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persephoneggsy · 2 years ago

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A little write-up on Hildegarde Trevelyan and her family bc OC thoughts are dominant thoughts right now

Hildegarde Trevelyan: the youngest daughter of the Trevelyan family (and in fact, the only trueborn daughter of Lord Trevelyan), Hildegarde is a meek, unassuming young woman who would much rather be holed up with her studies than lead a holy organization. She’s incredibly anxious and prone to bouts of extreme insecurity. Despite having intelligence and power in spades and a great tactical mind, she’d much rather let someone else take the lead, because she’s terrified of messing up and ruining everything.

Of course, when she’s caught in the crossfire at the Conclave and winds up the Herald of Andraste, her desire to keep her head down and stay out of trouble is completely disregarded. Luckily, her anxiety is balanced out by a genuine desire to help make things better. She’s deeply empathetic and will always try to help out where she can, even if she stretches herself too thin.

She’s passionate about learning, with a special interest in architecture, as well as learning more about the Fade. She believes the best way to fight fear is through knowledge (as you can imagine, Solas took a shine to her lol).

With the friends she makes through the Inquisition (and the love and support from a certain former templar) Hildegarde grows into a capable and confident leader in her own right.

Hannelore Trevelyan (nee Barragan): Hildegarde’s mother. Hildegarde never actually knew her, due to Hannelore passing away shortly after she was born. Hannelore was a noble from a minor Nevarran family, who had an arranged marriage with an older lord, also Nevarran. Though she wasn’t in love with her first husband, they respected each other, and they had three children together.

She took a very active role in her children’s lives, not wanting them to be raised solely by nannies like she was. After her first husband passed away (from old age), she eventually met a Free Marcher noble, Abelarde, and was endeared towards his enthusiasm for admittedly niche subjects. The two grew close, and after a year of courting, Abelarde proposed and Hannelore accepted. The family moved to Ostwick (despite protests from some of her children), and Hannelore was delighted to find that she was already pregnant with their first child. She’s the one who picked Hildegarde’s name.

Abelarde Trevelyan: Hildegarde’s father. Known as an incredibly devout Andrastian, Abelarde spent his early years studying chantry history, and has published books on several subjects, though his true passion is architecture, which is something he passed down to his trueborn daughter. He met and fell deeply in love with Hannelore during a research trip to Nevarra. He bonded with and got on well with Hannelore’s children.

When Hildegarde was born, however, he was utterly devoted to her; most suspect his over abundance of affection came from grief at losing Hannelore after the birth, and while he didn’t neglect his step children, it was clear to all who his favorite was.

When Hildegarde’s magic manifested at age 13, he briefly considered hiding her from the Circle, not wanting to lose her. But ultimately, he conceded and sent her away to Ostwick’s Circle of Magi. He still kept in contact with her via weekly letters and gifts, though unbeknownst to him, his affections resulted in the other young mages at the Circle viewing Hildegarde as a spoiled brat, and she felt isolated as a result. Despite that, Hildegarde adores her father.

By the time the Conclave occurs, Abelarde is beside himself with worry; he knows Hilde was due to appear at the Conclave with her Circle, and after he hears about the explosion, his heart breaks. Thankfully, one of the first things Hildegarde does upon getting her bearings in Haven is write to her father. He nearly makes the pilgrimage to Haven, but is stopped by his eldest stepson, who is worried about the Breach. Part of him is proud that Hildegarde is the Herald of Andraste, but he’s mostly a nervous ball of anxiety and dread because now she’s in near constant danger. After Haven is destroyed and Hilde relocates to Skyhold, he can’t take it anymore and goes to the fortress to see her for himself.

After that, he becomes a semi-regular fixture at Skyhold, wanting to keep an eye on his daughter, reconnect with Edwin and Edeline, and study Skyhold’s fascinating architecture. Plus, he wants to keep an eye on that Cullen fellow, who seems to be getting rather cozy with Hildegarde…

Ewald Barragan-Trevelyan: Hildegarde’s oldest half-brother. With a 13 year age difference between them, Ewald didn’t spend much time with his youngest sister, though he was rather fond of her. Much of Ewald’s attention was taken up preparing for his role as a nobleman.

Some consider him rather lucky, since his birth father, Lord Barragan, wasn’t the heir to the estate, so he inherited very little from him. But because Abelarde’s trueborn heir turned out to be a mage, he named Ewald his successor instead, thus granting him power over the much more influential House Trevelyan (to some controversy, of course; Ewald is Nevarran, regardless of his stepfather’s nationality). Ewald, for his part, only cares about being a good lord for those under his jurisdiction.

Upon learning Hildegarde survived the Conclave, was named Herald of Andraste, and later Inquisitor, he felt proud of her, but was unsure if he could express it because of how distant their relationship was. At his stepfather’s urging, he visits Skyhold to tell her so in person. Hildegarde, to his shock and dismay, starts crying. (She’s happy crying, but it takes him several panicked minutes to realize this.)

Of his biological siblings, he’s the closest to their stepfather, having bonded with him after Hildegarde was sent to the Circle.

Edeline Barragan: Hildegarde’s half-sister. Dignified, dutiful, and disciplined are three words one would use to describe Edeline. Spiteful, insecure, and cruel are another three. Edeline was only ten was Hildegarde was born, but because the birth also resulted in the death of her beloved mother, she blamed the babe and was determined to keep her new sister at arm’s length. Hildegarde barely remembers anything about her because of this, and what little she does remember isn’t great; Edeline treated her more like an inconvenient pet than a sister (to the chagrin of Abelarde, who tried to talk to Edeline about her attitude; unfortunately, Edeline didn’t like him much better than Hildegarde.)

For all her cruelty, Edeline does care deeply about her family — who she considers her real family, anyway. She looks up to Ewald and is fiercely protective of Edwin. She joined the templars (a longtime childhood dream of hers), and quickly rose through the ranks and earned the respect of her peers. She views mages as creatures deserving pity — though not, notably, as people. She actually feels sorry for Hildegarde in this respect.

When she heard that Hildegarde was named the Herald of Andraste, and that some of her fellow soldiers actually considered her holy, she was furious. Her mousy, spoiled half-sister, a divine prophet? Ha!

Though Edwin, who had followed her for most of his life, thought that this was a sign to make amends with their half sister, Edeline saw it as another obstacle. When she was offered a strange new form of lyrium that was promised to make her even stronger, she took it without hesitation. And not a moment too soon — she heard that Hildegarde and her new entourage were coming to Therinfal Redoubt.

(Edeline will eventually be redeemed, but it’s a long and frankly exhausting road for everyone involved.)

Edwin Barragan: Hildegarde’s youngest half-brother. Edwin’s always been more of a follower, specifically towards Edeline; he followed her to the templars, but even before that, he followed her in everything since they were children… including the neglect of their half-sister. Edwin had his moments, though, being the first to apologize for a prank gone too far, and he would occasionally send Hildegarde gifts for her birthday. Still, overall, not the best brother, and that’s a fact that’s haunted him ever since Hilde was sent to the Circle. He knows what some of his fellow templars were like regarding mages — he worried for Hildegarde, but because they were related he couldn’t get stationed at her Circle due to conflict of interest.

When news comes that Hilde is the Herald, Edwin is overjoyed — she survived the Mage-Templar war, she survived the Conclave, and now she was coming to save the templars! Unfortunately, Edeline disagreed with his optimism, which led to their first real fight. Edeline went off with the Red Templars while Edwin joined the Inquistion.

In the Inquisition, Edwin finally apologizes to Hildegarde for his behavior and the two begin to reconnect as siblings. He also gets to bond more with his stepfather, who is delighted that his family is finally coming together. Edwin’s main mission is tracking down Edeline and trying to bring her back to reason.

He serves under Cullen, a man he has great respect for… Until he hears rumors among the soldiers that the Commander and the Inquisitor were caught sucking face on the battlements. Then he storms the Commander’s room to give him the shovel talk of the century. (Hildegarde is mortified. Abelarde approves. Cullen takes the whole thing very graciously. He has siblings, too; he knows how it is.)

Also, Edwin has a not-so-secret crush on Ser Delrin Barris.

#hildegarde trevelyan #dragon age #inquisitor #Hilde is easily my most anxious OC lol #didn’t mention it in the post but Edeline uses a mace and shield and Edwin uses twin hand axes #Ewald doesn’t fight but he’s trained in the basics #I think about Edeline a lot #like man when she gets redeemed and starts connecting with Hilde poor Cullen’s gonna have another family member on his ass lol

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ars-amatoria · 2 days ago

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A while back I saw a "what Veilguard faction would your Inquisitor be?" poll and since then I've been thinking about how it applies for all my Inquisitors.

Elanna Lavellan (no screenshots)

Rogue (archer, assassin)

My very first Inquisitor, so I have much less sense of her specific personality than others. The most notable thing is that I somehow started romancing Blackwall without intending to, and then he had a million unrelated cut scenes before I was allowed to break up with him. Elanna let that man rot in Orlesian prison after his Big Reveal.

She romanced Cullen and is presumably spending a fair amount of her time at the Fereldan Home For Old Dogs and Templars.

But Heir trained her in assassination so she has that connection with the Crows

Meriam Lavellan

Mage (Knight Enchanter)

My One True Inquisitor, the one I 100%ed the game with (technically 99.9% because she did NOT collect the mosaic piece that required desecrating the Dalish cemetery). I played through Trespasser maybe 3 or 4 times with her over a year as I got incrementally closer to completion.

She romanced Solas and she was so sad and tired about it for my ~100 hours of post-breakup play. She tried to hit every wolf statue in the Exalted Plains with her spirit blade, because she didn't *technically* know his big secret? But the vibe was there.

She was a massive nerd about Elven history, so I think she would have been in regular touch with the Veil Jumpers, but she probably also spent a fair amount of time with the Shadow Dragons because Dorian was her BFF.

In my first Veilguard playthrough I got her back together with her toxic ex. I will probably remake her at some point now that I'm better at using the Veilguard character creator. Who knows, maybe I'll make a version of her who still has her Sylaise vallaslin from back before Solas took that and also her arm.

Kaaras Adaar

Mage (rift)

The world's fanciest Tal-Vashoth. He romanced Dorian and I like to think the two of them have been taking time out of their busy schedules to level up the Minrathous queer scene.

He punched Solas and got the rival-who-figured-out-Solas's-deal dialogue in Trespasser so it was honestly pretty funny to see him pretend they were ever friends.

It feels possible that the other Adaars have teamed up with the Lords of Fortune but given his relationship with Dorian, I think he's mostly connected with the Shadow Dragons.

Theodosia Trevelyan

Mage (knight enchanter)

She is prickly and unlikable. She's also the only devout Andrastian I've created for any Dragon Age, and my only True Believer Inquisitor.

She romanced Blackwall, and gave him divine forgiveness after his secret got out. (I honestly put down this save after I got through the Winter Palace and the Blackwall personal quest, but I like to rotate her in my head)

Her secret agenda in my current Veilguard save is to get Solas to admit the Maker is real. I don't know if she's especially affiliated with any of the Veilguard factions but I feel like she and the First Warden would get along well.

Isaac (Tettares) Lavellan

Mage (necromancer)

I made Isaac for my pre-Veilguard replay in October and became low-key obsessed with this gremlin. He was trans and romancing Dorian and I got really up in my head about how bad things went for Krem in Tevinter and what that meant for the Isaac/Dorian future? And then Veilguard came out and I learned that Dorian's Tevinter social group is mostly trans people and Minrathous has become the trans headquarters for all of Thedas and it honestly felt like I was being called out for worrying so much

On the one hand, I don't want to put him in Veilguard, because my headcanon is that he tried to end the Inquisition as soon as Corypheus was dealt with, and then ran away and is undercover as a low level Shadow Dragon. OTOH I do want to see if I can recreate his cartoon face proportions in Veilguard.

#my inquisitors #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age: the veilguard #dai #datv

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world-of-thedas · 2 years ago

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Ember Trevelyan, AKA- The Burning Hand Ember Trevelyan was the second born son to the Trevelyan House in Ostwick. When his older brother Kyros VI tragically died in Dragon 9:16, Ember became the heir apparent. A few years later, when Ember entered puberty, his magic started to manifest itself. Aware that his magic meant he would be forced to renounce his title and lands, he did his best to hide his budding magic from his parents.

A bloody incident involving his younger siblings revealed his newfound power to his parents, who had believed that when their children had told them that Ember had ‘lit his hands on fire and chased them around the parlor,’ it had been little more than a child’s overactive imagination. Ember was immediately sent to the Ostwick Circle, and while he exchanged many letters over the years with his parents, he never forgave his siblings for revealing the nature of his power.

It was there he earned the moniker, The Burning Hand. Extremely gifted in fire magic, he would often heat his hands up to a near unbearable temperature, and grab the other initiates, often leaving a scar in the shape of his hand. When questioned about this behavior, he simply said he was using the power Andraste granted him to burn away the sins of the other mages. It is unknown if he truly believed this, or simply enjoyed tormenting his fellow classmates.

When the Circle’s fell in 9:40, First Enchanter Lydia of the Ostwick Circle was among those who voted to dissolve the Circles. None disagreed with Lydia more than Ember Trevelyan. He was a devout Andrastian, who’s faith bordered on fanatical. He believed that the existence of the Circles was the will of Andraste and the Maker. Within in a day she was found burned to death in her chambers and Ember had disappeared from the Circle.

Ember Trevelyan was last seen in Haven; it can only be assumed that he came to the Conclave hoping to align himself more closely with the Chantry and the Divine. As it was, Ember did not survive the explosion that took so many lives.

His symbol, a hand surrounded by flames and blood can be found on the insides of various books in the Ostwick Circles. It is believed, that if he had somehow survived, and that fate- and Andraste, had been smiling upon him, he might have become the Herald of Andraste. One can only assume that his Maker blessed mark would have eventually found its way into his symbol.

A special thanks to @enderevynne ,seeing her posting about her twin Inquisitor’s got me all excited to talk about my own Inquisitor’s family.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor trevelyan #male trevelyan #trevelyan #dragon age fan art #dragon age fanart #ember trevelyan #neerah trevelyan

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marabrosca · 3 years ago

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[REUPLOAD] - What You Seek Will Find You (Cullen x Lavellan)

a commission for @cullenvhenan with her OC immy

words: 3k

summary: Cullen reflects on his heart's desires, and comes to the one thing he wants the most. (Cullen’s pov fic and his falling in love with Imryll Lavellan)

tags: pining, soft, romance, kissing

warning: contains mentions of racism/colorism but is never directly said to any poc

Read it on AO3

It was uncomfortable to see a chantry half full, Cullen decided. He couldn’t remember a time where he and his family would attend a sermon, and be joined by only a dozen people. The chantry in his youth accommodated with every seat and then some, as many late arrivals would continue to listen to the Revered Mother’s litany whilst standing in the back by the front door. Having the room be so scarce, having so many pews be empty, made the ceremony feel far more serious and intimidating than intended.

It was here that Cullen would be fulfilling his dream of joining the Templar Order, taking his vows and swearing to protect Thedas at the behest of the Andraste Herself. He peered over at the towering statue of the prophet, Her pyre burning brightly but expanding no more light into the room than a few candles. He felt himself shrink into his armor, picking nervously at his embroidered skirt as Andraste’s stone eyes bore into him. It was a dull service he had to admit. A withered old chantry Sister recited the Chant Of Light in an almost monotone voice, pausing every few lines to include the sacred blessings given to those joining the Order.

Cullen had practiced his vows more times than he could count. There were formal promises to make, but they came strictly with a list. When he had been given the list, the scroll lay heavy in his hands. The gold ribbon around it had made it seem as resplendent as the Chantry’s interior, and no less important than the impression it made. Each Templar was to choose their own vows, their own honest promises to the Maker.

Everyone is different, and we are all here for different reasons. But now we join as one, and must do what is expected of us. Therefore, it is the responsibility of one who chooses to walk the path of sacrifice, to pave the road they walk on.

It was something that was repeated to him in the upcoming weeks of the ceremony. There were many ways, as it turned out, to prove one’s faithfulness to the Maker. There was fasting, sacrificing of material goods (not that Templars had many personal items to begin with), excessive prayer, public preaching, and at least ten other things that Cullen could remember. There was only one that gave him pause: chastity, and the detachment to romantic relations, even within marriage. Cullen felt weak for admitting it, but the idea of a future in solitude wasn’t exactly appealing. Not that it was supposed to be. The idea was that a Templar-to-be would set aside personal desire and focus solely on duty, devoting themselves entirely to their service.

But Cullen saw no reason why he couldn’t do both. A part of him, a part he hid from others, was enamored with the idea of marriage. He’d caught himself many times dreaming of the day his soul-mate would enter his life, accepting the promise to live in each other’s hearts. It was indulgent and juvenile, but he wondered if perhaps one day he’d be in chantry taking entirely different vows than the ones he would proclaim that day. As far as Cullen could see, there were no obstacles in finding someone who was Andrastian. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? Followers of the chantry and the Maker filled every space in Ferelden, and certainly he wouldn’t be traveling far from Kinloch Hold after the ceremony. Frankly, there was no reason to worry.

The young man heard his name and he stood, almost too quickly, and shuffled out of the pew, making his way to the Revered Mother. She looked at him with a kind smile, and he bowed his head in response. The woman’s hand hovered above him, pausing.

“Have you prepared your promises to the Maker, accepting His blessing as a holy child and servant of Andraste?” “Yes.” He replied firmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Decades had passed since that day, disappearing like a dream interrupted by daylight. At no point would Cullen expect anything he had experienced, or where he was now. Snow crunched under his boots as he surveyed twenty new recruits to the Inquisitor’s forces- the DalishInquisitor – yet they served just as devout to the chantry as he had once been. An uncomfortable, heavy force weighed on him at the thought; a reminder of his skewed mind from the past. It was a part of him he didn’t want to forget, so that he would never become that man again. He didn’t, however, want it to swallow him whole. That part was harder.

Two of the newest recruits, George and Elliott, were sent to fetch a requisition officer that had been surveying the Storm Coast for some time. The men seemed eager, and promising, and gave off an air of charisma that delivered a boost in morale. Soon enough they returned with the aforementioned officer. She was a tall, lanky elf with pale skin and large, striking emerald eyes. Her black hair fell to her mid-back, lips pink and puffy in the cold. Cullen greeted her politely, taking the missives from her hands as she smiled pleasantly at him. The officer followed Cullen to the desk planked beside the staircase extending from the ramparts. He didn’t miss the almost pungent smell of perfume on her, but made no comment. The commander settled the forms into a neat pile, getting ready to turn to his scouts, when he looked up and noticed that she was still standing there. He cleared his throat when she did not have anything to say. “Thank you, Deanna, for going out of your way.”

“No problem at all, Commander.” The elf smiled at him, folding her hands behind her back.

“Ah…was there something else you needed?” Deanna twirled a finger through a lock of hair, her cheeks turning pinker than before.

“Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tonight.” She replied, eyeing the desk quickly before settling her sights on his face. George and Elliott watched the sight, impressed with their Commander’s obliviousness to her body language.

“As it happens, I am very busy tonight,” Cullen answered, turning and handing the papers over to a scout without pause. “There is still much work to be done if Skyhold is to ever be inhabitable. And I fear the most difficult challenges are yet to come. Why? Does something require my attention?” Deanna’s smile sunk to her knees with her shoulders following suit. “Um, no, it was nothing. Thank for your time, Commander.” “And you, as well.” Cullen responded with a nod, watching the elf turn and make her way up the stairs.

As busy as the ex-Templar seemed to be, he had set some time aside that evening to have a walk down the ramparts with Inquisitor Imryll. Soon the easy stride had turned to a pause, then to a conversation, then to a kiss. It was clearly unplanned and unexpected- quite the opposite of how Cullen had always carried himself- but there was no doubt in the way Imryll held onto his back and caressed his hair, that she didn’t object to it.

Gossip spread like the Blight within Skyhold regarding the Inquisitor’s supposed “dalliance” with the Commander. A couple of messengers and guards that had been making their way by wasted no time sharing the tale of what they had witnessed, or exaggerating it.

“It was a sweep of passion! He grabbed her and they nearly dipped as if they were dancing!” “I wasn’t that close, so I couldn’t really tell, but Ser Rutherford appeared very harsh with our Lady Inquisitor. Do you think he treats all his women that way?” “She hypnotized him with blood magic, I swear!” The only things the tales had in common was that a kiss was involved, anything else could not be answered, much to the disappointment of the staff who were almost growing bored of the mundane. When the news reached Elliott, he was quick to share what he heard over a drink on the grass with George, who turned his nose up in disgust. “See that, I just don’t get.” “What’s not to get? You don’t know what a kiss is? Do you revolt women that much?” “No, smartass.” George took a swig from his flask before continuing. “I don’t get how someone would, ya know, go for an elf. Does he seem like the type? And that elf on top of it- what’s next, a Qunari?”

Elliott let out a cackling laugh, almost catching his lip between his browning teeth. “Not your type, eh?” “Not anybody’s type.” George tried to adjust himself on the ground, reaffirming his seat in the same spot once the dizziness ceased his actions. “At least you got- at least you got some lookers here, right? Like that one from before…that, uh, Deanna. Them ones with the big eyes and the curves and all- and have you ever seen an elf that was so dark?” “Not before the Inquisitor. Her eyes are black, did you notice? Do you think she’s blind?” “I thought all elves were ivory and lanky and- where did she even come from?” “Somewhere up north.” “Up north, bah.” George, not heeding the warning his body gave him before, took another large gulp. “If you asked me, I’d kiss an ogre any day before I’d even think about kissin’ her. She wouldn’t-”

Before he could finish his ramblings, a pair of hands grabbed them both from behind, lifting them by the collars and onto their feet. George almost vomited, feeling the searing burn shoot up his throat at the assault. Both men turned sharply to be met with the fiery eyes of their Commander. The men could feel their faces turn numb and a pulse beat in the back of their skulls. Elliott dropped his mug without thinking, licking his lips in an attempt to speak.

“Commander-”

“I don’t want to hear another word.” “But-” “Not. One. Word.” Cullen’s teeth stuck out starkly against his reddening face.

The recruits gulped, bugged-eyed as George swayed slightly from the alcohol. Cullen’s gaze locked onto the mug spilling yellow liquid onto the grass. “I see that your night of leisure has given you loose tongues.”

Cullen pondered what kind of punishment should bestow them. Perhaps they were to be bound and brought to the Inquisitor on her throne, and beg at her feet for mercy after confessing their crimes? The idea was enticing, but it was likely the display would embarrass Imryll, and he needn’t put more on her shoulders regarding her reputation. Besides, she hadn’t heard the words herself, so why hurt her feelings? No, that simply wouldn’t do. They needed to learn a lesson…a long-term lesson. Without warning Cullen grabbed them by the collar again and pushed them both face-first into the dirt. “You will clean this mess, and then pack your things. At dawn, you will be deployed to the Hissing Wastes, where you will remain until the hole in the sky is welded shut.” The Hissing Wastes was the most miserable landscape in Thedas Imryll had ventured to that he could think of. It was a constant scorching mass of dry air and sand, flipping the coin completely when all was frozen over at night. Only the most hardened travelers could tolerate its climate. It was a long-lasting punishment for a crime that could permanently scar having landed in Imryll’s ears.

Without another word Cullen turned on his heel and walked back to the fortress, ignoring the groaning coming from behind him. As he moved out of sight, Elliott wobbled down to pick his mug off the ground, and George let go of all the liquid courage in his stomach that had sealed their fates.

Days had passed since the new blood of the Inquisition seemingly vanished overnight, but Cullen’s hands still upturned into fists at the memory. He hadn’t been there when they were carted off, but it was reported right before that they wished to beg forgiveness. Cullen dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and went back to his business like he was the only one in the room. He scowled, eyeing the ground with intensity as not to scream, a look that caught the eye of the curly-haired elf standing across from him. She walked up to him before he could react, kissing the knot between his eyebrows. All at once he melted, tense muscles going loose for a brief moment as he looked up. Her smile was concerned, and he felt his face relaxing as not to worry her further. “Are you alright?” she asked, grazing the back of her fingers along the side of his face, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

“Yes…I’m fine.” He let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. His hand reached up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. It made them both blush, and Imryll’s fingers curled in his grasp.

“I had been wondering this for a while,” she started, not pulling away from his hold.

“That day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?”

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a laugh, smiling despite the heat in his cheeks. Her tone wasn’t mischievous, merely curious. A part of him advised against telling her; it was unprofessional at the very least to admit that he had wanted his lips on hers not too long after meeting, before Skyhold, even. Despite not being the best of friends at the time, Cullen found himself gravitating towards her, and desired her approval for more than just reasons regarding their duty.

He smiled sheepishly before finally answering her query.

“Longer than I should admit.”

Springtime scarcely differed from winter when it came to living on a mountain. Everyone still wore furs up to their noses and the courtyard was rarely full. Merchant deliverers unloaded their cargo as quickly as they could before ducking into the tavern. Orlesian noblewomen paraded their flower-adorned shifts about, calling attention to their “eye to detail”, modeling their appearance after the Skyhold garden. This, in reality, was meant to turn attention away from their unseemly reddening noses each time they needed to lift their mask and cough into a handkerchief.

Despite this -and despite her own hatred for the cold- Imryll could still be found tending to her plants- the ones that would survive the elements. She frowned as she lifted a limp stem with her finger, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to expand her alchemy skills just yet. Vivienne had warned her it was too early to start studying potions that required foliage, but in an effort to impress her, Imryll had tried it anyway. And now she was thinking of a way to dispose of the dead roots without embarrassing herself.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind her turned her attention away from the frozen soil, lifting her mood in an instant. “There you are. I was worried you’d still be out here.” Cullen sighed.

“Oh, yes. I was seeing how things were going,” she replied, gesturing to the frozen soil “Don’t tell Vivienne.” Cullen chuckled and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.

“You’ll catch cold out here.” His touched his forehead with hers, watching as she scrunched her nose at the tickle of the wind.

“Walk me back?” Imryll guided them the long way around, entwining her arm with Cullen’s. Halfway there her legs had “gone completely numb from the cold”, and their only solution was to duck into an archway that housed a small stone bench. The elf laid her cheek on the part of his armor still covered by cloth, and sighed as his fingers glided down her arm.

“Feeling better?” “Not yet,” she replied, moving ever closer into his arms. Cullen held her tighter, making the Inquisitor smile. Her soft, round cheek was squished up against his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. The atmosphere was too serene to believe. The moon now overshadowed the sun, leaving the walkway empty aside from them. Imryll gazed out at the greenery that still grew around them. But Cullen’s eyes were transfixed on her. In these escaping moments of peace, he found himself wondering what he would do in the future. If she survived- when she survived the impending battle with Corypheus- what would he do? He had been only a child the last time he lead a normal life, even though nothing for him would be truly normal again. Would she go with him? Would she go back to her clan? His stomach coiled at the thought, as selfish as it was. He wouldn’t blame her for returning to her people when this was all over, but surly he could not join her. The Dalish didn’t welcome humans as passersby, let alone a human lover. What if she left him? Did she not feel as strongly about their relationship as he did? Would she have to choose?

And more importantly, how would he declare the choice he’s made?

He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Despite the hardships and horrors he’s endured, having Imryll walk out of his life would be the breaking point. His gaze solemnly drifted to the bare blackness of the sky, subconsciously tightening his grip on Imryll.

“Cullen? Is something wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

“Oh- I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” “No…” the Inquisitor waited for an answer to her question.

“I think we should go back inside. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable with warm tea in your bed, wouldn’t you say?” Imryll perked up at the thought and reluctantly sat up to stretch.

“Will you be joining me?” Imryll asked over her shoulder, half flirtatiously. “If my lady wishes so.” Cullen responded, chuckling and standing to join her on the walk back to her quarters.

“I do. But is that what you want?”

What I want… Without warning the commander hoisted her up into his arms, leaning his head down to kiss her lips. She let out a yelp before laughing, slapping lightly at his chest as he carried her through the garden. Wind brushed roughly against the pathway flowers, sending a few white petals into the air, catching onto Imryll’s curls. Their white littered the stone, creating an almost snowy effect as he walked. They went unnoticed by Imryll, who was too distracted reaching up to playfully peck at her lover’s chin.

What he wanted…

He knew now more than ever.

Imryll had taken some time to teach Cullen threads of Dalish before, but nothing like this.

“Sylaise enaste var aravel…”

The sound of her native tongue caressed his ears. Everything in that moment disappeared except for her; and although he couldn’t understand the words, he felt them in his heart. He wanted her promise to be true, and he trusted that it was.

“I swear unto the Maker and The Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

As the words left his lips, they connected with hers. Perhaps he should have waited until Mother Giselle made the official decree, but he couldn’t wait another moment.

The kiss ended with the faint tickle of Cullen’s breath against her lips. His nose stayed atop hers, soft chestnut eyes barely open beneath his lashes. It was their first kiss as a married couple, a term they could barely comprehend. Cullen sighed blissfully, capturing the moment in his mind down to every detail as the setting sun painted them in golden light, as if the world turned just for them. Imryll’s skin blended with the rays. Her eyes reflected, but were not illuminated by the shine, creating a stark clear surrounding of white around the onyx that seduced him so many times.

Imryll took but a single step before she was whisked off her feet. A surprised yelp quickly turned to giggles as her husband hoisted her into his arms in a true bridal-fashion. Mushy bounced excitedly at Cullen’s feet and wagged his tail, attempting to angle himself so that he could leap up to join Imryll.

“Blasted-get down! I can’t hold the both of you.”

Imryll laughed joyously, taking her lover’s face into her hands.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cullen smiled down at her.

“Longer than I should admit.”

#cullen x lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullen x imryll #my fics #asian inquisitor #asian lavellan #reupload #i think the original post is still up on ela's blog but the search bar is trash :T #dai #Imryll Lavellan

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rock-teh-elf · 2 years ago

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👪 ¡La familia! - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings?

SORRY THIS BEEN SITTING HERE FOR A FEW DAYS

Let's start off strong with Anya that has absolutely no relationship with her birth parents, as she was taken by the templars from them in a very young age. She doesn't really remember anything about them, besides that they might have been traveling merchants. After joining the wardens and recruiting Wynne, she began gravitating towards her for general advice and eventual company. Anya felt comfortable and safe besides a fellow circle mage and eventually she began viewing her as some sort for mother figure. Also, long after, when she joined the dalish, the keeper of the clan took her under his wing and although it might have been a one sided thing, she started viewing him as a parental figure too.

Next Gavin, I think he would be a pretty big momma's boy as well as deathly protective of his younger siblings. Although he did have a soft spot for Bethany he also loved Carver even though they had a falling out after he joined the Templars. Well, we all know the fate of every member of the hawke family. Even though Gavin IS a fugitive that is hiding from the templars, every once in a while he goes out of his way to track Carver down and check on him :'-).

NOW CIRCE, so I tried doing some research on the Trevelyan's but the history is so vague I could literally do whatever I wanted with them >:-). Circe has a complicated relationship with her parents, they had big expectations for her, with her being their only daughter and the next head of the house the pressure was real. Truth is, she barely saw them as they basically forced her to study politics and attend balls and parties as a representative of their house from a young age, had to form good relationships with other nobles and be involved in the game. They eventually sent her off to orlais when she was 18, where she met a young Antivan noble woman and they eventually fell in love, but that's a story for another time >:-). Moving on, the only true connection she felt with her parents was when they attended the chantry together, sharing their faith between eachother was the only time they spent together as a family. Thought short, it was moments she cherished. Her parents where big on religion, faithful andrastians, with one son sent to the circle and their twins sent to train as templars, it seems that being the next head of house was what saved Circe from priesthood. But Circe inherited their fate, being a devout Andrastian herself. Now for her brothers, the youngest child Lysander was sent off the the circle after he showed signs very young, Circe was sad to see him go and tried to visit him multiple times to no avail. Next are the middle children, the twins, which she absolutely adored. After losing one sibling she did everything in her power to bond and spend as much time as possible with her other brothers. They were sent off to become templars while Circe was in orlais, her parents never informed her of that and she sadly found that out at the end of inquisition :-(.

#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK #no i dont have a fav oc #oc #my ocs #circe trevelyan #gavin hawke #anya surana

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silvanils · 3 years ago

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THE TREVELYAN SIBLINGS

A while ago, I made a post about Ash Lavellan’s family. Recently, I’ve been doing some thinking about my Trevelyans as well! Their entire family dynamic formed when I read the codex entry and saw the line about how “third and fourth born” Trevelyans often become templars or clerics. In fact, they’re expected to...

The eldest Trevelyan sibling and current heir is Justin. He married when he was in his 20′s and has a daughter from that relationship. His wife died of an illness a few years later, and he has yet to remarry. By the time of Inquisition, Justin is acting as head of the family.

Gwendolen Trevelyan is the second eldest. She was favored by their parents and the one who took after them the most of all four siblings. She is a devout Andrastian and a cutthroat politician. By the time of Inquisition, she is staying in Starkhaven because she hopes to secure a marriage to Prince Sebastian Vael.

The third sibling, Tristan, would have been happy as a wandering knight, but his future was decided for him when Seren’s magic manifested. Not only did Bann Trevelyan and his wife immediately send for the templars to take their youngest to the Ostwick Circle, they also had them take their third-born to the Chantry as a show of their continued devotion and support.

Tris didn’t really want to become a templar, but he hoped joining the ranks of the order at the Ostwick Circle might allow him to help keep Seren safe. Twelve years later, when the mage rebellions happened, Tris left the Circle with the mages and went on to join the Inquisition’s ranks alongside Seren. Tris works with Cullen’s forces while Seren acts as a liaison for the mages.

Like Cullen, Tristan stopped taking lyrium when he left Ostwick. He ends up bonding with Cullen because of their similar struggles, and when Iron Bull joins the Inquisition Tris turns to him for further distractions and ultimately ends up joining the Chargers.

By the time Trespasser happens, Justin has begun openly supporting his youngest siblings and sending aid to the Inquisition, while Gwen remains cold and distant towards the other three. Just before Trespasser, Justin also learns his daughter is a mage --- so he takes her with him to go meet Tris and Seren, who he’s sure will be able to help train her to control her powers.

Justin’s daughter is the first Trevelyan mage in generations that was not immediately handed over to the Circle of Magi, and Justin told his youngest siblings that he would not have given her up without a fight even if the Circles and their laws had remained unchanged.

(And as a final note: Justin and Cassandra actually hit it off when they meet during Trespasser, and I like to think they begin courting not long after.)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age ocs #trevelyan #non-inquisitor trevelyans #;Tris Trevelyan #;Seren Trevelyan

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jawsofhakkontranscript · 4 years ago

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Conversations with Kenric

[1] Dialogue options:

Investigate: Where are you from? [2]

Investigate: How did you get the job? [3]

Investigate: Let’s discuss Ameridan. [4]

Investigate: Tell me about the University. [5]

General: What’s our next step? [6] (At the start of the DLC, before you investigate the Lady’s Rest island.)

General: What’s our next step? [7] (After you’ve investigated the island and spoke to Telana’s spirit.)

General: What’s our next step? [8] (After you’ve found Ameridan’s shrine but before activating all of the trail markers.)

General: What’s our next step? [9] (After you’ve lit every trail marker and taken down the ice wall.)

[2] Investigate: Where are you from?

PC: I take it you're not from Orlais originally.

Kenric: (Laughs.) No. Starkhaven. Fourth son of Lord and Lady Kenric, destined for Chantry service. Fortunately, I convinced them the University might be a fashionable alternative.

[3] Investigate: How did you get the job?

PC: How were you assigned to the Inquisition?

Kenric: I study primarily the early Chantry, particularly around the signing of the Nevarran Accord. That was why I transferred to the University of Orlais. Closer to the source than Starkhaven. Sadly, most scholars took Inquisitor Ameridan's history as settled, even with so many questions remaining. No one took my ideas seriously until your Inquisition formed. I wrote Ambassador Montilyet and well, here we are.

[4] Investigate: Let’s discuss Ameridan.

PC: I'd like to discuss Inquisitor Ameridan.

Kenric: Of course. Your predecessor. Existing historical records are contentious. Some say he was a devout Andrastian. Others suggest he cared little for religion, gaining leadership of the Seekers through Emperor Drakon's friendship. He disappeared around the time the Seekers of Truth, the original Inquisition, incorporated into the newfound Chantry. [Go to 4a, 4b, 4c or 4d]

[4a] (If you didn’t investigate the Lady’s Rest island.)

Kenric: It's not clear why. Some say that he was tired of his responsibilities and wanted one last great dragon hunt.

[4b] (If you investigated the Lady’s Rest island and found orders from Emperor Kordillus that were given to Ameridan - see “What Yet Lingers: Look for information on Inquisitor Ameridan”.)

Kenric: Historians assumed he retired to go dragon-hunting. Our new information should shake up academic circles profoundly!

[4c] (If you spoke with Ameridan and informed Kenric that he was an elven mage - see “Hakkon Wintersbreath”.)

Kenric: Of course, learning that he was an elf, not to mention a mage, will... I anticipate some heated discussions.

[4d] (If you spoke with Ameridan and told Kenric that he was a human noble, concealing his real identity - see “Hakkon Wintersbreath”.)

Kenric: Learning that he sacrificed himself to save all of Orlais should shake up academic circles considerably.

[5] Investigate: Tell me about the University.

PC: What's it like at the University of Orlais?

Kenric: Oh, it's brilliant. Some of the greatest minds I've ever known. The university was always well regarded, but Empress Celene made it the envy of all Thedas. She even got them to start admitting elves. A few bent noses, but it's worth it. Knowledge knows no bounds, and all. [Go to 5a, 5b or 5c]

[5a] (If Celene remained the Empress of Orlais.) With that unpleasantness with Grand Duke Gaspard done, the university is safe as a haven for knowledge.

[5b] (If Gaspard is the current Emperor of Orlais.) Emperor Gaspard hasn't demanded any changes yet. We're... hopeful it remains so.

[5c] (If “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts” questline has not yet been completed.) I confess that we're worried about the fighting between Celene and Gaspard. Hopefully that settles down soon.

[Back to 1]

[6] General: What’s our next step? (At the start of the DLC, before you investigate the Lady’s Rest island.)

PC: What do you need me to do next, Professor?

Kenric: I'd still like to find out what's on that island to the southeast. We know the Inquisitor was in the area. Lady Harding mentioned Avvar in the area who aren't hostile, but they wouldn't speak of the island. I mean... Scout Harding. (Coughs.)

[7] General: What’s our next step? (After you’ve investigated the island and spoke to Telana’s spirit.)

PC: What do you need me to do next, Professor?

Kenric: That spirit on the island said something about Ameridan going upriver to... someplace with spires? While you search upriver, I'll continue studying these buckles. That, uh, sounded better in my head.

[8] General: What’s our next step? (After you’ve found Ameridan’s shrine but before activating all of the trail markers.)

PC: What do you need me to do next, Professor?

Kenric: It appears that Inquisitor Ameridan died in the Tevinter fortress. The trail markers you found might destroy that elemental ward—the, ah, walls of ice?

[9] General: What’s our next step? (After you’ve lit every trail marker and taken down the ice wall.)

PC: What do you need me to do next, Professor?

Kenric: Well, we need to find a way into that Tevinter fortress the markers pointed at.

With the elemental wards disabled, the only real impediment is the horde of angry Hakkonites guarding it. Although that's... still rather an inconvenience, isn't it?

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #jaws of hakkon #dragon age transcript #kenric #bram kenric #professor bram kenric #university of orlais #research

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call-2-arms · 4 years ago

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Character Ethnicity, Religion and Inspiration

// Because I want to talk a little about the inspiration and culture of my muses (I won’t go into too much depth about the canon ones since we know already, but I WILL mention them). This isn’t going to be heavily in detail, just a basic outline as I’ve realised I have a real passion for biracial muses--possibly because I don’t feel we see them enough in media today, especially parents of mixed race children, and simply because I enjoy the different cultures between them and how that effect their children etc. I also feel like biracial folks are shoved under the bus a LOT because they “aren’t dark enough” or “you don’t look (insert race)” and that’s bullshit, so I think I like to focus a lot on that and bring light to the situation, or at least I realised that when I was thinking about making this meta. I’ll go alphabetical through my muses (including the ones that I don’t RP here but are still part of my muses lives, and my Inquisitor Kaaras).

This will be a little long, so I’ll post it under the cut.

- Mentions of fantasy racism.

- I use a non white washing filter on my icons for those who are poc. :) PLEASE note that even with filters, DA:I lighting isn’t the best at depicting colours.

- Closed character means I do not RP them here but they are still muses I share here

- Please note that Thedas is not the country they may seem to be inspired by, but MULTIPLE countries of inspiration. These are my headcanons alone.

Abzi Pământ: Dalish elf from Nevarra ( Egyptian / African inspired ). His clan is a stationed clan in the wilderness of Nevarra, they perform rituals for their dead much like the humans of Nevarra (Egyptian). However, their clan also practices in body modifications, scarification and body plates. Abzi’s clan has an unusually high life span for Dalish elves, which may be due to their stationed life, or their rituals to the gods. Abzi is a warm, medium to dark in skin colour. Abzi’s clan follows the Dalish gods, however, they practice their worship in different ways to most, with sacrifices and preserving their dead (mummification). Abzi’s accent is Egyptian.

Aithell’ana ‘Aith’ Adaar ( closed character ): Ex Dalish elf, ( European inspired ), who has since abandoned and refused to follow her former Dalish way of life. Aith is from the Brecillian Forest, Ferelden . When she came into her magic, she was forced to leave her clan and attacked by templars. She holds hostility towards many Dalish because of her negative experience, and refuses their gods. She was only 7 and did not gain her vallaslin before she was set to be on her way. Aith was adopted by the Adaar family (and Kaaras’ adopted sister) when Kaaras stumbled upon her in the forest. Aith is Caucasian in colour. Aith is atheist and does not believe in any gods. Aith’s accent is Welsh.

Arach Sgott ( closed character ): A city elf from Starkhaven, ( Scottish / European inspired ), he has red hair and pale, blotched skin. His grandparents were former Dalish elves, but his parents lived in the alienage. He wished to embrace his Dalish heritage, so he had facial tattoos (not vallaslin). Unfortunately, Arach’s experience with most Dalish has been negative due to their contempt towards “flat ears”, so he has stopped paying attention to his heritage and makes sure to remind others his tattoos are not vallaslin. Arach is agnostic, he doesn’t know what to believe. Arach’s accent is Scottish.

Bastien Beaufort: Bastian is a templar of Orlais, a noble born son and biracial ( French / French Louisiana inspired ). Both mother and father are from Orlais, but his mother’s side is darker in skin tone while his father is Caucasian. His mother has Marcher ( French Louisiana inspired ) ancestry, while his father is of a strong Orlesian ( French inspired ) line. Bastien is a medium to dark skin tone. Bastien is a devout Andrastian who holds his religion very close to him, taking vows to keep himself to the Maker and Andraste (he is abstinent). As someone who was punished for his interest in other men, he believes his sexuality is a sin and he must repent. Bastien’s accent is French.

Cassandra Allegra Calogera Filomena Pentaghast: As in canon, Cassandra is of Nevarran ( Egyptian inspired ) descent, her skin colour is a light to medium, olive tone. Cassandra is a devout Andrastian, however, she can learn to accept the gods of others if given time and for someone to teach her. I have always heard a more Romanian accent when it comes to her VA, so I do believe that their accents are Romanian inspired.

Fintan ‘Finn‘ Ghilain: Finn is a Dalish elf from the Dales ( Irish inspired ). He is descended from the Ghilain clan, although he was moved as a boy with his family to Clan Durgen, who resided closer to the Frostbacks. Finn left his clan to wander alone when he was younger, due to the idea that he believed elves and humans could somehow find peace together. He is ghost white in skin tone and has the hereditary condition of Poliosis (whitening of the hair). He is spiritual in beliefs, but exceptionally open minded to all spirits and gods. Finn’s accent is Irish.

Garrett Hawke: Of Lothering, Ferelden ( European inspired ). Hawke’s father was a Marcher, olive in skin colour while Leandra was Caucasian. Hawke is of olive skin himself, a little lighter than Malcolm. Hawke is atheist, and if anything, holds contempt for any god or those who claim to be gods. Hawke’s accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Ignis Scientia: As of FFXV, Ignis is Caucasian and pale in skin colour. I do headcanon that he is of a Tenebrea blood line, however, the Scientia family has been in servitude of the Crown for such a long time that they speak the King’s tongue. Ignis follows the Six. Ignis’ accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Jaime Tywin Lannister: Of Casterly Rock, Westeros. He is Caucasian. Jaime follows the Seven, although he is more agnostic in nature. Jaime’s accent is English ( as heard in the series )

Kaaras Taashath Adaar: Kaaras is a Vashoth qunari, whose parents fled the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ) when knowing they were expecting a child. Kaaras knows little of his parents upbringing under the Qun and was ignorant as a child to why they were so much different from the other children. He grew up in Southron Hills, Ferelden, though was born in Starkhaven, aided by a Chantry sister. He is pale grey in skin tone, his father being medium to dark and his mother being pale like him. Kaaras is Andrastian, however, he is very open minded when it comes to other religions and gods, believing that all gods stemmed from some kind of truth. He loves learning of other religions and cultures. Due to growing up in Ferelden, Kaaras’ accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Latika Madan: A city born elf from Kirkwall ( Indian inspired ). She is medium to dark in colour. Her family history is one of slavery and in the alienages of the Marches. Most elves in the alienages are forced to believe in the Maker, however, Latika never took to the human beliefs. She believes in respecting ones self and inner peace, however, she will use Andrastian curses as it’s what she grew up around. Due to growing up in Kirkwall, Latika’s accent is English.

Lyna Mahariel ( closed character ): The Hero of Ferelden, born and raised in Ferelden’s wilderness in the Brecilian Forest ( Native American inspired ). Lyna is of strong Dalish heritage and faith. She is a light to medium tone in skin colour. Lyna’s accent is Welsh.

Rike Zimmerman: A Vashoth, abandoned by her parents and left on the doorstep of a small village in the Anderfels ( German / European inspired ). She was raised as humanly as possible, but has turned to a very spiritual belief. She befriends animals more than she is interested in people. She is dark in skin tone with a grey undertone. Rike’s biological parents are of the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ). Due to growing up in the Anderfels, Rike’s accent is German.

Talan’ash: Tal’Vashoth from Kont-aar, Rivain ( Spanish influenced ). Talan was born under the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ). He speaks a multitude of languages, and grew up mingling with the people of Rivain, although still subject to the strict teachings of the Qun. He still follows the beliefs of the Qunari people, that their bodies are hosts to who they are and that their spirit will move on to still fulfil its purpose, although he has struggled coming to terms with being Tal’Vashoth. He is medium to dark in skin tone, with a grey undertone. Due to growing up in Rivain, Talan’s accent is Spanish.

Tobias ‘Tobi’ Ettore Clarke: A human of Ferelden, his mother was Chasind ( Māori inspired ) and his father was Antivan ( Italian inspired ). He grew up with a mixed childhood when it came to culture and language, as well as religious beliefs. Tobi hated feeling different from everyone else, so he embraced his mother’s Chasind heritage, hoping that he would be welcome to their village one day. Tobi is atheist and frowns upon anyone who believes they require worship. Tobi is olive skinned. His face and body tattoos are linked to his Chasind heritage ( Māori inspired ). Due to growing up in Ferelden, his accent is English.

#Headcanons: all #Meta: all #Culture #religions #inspiration #ethnicity #culture and ethnicity #ooc #cw: fantasy racism

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scharoux · 5 years ago

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Stripped Confessionals Pt. 1

Starting off the ‘Spring Into Love’ prompts event with a bang. For prompts number 7 through 10.

Huge thanks again to my usual Trio ( @bearly-tolerable @buttsonthebeach & @lyrium-lovesong ) and also to @velannas for letting me borrow Mihren again!

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Meara Lavellan

********************

The warm sun of the new spring shone brightly in the Skyhold gardens as Meara Lavellan sat enjoying a game of chess with her sister Mihren. Since Mihren had been officially given the title of Inquisitor, it seemed like she rarely had a minute to herself, let alone to spend some time with her only sister.

"Meara! Are you cheating again?" Mihren scolded her as she leaned forward, giving her a knowing scowl.

Meara bit her lip and tried not to laugh. This wasn't the first or the last time her sister had given her this familiar scowl. She'd been used to seeing it since she was a small girl, up to no good, with Mihren on her heels trying to keep her out of trouble.

"I would never!" She placed her hand over her heart dramatically, acting wounded at the accusation.

Mihren's scowl remained fixed on her as she made her move, then leaned back into her chair. "Why, do I not believe you?"

Meara couldn't hold back her laugh then. She genuinely wasn't cheating, or at least not this time anyway. In fact, she was actually taking it easy on her worn-out sister. She'd noticed that Mihren was missing obvious strategic moves that she would have never missed if she wasn't stretched so thin with everything going on.

The winter at Skyhold had not been kind to them. The harsh weather, plus the constant influx of new recruits and refugees, meant there were always more mouths to feed and bodies to train for the battle against Corypheus. Mihren had needed to step up to her new role, and she had without question. Only Meara couldn't help but wonder what it had cost Mihren. What it was still costing her. Her sister was tired and needed a break more than anyone she knew. Unfortunately, Mihren carried the same stubbornness she did and refused to let anyone help her shoulder her responsibilities, even Meara.

Meara deliberately made a move that would lose her a valuable piece, watching to see if her sister would notice how she'd set it up for her to take easily. She didn't.

Meara muffled a concerned sigh as she watched Mihren struggle to make her next move.

"Mihren?" Meara reached forward and tipped over her King. Mihren looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise. "When was the last time you slept?"

She made to reply, but Meara cut her off knowing the argument that was coming. "No! I mean more than a few hours here and there."

Mihren's mouth shut, arms crossing across her chest like she always did when she was guilty of something.

She gave her sister a stern look. "I mean an actual full night's sleep, where you go to bed shortly after dusk and stay asleep until dawn?"

Mihren sighed, annoyed. "I can't remember." She replied, waving her hand dismissively.

Meara nodded, and stood, shoving her chair out from behind her. "Get up, Mihren."

"What? Why?"

She stood up regardless and gave Meara a quizzical look as she came and took her by the elbow, leading her out of the gazebo.

"Go find Solas. Tell him you need a sleeping draught, and most importantly…" Meara paused, pulling her sister to look her in the eye, "tell him I will be checking on you later to make sure you took it."

Mihren rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement. "Fine! You're right, I need to rest. I'm not myself, and I haven't been for a few months." She let out another deep sigh as she pulled Meara into a big hug. "Thank you for making sure to take care of me when I can't take care of myself."

Meara gave her sister a tight squeeze in return. "Always." She pulled away and reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Mihren's ear. "Now, go find Solas and get some sleep. I'll be checking on you later."

Her sister smiled in farewell as she made her way across the soppy earth, still wet from the melting snow.

Meara hoped that she would see her sister return to normal after a much-needed rest. She couldn't help but wonder if Solas had tried to convince her to take time to rest as well, and if he had, why he hadn't been successful.

She turned and was about to walk to the stairs leading to the ramparts, but a familiar gentle voice beckoned her.

"My Lady Mearanna?" Mother Giselle spoke melodically as she approached her. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Meara didn't really know Mother Giselle and hadn't had much opportunity to interact with her more than a handful of times, but she liked her well enough for a devout Andrastian.

"Of course, but just Meara is fine." She replied politely.

The old woman nodded, gesturing for Meara to walk with her. "I wonder, if during your next journey outside of Skyhold you might be able to procure more medicinal herbs for Skyhold's stores? Specifically, more elfroot and witherstalk."

"Why ask me? Surely Leliana's scouts will be able to procure these for you?" she asked curiously as they made their way about the gardens, the waterlogged ground heaving up under the weight of her boots.

Mother Giselle gave Meara a knowing grin, "The fertile Earth gives birth to new life."

Meara was even more confused now. Did she always have to speak in riddles?

"I'm not sure I understand, Mother Giselle?”

The old woman's grin spread into a broad smile. "It is spring, my child. Soon there will be an abundance of new life amongst us in all shapes and forms. With it will also come the need and desire to keep more seeds from sowing."

When she didn't respond, Mother Giselle cocked her head and gave her a curious look.

"Surely you must have noticed that our stores of witherstalk had almost run out? You and the Commander are still - intimate - are you not? I was merely thinking that you would perhaps make it more of a priority than Sister Nightingale's scouts, given your need of it."

Suddenly the last few weeks were a blur. She began counting back in her head. Desperately trying to recall the exact day it was, and realization hit Meara like a rampaging druffalo, knocking the wind from her lungs in an involuntary whoosh.

"Oh, fuck."

Meara ran for the stairs that lead to the ramparts, ignoring Mother Giselle's shocked gasp at her outburst and sudden departure.

She needed to find Bull right away, and there was one place she knew for certain to look. She took the steps two at a time, then sprinted across the ramparts towards Herald's Rest once she reached the top. If anyone could help her it was Bull, or maybe Dalish, but she needed answers and she needed them now.

She flew across the ramparts, hoping like hell she wouldn't cross his path on the way to the tavern. Prayed silently to the Creators for the first time since she was a young girl that her path would be clear. Meara wasn't afraid of anything, but right now, in that moment, she was absolutely terrified of seeing Cullen, and the fear turned her stomach to rot.

*****************

Meara had found Bull exactly where she'd predicted he would be, tucked in the back corner of the tavern having a drink with Krem. She'd let out a relieved sigh as she'd come down the stairs and spotted him in his regular spot.

"I need you!" Meara huffed, pointing a finger at the massive Qunari sitting before her. "Now!"

Bull gave her a curious look, then shrugged at Krem's questioning glance as he placed his tankard on the table. "What's up little Boss?"

"Somewhere - more private." Meara cast a look over her shoulder, afraid someone might hear them. "Please?"

Bull must have sensed her urgency, or maybe it was her unease. Whatever it was, he stood and directed her out the back entrance of the tavern. Meara breathed a sigh of relief when the noise from the patrons inside died as Bull pulled the door shut behind him. They stood alone in the small gap that separated the infirmary and Herald's Rest, hidden away by the overgrown bushes that grew there.

"Alright," Bull said when she turned to face him again. "We're alone now, so what's on your mind?"

Meara swallowed down the sour taste of unease that coated her mouth. Oh Creators, I've really fucked up this time.

She took a deep breath and tried to tamp down on the waver in her voice. "What do you know about witherstalk, and do you know if it can stop working?"

Bull frowned, "Obviously I know what it is, and what it's used for. I don't know if it's always effective though. Maybe you should ask Solas, or maybe the surgeon at the infirmary?" He gestured to the building next to them with a cock of his head.

"No, and I would rather not." Meara groaned as she started pacing nervously.

Bull watched her silently for a minute, his good eye followed her every movement.

"What's going on with you Meara?"

"Nothing! Why?" Meara asked, a bit more defensively than she intended.

He scoffed at her, rolling his eye as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, I know you, and I can also read your body language. It's definitely not nothing."

She groaned again. "Fucking Ben-Hassrath!" She cursed under her breath, and she's sure she saw his mouth twitch.

"I can either guess, or you can tell me what's going on and save us both a lot of time. Your choice." Bull leaned back against the tavern wall, waiting for her like he had all the time in the world.

"Ugh!" Meara growled. She took another deep breath, trying in vain to steady her nerves.

"I stopped taking witherstalk a few days before my monthly bleeding was supposed to start, but that was two weeks ago, and I still haven't started my cycle!"

She blurted it out in a rush of breath. She genuinely hoped that Bull had managed to catch it all, because she wasn't sure she could bring herself to repeat it.

Bull looked a little perplexed at first, like he was trying to process what she'd said.

"Please don't make me say it again." Meara pleaded as she clenched her hands anxiously at her sides.

She'd never once missed her monthly cycles. Not since she got them for the first time as a girl. She'd always been careful to never miss a dose of witherstalk when she became sexually active. Meara knew to stop taking it a few days before her cycle was set to begin, and to start taking it again as soon as her bleeding had stopped. It was like second nature for her.

Only, she'd never been on the front lines preparing for an inevitable battle against a blighted magister hell bent on destroying the world before. No, that was definitely new.

She'd also never been in what she would consider a relationship before either.

What she had with Cullen, and everything they were facing was foreign territory to her in every possible way. Being in a relationship was scary enough for her, she couldn't possibly imagine being a parent or having a child. Especially not right now when they were at war. Mihren could do it, but Meara was afraid she didn't have the same nurturing side that her sister did.

Meara felt her palms getting sweaty as a wave of nausea rolled over her stomach. What the fuck is wrong with me? Get it together, Meara!

Bull was still leaning against the wall, watching her, and she couldn't handle the scrutiny. "Say something! Say anything!"

Bull gave her his typical know-it-all grin then stepped forward and put his huge hand on her shoulder. Creator's, his size never ceased to amaze her. He was a giant in comparison to her. His hand completely encompassed the top of her arm, his fingers draping over to touch the lower part of her shoulder blade.

Meara remembered the way his hands had felt huge when they were everywhere on her body. She remembered the way his touch was gentle, but also rough when she needed it to be, and how he just knew when to shift between the two. She'd have given anything to go back to the easiness that they'd had. To just fall back into the routine of having sex to scratch that itch when it flared up, and not having all the feelings and emotions tied to it.

Meara would be an absolute liar to say she didn't enjoy what she and Cullen had. Unfortunately, it was this exact reason that she didn't like to let people get close to her on this level. Sex for sex was easy - comfortable - and definitely safe. Feelings complicated things. They made her feel vulnerable.

Meara longed for the familiarity and security of her former habits. Bull looked down at her, the same way he had when she'd first mentioned that they should have sex. The same look that made her feel in control, while also asking for her permission. All the while he knew exactly what it was she wanted. What she needed from him.

It was then that she realized it was the control she missed. Control over her life, because right now she felt like nothing was in her control, and it was sending her spiraling.

"What do you want me to say?" Bull asked her quietly, almost a whisper.

Meara looked up at him, feeling that familiar surge of fierce intensity rise in her as she took his hand off her shoulder. He gave her that fucking “I already know” look, and her need for control erupted within her.

"Nothing."

She leapt at him, Bull catching her easily, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She crushed her lips against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their kiss was carnal, mouths clashing against one another, tongues melding together between hot breaths. Meara moaned as Bull's strong hands gripped her ass, lifting her higher. There was nothing to complicate things. Just hands on bodies, feeling and searching out the means to an end.

Bull bit her lip, sharp teeth nipping at the plump flesh as she sucked in a shaky breath. Meara couldn't help but compare his touch to Cullen's. How Cullen was gentle, eager to please her, but also how he wanted to take his pleasure with her. Always with her. How he was never selfish in his need, even when she wanted him to be. How he'd wake her in the mornings with gentle kisses on her bare shoulders. How he'd make love to her passionately, letting her pleasure build slowly until she would keen longingly into his touch.

Meara's heart fell as it dawned on her that what she needed, and wanted, wasn't something she could find with Bull. It was with Cullen. And in her hopelessness and fear at the thought of becoming a mother, she'd allowed herself to stray from him. Even worse she'd strayed into the arms of the one person Cullen felt menial next to.

Meara pulled away, ending the kiss. She looked into Bull's eye, placing her hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Bull."

She was prepared for his face to fall with rejection, or maybe to act like this was familiar ground for him, which it was. She was ready to apologize again to her friend for hurting and using him, to atone for her mistakes. She'd earned the hurt that was about to come.

Meara, however, was not expecting a huge grin to spread across Bull's face as he dropped her back onto the solid ground. "About fucking time." He said clapping her on the shoulder.

Meara was aghast. "What?!"

"I was afraid I was going to have to go all the way before you'd come to your senses." He laughed.

"Are you fucking serious?" Meara gaped at him, "How could you possibly know I wasn't going to go through with it?"

"C'mon, Meara" he gloated happily. "Everyone - except you - can see how much you're in love with Cullen. I knew you wouldn't go through with it once you got your head out of your ass."

She didn't know how to reply. She could only stand there shell-shocked, staring up at him as he gave her a shit-eating grin. "Or, at least, I figured you would stop," he added with a off-handed shrug.

"Really?" She challenged him, hand on her hips. "And just how far were you going to let me go before you let me come to my senses?"

Bull coughed then, "Well I can't say it wasn't a tempting idea to take you to bed again, but I'd have stopped you... eventually." He added a wink, goading her on.

"Fuck off, Bull." She punched him in the center of his exposed pec, and he let out a big bellowing laugh. She smirked despite her lingering annoyance.

"Seriously though. Why didn't you stop me?"

Bull's smile faded. He reached out and took her hand, encompassing it with his own. "I didn't stop you because you're stubborn. If I'd tried to stop you, you would have wanted to keep going to establish the control you thought you wanted. What you needed was the push to figure out for yourself that what you really wanted was Cullen."

Meara knew he was right. Hated that he was. She knew in her heart that if he'd tried to talk her out of it, she'd have wanted to show him he was wrong even if he wasn't. He hadn't forced her, hell, she'd initiated it. She had been sure it was what she'd wanted, but damn if it wasn't the furthest thing from the truth. She continued to lie to herself over and over again. Tried in vain to convince herself that what she and Cullen had wasn't as serious as it really was, and now she might be carrying his child.

"Fuck." She hung her head, hiding her embarrassment. "What the fuck have I done?"

"You asked me for my advice before." Bull stated. "Do you still want it now?"

Meara nodded. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"You don't need to be so strong that you can't let anyone in. You know that in the Qun we don't make relationships a thing, but that doesn't mean they don't exist." Bull released her hand and turned towards the tavern door again.

Meara watched him go, trying to decipher what he was telling her. Why was everyone speaking in riddles today? He paused, giving her a quick look over his shoulder, "The real strength is being brave enough to let that one person in, and letting them stay no matter how shitty things get."

Meara looked at her friend with glassy eyes. She finally understood. Knew what he was trying to tell her. What Mihren and everyone else had been trying to tell her for months, but she'd been too damned stubborn to hear.

Bull nodded to her, pulling open the door and letting the noise of the tavern patrons spill out before he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Meara smiled, took a deep breath to compose herself, then took off around the corner of the building. She needed to find Cullen, and she hoped like hell that she would have the strength to say what she needed to. Hopefully together they would be able to weather this storm if it came to a head.

******

Meara thought she was going to be sick. Cullen's quarters were empty when she'd arrived, and she paced nervously back and forth across the room, waiting anxiously for his return. Her stomach churned angrily, and she felt the bile rise in her throat.

She forced herself to swallow. She took several deep breaths, trying desperately to steady her nerves. She'd never been this nervous in her life. Not even when she was competing to become the leader of clan Lavellan's hunting party. No. Meara could track a deer faster and more efficiently than any man in her clan. Could clean and carry out the carcass of her prey faster than any of the people who told her she couldn't because she was too small, even for a woman. She had stared them all down fearlessly when she'd emerged from the forest - a large buck over her shoulders - bright red blood still running freely from it and staining her clothes.

Meara tried to remember what Bull had said. Replayed the words over and over in her head.

"I am not weak." She said aloud, continuing to pace the length of the room.

"I am strong." She tried to remind herself.

"He gives me strength."

"Who gives you strength?"

Meara spun around as Cullen's voice broke her from her nervous spell. She'd been so distracted she hadn't heard the door open behind her.

"Cullen!" She swallowed anxiously, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I - I didn't hear you come in."

He smiled at her, dropping a stack of papers on his already crowded desk. "Nor would you have. You were speaking quite loudly."

Meara felt the blood rush to her cheeks, "Oh - right. Yes. I guess I was," she rambled off, embarrassed that he might have overheard her personal pep talk.

Cullen bridged the gap between them, pulling her against him. His arms wrapped tightly around her as he leaned in, kissing her forehead affectionately.

Meara took a shallow, shaky breath, winding her arms around his waist, letting her cheek rest against his chest. She clutched the fabric of his tunic tightly in her hands, holding him close while she tried to build up her courage again.

“Is everything alright?” Cullen murmured into the top of her head, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine before coming to rest in the tips of her toes.

Meara closed her eyes. She wished like hell she could tell him everything was fine. That she could take him up to the loft and take a few moments of pleasure together like they would any other day. She knew better, though. Knew there was a very real possibility that she carried an unexpected secret within her. Knew she had two confessions to make, and that one was sure to cause him a hurt she wished she could spare him from.

“Meara?” Cullen’s strong hands pulled her away from the safety of his arms, and she had no choice but to look up into his soft honey-brown eyes.

Meara’s heart lurched. “Cullen –“ her voice wavered heavily as she forced herself to say the words. “I am so sorry. So very, sorry.”

She felt him stiffen under her touch. Saw his face fall and her heart fell.

“What’s happened?” His gentle voice had faded, in its place was the stern voice of the Commander of the Inquisition's army.

Meara decided then she needed to just tell him. He deserved to know the truth of what happened, and that the best way to do it was to be blunt.

She held tighter to his clothes. Her grip turning her knuckles white.

“I kissed Bull.”

Cullen's face went from a pale white to a deep shade of red. His expression turned from hurt to anger. He tried to pull away from her, but Meara held tightly to him. Her hands still wound tightly in the folds of his clothes at his back.

Meara struggled to keep her own cowardice at bay, even though it screamed at her to let go. Urged her to release him and run. To save herself from the pain she felt knowing she had hurt him so deeply.

Cullen was rigid against her, trying to detach her hands from his clothes, refusing to look at her.

“Release me,” he said flatly, looking anywhere but at her.

“No.” Meara shook her head. “Not until you let me explain.”

His eyes snapped back to her face. He looked like a man undone. His expression was something between rage and absolute agony, and Meara’s heart bled with the regret that overwhelmed her.

“Why?” He exhaled; his voice full of pain. “I just need to know why?”

Meara blinked back the tears she was trying desperately to keep at bay. She didn’t deserve to cry. She deserved the pain she felt. She’d hurt Cullen in her moment of weakness, and she needed to atone for her mistakes.

“I fucked up.” She spoke shakily. “There was something I thought I needed. Something I thought Bull could give me.” Cullen pulled against her again, and Meara held tight to him. “I was wrong, Cullen. I was so very wrong.”

Cullen scoffed, casting his gaze away from her again. “Is he the one who gives you strength? Did he give you the strength to come end things with me?”

Meara shook her head, “Cullen, I- “

“Did you fuck him?” Cullen snapped at her, and her strength crumbled.

Meara let the cloth fall from her hands. Felt the blood return to her tingling fingers as he pulled away from her at last.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Felt like her lungs were frozen and she would never be able to thaw the icy hurt that filled her core.

Meara brushed away a single tear that had trickled down her cheek. She didn’t know if he would listen to her. Didn’t know if he even wanted to, or if he would forgive her even if he did. She only knew that she needed to explain, even if it meant he didn’t want her anymore in the end.

“You give me strength,” she muttered in a shaky breath.

He turned, staring at her coldly. “What did you say?”

Meara took a deep, wavering breath. “I said, you give me strength, Cullen.” She spoke as clearly as she could manage, fighting the overwhelming urge she still had to flee.

Cullen’s face softened, he took a step towards her but hesitated, catching himself. “Then why did you kiss him? I don’t understand, Meara.”

He ran his hand through his golden curls, his frustration coming off him in waves.

“I kissed him because I was afraid!” Meara blurted, ashamed that there was no other reason for her indiscretions.

She hid her face in her hands, trying to steady her breathing and hoping the knot that had formed in her stomach would release soon, or she could very well be sick on his floor.

“Afraid of what?” Cullen pressed.

Meara dropped her hands and looked up into Cullen’s eyes. “I – “

She faltered.

“Ah, fuck!” She ran her hands through her hair in frustration at her own stupid cowardice.

“Afraid of what, Meara?” Cullen asked again sternly.

“I love you, alright?!” Meara barked emphatically.

Cullen stood there with a stunned look on his face. His eyes were wide and locked onto her.

Meara groaned, “I love you, and that honestly scares the shit out of me!”

She started pacing again, wringing her hands together anxiously, because finally confessing her feelings out loud was fucking terrifying. Acknowledging that she had allowed herself to openly love someone was terrifying, and now she was terrified of losing the person she’d only just admitted to loving.

“I’ve never been in love, Cullen. Not with anyone! I don’t know how to process these feelings, or what it means, and it’s terrifying!”

Cullen ran his hand over the back of his neck, lost in thought or maybe just for lack of words. Meara watched him with bated breath, waiting for him to say something. Hoping he wouldn’t ask her to leave.

“Say something!” she pleaded anxiously, the moments of silence between them becoming too much for her to handle.

Cullen opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and began rummaging through the papers on his desk. Meara watched, dumbfounded, as he circled his desk, looking under it and scanning the room.

“What the hell are you looking for?!” she demanded. She’d just told him she loved him and he chose now of all times to go looking for some lost treasure?

“Empty bottles,” he remarked casually over his shoulder as he continued to search the room.

Empty bottles? Meara groaned in frustration, “Are you suggesting that I’m inebriated?”

Cullen looked up at her then, his face turning a subtle shade of pink. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “No – never mind, it’s nothing.”

Meara crossed her arms, giving him a quizzical look. If she’d known he’d think she was drunk when making her confessions of love, she would have gone to the tavern for a few ales first to steady her nerves.

Her breath caught as Cullen stepped towards her. The frustration she’d felt vanished, replaced with the familiar knot of unease.

“I still don’t understand. Why - if you feel that way - would you kiss him?”

She wished she could shield herself from the look he was giving her. “Is loving me so terrible that it would send you running into the arms of another man?”

Meara’s heart thudded heavily at his words. Creators, she had immensely fucked this up.

She took a slow, careful step towards him. “It isn’t that. It’s just that - “

Cullen looked at her, eyes pleading her for something she hoped she could give him.

“I was – am – afraid that I won’t be able to give you what you want.”

Cullen gave her an inquiring look, “Meaning?”

Meara sighed, “Meaning, I love you, but I don’t know if I will ever want to get married.” Meara paused hesitantly, “Or have children.”

Creators, that’s a loaded statement, Meara. She cringed as the words fell from her mouth.

She watched his expression change, and she quickly continued before he said something, and she lost her nerve. “I don’t want you to give up any of those things because I don’t want them. I don’t want you to change because of me, and I kissed Bull because it was the only way I could I feel like I had control over my life anymore!”

Meara paused again, catching her breath, trying to gauge his response to her confession.

“Loving you is - exhilarating,” she continued exhausted, “but it makes me feel like I’m not in control, like I’m only watching my life play out. Most of my day is spent wondering what you’re doing when I’m not with you, or wishing I was with you.”

She paused, running her hands through her long, thick locks anxiously, “I don’t know how to handle feeling this way Cullen!”

Meara swore she saw the corner of Cullen’s mouth twitch slightly. He took another step towards her, making her heart jolt nervously.

“For years I’ve been content to be alone, because being alone meant being in control and only ever having to worry about myself. So, in a moment of selfish weakness, I wanted to go back to not feeling like I needed anything or anyone. Like I was strong enough that I didn’t need anyone else. Only, I was wrong.”

Meara felt the tears start to trickle freely down her cheeks, unable to hold them back anymore.

“I need you, Cullen. I love you. Except that loving you makes me feel selfish. Horribly selfish, because deep down I think you deserve that life with a little house on a hill, and a wife and children. I want those things for you, but I’m terrified that I won’t be able to give them to you, because it’s not in me to give.”

Her breath caught as he reached out gingerly and took her hand in his. She shivered, as his hand reached up and gently wiped away the tears that had spilled down her face. She felt her heart skip as he gave her the familiar smile that she’d come to love in their time together.

“Perhaps, you could let me decide for myself if I want those things as well?” he asked softly, almost a plead.

Meara cried in earnest then as Cullen pulled her against him. Arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, holding her close as she poured silent sobs into the soft folds of fabric that covered his chest. She cried until the material was laden with spilled tears.

She knew she had to tell him. Knew he had a right to know that she might be carrying his child, but she was terrified that she would disappoint him. That she would hurt him again, and even deeper, when she admitted she didn’t know if she wanted a family. Not only now, but maybe ever.

She’d seen Cullen with children before. Seen how they flocked to him, and he just seemed natural with them. How easy it came for him. She knew in her heart he would make a great father. Knew that he would be patient, but firm, but also would be willing to have fun with his children. Much like her own father had been with Mihren and herself.

Meara didn’t want to deprive him of that choice simply because he loved her, or because she loved him in return.

She continued to cry into his chest. Letting him hold and comfort her, as he whispered soothing words of endearment into her hair, all the while hating how weak and vulnerable, she felt. Yet she leaned into his touch, longed for the security she felt wrapped in his arms, breathing in his warm scent.

She cried until she could cry no more. Until she felt exhausted from it. She tried to remember the last time or recall if she had ever cried like that. Try as she might, she couldn’t recall a single time she’d allowed herself to cry until she had no more tears to shed.

***********

#SPR2LUV #scharoux writes #dragon age fanfiction #meara x cullen #cullen rutherford #meara lavellan #not the inquisitor #spring into love prompts event #the iron bull

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ustalav · 2 years ago

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Havard Gideon Trevelyan

age as of dai: 24 zodiac: cancer height: 5'11 sexuality: bisexual alignment: lawful good class: mage - rift magic (+ spirit healing)

Key Relationships

lady trevelyan (mother)

lord trevelyan (father)

judith trevelyan (sister)

ophelia trevelyan (sister)

hector trevelyan (brother)

hessarian trevelyan (brother)

lydia † (mentor)

minerva (ex-girlfriend)

dorian pavus (romance)

vivienne (friend)

cassandra pentaghast (friend)

cullen rutherford (friend)

Origin

Gideon was born into a large family of devout Andrastians. He grew up singing the Chant, volunteering with the local Chantry, and praying for his older brothers in their fight against Maleficarum in their roles as Templars.

Magic was seen as a bad word in the Trevelyan household. The day his sister's magic manifested was permanently branded in his mind. He was 9 and mostly he remembered yelling and one of his mother's rose bushes on fire. And then never seeing Judith again.

His own magic manifested two years later. It felt like a brand of shame, some sign that he hadn't been faithful enough.

Gideon struggled to adjust to Circle life, although Judith was there. She was older and she'd started believing all these radical things he vehemently rejected. Proposing theories like Andraste herself was a mage, or that perhaps there shouldn't be any Templars.

Thankfully, Senior Enchanter Lydia took him under her wing before his sister could corrupt him too far. She began to mentor him in spirit healing and encourage his magical talent. He was no prodigy, but when she put him to tutoring his fellow apprentices, she saw him really start to glow.

Soon after, Judith was transferred to the Gallows after an escape attempt, at Lord Trevelyan's discretion, lest she go apostate and sour their name in the minds of local nobility.

His parents paid the Circle off to allow Gideon to come home every once in a while. It was mostly to keep a watchful eye on him, but he treasured the opportunity to see his siblings, despite the wall his status as a mage put between them.

He began a relationship with a mage his age, Minerva. She was a prodigy. Naturally gifted and whipsmart and his first love.

Senior Enchanter Lydia brought Gideon in on training days with the young apprentices and let him teach them basics. He was excellent with the children and she started pulling him out of his own lessons to teach more and more.

At 19, Lydia pushed the idea of Gideon taking his Harrowing. It was earlier than the Ostwick Circle tended to do it, but with her express permission, he was put through. He came out of it a fully fledged mage.

At 21, Lydia convinced the other Enchanters to let Gideon teach the young apprentices full-time and thus he was given the title Junior Enchanter and his own private dorm in the Circle.

Gideon loved his life. He loved teaching the children. He flourished in the Circle, his off days spent in quiet contemplation in the small Chantry on the grounds or studying in the library.

Minerva chafed at the attention showered on Gideon, given only because of his connection to the Senior Enchanter and her blatant favoritism. Their relationship struggled.

The Kirkwall Chantry was destroyed and the rebellion began in full force. The Ostwick Chantry remained passive for a long time but tensions were brewing.

A group of mages including Minerva planned their escape, she knew Gideon was a lost cause, a loyal member of the Loyalist fraternity by this point. She left him a note wishing him the best and appealing to him about the need for change in the Circle.

On the night of the rebel mage's escape, a fight broke out. The Templars attempted to reign the mages in. In the fighting, Senior Enchanter Lydia was killed. Gideon, distraught, jumped in front of her body. He was not skilled in combat magics. Putting himself in the fray put him right in the blast of fireballs and lightning being launched at the Templars and loyal mages (earning him the burn and scarring that now marks the right side of his face). Gideon retreated, he took the children and hid with them deep in the fortress of the Circle walls until the fighting was over.

He remained there with the children, Templars, and remaining loyal mages until the Conclave was called.

They elected him and a few others to go and speak on behalf of the Ostwick Loyalists, to show there was still sanity in the Free Marches.

Next thing he remembered was waking up in shackles.

Personality

Gideon is soft-spoken and diplomatic. He's willing to hear anyone out even if he's calling them all sorts of pejoratives in his mind. He's deeply tied to his faith and although he does become less of a Loyalist throughout Inquisition, he remains faithful.

Life as the Inquisitor is a lot for him. He's entirely unused to being looked upon as a leader and finds himself deferring often to advisors. Often found in his room, studying tomes and penning correspondence in an effort to make sense of Corypheus and everything else being thrown at him.

He tends to be merciful in his dealings with prisoners ("andraste loves you") and is willing to hear out the nobles of Thedas, perhaps even when he shouldn't.

Gideon fully believes he is the Herald of Andraste. He believes she sent a mage during this time of crisis to set the world to rights again.

To those close enough to him to see him out of his shell, he is petulant and irritable. Prone to bouts of self-righteousness. He meddles in the business of his friends in an attempt to be helpful, and it tends to backfire horribly.

In his romantic relationships, he is sentimental and adoring. Willing to see the best in people, especially those who don't see the best in themselves.

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#ch: gideon trevelyan #lol i love him so much but he comes off so unlikeable in this i think lmao #his backstory is more jumbled than farons hmm #lord and lady trev bc i do not have names for them yet sfjakl #oh also a lot of this is tongue in cheek #like the 'thankfully she saved him from propaganda' part

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darlingrutherford · 5 years ago

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Once Upon a Time in Thedas

Oops, I went and posted the first chapter of my Cinderella!AU, because I can’t help myself. First chapter is a short one to set the scene. This fic may move rather quickly for the main bit of it, but I have every full intention of expanding on it after the main bit is done. This is a bit out of my comfort zone and rather different from what I usually write, so please be kind! Also, tagging @schoute because I promised ;) And, enjoy! <3

Trigger warnings for this series for mentions and scenes of mental/physical abuse.

Once upon a time, there lived a young elf named Lana. She lived with her mother and father on the outskirts of Denerim in a small cottage surrounded by trees and brush. Denerim was a large city in Ferelden, home to many different kinds of people: humans, elves, even the occasional dwarf or two who had come to the city looking to trade. Shops of all kinds paved the city: apothecaries, smiths, inns, even a few rarities shops run by mages who had managed to scrape their way to a better living despite their Maker-given gifts. Being a mage wasn’t considered a blessing by many. They could be dangerous, unpredictable. As such, the Chantry kept a close watch on all mages, requiring them to live within a city limit so that the Templars could keep an eye on them. Circles existed to contain any mage deemed too dangerous or those who would refuse to abide by Chantry rule, but those who kept quiet and to themselves could live a simple life.

Lana had come into her magic at the age of eight, much to the displeasure of her parents. There had been an argument, one started in a moment of hot headedness when Lana had questioned her mother. When the back of her mother’s hand made contact with her face, ice had sprung from Lana’s fingertips and frozen the floorboards beneath her feet. That was the day Lana sustained her first scars: one, on her forearm from a knife her mother had swung at her in anger, and another, a small knick close to her left eye, just before her father had forced the knife from her hand. Lana had spent three days in her parent’s dark hall closet while they argued and ultimately decided, with council from the local Chantry, what to do with her. Since that day ten years ago, Lana had been confined to their home. Her parents were devout Andrastians. They were ashamed of having a mage be of their blood, and wished nothing more than for all of Denerim to forget that Lana even existed. And, for some time, they did.

All her days after that frightful, fateful moment had been spent focusing on the Chant, taking care of their home, and trying to suppress the magic inside of her. Lana did the best she could. Some days she woke up with her pillow cold as ice, or a flame would spark from her fingertips when she was having trouble lighting the hearth. Each time a panic would set in deep in her gut, and after a quick look to ensure neither of her parents had seen, she would carefully remove any evidence and pray to the Maker to make it stop while she atoned throughout the day.

Each day began the same for Lana: she would wake just before the sun to recite from the Chant, brush out her hair, and braid it in a simple, tight braid that her mother preferred her to wear. Then she would dress before quietly making her way into the kitchen. Breakfast would be complete by the time her parents woke, hot tea heated on the hearth and not by magic to be on the table waiting. The three of them would sit at the table, say a morning prayer from the Chant before their meal, and eat in silence. Occasionally there would be a harsh remark from one of her parents: her mother would remind her to sit up straight; her father would remind her of something she missed in her chores the day before, which her mother would reprimand her for later. Then Lana would clear the table, clean the dishes, and work on sweeping the house if the sun was out. Her parents would sit at the table, and Lana would take her time sweeping while they discussed the happenings about Denerim as of late. She would listen eagerly as she worked, wanting to soak in everything they said. Later she would take what she heard, sit at her windowsill, and daydream about life in Denerim for those without magic.

In her daydreams, she thought of the bustle of the city, all the sounds and all the different people who would be there. She thought of the shops, the different types of trade found throughout that made Denerim the city it was. She had seen the Royal Palace once, when she was much younger, from the outside as she walked quickly at her father's side on their way to the market. Its gates had seemed so large at the time, stone walls surrounding it but not quite containing the sound of those running back and forth about their daily duties from within. Every so often Lana would imagine what it would be like to wander the city again, with someone else at her side, someone other than her father; someone she could walk hand in hand with, when they could walk leisurely without rush. As her face would flush from the thought, she would pull herself from the dream. That's all it was, after all. Just a dream. Who in their right mind would love a mage?

Lana’s days weren’t entirely filled with chores. She had become quite proficient at them, and as such was able to afford a good amount of her day to reciting the Chant as her parents preferred for her. They allowed her to choose where she spent that time, as long as it was within their small property. Between her bedroom and the small garden that surrounded their home, Lana found her peace. When the sun hit her face, Lana felt she could breathe again. No matter how the day had been, as long as she had behaved herself, she had the sun. Even when confined to her room when her mother had decided it was needed, Lana’s window faced West, and the sun always found her. On a day such as today, when Lana had made her mother happy with her - as much as a mage could - she found herself on her knees in the garden near her window, the sun warming her face as she recited the Chant.

“...’So the Maker turned from his firstborn and took from the Fade a measure of its living flesh and placed it apart from the Spirits, and spoke to it, saying, ‘Here, I decree opposition in all things: For earth, sky; For winter, summer -’”

“‘For darkness, Light.’”

“Sister Leliana!” Lana rose from the ground as she heard the light voice of the Chantry Sister. As an established mage in Denerim, the Chantry kept a close watch on Lana. Traveling from Lothering, Sister Leliana had been assigned to her for going on a year then, after Lana’s last Sister had taken a missionary sabbatical to the Free Marches. The Sister would check up on her twice a week, and Lana often found herself clinging to the opportunity to see the face of someone other than her parents. “Is it Tuesday already?”

“No, it is Monday,” Leliana said with a smile. “I will have special business tomorrow that will keep me from you. I thought it best to stop by and see how you are doing.”

“I should tell my -”

“I already spoke with your mother,” Leliana said. She smiled as Lana visibly relaxed at her reassurance. “How have you been since I last saw you?”

“Very well, thank you,” Lana said. Leliana waved her hand and walked to the edge of the garden near a tall oak tree, and Lana followed. They sat in the shade, elbows close to one another.

“How are you really?” Leliana asked, her voice lower than before. She took Lana’s hand, turning it over to observe a fresh scar near her elbow. “They don’t listen to us talk, you know. Out here, it’s just the two of us.”

“It’s fine. I… I upset her,” Lana said quietly. “I accidentally used… I shocked her when she grabbed me.”

“I see.” Leliana was quiet for a moment as Lana fidgeted with the end of her braid. Her braid was the same always, and this day was no different: close to her head, beginning on one side near her temple and ending on the other at the nape of her neck, not a hair out of place. The sun glimmered off her red strands, glittering like fire in the light that filtered through the branches of the tree.

“How are things in Denerim?” Lana asked, trying her best to not sound too eager.

“You are in Denerim too, you know,” Leliana said with a knowing smile.

“I know,” Lana laughed quietly. “It’s just… it’s so quiet here.”

“You heard they chose a new King a month ago?”

“I did, yes.” Lana’s face lit up, as it always did whenever she and Leliana spoke about anything new. Reciting the Chant and speaking of the Maker with the Sister was wonderful and all, but Lana yearned for the world outside their home more than anything. It was a world she felt she would never know, despite its closeness, and she wished more than anything to live vicariously through the Sister as much as she could.

“He was crowned this past week,” Leliana said. “He will have to find a Queen soon, I assume.”

“Should be easy for royalty. I can’t imagine any woman would say no to a life of living in a castle. Can you imagine?”

“Would you say yes?” Leliana teased.

“Don’t be ridiculous, why would I be asked?” Lana flushed, then horror washed over her face. “I’m so sorry, Sister, I didn’t mean to say that you are -”

“I know what you meant,” Leliana reassured her. “It will be our little secret. Now then… Which part of the Chant would you like to discuss today?”

Lana and Sister Leliana spoke to one another for a few hours. Lana always appreciated how much time Leliana took with her. The other Sisters had been content with an hour here or there, but Sister Leliana seemed to genuinely sympathize with Lana's life, and Lana's parents would never question a Sister of the Chantry. By the time Sister Leliana had left on her way, the sun had begun to fall and Lana rushed inside to help her mother in the kitchen.

“Don't think that you can shirk your duties just because Sister Leliana was with you today,” her mother warned.

“Yes, mother, of course,” Lana said. She quickly grabbed a pot from above the stove and went about lighting the wood below the stove.

“What did you two discuss today?”

“We spoke of Threnodies, and the Maker's creation of the world.” Lana grabbed a knife from the table, trying to make quick work of the potatoes. She turned them in her hand, trying to peel quickly with the sharp knife.

“For three hours?” Her mother scoffed. “You had better be able to recite it backwards to me after - now look at what you've done! If you've bled on the potatoes…”

Lana dropped the knife, holding her bleeding finger tightly in her hand. She angled her hand away from the table, quickly scanning her eyes and feeling relief wash over when she saw no blood on the table. She felt warm for a moment, and then the pain in her hand almost melded into nothing. Her mother grabbed her injured hand, tearing it towards her face and Lana's stomach opened like a pit. Her finger was stained in blood, but the offending wound had closed as if it were a week old. In her panic, she had worried of the wound itself offending her mother and she had healed it. An eerie silence broke over the home, the calm before the storm as time seemed to stop. She could see the red rushing to her mother's face, could feel time speeding up. Lana began speaking quickly, her brain racing.

“I didn't - I didn't mean to -”

“Do not talk to me after you did that… unholy thing in my house!”

Lana audibly winced as her mother grabbed her by the long point of her ear. She had to bend low to offset the pain as her feet quickly followed her mother's. She strained to look up, her stomach sinking and panic setting in as she saw them heading straight towards the closet.

“Mother, please, I swear on the Maker I didn't mean to -”

“I don't want to hear a sound from you until I open this door again!” Her mother yelled as she opened the door. Lana stumbled forward, grabbing at the wall for balance as she hit it. She turned around as the door slammed shut behind her. She could hear the lock turn as her mother forcefully turned the key, then the sound of her feet stomping away in anger, before silence took over.

The closet was dark. It had always been dark, pitch black, and empty for this use and this alone. Lana couldn't see her shadow as she slid down against the wall. It was tight and, even as small as she was, she couldn't stretch out her legs. Normally her mother would punish any regular transgressions with a pinch, a bruise, something quick and then leave Lana to her room. The closet was reserved for magic, for when Lana went against the very stringent rules that her parents expected her to abide by in order to live in their presence. Lana had spent many hours in the closet when she was younger, when controlling the magic had been harder. Sometimes it was hours, sometimes a day, always dark, and alone. As she grew she had become better at suppressing the magic, but, occasionally, it took her by surprise, as it had that day. She shook against the wall in the darkness, knowing that when she finally did see the light again there would be hell to pay. Making noise would make it worse. It would make her mother leave her in there for longer if she heard, make the eventual punishment more terrible than it already would be. Lana hugged her knees close to her chest, burying her face against her legs. She cried silently, her lips moving as she recited the Chant barely above a whisper in hopes that the Maker would hear:

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and d - do not falter… Blessed a - are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just… Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow... In their… In their blood... the Maker's will is written.”

#dragon age #cinderella au #surana #alistair theirin #suranistair #alistair x surana #lana surana #my ocs #fanfiction #my fics #my work #ao3

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allisondraste · 6 years ago

Text

Temperance (15/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: Liss makes a decision about her feelings, and then another contrary decision. Feelings are confusing, you see.

Note: I know it’s a really fast update, but I just had a fire under my belly. I’ve been waiting for this chapter for... 14 chapters. ;D

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

Denerim, 9:31 Dragon

The flames from the forge burned hot, the warm glow illuminating the smithy as Liss sat lazily behind the counter and watched Bria work. The Antivan woman had worked up a sweat as she honed her most current set of blades, a pair of silverite daggers that glittered orange with the flames. It was an exceptionally cold day outside, even for winter in Ferelden, and Liss was thankful for the warmth. She was also thankful for the company.

Nearly four months had passed since she agreed to join Anora’s council, and while the restoration of order to the country was far from over, meetings had become fewer and further between. Many major decisions had been made, and everyone held their breath waiting, hoping that tensions died down among the nobility so that they could focus on a common goal: restoring the areas most affected by the Blight. Of course, the nobility wouldn’t be settled for long. Amaranthine was still a point of contention, but there had also been little word out of the arling in weeks, something that was particularly rattling for Alistair. He’d heard reports of some lone bands of darkspawn lurking on the roads outside the city, and took off alone to fight them. It was a stupid thing to do, but he said he could handle it and refused to let her accompany him.

Liss inhaled deeply and sighed, laying her head down on the counter, and earning her a chuckle from the other woman just before she dropped the blades in water to harden them. Steam burst up from the tub and hissed loudly before settling down.

“Why are you laughing,” she asked, raising her head and donning the best scowl she could, “I don’t like it when you laugh at me. It usually means you’re about to tell me some obvious truth about myself that I was too stupid to notice. It makes me feel inferior.”

Another chuckle and Bria shook her head, continuing to work. “You come to me and say ‘Bri, I am bored,’ because you want company. Yet you sit and mope about the whole time. I do not think you are bored, Liss. I think you miss Alistair.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liss scoffed, “It’s not like that.”

“I did not say it was.” A mischievous grin flashed across her face before it was replaced by feigned innocence.

“He’s only been gone for a little over a day,” Liss explained, “Sure, I’m mildly concerned for his safety, considering that he insisted on going to fight those darkspawn alone. I know he’s strong and skilled, but he’s also clumsy. What if he were to, I don’t know, get caught in a trap or something? I don’t miss him. I’m just worried.”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

“You picked the wrong profession,” Liss said playfully, “You’d be an excellent spy or diplomat.”

“In my country, spies and diplomats do not have long lives. I like to think I chose wisely.” Bria walked away from the forge, dabbing at her face with a towel as she sat down beside Liss. “Besides, I am good at what I do.”

“Fair point.”

“You know, Alistair speaks of you often.” She offered Liss a brief smile, genuine this time. “I do not think your care for him is one-sided. You two might-.”

“Don’t, Bri,” Liss interrupted, shaking her head, “He is still in love with someone else.”

“Someone who he has not heard from in months.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Liss didn’t mean to laugh so bitterly. She didn’t mean to let Bria pull all of this information from her at all. She’d intended to, for once in her damn life, not act on her first impulse. As much as she liked Alistair, and as easy as it would be to love him, she didn’t think it prudent to let infatuation and vulnerability make her decisions for her. She had a knack for loving people who didn’t or couldn’t feel the same about her, and she knew better than to give these thoughts any space to grow.

“Life is short,” Bria remarked almost dismissively, “In Antiva, when we love someone we tell them so.”

“I’m not Antivan, Bri,” Liss said seriously, “I’m Fereldan, and in Ferelden, we hold all of our powerful emotions inside and live in agony for the entirety of our long, fur-coated lives.”

“Have you not suffered enough already?”

“Apparently not.”

Bria laughed, draped a friendly arm around her shoulders, and kissed her cheek. “Have it your way, muñeca.” She hopped up from the stool and returned to the forge.

Liss remained in the smithy with Bria for an hour longer, more so for the warmth than anything else. By the time she decided to leave, the air had chilled even further as afternoon turned to early evening, and she could see her own labored breath as she hurried to the castle. She entered the main hall and rushed immediately to a brazier that remained lit in the center of the room, standing beside it before she was sufficiently warm, and then turning to go to her room.

A loud creak erupted as the large, wooden door creaked open again, and she stopped, looking over her shoulder to see Alistair enter. Upon first glance, he looked no worse for wear except for some splatters of blood on his breastplate and dark circles under his eyes. A weight lifted from her chest at the sight of him, and she waved at him excitedly. He did not seem to notice, so she waved again and shouted, “Hey! You’re back! How fare the darkspawn?”

For a moment when he looked up to see who was speaking to him, she caught a glimpse of the hurt behind his eyes, which he was quick to tuck away behind a handsome, crooked smile.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. They were very upset that you never write them anymore.” He laughed and raised his eyebrows. It was impressive how genuine the smile seemed. He was very adept at hiding behind that mask of his.

“Well, we didn’t exactly leave things on good terms, did we? What with the Blight and all.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one hip to the other.

Alistair shrugged. “That’s what I tried to tell them, but they weren’t having it, so...I had to kill them.”

“Seriously, though, did it go smoothly?” Are you all right?” She scanned his body for any signs of physical injury, frustrated with herself for being so obvious in her concern, something that had never bothered her before. This was Bria’s fault.

“Pfft, a few darkspawn hurt me?” He tilted his head upward and crossed his arms in feigned offense. “Never.”

As he moved, she noticed a large gash across his arm that looked as if a blade had slashed right through his bracer and nicked the flesh. There were some discolored, green spots around the wound that looked like poison. It would have burned, but may not have been obviously painful, especially in the heat of battle. Still, she was surprised he didn’t notice it at all.

Smirking, she tugged at his wrist, ignoring his grimace and tiny pained yelp as she pulled it up so he could see it. “Oh really? Then what’s this?”

He laughed, and attempted to brush it off as a scratch, but she knew better and so did he. Depending on the poison, and especially considering the filthy darkspawn blade that inflicted the wound, the risk of rot or infection was substantially higher than with a standard cut. She convinced him to go to the nurse, and he only protested briefly, most of it just a playful attempt to irritate her.

Liss watched and did her best to stifle her laughter as Alistair cringed and hissed off a string of curses that seemed to offend the very obviously devout, Andrastian nurse who treated his arm, causing her to work more roughly. She cut and peeled away pieces of his shirt that clung to his skin, and although Liss knew it must hurt, she could not help but be amused at his choice of profanity. She lay a hand casually on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, though she doubted it would do much good.

“Liss, you’re from Highever, right,” he asked when the nurse stepped away to work at a table, crushing and mixing the ingredients of some sort of antidote.

“What gave it away: The last name, the fact that my brother is a Teyrn, or the fact that I’ve mentioned only about a hundred times since we’ve known one another?”

“You know what I mean.” He grunted as the nurse returned and spread the dark green mixture on and around his open wound. Liss cringed in sympathy, and had to keep herself from telling the nurse to be more gentle. It’d probably only make it worse for him.

“Yes,” she answered him, proudly, “I happen to be intimately familiar with Highever. What of it?”

“I’ve been meaning to go there for a while now,” Alistair explained, visibly relieved when the nurse began to bandage the wound, “My friend, Duncan, was from Highever. He died in the battle at Ostagar, and I wanted to visit so that I could, I don’t know, honor him.”

“I remember Duncan,” Liss said gently, squeezing his shoulder as she remembered the tall, soft spoken man she’d seen on occasion growing up. “He visited from time to time looking for recruits - sometimes from our guard, sometimes from our dungeons. He didn’t seem to discriminate and I always admired that about him. I was relentless with my poor father about wanting to join the Wardens, but he wouldn’t have it.”

“You’d make a great Warden.” He smiled and then looked down at the ground.

“Thank you for saying that. It always bothered me when Papa told me no, but I know he only meant to protect me. From what I’ve seen, being a Grey Warden is not quite as romantic as the tales.”

“Yes,” Alistair laughed, “There’s a disappointing lack of griffons.”

There was a long and heavy pause in the conversation, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. The only sound in the room the nurse’s cheerful humming as she tied the bandages, pulling them so tightly that Alistair flinched. She must have really disapproved of Alistair’s creative use of Andraste’s name.

“There you go young man,” she announced sharply, “That should do the trick, so long as you don’t move it around too much until the antidote dries.”

He nodded and stood, thanking her for her time, to which she replied with an unimpressed grunt before walking away to tend to a guard who entered with a broken arm. Liss could not bring herself to trust the nurse’s work, considering how roughly she’d treated her injured friend, and she moved to examine the wrappings herself. She could find no fault with them, and released his arm, satisfied.

“You’ll also want to keep it clean,” she added, looking up at him seriously, “You wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

“I know how to tend a wound, thank you very much ,” he snapped, pulling his hand away from her. His words stung, and shame bubbled up in her chest for being such a nuisance.

“I just --,” she began, but just threw her hands up in frustration. “Nevermind.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her gaze and smiling at her softly, “I know you’re just worried about me… I appreciate it. Really.”

As they exited the infirmary, and walked down the hall, Liss remembered the conversation he’d started earlier. “I could go to Highever with you, if you want,” she offered, “I haven’t seen Fergus since I got here, and he seemed bothered in his last letter. It would be nice to see him, to make sure he’s holding up all right.”

“I...” Alistair began, but froze, clearly torn. “Thats, well…Hmm.”

“What is it?” She touched his shoulders gently. She knew it was too affectionate considering her resolve to not act on her feelings. He made it difficult.

“”It’s just, I…” He trailed off, laughing nervously and looked about the hall as if to avoid Liss’ gaze altogether. “Lucia and I planned to visit Highever together. It was a long time ago, but it just made me think.”

“Oh.”

“But she’s not here, is she,” he spat, an edge to his words that was sharper than Liss was used to hearing from him, even when he was at his most sarcastic, “She probably doesn’t even remember.”

“I don’t have to go, if that makes you uncomfortable.” She offered him a smile she didn’t mean and made an attempt to sound much less disappointed than she was. She really did want to go home, and the trip would be much better if she didn’t have to go alone. “I just thought I would offer, you know, since I know my way around.”

“I -- no. You should come.” His answer was quick and he seemed just as surprised at it as she was.

“I don’t want to spoil your trip.” She kept the excitement at bay, expecting him to rethink his decision at any minute.

“You? Spoil something? Never. ” Alistair no longer seemed nervous, the smile that crossed his lips soft and genuine and Liss was very confused. “Please come. I could use the company.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

He nodded. “Of course! Shall we leave first thing in the morning?”.

“So long as you can bear to look at me without my beauty sleep.”

“You don’t need it anyway.” He made the mark rather casually, but immediately flinched and muttered a Sweet Maker under his breath. He looked at her apologetically, though he did not recant what he said and it brought a warmth to her face.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she laughed, patting him on the shoulder as she walked past him and down the hall to her room.

They did, in fact, leave the first thing the next morning, and Liss questioned her judgement. The journey from Denerim to Highever was just long enough that riding straight through was uncomfortable. In the midst of a Fereldan winter, it was completely unbearable. She did not appreciate the frigid air and frozen rain that smacked against her face. It was a miserable time, enough that she did not even feel like speaking until she and Alistair set up camp at the end of the day, and was able to thaw herself by the fire.

“You know,” he began, a playful tone in his voice, “ if you stand any closer to that fire, you’ll roast yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad right now.” She struggled to speak through shivers and chattering teeth. “I’d sit inside of it if it weren’t, you know, for the burning flesh.” She rubbed her hands together furiously in a vain attempt to keep them warm.

“I take it you’re not used to being out in the elements?”

Liss darted her head around to glare at him. “Of course I am! What do you take me for? Orlesian ?”

“My apologies, Lady Cousland.” He threw his hands up, and tried to keep his tone sincere, but she could see the laughter in his eyes. “I just assumed you’d have more comfortable traveling accommodations. That’s all.”

Liss huffed. “Bryce Cousland would never have his children being soft and spoiled. ‘You’re Fereldan! Fereldans are hardy!’ He always said things like that.”

Her heart sank into her stomach at the thought of her father, his final words to her echoing in her ears almost as clearly if he were there. He could have told her to be strong or brave, and bid her to avenge the family. In that moment, he could have charged her with anything, made any request, and she would have sworn on her life to see it through. Her father was her hero, after all. Of course, he’d made no such requests of her. As he lay there on the floor, wounded, prepared to die so that she might have a chance to escape he made her promise to him that she would live a happy life. Now, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to keep that promise. She could scarcely remember what happy felt like.

She paused, looking into the fire and steadying herself with a smile before walking away from the flames to sit by Alistair. “I’m Fereldan. I’m hardy. It doesn’t mean I have to like the cold.”

Alistair frowned and he sat in somber silence, appearing to search for something to say. “Your father sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was the best ,” she managed to answer, smiling even though tears welled in the corners of her eyes. It was strange to be so sad over someone whose memory was so happy. “I’ll never forgive that traitorous vulture, Howe, for what he did to my family.”

“I’m… so sorry,” Alistair muttered, his kind eyes overflowing with sympathy that made her chest hurt.

“Queen Anora told me the Warden-Commander killed him. She said that he’d taken her prisoner, and it was the only way to save her.”

“Yes,” he answered quietly, looking off into the distance, likely trying to remember the exact details, “In the process of freeing Anora, we stumbled upon his dungeon. Hundreds of innocent people tortured and killed.” He paused and laughed bitterly. “He got what he deserved, if you ask me.”

“Good,” she asserted, leaning into Alistair and resting her head on his shoulder almost unconsciously. Her desire for warmth and comfort outweighed her reservations. To her surprise, he seemed to welcome contact as well, even going so far as to wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her closer to him. Perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps it was something else, but he’d never been so openly affectionate with her.

“I guess,” he spoke, finally, clearing his throat, “Well… I know what it’s like to lose everything. I’d never really had a family until Duncan recruited me. When I lost them I felt so empty, and alone.”

She shook her head, angry with herself for once again failing to realize she wasn’t the only one who’d had a traumatic year. “And then you had to save the world on top of it all. It’s kind of impressive.”

“Oh, I don’t know about saving the world,” he laughed away her praise, clearly uncomfortable with it. “I couldn’t have done any of it on my own.”

“You aren’t giving yourself enough c-credit.” Liss shuddered.

“Maker’s Breath, Liss,” Alistair exclaimed, “You’re still shaking.”

“I’m still cold,” she mumbled into his shoulder, her own breath warming her nose. “And now I’m sad, too.”

“I know.” He nodded, leaning forward and turning his gaze to the fire before looking back to her, “Me, too.”

Alistair removed the heavy blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders and draped it around Liss’, atop the other blanket under which she was already huddled. His eyes met hers as he did so, lingering, expressing more than he probably would have been able to conjure up with words. It was an overwhelming urge she experienced, to lean in slowly and press her lips to his. It was soft, hesitant, and he had enough time to pull away if he wanted to. Something in his eyes told her that he wouldn’t, and she hadn’t been wrong.

Still, she pulled away, searching his face for any sign that she’d overstepped, but there was none, and as she attempted to mutter an apology, he interrupted her with a kiss of his own, deeper, more urgent than hers had been. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, pulling her into an embrace. She allowed herself to become lost in the moment, reveling in the warmth and comfort, in the taste of his lips and the smell of his hair. It was a horrible idea, and she knew it, but it felt so good, and so right. For the first time since she lost her family, she didn’t feel alone, and that was not something she could apologize for.

Without trying, and even with active attempts not to, she had come to care for him, to love him. She knew it was most likely a mistake, but in the moment, with his arms around her, holding her so close, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #cousland #alistair #cousland x alistair #I promise this really is a nate/cousland fic #i swear #temperance #update #my writing

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