#house trevelyan

[herald-divine-hell]

reminder that House Trevelyan does exist in real life.

They even got their horses, too. Lmao

[gogogodzilla]

Lovers' Quarrel || Cullen Rutherford

Summary: The inquisitor's family betroths them to someone other than Cullen, and on top of that the anchor is spreading.

Note: Some hurt/comfort, light angst, and Cullen being a sweetheart <3 Also, this is an x reader story that will remain as gender-neutral as possible! Set a few months before Trespasser.

{Part 2} {Masterlist}

You were used to the anchor hurting. You were used to the uncomfortable tug that radiated from your palm and moved all the way up to your shoulder every time you closed a rift. But, this was different. This was blinding pain that seared you to your very core. 

It began as a slight burning in the center of your palm that happened every time you got stressed or your emotions ran high. It flared when your friends left Skyhold to continue their lives elsewhere. They had their own lives; you understood, but your heart still ached each time you had to say goodbye. 

You got good at hiding it. That was until it got so bad it brought you to your knees, clutching your left hand to your chest as the anchor flared for a moment before quieting. 

You knew you should tell Cullen, but you didn’t want to worry him. You could handle this. You fought against Corypheus, for Maker's sake.

You slightly shook out your hand before leaning forward to examine the war table. You prayed that a flare-up could wait until after this meeting was over. 

“I’ve received a letter from Baron Maxwell Van Serant who will assist us in translating the dragon manuscript for Professor Frederic,” Josephine commented before reaching to move one of the silver pieces off the map. 

Your grip on the arm of your chair tightened— a genius addition by Josephine considering how much time you spend here. 

You nodded, “Good, do whatever you need to do.” 

“Dangerous words, Inquisitor,” Leliana joked, her eyes meeting yours from across the table. 

You rolled your eyes, relaxing slightly into your chair, “You know what I meant.” 

“I believe we’re finished for the evening, then,” Cullen interrupted. 

You rose from your seat, barely holding back a sigh of relief. You waited for Cullen to reach your side before lacing your hands together. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand as you drifted towards the heavy wooden doors of the war room. 

“Actually,” Josephine’s polite voice caused you to halt and you turned around, biting back a sigh. “I have one more matter to discuss with you, Inquisitor,” Josephine paused, considering her next words, “It’s somewhat of a sensitive topic.” 

You looked up at Cullen for a brief moment before turning your focus back to Josephine, who was flipping through the papers on her clipboard and avoiding your gaze.

 “What is it?” You questioned, moving back to your original spot at the table. 

Josephine finally found what she was looking for, and she held out a neatly folded piece of paper, “It's from House Trevelyan.” 

You took the letter from her and began to skim through it. Your heart began to race.

“It is time to fulfill my duty to this family and unite our house with another… They’ve arranged for my marriage to one,” you paused scanning for the name of the unlucky person your parents betrothed you to, “Marion Jager.” 

You were trembling as you set the letter on the table, and Cullen quickly snatched it up, his eyes darting across the page. 

“This is ridiculous!” Cullen exclaimed before throwing the letter onto the table. “Th- they can’t just hand you over to someone else,” he was looking between you, Josephine, and Leliana, begging for anyone to provide a solution. 

You leaned against the war table, your legs becoming unsteady under you, “They just did.” Bile began to burn in the back of your throat and you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths. 

“We have to do something,” Cullen insisted, laying a hand gently on your lower back, “I won’t let them take you from me.” 

The familiar burning sensation came back to your palm, and you straightened. You didn’t need Cullen to see you like this. Not yet. 

“Thank you for telling me, Josephine. I’ll handle it from here,” the letter crinkled from how tightly you were holding it, and you turned on your heel and left the war room. Cullen called after you, but you ignored him; pain was radiating up your forearm and it’d be just moments before the mark would flare. 

You focused all of your energy on climbing the stairs to your quarters, taking them two at a time. You burst through the door of your quarters and made a beeline for your desk. You pressed your hands firmly into the wooden surface, and squeezed your eyes shut. 

Stupid family. Stupid duty. Stupid marriage—

A strangled cry left your lips as you grabbed a book from your table and launched it across your room. It landed with a thud halfway across the room. 

Modest in temper, bold in deed. That was the Trevelyan House motto. You wondered if your actions hadn't been enough for them. Why weren't you enough for them?

“My love?” Cullen called as he climbed the stairs, his curly blond hair coming into view through the banister. 

You turned back to your desk. You’d rather take on five dragons rather than face Cullen now. 

He came to a stop a few feet from you, “Are you alright?” 

“Cullen, please,” you croaked, and you put all of your weight on your desk. The pain had traveled up to your shoulder now. 

“Talk to me,” he begged, taking a step toward you. 

“Get out!” You screeched as you whipped around to face him, but you were too late. 

The anchor flared an angry green and pain shot up your arm like wildfire. Your vision went white for a moment and you fell to your knees. It felt like needles were being stabbed into your skin and you held your hand close to your chest. You let out a strained gasp as the pain began to subside. 

Cullen was at your side in an instant, calling your name and begging you to look at him. Your lips were moving but you couldn’t make out what you were saying. Your ears were ringing.

“Please, my love, just look at me,” he grabbed your limp form and pulled you into his lap. 

You were crying now, silent words leaving your mouth quicker than your mind could process. 

Cullen pulled your head to his shoulder, the other one supporting your back. You nuzzled into the fur wrapped around his shoulders and took a shuddering breath. 

"I'm okay," you croaked out. 

Cullen shook his head, "You were praying." 

Ah, so that's what you were saying. 

Travelyan's have always been pious people. Their devotion to the Chantry was sacred to them. You spent most of your life preparing to fulfill the role your parents set out for you. You were to become a Templar or a member of the Chantry. That was until the Chantry blew up and you obtained this wretched mark and became the Herald of Andraste. That seemed to placate your family until now.

Even when you abandoned the Chantry and their teachings, you still found comfort in the Chant… in the Maker. 

"How… how long has this been happening?" Cullen questioned as he smoothed your hair and held you close. 

You sighed, "Up until recently it was bearable."  

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tears were running freely down his cheeks and you wanted to fling yourself off of the rookery. 

The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.  

"I was scared," you whisper, and the admission feels like a weight off your chest. Fear was something you dealt with alone, always having to put on a brave face. 

You wiped his tears away and he continued, "I'll do anything in my power to help you; you just have to let me." 

You kissed him, hoping that your actions could say what your words couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm scared of losing you. I don't want to die.

He pulled away when the need for oxygen became too great. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen you were getting that emboldened you to whisper your thoughts against his lips, "Marry me." 

"What?" 

You grinned as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Marry me, and we won't have to worry about this Marion," you took on a more serious tone, "We can just be together for however much time I have left." 

"Don't say that, we can figure out the anchor. Together. Married or not," he said as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

You shifted so you were straddling him, and you tilted your head, "Don't you want to get married?" 

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips before moving on to kiss the rest of your face. "Of course,  I do. But," you let out an exaggerated groan and he continued, "I want to get married because we want to, not because some heathen thinks they're betrothed to the love of my life." 

"You sure do have a way with words, Commander," you murmured, running your hands along his shoulders. 

"I love you," he breathed, as he ran his hands gently up your sides.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him once more. Your lips moved in tandem and you ran your fingers through his hair. 

You inserted an 'I love you' between each kiss, hoping that if you chanted it long enough it may dull some of the fear of what's to come. Your love would persevere. It had to.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Dragon Age, plz be kind :')

[trixter-god]

The twins Mealor and Meagor and baby sister Astraea

Children of Lord Vaemon Trevelyan (lord of the Hearth and protector of the old flame) and Lady Aela Arryn (twin sisters of Queen Aemma)

[cityandking]

trevelyan siblings inquisition au. companion!vepser & inquisitor!rosie trevelyan. 1.5k.

in the world where rosaline trevelyan emerges from the breach alive, hand glowing and newly contemplating a faith she thought she had left behind, vesper stumbles into haven at sunset near a week later, haggard and half-starved and leading a quartet of faltering apprentices.

rosie is gone when she gets there, ridden east to the hinterlands with her newfound companions, and so it is something of an unpleasant surprise when the mage apostate claims to be of the house trevelyan. there is much discussion among the inner circle (which is, at that point, only the advisors) about what to do with her, and the children, until the herald returns, and vesper politely offers to spend the night in the dungeon, because there is at least a roof for their heads and a thin stew for their bellies.

(one of the apprentices eats until she is sick, and vesper holds her hair through the night, keeps watch. old habits, you know.)

(one of them, sickly and frail already, dies in the night. all vesper can muster is hollow exhaustion.)

there are questions aplenty in the morning: who is she (vesper trevelyan, youngest daughter of bann raymond trevelyan of ostwick and lady valérie hirondelle of val chevin); where is she from (the circle at ostwick); why is she here (for the conclave); how is she alive (they were late on account of the apprentice’s illness and saw the explosion from afar); why have they come to haven (they saw smoke and sought shelter).

in the end, leliana finds her harmless enough, and she and the children are given meager quarters and a guard (for their protection or for that of the town is unclear) and allowed to wait for rosie’s final judgement.

(a sentence would be far kinder than waiting for the word of a sister she has not spoken to in some fifteen years, but that choice, like so many others, is not hers to make.)

she is lucky; rosie returns within the day with the good word of a chantry mother and a trio of companions vesper cannot in her wildest dreams imagine her sister willingly befriending. they all disappear into the chantry, and it is hours before her elder sister emerges.

it is one thing to be told chance has turned your sister into the last hope of the world; it is another to see it for yourself. as far as vesper can tell, all she looks is older.

it is not a pleasant reunion.

rosie is unfailingly cold, sharp-edged as ever. it has been a long, long time but vesper remembers her sister’s anger and the subtle cruelty of it. this, at least, is not the willful hurt of their youth. there is something more desperate about it, and vesper understands desperation like a native tongue, one they now share. in the end she is allowed to stay so long as she makes herself useful, so she does.

it is something of a comfort to be a hedgewitch rather than a rebel apostate, to put her skills to work as a healer, to craft complex wards to keep scouts and soldiers safe. the spymaster watches her work at first, and eventually wariness warms to quiet friendship. she takes a swift liking to the dwarf and his stories, and a shy liking to the commander. she learns a great deal from the elven apostate, about magic and the fade and living beyond a circle. she watches from afar as her sister collects followers and faithful as though she were andraste herself, and is oddly grateful to be near her through this.

when the time comes for rosie to choose a side and close the breach, her sister looks her in the eyes and elects to work with the mages in Redcliffe, and asks if vesper will come with. it is, vesper thinks, the first time they have truly seen each other in some twenty years.

(there is a long, forgotten year that follows, and vesper survives through burning anger long enough to send her sister back to try again. it is a good thing to forget those horrors. it is a better thing to be sure they never happened at all.)

a handful of mages march back with them, a vanguard to lend their aid in sealing the breach, and it is odd to be among them again, like wearing old clothes that no longer fit. she avoids their glances, walks quietly with the seeker instead and tries not to think too much of the knowing glances leveled at her.

“the herald did a good thing here,” cassandra says quietly as they bed down for the night, bone-weary. “perhaps you should speak to her of it.”

“my sister has never valued my judgement,” vesper tells her, bluntness born of surprise, but she seeks out her sister anyways. she finds her staring deep into the fire, and does not say anything as she sits, only offers silent invitation.

the trevelyan children have always been particularly good at reading each other. how else would they know where to hit where it most hurts?

(”you were so real,” rosie says when the fire is almost embers. vesper glances in her direction to see her staring at the burnished glow. the light turns her hair copper. “it was like a dream, but you were so real. you called me posie.”

it is an old, old nickname, and hearing it here, now— something catches in versper’s throat. but she has never been one to make a scene; she swallows it away.

“you all died, so I could come back.”

“you can end it,” vesper says quietly. rosie looks up.

“I know,” she says, and there is new-forged iron in her voice. it is strange to hear such decisiveness from her, from roxie’s shadow. perhaps they have both grown more than vesper has realized. “I will. will you stay?”

vesper had not even thought to leave. “yes.”

“good.” and she is quiet again. vesper finds herself smiling at the fading fire. a little care and attention, she thinks inexplicably, and it will roar back to life. there is something comforting in that.)

there are things to see to when they return, and vesper is relieved to escape the scrutiny of the mages and rosie’s companions alike. she watches from the chantry as her sister seals the hole in the sky.

the festivities are a nice change of pace. the attack is more of the same.

it is harder than she cares to admit to follow the commander, half wanting to linger in wait for her sister and knowing that this sacrifice will mean nothing if they do not flee.

the worst of it comes when her companions stumble out of the snow and smoke without her.

(there is magic, she wants to say, but the words stick in her throat, forbidden. there are magics of blood and binding she can do to find her, to find out if—

rosie stumbles out of the wind and snow hours after sunset and vesper’s relief leaves her shaking, and there is something awful about it, about caring so much and wanting it so little.

she is there when rosie wakes, and neither speak of it. there is far too much between them, around them, weighing upon them. there is far too much, and far too little time. some things must wait.)

skyhold is a comfort. there is something humming through the stone, some old magic that is almost familiar, and it is the most at home she has felt perhaps since she was a girl. leliana allows her a workstation to call her own off the gardens, and rosie brings her along now and again on her travels and it is— there is something free about it. something of worth. something far more fulfilling than she has ever imagined might exist.

rosie’s companions are a strange sort, and it takes her a long time to realize she counts among them, and that realization, more than anything, has her seeking out her sister, asking why.

“I don’t think we’ll ever fix it,” rosie says, and vesper does not need to ask what it is; there is bad blood aplenty between them, burnt bridges and thick walls. but there is trick with burning—fields must be scorched clean so life may grow fresh. “but maybe we can make it a little better. the whole world is changing, sister. I think maybe we can try to be better people with it.”

rosie, vesper discovers, is a leader she is proud to follow.

(she is right; it is not fixed, and some days they find their old soft spots and dig in until the whole keep simmers with that old, cruel bitterness. but some days are not all days, and slowly, slowly, they fill the space between them with something akin to friendship.)

(helene shows up at skyhold six weeks after they declare rosaline trevelyan inquisitor, and that is a whole new dynamic to this particular disaster, but this generation of trevelyans are nothing if not unpredictable.

besides. vesper’s a fan of anything that will leave father rolling in his grave. some battles are worth the sweat and blood, and she has missed having a family.)

[blackvoidspace]

Daemon Targaryen and Jacaerys Velaryon

Stepfather, stepson, father-in-law, son-in-law and great-uncle and great-nephew.

[melisusthewee]

Morris closed the distance between them with one swift stride and clasped Quinn's head in his hands.  He looked at him, a look of intense concentration flashing in his eyes before his grin widened and he leaned in.

"You are an ass, Quinn Trevelyan, but I adore you all the same," Morris breathed, and kissed him soundly.

- Nothing Else Than What Is Now

Celebrating Day 2 of OC Kiss Week with something self-indulgent and using my own OCs.  Both Horatio Morris and Quinn Trevelyan are my creation.  Art inspired by the above fic about them!

And Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you!

[justmorelemons]

🪶 ⚔️ art request ⚔️🪶

Hope Trevelyan, the youngest and the tenderest of his family, the one who walks by, a quiet protector of his sister's secrets.

[vigilskeep]

[ID: reply from @idkjustsomegames saying “Ooh can we see screenshots of the new inquisitor?”]

sure! this is lady beatrice trevelyan. my sad wet chantry mouse.

she was just an impulse creation from last night so it remains to be seen if i will continue with her + all questions about her backstory still need to be hammered out. (she’s of age, why hasn’t she been given to the chantry yet? who was she with at the conclave, who did she lose? where did a sheltered young noblewoman get the scar that i give to like half my inquisitors because i’m obsessed with it?) but i really enjoyed playing her! surprised myself with how much honestly. i always love playing characters who meet the setting where it’s at

[vultures-and-scavengers]

how it starts vs how it ends (the fucking literal closest i can get to a rivalmance, bioware can you let me be even a little mean to him bc he kinda fucking deserves to be yelled at a bit over some of his comments and its not like he'd be thrilled about an orlesian noblewoman whos fairly anti-violence and a bit useless in a fight as herald)

[eastgaysian]

divine victoria #cancelled for her not-actually-secret lover who she is devoted to but of course can never marry being a man 10 years younger than her. Nothing about the joint abuse of religious or political power though

[herald-divine-hell]

Personal headcanon that the Qunari actually did take Ostwick during the Third Exalted March against the Qunari in 7:56 (since the lore is vague on if Ostwick was seized, which I imagine they were because of their actions in implementing the famed double walls), and that because of that, and the wounded pride of being the first Free Marcher city-state to fall to the Qunari, there is still substantial anti-Qun sentiment in the city, bolstered by Ostwickian song-tales of the faithful Andrastanians (led or not by House Trevelyan) in turning back the Qunari on their own.

(Yes, my idea is based on a noble woman of House Trevelyan in Amayian's worldstate having a bastard Qunari child which explains why the Trevelyans are canonically so tall in his story; and that noble woman, named Malalia, claimed the heads of many Qunari, dancing upon her saddle like golden fringe, bearing a spear with the banner of the Chantry tied to one end).

[gogogodzilla]

Happily Ever After || Cullen Rutherford

Summary: Cullen decides to fight for his love. For better or worse.

Note: Part 2 to Lovers' Quarrel from Cullen's POV. Heavily inspired by this post! Go check out their work, it's amazing!

{Part 1}

Cullen was a man dedicated to his job. Or, well, he liked to think he was. But, as he half-read the reports on his desk, he found his mind wandering. His lover’s unwilling betrothal to someone else has plagued his mind in the days since he found out. Not to mention that the Inquisitor might die if they didn’t find a way to stop the mark from spreading. 

 The creaking of the door to his office caught his attention, and he raised his head to greet whoever decided to visit him. 

“Leliana,” he nodded to the spymaster, and stood from his desk, “what are you doing here?” 

Leliana took a few steps towards his desk, “The Inquisitor's situation is an unfortunate one. Josephine can only do so much on her side, and there’s no guarantee the Inquisitor would be freed from the commitment.” 

He clenched his fists at his side, “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because,” Leliana had that glint in her eyes that she got when she was suggesting something morally questionable, “there is something you can do to help them.” 

“What is it?” Cullen’s answer was instantaneous. Anything to help his love. Although, the look on Leliana’s face unsettled him a bit. 

She leaned in, “You could duel this Marion Jager for the Inquisitor’s hand and be done with it.” 

“No, they wouldn’t want me to do that for them,” he replied forcefully. 

Leliana straightened and crossed her arms, “Think about it, Commander.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left his office. 

He slowly sank back into his chair. Leliana did have a point. If he could duel this Marion then the Inquisitor would be freed from them. He was running out of options, and right now this seemed like the best one. 

He would fight for his love, then. Nothing was going to get in between them. 

The next day, he arranged for one of his people to deliver the challenge for a duel. He felt horrible for going behind the Inquisitor’s back, but white-hot determination quickly overcame that guilt. 

He was issuing the command when the Inquisitor came into his office. “I need this sent out immediately,” he commanded before dismissing the soldier. The soldier nodded to him before taking their leave, bowing slightly to the Inquisitor as they passed. 

The Inquisitor nodded to the soldier before returning their focus to Cullen. He couldn’t help the way his heart beat faster whenever they looked at him. It made him feel like a teenager all over again. 

“I love when you use that tone of voice,” the Inquisitor purred as they made their way around his desk and took a seat on the edge. They pulled him closer to them by the waist, and he stood between their legs.

He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to their lips, “How are you feeling?” 

They followed him as he pulled away to ask his question, their noses bumping together for a moment before the Inquisitor leaned in. He set his hands on either side of their hips, trapping them at his desk. 

“Better, now that I’m with you,” was their cheeky response as they leaned in again. You would think that they hadn’t seen each other in years, the way they were wrapped up in one another. Although, he wouldn’t forget the events of earlier that morning for a very long time. 

“If you’re trying to sweet-talk me, it’s working,” he whispered against their lips. They let out a giggle, as they released their hold on him to cup his face in their hands and deepen the kiss. 

He let out a groan as the Inquisitor’s hands moved to run through his hair, and he pushed them toward the edge of his desk. 

They pulled away, lips shiny and plump from their endeavors. “Your presence is requested in the war room, Commander,” they panted out, a blush dusting their cheeks. He knew he was bright red based purely on how hot he felt. 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he breathed. Maker, help him. 

He stepped away, allowing the Inquisitor to rise from his desk. He offered them his arm, which they graciously took. 

“Have you and Josephine made any progress on the betrothal situation?” He asked nonchalantly as they made their way through the rotunda, Solas’s old paintings scattered across the walls. It filled him with some sadness to see the area so empty. 

The Inquisitor paused to stare at one of the murals, “No, but we’re getting there.” They deflated slightly, and he stepped in front of them, preventing them from walking any further. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured as he lifted their face so they’d look at him. They kissed him, short and sweet, before dragging him to the war room. 

They entered together before reluctantly separating to take their usual seats. Josephine wandered over to the Inquisitor and they began talking in hurried whispers. 

“I see you took my suggestion, Commander,” Leliana smirked as she leaned closer to him. 

He huffed, “Can you keep them busy when I have to go?”

“Just say the word,” she murmured, before returning her attention to the Inquisitor who was finishing her conversation with Josephine. 

The Inquisitor’s eyes darted between Cullen and Leliana, and his heart sank. They knew.

“Shall we begin?” The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, a slight grin gracing their features. 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he replied.

A few days passed before he received a response to his challenge. A runner entered his office with a message which stated that an envoy had just arrived from Marion Jager, and he was waiting to speak with Cullen. 

“Send him to my office,” Cullen told the messenger who simply nodded in response. Cullen stood at his desk for a few moments, mulling over what to say to this envoy. Hopefully, their meeting would be quick, and he could get right to the part where he destroys the person who threatened to take his love from him. 

A lanky man wearing the usual Orlesian half-mask entered his office, and Cullen held back a sneer. He never understood why Orlesians insisted on wearing those ridiculous masks. 

“Greeting, Commander,” the man stood tall in front of his desk, “I am here on behalf of Sovereign Marion Jager. They accept your challenge and shall expect you in Val Royeaux.” 

Cullen nodded, “I’ll be there.” 

“Good, I will let the Sovereign know. Good day, Commander,” the man gave him a slight bow and took his leave. 

Cullen felt his pulse quicken. He needed to think of an excuse that would allow him to be gone for at least a week without the Inquisitor knowing. 

“I need your help,” Cullen said and Leliana stood in front of him, the warm afternoon light shining in through the window behind her. The ruffling of feathers sounded behind him, and he tried to ignore it. He wasn’t particularly fond of the rookery. 

“Ah, Commander, right on time,” she replied with a knowing smile. 

He sighed, “Can you distract them? I need to go to-”

“Val Royeaux, yes, I know.” 

He never quite understood just how Leliana seemed to know everything that occurred in Skyhold. She just did. Although, he supposed it was her job to know everything just like it was his job to whip the recruits into shape. 

“I’ll need about a week to get there, just keep them busy until I can get back,” he continued. Normally, he wouldn’t dare lie to the Inquisitor, but these were different circumstances. The guilt still tore him up inside, though. 

Leliana hummed, “I’m sure Josie and I can think of something.” 

“You cannot include Josephine in this,” he stressed, “you know how she gets when it comes to the Inquisitor.” Josephine was one of his closest friends, but he knew that she couldn’t keep a secret from the Inquisitor. All they had to do was give her ‘the look’ and she was spilling everything. 

“We need everyone on board for this, which includes Josephine,” Leliana countered, raising a brow at him. 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck before letting out a deep sigh, “Fine. Just buy me some time. Please.” 

“Of course, Commander. When will you leave?” She asked, a victorious glint in her eyes. 

He narrowed his before replying, “As soon as possible. I’d like to get this over as soon as possible.” 

Footsteps behind him caused him to turn and he blanched. Shit.

The Inquisitor ascended the steps and looked between the two of them. “Are you going somewhere, Commander?” They questioned, taking a few steps toward Cullen. 

He opened his mouth, ready to come clean. He knew when he’d been caught. 

“The Commander was just telling me that he received word from Emperor Gaspard asking for his assistance in training the Orlesian troops,” Leliana covered for him almost instantaneously. Thank the Maker. 

The Inquisitor’s gaze shifted solely to Cullen, a slight frown gracing her features, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Maker, he wanted to come clean right there and then. Anything to stop the disappointment from gracing her features. 

“I just wanted to make sure Gaspard was telling the truth before I came to you,” he was sweating, and he hoped the Inquisitor couldn’t tell. He was quick to remedy the situation, or possibly dig a deeper hole for himself.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks, at most,” he moved forward to encase their hands in his, “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.” That was a lie. He knew that the Inquisitor would never stop him from taking this opportunity. He also knew that he was going to Val Royeaux no matter what. 

The Inquisitor looked over his shoulder to Leliana, and they nodded, “Alright, Cullen… Just come back to me, okay?” 

“Always, my love,” he said softly and pressed a kiss to the forehead.

Maker, he was the worst. 

The journey to Val Royeaux was eventless. Cullen’s muscles ached from the long days on horseback, but he knew it’d be worth it. He’d do anything if it meant his love would stay in his life. 

He was on edge as he entered the golden gates, standing up a little straighter and hand resting on his sword at his side. 

Cullen entered the round marketplace, the white stone nearly blinding him. A figure approached him and he stopped in his tracks. They were probably the only other person without a mask on, and they narrowed their eyes. Two servants in full metal masks stood behind them with rapiers held out in their hands like an offering. 

“I am Sovereign Jager of Ostwick, rightfully betrothed to Inquisitor Trevelyan,” they asserted before turning to the servants and grabbing a rapier in each hand. “I have to say, I was surprised to hear of a challenger for the Inquisitor’s hand, but I accept your challenge nonetheless,” they said before tossing him a rapier. 

He caught it effortlessly and narrowed his eyes at his opponent. Anyone would be lucky to have the Inquisitor’s hand. He thanked the Maker for every day they allowed him to remain in their life. 

A crowd started to form to watch their altercation. He would’ve preferred that their duel didn’t occur in a public place, but he bit the inside of his cheek and stifled his complaints. 

“Before we begin, I trust the weapon is to your satisfaction?” They asked as they began circling each other, waiting for the other one to strike.

His grip on the rapier tightened, “It’ll do.” 

They let out a laugh before swishing their rapier in the air, “Then let us begin.” And with that, their duel began. Cullen made a mental note to thank the Iron Bull for helping him prepare for the duel. Bull was slightly more enthusiastic about it than he was, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

They exchanged blows for a few moments before Marion took a few steps back and laughed, “You’ve done well for an unsophisticated oaf such as yourself.”

He charged at them, and their swords came together with a clang. He pushed them backward, channeling all of his frustration into his swings. Their swords clashed together with neither of them giving in, and they were inches apart. 

“Felling you in front of the Inquisitor would provide a poor impression of House Jager to my betrothed,” they said with a smirk. 

“You won’t so much as touch them,” Cullen growled before they pushed him away. He stumbled backward but caught himself. 

Marion raised their rapier, “I admire your determination, Commander, but you cannot hope–” 

“Stop!” someone in the crowd cried. He knew that voice. Shit.

The Inquisitor pushed past two onlookers, nearly knocking them over in the process. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen straightened, and his ears turned red. He felt like a teen getting caught fighting in the barracks with a fellow Templar. 

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, what are you doing?” They demanded as they marched toward him. It was times like this that reminded him just how terrifying the Inquisitor could be. 

He flushed a deeper red, suddenly embarrassed. “I can’t take the chance that you might have to marry them,” he defended, throwing an accusing finger at Marion. 

“That is not your decision to make!” They fumed, hands clenching at their sides. Maker, they were furious. “You lied to me,” they continued, “all so you two could fight over my hand like children! The Inquisition needs you, I need you.” 

Cullen threw his rapier to the side, “I love you, and I would do whatever it takes to keep you in my life… If that means dueling for your hand, then so be it. ”

Their eyes softened and they grabbed the neck of his armor, pulling him down for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around them, needing them closer. 

“If I may, Inquisitor,” Marion interjected, and they reluctantly parted, “I’d assumed your affair with the commander was one out of passion or convenience, but I see now that that was not the case.” 

The Inquisitor intertwined their fingers with his, and Marion continued, “I am not fool enough to stand in the way of true affection. House Jager regretfully withdrawals the terms of our betrothal.” 

“Thank you,” the Inquisitor replied, a slight smile on their lips. Marion bowed and turned on their heel. 

Cullen took the Inquisitor in his arms once again, “I cannot apologize enough, my love. I should have told you about the duel.” 

“Yes, you should have,” the Inquisitor pursed their lips, before draping their arms around his neck, “But considering the fact you’re still alive, I’ll forgive you.” 

He kissed their lips, hoping that his actions could convey just how thankful he was for them. 

“Don’t ever lie to me again,” they ordered, grabbing his face with one of their hands and bringing him to their level. 

He nodded, and their mouth curved into a smile. They placed a gentle kiss on his lips and released his face from their grasp. 

Maker help him; he was going to marry the Inquisitor if it was the last thing he does.

[starwrittenfates]

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇

Clan Lavellan is a nomadic Dalish clan that wanders the wilderness in the northern Free Marches between the territorial boundaries of the city-states to avoid being attacked by humans, who will be less inclined to attack the Dalish out of fear of accidentally instigating one of their neighbors by infringing on their territory. Like other Dalish clans, they maintain their religious and cultural views despite the Chantry criminalizing the elven faith.

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝. 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸.

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧

Based on the Irish, Scottish, and Celtic Paganism. They are forest dwellers with their main sources of food coming from foraging and hunting.

Clan Lavellan is community oriented and focused on family. Children are few and rare and for this reason looked at as blessings from the elven gods.

A clan of mostly hunters, healers, navigators and storytellers with mages being a rarity. Clan Lavellan is one of the rare one's to limit their mages to two or three. That's why when Ellana is born (even with a strange green glow around her), at first it concerns her parents and clan, but it is soon forgotten, being looked at as a sign of her being a future mage, of which the clan was in desperate need of since the Keeper was the only mage at the time.

When Ellana is little and shows more signs of her abilities as a mage, practically having a natural talent for magic, Keeper Deshanna trains her. Not long after when Ellana's parents are killed, Keeper Deshanna adopts Ellana as her own daughter too, preparing to make her her First (apprentice mage to the Keeper.)

Keeper Deshanna is an older woman who had lost her husband and child in an accident many years ago. She is a powerful mage and wonderful storyteller, looking at Ellana as a second chance to start over as a mother.

Despite her role in the clan, Ellana comes off as a bit odd or a "Black Sheep" at times. She not only shows a bit of a rebellious streak and a ton of willful spirit, but she tends to be open-minded about certain things that go against the things she is taught within her clan that also gets her into trouble---- for one, Ellana is curious about spirits and the Fade and thinks they aren't something to be afraid of. However, Dalish mages do not use any magic involving spirits, as they believe all spirits are dangerous. The Dalish believe “there’s no such thing as a good spirit”. Spirits cannot be broken down into clear-cut categories and differ from each other, just as people do. Furthermore, the Dalish do not think of demons as evil, but as wild animals, dangerous if treated carelessly.

There was an incident one time where Ellana snuck away from camp to leave an offering of spiced jerky at a statue for Fen'Harel out of compassion for the often looked down upon elven god. Ellana then found herself face to face with a lone wolf, of which was killed in front of her by one of the hunters from the clan. It was a traumatic moment, and one she never forgot, not only because Keeper Deshanna scolded her, but because her act of compassion turned into a tragedy.

Ellana eventually takes her role as First to the Keeper of Clan Lavellan.

After Ellana goes to the conclave and becomes the Inquisitor, Clan Lavellan contacts her. Through an assortment of operations on the war table, the Lavellan clan, then camped out near the Free Marches city state of Wycome, becomes a part of a dangerous political mechanism, and is at risk of being wiped out if the proper options are not chosen. The clan is later attacked, accused of having brought a plague, and potentially become victim of human retribution for multiple charges of which they were innocent.

Ellana is now the last of Clan Lavellan.

[themournwatcher]

chewing on this codex entry from inquisition. for my transman trevelyan. no further comments at this time please

[rhetoricalrogue]

I’m trying to rework Marian’s avoidance to romance, especially when it comes to the working relationship turned “oh no, we both fell into feelings without realizing it” thing she has with Tristan.

Originally, she had a partner who was killed on a mission, and she carries this guilt that she was the one who caused his death (she wasn’t.) She closes herself off to feeling vulnerable ever again and is so angry that Tristan’s chipping away at her defenses without even trying.

I think now she still goes Ice Queen on everyone because there was a potential match where she genuinely felt love for but then realized she was being used in a play to either a) get in good business ties to her father’s successful brewery, b) capitalize on her parents’ fame to attempt to elevate their own, or c) both. She cuts all ties immediately but is heartbroken in the process. Rolfe just comes up to wherever she’s hidden herself to cry and hands her a handkerchief with:

“You want me to kill him? Because that’s what I do, you know. No one would ever find his body, I’m that good.”

“Thanks, Dad, but I’m okay.”

“Okay, but the offer is good whenever. Anything for you.”

Cue a few months or years later and there’s a chance encounter between a random Jenny (Marian) and the fabled Dark Wolf (Tristan) after the same target but with very different goals. After almost killing the other, they team up accomplish their respective missions, agree to a one night stand to vent some post-heist adrenaline, and go their separate ways. UNTIL.

The son of the Teyrn of Gwaren rolls up to meet with a former Inquisitor (or high ranking Inner Circle agent, I haven’t made up my mind on the details yet) under the cover of making a business deal for trade but is secretly being sent to help with this whole next generation threat brewing in Thedas. Both of them are very much “hello, nice to meet you for the very first time, yes we are complete strangers, how do you do” while Alex is doing the little brother mental math and screaming internally when the lightbulb lights up. As SOON as they’re alone, Alex is all

“You had sex with him.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You absolutely did so. You rolled in the hay. Held more than hands. Did the deed with Teyrn Nathaniel Howe’s only child, the son of Moira Cousland, best friend to the Hero of Ferelden, defeater of the fifth Bli-”

“How much will it take to buy your silence?”

“Don’t you mean HOWE much???”

“I’m going to stab you and make it look like you did it to yourself.”

“House Rule 24!”

“Sod the house rules.”

[dragcnage]

House Trevelyan + Name Meanings

Lord Otto Trevelyan, Bann of Ostwick and  Lady Lennore Trevelyan, nee Tarbolt of Hearthart in Ostwick

Their Children:

Lord Willard Trevelyan, Heir to Castle Trevelyan and Future Bann Lady Vayla Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste (Estranged) Lord Harald ‘Harry’ Trevelyan, Twin to Isadora  Lady Isadora ‘Dora’ Trevelyan, Twin to Harry Lord Uther Trevelyan, current Tempalr Trainee at the Ostwick Circle