Here.” She pressed the stone coin into her palm. “I thank you for the memory, and I wish you well on your journey.”

“I…” Leliana wet her lips as she clasped a hand against her chest. “I will miss you.”

“Likewise. Safe travels to you always, Little Bird.”

The woman turned on her heel and walked toward the edge of the cliff, and as she made to step off of it, her form simply dispersed like stardust scattering across the night breeze before simply fading before Leliana’s eyes.

--

Leliana learned and experienced much under her patron’s tutelage over the years, traveling from one corner of Thedas to the other, ever a faithful shadow. Beneath Marjolaine’s eye, her skills as a bard grew, honed well upon the battlefield and also in the depths of more private chambers.

Although she travels far at times, Leliana cannot keep her mind from the woman who is the night sky and storms made flesh. She dreams of eyes like moonlight—calm and ancient—watching her with warmth and then a smoldering fire of passion she wishes were true.

It’s a yearning that lingers in the back of her mind, and she finds that even with her growing infamy and riches, they bring her little joy. She begins to re-evaluate her life and proceeds to slowly distance herself from the Game—a fact that Marjolaine is too keenly aware of.

And from there, she learns of her lover’s final lesson: betrayal.

--

She returned to the stone altar by the sea a decade after she saw it last. Niamh appeared as promptly as always whenever she pressed a hand upon its stone, and Leliana saw those dark brows raised minutely in surprise upon seeing her, and she can’t help but smile.

Leliana was indeed much older than when they last saw one another although she feared she hadn’t grown quite as wise as she had hoped. Had that been the case, surely she would have learned of Marjolaine’s treachery much sooner. She explained as much to Niamh, who listened with quiet concern, as she detailed how everything went so terribly wrong.

“It was your coin that saved me,” Leliana revealed gratefully. “Without it, I would have been imprisoned and framed for treason by Marjolaine. If she is capable of committing such misdeeds against me—someone who she once saw as an ally—then she is capable to doing so to others. I cannot allow it to happen again. She will be brought to justice for her crimes.”

Niamh nodded in understanding. “And you came to me for help. Very well. Hold out your hands.”

Leliana did as instructed, and she saw Niamh’s dual-toned energy of black and silver forming before her, weighing down her palms. She kept them steady, and when the magic finally vanished, she found she was holding a new quiver full of arrows and a bow.

The latter was a thing of beauty, carved from ironbark so that it was lightweight but strong as steel. The grip of it appeared to have been made of white halla leather to contrast against the dark color of the weapon’s frame, and upon the widest part of the bow’s upper limb was Niamh’s personal icon engraved in silverite.

“Whisper my name upon the wind, and there shall be no manner of armor that your arrows cannot penetrate.”

“And in exchange?”

“A song sung under the night sky—one for every time you use the bow’s secondary ability.”

Leliana blinked. “Just songs then?”

“Yes.” Niamh smiled then. “I’ve found that I have missed them in all the time you’ve been away. Good hunting to you, Leliana.”

--

Leliana returns to Denerim to confront Marjolaine once more, and—with the blessings of a goddess on her side—she emerges victorious.

She takes a ship back to Orlais that very evening. While Marjolaine stews in fury below decks, Leliana is alone at the prow, quietly singing over a dozen songs up to the night sky. As the wind stirs to tousle her hair, she smiles, feeling like Niamh is there with her, listening in approval for the promise kept.

When she drags Marjolaine to the Orlesian embassy, Leliana informs them all of her former lover’s treason with evidence to back her claims. Marjolaine is consequently imprisoned—all titles and lands stripped from her name—and Leliana is hailed as a heroine. Empress Celene raises her name to nobility and grants her the title of Nightingale of the Imperial Court as her lead reconnaissance expert.

With the act, it becomes abundantly clear to the nobles of Orlais that while Marjolaine had once proven herself a consummate player of the Great Game, Leliana had bested her utterly. Some fear her skill while others hope to ride on the coat tails of her success, but whatever the case, Leliana is simply happy that everything is right with the world for once.

With her new title and riches, Leliana buys a new villa by the Waking Sea—closer to Niamh’s altar—and ensures her mother never has to work another day in her life ever again. Although her new profession involves a bit of underhandedness here and there, she does what she can to help and donate to various charities.

Even with such a busy schedule, she always finds time to visit Niamh, and they reconnect, establishing an old friendship between stories, songs, and meals.

--

Five years after revealing Marjolaine’s treachery, Leliana’s mother falls terribly ill. A combination of wasting sickness and cholera, the healers say. While Leliana assures them that money is no issue for any treatment they suggest, they regretfully inform her that with Oisine’s advancing age, there is little they can do other than to try and keep her comfortable over the next few weeks.

Distraught, Leliana turns to the one person she knows can help.

--

“And you understand the type of exchange this requires?” Niamh asked once more.

“Yes.”

Leliana had just neglected to inform the goddess she didn’t see herself finding another mortal to complete such a task. While she regretted her soon-to-be proposition hadn’t been made under better circumstances, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about something similar over the years. Even after a decade and a half after they first met, Leliana still found Niamh to be as enchanting as ever. She was intelligent, gifted in more than magical ability, and was remarkably sweet and kind.

Surely, with such coveted traits, she wouldn’t object to siring the firstborn the Law of Equivalent Exchange required?

“Very well,” Niamh said, unaware of Leliana’s thoughts. “When you return home tonight, your mother will be in pristine health once more. It will be like she never fell ill at all, and even the memory of her suffering will fade along with the memories of those who had interacted with her since then.”

Leliana sighed in relief. “Thank you so much. She means everything to me.”

“I’m aware.” The woman’s glowing eyes turned apologetic then. “I only hope you won’t find the price of this all too steep, but I suppose only time will tell. Again, you needn’t begin this process right away. As the matter regarding your mother was quite serious, you’re welcome to see for yourself over the next few days that I spoke true in keeping my end of the bargain.”

“I know you wouldn’t betray me,” Leliana reassured, smiling, before mischief filled her. “So when do we begin?”

Luminous grey eyes blinked. “Pardon?”

“You said you wanted my firstborn, no?”

“Yes, and you agreed, did you not?”

“I did,” she reiterated, her smile still present. “As I’ve said, when do we begin?”

Leliana watched—amusement suffusing her—as realization then dawned over the goddess, causing those pale eyes to widen comically.

“Oh,” she uttered, baffled. “I—This was not…I don’t think…!”

Leliana had to bite her lip to keep her laughter from spilling out. In all the years they had known one another, this was perhaps the first time she had seen the otherwise unflappable goddess at such a loss for words. “Is there a problem?”

“Not necessarily…” Niamh grimaced, trying to regain her composure. “This is admittedly quite the first for me. As such, I need some time to prepare. I’ve every intention of keeping my word, but I want to be absolutely certain I won’t somehow hurt you in the process. Would you be willing to meet me in the forest tomorrow evening?”

“Of course.” This was an odd situation for them both after all. If Niamh needed time to assuage her own concerns, who was she to stop her?

“Thank you. Eimear and Cillian will escort you to my desired location for this once you enter the forest. I will see you then.”

--

Niamh’s siblings found out about her latest plight the moment she returned home.

“Can you believe it, Fergus? Why, I never thought I’d see the day!” Saoirse crowed smugly while her little sister glared balefully between her and their brother.

“Indeed!” Fergus reached out to tousle Niamh’s hair playfully. “A human woman managed to outsmart our usually quick-witted sister! And here I thought the mortals figuring out how to cultivate seedless grapes would be the last thing to surprise me.”

Niamh rolled her eyes when both her siblings guffawed heavily at that, and she ducked between them both to speak with Morrigan—the only person she had actually given permission to be in her quarters with her regarding this.

“You’re certain this is safe then? I won’t somehow manage to hurt her with my powers?”

“Yes, yes. ‘Tis a simple enough matter,” she drawled for the third time. “I fail to see your concern regarding this. You have exceptional control over your abilities after all.”

“I’ve never laid with a mortal before, Morrigan,” she deadpanned. “Pardon my concern over potentially breaching the terms of an exchange by accidentally killing the other party involved.”

“So long as you remember mortals do not have the same amount of endurance as we do, and you allow her to catch a breath every few interludes during the act, I cannot foresee any issue that might occur.” She sniffed dismissively, continuing to sift through the many tomes Niamh kept in her private collection. “Truly, given how fondly you speak of this Leliana, I doubt you would be able to do wrong by her.”

Niamh immediately winced at Morrigan’s statement, knowing the reaction it would have drawn from her siblings, and she was rarely ever proven wrong when it came to them.  

“Wait, wait! It’s that human then? The very one she’s been talking about for the past five years?” Saoirse grinned, turning to her older brother. “Fergus, did you hear that?!”

Niamh sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with irritation as another round of teasing ensued. It was during such moments that she wondered—as she often did—why their mother couldn’t have just made her an only child.

--

The following night, Leliana’s wolf companions led her to a clearing deep within the woods, where Niamh was already waiting for her. Eimear and Cillian made themselves scarce once she had been delivered safely, but Leliana barely paid them any mind.

It seemed that Niamh had her comfort in mind, for in the middle of the clearing was a simple bedding of luxurious furs to lay upon, surrounded by gentle firelight. Bowls of fruits and other simple snacks laid off to the side along with bottles of various drinks to be sampled before or after the act. As she eyed the goddess standing in the midst of it all, Leliana was determined it would indeed be after as she took the hand offered to her.

Beneath the moonlight, they patiently explored one another upon disrobing together before proceeding to lay upon the furs and establish the beginning of their exchange.

Leliana was no the longer the bumbling, inexperienced child when they had first met. She had laid with others before in the type of hedonism that could only be experienced in a place like Val Royeaux, but as Niamh hovered over her, gently rolling her hips into hers, eyes aglow with such reverence like the full moon overhead, it was like she was experiencing such intimacy for the first time again. This time, however, it was with the woman—the goddess—she had always desired, who willingly worshipped her with caresses and kisses to flushed skin so sweet that it made her heart ache.

Her back arched as Niamh slipped inside her in gentle exploration. Like a musician, she expertly tuned herself to Leliana, testing rhythms and speeds to determine her preference, and when she discovered the perfect tempo, it was almost too much pleasure to bear.

She came undone beneath her, and Niamh swallowed her cries beneath tender kisses. As she was coaxed back down from her climax, all Leliana could wonder was, “How in the world am I ever supposed to let you go once the exchange is completed?”

Niamh proved quite the attentive lover.

Every few rounds, the goddess made certain Leliana kept herself hydrated and had a few bites to eat before continuing on. It was a long night of pleasure, however, and Leliana soon couldn’t discern whether the sweetness on her tongue was from food, drink, or more intimate flesh. For all of Leliana’s experience in intimacy, however, she couldn’t hope to match the immortal stamina of a goddess, but Niamh didn’t fault her need to rest. She merely encouraged her to curl against her side, which she did without complaint, resting her head on a slim shoulder. As she played with the pale collarbone beneath her fingertips, she sighed contentedly as lips pressed themselves against the crown of her head before one of the furs of their bedding was drawn up around them to ward off against the cold.

It had been a memorable night, and she had been sated, so she allowed Niamh’s warmth and the gentle crackling of the fire around them to lull her to sleep.

--

The light of morning washed over her, and as a warm beam of it crossed her face, her nose wrinkled with displeasure. She reached out beside her, but it isn’t fur, grass, or even another warm body that she felt.

No, it was cold sheets.

Leliana’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up abruptly to find that she was at home and in bed.

Alone.

Something within her proceeded to slowly break in painful increments, confused and bereft by such knowledge. Had last night been nothing more than an elaborate dream? She hissed gently as she shifted atop the sheets, attempting to rise from bed, and the sweet aching of her loins told her the prior evening had been no mere fantasy.

But then why had she been left?

For as much as she had heard about Niamh’s parents over the years, her mother Eleanor had elected to stay on Thedas for a time to raise her children with the man she loved. Was that not the standard among the gods at all then? Or did the exchange require a different perspective of what was to be expected of her?

“Lady Leliana?” a voice called from behind the door. One of her servants. “Will you not be joining Lady Oisine for breakfast this morning?”

She swallowed the lump down in her throat and wet her lips before attempting to speak, carefully making certain her voice didn’t shake. “No, I’m fine, Lydia. I’ve reports to finish. Please give my mother my apologies and have a plate brought to me later this afternoon.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Leliana heard the footsteps retreating, and she immediately wanted to bury herself in the sheets, but before she could begin to wallow in despair, she heard a caw at the window. She almost dismissed the sound. Ravens weren’t uncommon around the villa after all, but when she turned to shoo it away after another pointed cry, she paused immediately upon seeing the silver eyes on the bird.

It crooked its head, looking at her curiously. Whatever the raven was searching for, she didn’t know. It simply blinked once at her before turning toward the door, and—seemingly satisfied they wouldn’t be disturbed—it flapped its wings and proceeded to fly slowly toward her. As it did, Leliana watched in amazement as the bird shifted—the image of multiple animals flashing across her vision—before coalescing into the form of the goddess she knew.

Intimately now in fact.

Who was looking down at her in concern.

“Are you alright?” Niamh asked.

“You’re…” Leliana’s lips parted. “You’re still here.”

“Of course.” Dark brows furrowed, but she hardly seemed offended. Merely confused. “I wouldn’t have left you alone to carry our child for the next nine months without aid.”

“When I woke up, and you weren’t here with in bed with me after last night, I assumed…” she trailed off, remembering the dread she felt in her heart mere moments ago, wondering if she had perhaps been abandoned to carry the burden alone.

“Ah.” Niamh rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “I returned you to your villa just before the sun rose, and then I simply sat at your desk afterward, waiting for you to wake.”

“My desk?” she asked, voice raising incredulously.

“Yes.” Niamh seemed uncertain as she continued speaking. “When we made the deal for the exchange, it was agreed we would lay together to consummate the agreement. Nothing within our verbal contract stated that I would be allowed to lay in your bed, and I didn’t wish to seem rude by presuming otherwise, so I elected to just sit and read until you awoke. When I heard one of the other mortals come up the stairs toward your door, however, I made myself scarce so as to not be found.”

Leliana said nothing at first, her mind still trying to wipe the cobwebs of sleep from it amidst the rush of earlier fear, but Niamh seemed to take her silence as disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” Niamh said. “After so many Ages, it’s simply an ingrained instinct at this point. I normally don’t interact with mortals this close to their homestead, so I immediately just thought to hide myself.”

With belated shock, Leliana realized the other woman’s eyes weren’t glowing anymore in the daylight, but they were still such an amazingly pale shade of grey, which were filled with utmost sincerity. Leliana didn’t move when the woman reached out to cup her face, and when a thumb went to sweep itself across her cheek, she was surprised to see it come away wet.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying mere moments ago.

“I am new to relationships such as this,” Niamh continued, “but my need to prevent unwanted questions shouldn’t have superseded your comfort. I apologize. I won’t hurt you like this again. I cannot promise I’ll be perfect in every aspect of this, but I will do my utmost to do right by you.”

--

So—as expected—Leliana became pregnant after their night together, and Niamh inevitably gets pulled into Orlesian society while trying to keep the mother of her child safe. Every day seems to offer its own lesson as the goddess seeks to adapt to society without giving away what she is.

Thankfully, everyone tends to assume she is a woman of foreign nobility given how she dresses and carries herself, and Leliana doesn’t do much to dissuade such rumors. That those very rumors also pair the other woman with her in more romantic a fashion is much its own bittersweet pain, but if Niamh had ever been aware of them, she doesn’t voice them to her.

For beyond that first night, they hadn’t been to bed together. Niamh would hold her when she slept after discussing their respective days together, yes, and she’d still be there the morning after, but nothing intimate ever occurred between those moments. It’s... a comfortable enough routine, but Leliana always longs for more.

Before her pregnancy begins to show, she requests some needed vacation time from Empress Celene, who approves it without question, citing that while she appreciated her dedication to the empire, she worked far too much at times.

Leliana returns back to her villa by the Waking Sea before long, intending that to be where she eventually gives birth. Niamh, of course, is ever present at her side. Unfortunately, while the Imperial Court remained oblivious to the woman’s actual identity, her mother is not so keen to let the matter go…

--

“That woman…” Oisine began, looking at her daughter over the rim of her tea cup, “She isn’t what she appears to be, is she?”

Leliana’s first instinct was to lie, but her mother was always clever. Leliana had inherited the same brilliance after all. Still, she sighed.

“Her name is Niamh; that much is true. She is technically nobility—just not in the same way you and I would think of it.”

“What are you saying?”

“She’s the goddess of storms and the night sky, Mother, and she’s quite powerful even among her kind. She’s here to look over me since I made a deal with her.”

Oisine’s features immediately paled. “What? Leliana, I told you the dangers of entering into such things with them!”

“I didn’t have the choice!”

“Did she force you into this?”

“Mother, no!” Niamh was far too considerate a person—too tender a lover—to ever consider something so underhanded, but she could see that her mother couldn’t be readily convinced without more of an explanation. “I did it because you were dying, and there was no other option to save your life!”

“What?”

When she saw that she was only succeeding in confusing her mother, Leliana sighed, and did her best to explain the circumstances surrounding the relationship between her and Niamh, such as how long they actually knew one another, how the goddess had helped her over the years, and why she helped her again when she found her mother likely wouldn’t recover from her illness.

All factors that led to the culmination of her bearing the child of a deity.

“You’re with child,” Oisine breathed in shock.  

“Yes.”

“And Lady Niamh…?”

“Is the other parent, yes.”

“Oh, Leliana…” Guilt filled the other woman’s eyes, but Leliana didn’t want it. She would have gladly made the offer again in a heartbeat to save her. “You could have lain with anyone else to have a child, and the exchange would have still been fulfilled. Why do it in such a way?”

“Because it has always been her, Mother. I wanted to know her in such a way even if it was only once, but I’m still mortal. No matter what else I am, no matter my accomplishments, she wouldn’t be able to stay with me forever. I’m under no illusions that when the baby is born, she may very well just leave with them once the promise has been seen through.”

Disapproval was evident on Oisine’s features. “Surely you don’t believe that. Mind you, I may have been curious as to her actual identity, but have you not seen how that woman dotes upon you? How her eyes search for you as soon as you enter a room? She would give you anything you desire if you’d but ask her to stay.”

Leliana turned her head away. “Mother, please!”

She couldn’t afford to hope for this.

It would hurt too much if it didn’t come true.

--

Of course, as Leliana and Niamh adapt to the idea of being parents together, they realize their feelings for one another may not be as one-sided as they both initially believed.

They catch feelings is what I’m saying here, y’all.

Their relationship, however, isn’t considered official until a proper courtship ritual is done. Niamh’s not allowed to say what that all entails due to some old laws on her world, but Leliana figures it out anyway due to some old story she dug up thanks to her spy network and because she’s simply brilliant.

There’s also some political intrigue back in the world of the gods who want to close off their world from Thedas entirely, which makes Niamh super unhappy. She’ll have to do something regarding that obviously. Who are they to keep her from her beloved Leliana after all?

Then, some other issues might also occur when some individuals in the Imperial Court learn that Leliana’s pregnant. Players in the Great Game can be merciless.

So there’s action, but there’s also plenty of romantic fluff to round it out. The important thing is that Niamh and Leliana work through it together, and they have a healthy baby, and they all get to live happily ever after for a very long time!

--

So that’s basically it.

Again, like my other AUs, this isn’t as polished as I would like it to be, but your thoughts regarding it are always appreciated! Like it? Hate it? Think I can improve upon it? Is this something you’d like to see me write along with all my other AUs eventually? Let me know!

Seriously, just leave a like, a comment, drop a message in my inbox or the Tumblr messenger, or simply just let me know in an AO3 review. Until next time, guys!

[impossible-rat-babies]

#30dayDAchallenge

Day 12: Religion

I realize I am a day behind and I’ll hopefully get myself back on track today.

Under the cut bc of length...

Darva Lavellan: 

Darva is faithful to the Dalish patheon. He keeps to the habitual rituals of the gods, particularly The Way of the Three Trees, as he was raised with such principles.

He’s familiar with the vows his mother and father took as craftsman and healer, respectively.

Later on, he adds in the code of the Vir’Banal’ras which goes back to the Dalish assassins. (Fun fact: After he makes a more permanent move to Tevinter, he takes on the more professional aspects of being an assassin for the sake of protecting both Dorian and the members of their growing political faction.)

He hates being made into the symbol of Andraste; he doesn’t necessarily hate her, but he hates being made into this figure of a religion that has caused his people hundreds of years of pain. It feels ironic in the worst way possible.

Thus, he clings more to the Dalish traditions and worship. He doesn’t want to be seen as someone who has lost that and he doesn’t want to wake up to find that in himself.

With the Well of Sorrows, he gets angry at the people around him for what they say. It’s all this history of his people, staring him in the face and Cassandra remarks about how it’s rubbish and Morrigan explains it to someone who already freaking knows.

He knew from the moment that he was going to be the one to partake of the Well, regardless of what Morrigan had to say. Him being the Herald of Andraste is a fucking lie, so that argument is tossed out of the window. Yes, he leads the Inquisition, but if they succeed then it won’t be needed. It’s temporary. He’ll always be an elf, no matter what he does.

He’s upset by what happened to Mythal and how the truth is reinforced by Solas. She was the best of them and she was killed for it. With that, it almost seems justified that he created the veil to lock them away. Almost. (He did destroy what made the elves who they were when he did that and thus they’ll never live up to his standard of the elvish people he knows.)

The whole mess with the Evanuris and Solas puts him in a bad mental space after the conclusion of the Exalted Council. I talked about a lot of it during the Mind Matters on day 4, but his faith is deeply shaken. He doesn’t know what to do with himself; he can’t make sense of it in his head, he feels wrong when he looks at the tattoos on his face… It was all he knew for a majority of his life and it was all destroyed.

Part of him thinks Solas is just lying about it. He can’t think to rationalize it in any other way. Still, something doesn’t sit right and he still loses his faith.

Fen’Harel is getting a fist in the face and killed for wanting to destroy this world. The elves are going to perish with it and he’ll be all alone in his mistake that killed the entire world.

“All of this started with fanatics and arguments about the next world; it’s time we start believing in this one.”

Eth Tabris: 

She’s agnostic and not a particularly pious individual to either the Chantry or the elvhen gods. If she had to be partial to one or the other, it’d be the elvhen gods because of her mother’s faith as a Dalish elf.

She thinks the Chantry could be a force for good as Leliana talks about it in Inquisition. Eth saw the comfort the Maker brought Leliana and the peace she found in the Chantry. Eth would like a Chantry like that. One of support, healing and comfort. Not one filled with politics and corruption.

Neither the Maker nor Andraste have done her any favors and especially the Chantry. She finds her fists more reliable than faith in a god.

With Awakening and subsequently Inquisition, she sees how much being named the Herald bothers Darva. She doesn’t think he’s the big religious figure to start with and after the trip in the Fade, she’s just reassured that she was correct in her thinking.

[werewolves-are-real]

Uprising

This fic has bugged me awhile because I... don’t entirely know where it’s going? I have ideas but I have too many, incompatible ideas. It’s for Dragon Age and is I think a bigger AU than I’ve done before (in terms of just... the world, because all the characters are spread out and it’s tricky to make everything fit right).

Anyway, this is the intended first chapter +a bit more because I never properly post things on AO3 until they’re finished (I’ll never finish, otherwise).

Emprise du Lion, 9:40 Dragon

_____________________________

Solas wakes.

When he went to the trance it was spring, but white frost glitters over his cloak, his faded robes now only held together by webs of silver enchantment. Sitting up takes a few minutes; drifts of snow have flurried in, melted, frozen again, and he sticks to the floor. Finally he burns away these shards of ice with an impatient flare of magic, then immediately regrets it.

The temple's ceiling has caved in. Broad-leafed vines, viciously defying the weather, curl over the edges of the ruins and sprawl down above his head. Solas looks around the empty room and then paces it once, twice. The space is small. There can be no mistake, but he probes with another dear wisp of magic anyway.

Dark spots blossom in front of his eyes. Solas stops and grabs the wall for balance.

His power has been stolen.

The idea yawns in front of him, impossibly horrible, but Solas shakes it away. There are few who could use his power; none left, now, who could access it as it was contained. June, Felon'din, Sylaise – they are all gone. They cannot return.

(He has tried. He has tried.)

His staff is gone, too, but Solas has never needed tools for all his magic. Not even now, weakened as he is. With the slightest of sighs he steps forward, falling up into the body of a terrible black wolf, three-eyed, its stiff fur bristling with hard spines of pure magic.

This behemoth squeezes through the temple's door with his head low to the ground. Outside the statue of a wolf sits judging an empty courtyard. Statues of elvhen archers spot the distance, barely visible between the fragments of more crumbled stone and vines.

Solas starts to walk.

After resting, walking, hunting down a rabbit, fighting off a particularly stupid bear, and stopping for three more breaks, Solas is forced to admit that he is concerned. He should not be so exhausted, even without the powers left within his orb. He may have made a misjudgement before consigning himself to the deep sleep.

He had hoped to wake in a kinder world, his mistakes forgotten. But he cannot forget, and as he walks through the silent, snow-covered forest he wonders with rising horror if there is anyone else even alive to remember.

Finally, at last, he spots the town.

It's a pitiful little thing, a hodge-podge of little houses crammed together near a wall. The poorest of Mythal's slaves lived in better comfort. And, drawing near, he realizes with contempt that there are no people here after all. Small, squat shapes flicker between the houses, some slow, bent with age, others smaller and darting. Quicklings.

Solas paces at the trees' border. These short-lived things began appearing by the People's territory after his mistake. He has only heard rumors of their harshness, but he believes those tales; they cannot be natural. He crouches lower into the brush – a pitiful camouflage for his great, shadowy hulk of fur – and watches as two old women step out between a pair of houses and move toward the forests.

“Quit your sighing, now, I will not have it,” one sniffs. “There will be food even for you – I finally sold that old mine away, and what does it get me? I must provide for everyone else, of course. You should be grateful.”

“Yes, miss.”

The words are useless gibberish. The second woman carries a basket and trails behind the first. Solas gets a look at her and flinches. Short, small, weak – and pointed ears.

Old.

So the curse continues.

And so does the slavery of his brethren, somehow. She has Falon'din's markings. The two make more sounds, but some burning lure pulls him forward. He must know. After all these years – all this time -

The quickling sees him and cries out, jumping away. And the half-person screams, far louder, and says, “Fen'Harel!”

Good.

The half-person faints, and the quickling runs back into the town, leaving her behind.

Solas hesitates. He is accustomed to many reactions – awe and submission and scorn, all – but this is new. After some contemplation he resumes his elvhen form.

The women stirs slowly. She cringes away until she sees him, then quickly gasps out a string of useless sounds.

“I cannot understand you,” Solas says impatiently. “Can you not talk?”

The woman – Solas supposes she must be called some form of elf, or something like – hesitates. “You... see him?” She asks anxiously, in a garbled version of the proper language. “Fen'Harel?”

Solas ignores the question. “Are there People here?”

“No,” says the women. “ - Only me.” She looks over Solas anxiously. His appearance doesn't seem to have comforted her much. “...Magic,” she says suddenly.

Solas frowns.

“You,” a string of the sounds, “magic?” and she gestures at his long glimmering robes, the bands of silver around his arms he has all but forgotten. He looks down at himself.

“I suppose,” he dismisses.

The elf steps back. Before she can respond three men come rushing forward from the edge of the town. Only one is properly armed, but that man wears a fine coat of armor. Embossed on the front is the symbol of a sword wreathed in flames. It is not a symbol Solas recognizes.

The soldier yells something; the elven woman leaps away, and Solas finds himself staring indifferently at the end of a sword.

“Did you summon the beast here, apostate?” The man demands.

The words mean nothing.

“I have been dreaming,” he tells the woman who looks almost elvhen, the only one here who matters. “What is this place?”

The woman jabbers at the man with the sword.

The soldier raises his arms and starts to chant.

Glass and oil spread over Solas' skin, into his skin, constricting his heart and seizing his lungs. Flickers of lightning crackle from his fingers and then disappear – snuffed in an instant. It's like the veil, he thinks absurdly. A veil in his own body. What have these creatures accomplished?

But Solas can traverse his own veil; he can overcome this, too. He raises one hand and sweeps a sputtering line of fire at the soldier.

The woman screams. The soldier and the men jump away, gaping and yelling, like somehow they didn't expect him to respond to an assault on his very magic. But the effort makes him stumble.

When the soldier raises his sword again he takes the wiser part of valor and flees. He shifts as soon as he is hidden in the undergrowth, and for two more nights he runs with the memory of that frightened elf-like face and the red lines of Falon'din burning in his mind.

One of his own strongholds is toward the east, hidden by strong magics, but that safe-haven is a last resort which will probably be deserted in his absence; it will tell him nothing of the world. Solas makes his way west, after a fashion, and the land levels out into green valleys and thick groves of trees. Green vines and emerald leaves tangling over the old stones of temples fallen into disrepair.

Here, again, the old gods lay destroyed.

It is everything Solas once wanted, but he treads among these fallen testaments to the evanuris with unease. Stone wolf sentinels guard the plains, the clearest and most respectful remnants of the past. They might be a sign of respect, or even of worship. He never could convince some of his followers to treat him as anything but a god.

Offerings sit before some of the wolves in tiny platters. Someone, then, must live nearby, but he finds no trace of civilization.

After days of searching he treads deep into one of the more recognizable temples, a lonely bastion to Mythal. It is one of many and he does not recognize it. He sleeps in the shadows, and dreams, and crosses through the Fade.

Wisdom meets him.

You are back, says the spirit. You were here so long so where did you go?

“I woke,” Solas answers. “I returned to the physical world.”

But spirits have little understanding of this world, that world. Not even Wisdom. Why did you leave, Wisdom asks.

“Because I could not stay,” Solas responds, which seems to satisfy. “I would like your assistance. There is a language I do not know. I heard it several days ago; can you teach me?”

Why do you want to -

“I am asking about the People,” says Solas. “I must discover what became of them after my mistakes. I must know who escaped the evanuris.”

Wisdom grieves for him in flares of blue and gray-white. I will teach you, teach you, it says. And then, amending: I will try.

Solas discovers cooking fires and fresh pits – signs of recent camps – but moves on anyway after retrieving a staff from a derelict temple to Elgar'nan. The wolf-sentinels and dead shrines loom like hollow corpses.

He moves ever westward until the edge of the sea thins and fades and he comes across another group of quicklings. By now Solas feels more confident with the clumsy words of their unwieldy, blocky tongue. Wisdom teaches him the words in exchange for knowledge and glittering tricks, though he lacks the context to shape them with the right inflection, to understand hidden meanings, to smile or even frown when strange phrases fly past his ears.

There are some phrases he hears – May the Maker bless you, the Maker protect you the Maker guide you and Curse you and Hate you – that he cannot understand at all. But he checks his arms and fingers for the tell-tale signs of a miscast ice spell when he first sees the benevolent figure of a stone matron in the first city he enters, holding court like the second coming of Mythal herself. A brazier sits in her hand like a beacon to the world, but Solas does not recognize her. Her ears are blunt and dulled. Quicklings worship other quicklings, but he must believe that the farce is all the same.

Some things never change.

There are no elves in this city, but when he asks, the quicklings wave him out, out, talking about a people called the Dalish, wanderers and nomads. He finds a group of them in the north.

The Dalish village reminds him of a slave camp – one of those terrified, overwrought huddles of people on the outskirts of Arlathan. Refugees who live on the fringe of society after desperately fleeing from their masters. Such people must always be approached carefully.

He says, “My name is Solas.”

A hunter approaches him and responds, “Go away, shem. We do not want you here.”

Solas does not know the word. But it sounds elvhen, though they speak to him in the quickling tongue. The strange woman has the stern vallaslin of Andruil upon her cheeks and brow, but the other Dalish wear a scattering of random marks. The children are not marked at all, like they have been picked for sale instead of being established servants of the evanuris.

He does not understand.

“What gods do you serve,” Solas asks. But the hunter only scowls.

He ignores the warning of the hunter, and when the other Dalish notice him he is welcomed reluctantly. The Keeper, who wears the vallaslin of Sylaise, asks him to sit by the fire; it rests within a wide triangle of three of the camp's aravels, the rest of which are penned in a small square to confine a tiny herd of halla.

Solas repeats the question to the Keeper, who seems more tolerant despite the suspicious looks Solas begins to attract. “There are nine elvhen gods,” the Keeper explains patiently, as though he does not know this. “There is Mythal, the all-mother, to whom we pray for protection; Elgar'nan, who - “

“But who do you serve,” Solas interrupts.

The Keeper frowns. “We are Dalish,” the man says. “We serve all the gods.” And he explains what this means.

The thought is ludicrous; the evanuris quarrel too much to possibly share servants. As Solas listens he realizes all at once that this Keeper, these Dalish, are entirely deluded. They serve no one. They dedicate themselves to remnants of a religion and order that no longer exists. They waste their lives.

The Keeper finishes his recitation by saying that Fen'Harel is a trickster, a coward, and the enemy of all the gods. He is the bringer of death and destruction; he brings deliberate death to the Dalish whenever he can.

“So you understand nothing at all,” Solas concludes when the Keeper's explanation is finished. The old elf looks irritated.

“You cannot say that, shem,” says the young elvhen hunter from earlier. “Our gods are far older than your Maker.”

“I do not know of any Maker,” says Solas. “But your stories are ridiculous fabrications. You have completely misconstrued even the basic attributes of your own deities – and even those details were, themselves, nonsensical pieces of propaganda even at the time of Elvhenan.”

The hunter scoffs. She is not the only one to look angry. “Next you will tell me you know what Arlathan looked like, and perhaps the ancient elves were friends with qunari and they all fought the Imperium together. You don't know more about our history than anyone. Less, I should think. If you cannot bother to be polite to your hosts, shem, feel free to leave.”

“Sanaya,” the Keeper reproves mildly. But he does not seem to disagree.

But Solas just nods and does indeed his leave; he has learned enough. In any case he has a new goal, now, entirely unintended.

'Next you will tell me you know what Arlathan look like', the woman said. But whatever could have happened to that great city, the capital of the elvhen world, which was still standing proud even as Solas sunk into the deep dreams of uthenara?

II.

Orlais is like a pale reflection of the world he once knew, glittering on the surface and filled with subtle poison. It does not shine like Arlathan, but the cities are airy and have a quick beauty on the surface; one must look deep to see ugliness, poverty. One must wind into the deepest crags of the towns to find elves.

The elves and the humans live together, which is one more thing Solas cannot understand. Their lives are equal now, he supposes, short and terrible, but he cannot imagine what they might have in common. And the elves, for some reason, seem to be treated poorly. He understands this when he walks through Val Royeax and gets called knife ear three times for simply peering at shop displays.

He disposes of his useless silver ornaments, the ancient and priceless remnants of elvhenan that came with him through the sleep. He is paid a pittance. “Are you planning on selling that?” someone asks Solas when he steps under a low veranda. The young woman nods at his staff; this little shop holds a few magickal oddities.

“No, of course not,” Solas says. “Though it does not quite suit me; I really must find a better one.”

The human shopkeeper smiles fixedly. “ - Oh,” she says. “  - You're. Actually a mage?”

“Of course.”

“Are you from Tevinter?” The woman asks nervously, eyeing him.

“No.”

“Are you a warden?”

Solas doesn't know what that is. “No.”

The woman nods weakly. “I see,” she says.

It could be useful to purchase a runestone, but his funds must be saved; he will have to make his way to another of his safehouses and find some stored treasures sometime. He should have a better staff somewhere, too. Solas leaves quietly and wonders where he might find this town's elves; he has barely seen anyone worth talking to in this place.

Within a few minutes he has finished walking through the main square – oddly empty of people - and has just resolved to try the docks when half a dozen soldiers seem to step out from nowhere and surround him. Each of them bear polished swords and polished armor, all emblazoned with a strangely familiar sigil of flames. After a moment Solas recognizes the sign. It is the same symbol as that of the man who attack him when he first woke from Uthenara.

“You need to come with us, mage,” their leader says.

“Why?” Solas asks slowly. He shifts his staff to position it against the ground, noting that several of the soldiers shift in response.

“Are you from a local circle? Are you an apostate?”

“I do not understand what you think I have done.”

This only seems to make the commander angrier. “You're a magic user!” he accuses.

“And is that a crime?

The humans look at him like he's insane. Ah. Solas lifts his staff.

The commander lifts his sword.

A terrible, glassy feeling sweeps over Solas. He can't feel his staff at all for a moment – he can see it but it doesn't exist, and there is cold wood between his fingers but nothing, nothing. There is no substance and no magic. There is no magic anywhere. The world flatlines to lines, angles, grayscale colors that threaten to tip him back into the endless sleep.

An arrow spins down and sinks into the commander's shoulder.