#how often do you think about the fact that varric was killed by the same thing that started his and hawke's journey. i do frequently

[gvalesdraws]

veilguard endgame spoilers ‼️

beginning & end

[exantivancrow]

Hii! From the ask game

How quick is your OC to trust someone else?

Is your OC self-aware? Do they know their strengths, weaknesses, idiosyncrasies, are they capable of self-irony?

What are your OC’s gestures like? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

for any OCs you'd like! :]

hi laya!! ty for the ask! i wanted to use this opportunity to work on my barely fleshed–out dwarves, but also included rohan for some familiarity. quick overview, rohan brosca (canon warden); eirin cadash (da2 companion post-warden carver)/dai npc; zolah kondrat (varric’s publisher/fwb/merchant’s guild associate iliad-verse); poppy rolfe [cadash] (varric’s half sister in his own related-inky worldstate).

rohan is not quick to trust at all. in fact, bold of you to assume he trusts. he may have at one point, but after leske tried to kill him, everything fell apart. he kept expecting it, even from his companions. his relationship with everyone took a hit, and nobody ever really got over it except zevran. occasionally, rohan still won’t tell zevran something, fifteen years later, just because he doesn’t trust zev to be able to handle it. 

eirin is largely the same way. it’s not wise to trust people easily in kirkwall, and she’s lived there her whole life. she’s slow to trust, you have to really earn it. the only people she trusts are her brother, her bodyguard/second, and varric. some people she doesn’t trust, but she doesn’t not-trust either, if that makes sense. they’re just people that are incapable of betraying her because she doesn’t ask anything from them. 

zolah is rather quick to trust, depending on what she asks of you. she’ll trust you if she has no reason not to, but it’s kind of misleading, given she’ll set up contingencies anyway. but she doesn’t trust anyone else in the merchant’s guild except varric. 

poppy trusts everyone explicitly, she’s fairly naive. it’s mostly a defense mechanism given that her mother didn’t trust anyone after her father left them, and she’s determined not to live like that. it backfires sometimes. 

rohan is fairly self-aware; he definitely knows his strengths and weaknesses. his pride is capable of removing his ability for self-irony, but he’s not prideful about too much. his friendship with alistair and bethany help, they encourage him to open up, but honestly zev can make it worse. he has trouble laughing at himself when zev’s around, he just gets embarrassed. he’s not aware of idiosyncrasies at all though, he thinks it’s weird that you don’t do that. 

eirin is the least self-aware out of these three. she only knows her strengths and weaknesses regarding comabt/her job as a carta boss. she understands that she has idiosyncrasies but only in the way of avoiding exploitation. not capable of laughing at herself at all. least introspective. has no idea she’s got a crush on varric. 

zolah on the other hand is incredibly self aware. she knows all of this. loves to laugh at herself, especially when it means someone’s attempt at humiliation or blackmail doesn’t work. understand that she’s a little funky and uses it to her advantage. secure in her strengths, willing to work with others to overcome her weaknesses. 

poppy is averagely self-aware. she knows some of her abilities and disabilities, but introspection is not one of her primary past times, she’s got stuff to make. no time. 

rohan doesn’t gesture very often. it’s frequently lackadaisical. he’ll throw a hand in the direction they’re traveling when someone asks, or in the vicinity of the thing that he’s asking to be handed. a toss of his head in irritation for the same reasons. the most clear gestures he makes convey violence. 

eirin only gestures when she’s too tired to talk or nonverbal. which instance it is will change the behavior significantly. nonverbal? serious. vigorous. controlled. tired? mostly incomprehensible. 

zolah is very concise. she’ll point a finger, make a fist, cross her arms and cock her hip. typically, slow meaningful movements to convey that she’s serious. or she’ll lazily wave a hand to shrug varric off, but even then, it’s only portrayed as being effortless. 

poppy talks with her hands a lot. very impulsive, high energy, largely incomprehensible. 

thank you for the ask! it was a great opportunity to flesh out some more kids!

[lesetoilesfous]

Anders and ‘‘Murder’’ in Dragon Age

Ok so I’ve seen this a few times recently and want to break down my thoughts on it.

Anders is a murderer - this is true.*

(*Though there are some really great meta posts proving how by Dragon Age Canon he killed less than 100 people in the Chantry boom. I’m on mobile but if anyone wants to add that please do.)

Hawke is a murderer. Varric is a murderer. Isabela is a murderer. Fenris is a murderer. Aveline is a murderer. Merrill is a murderer. Sebastian is a murderer.

Guys you, you have a kill count. Hawke and their whole gang are a group of dangerous vigilantes who kill people according to their own personal moral judgements.

The difference between Anders’ Chantry Boom and the Kirkwall Crew’s merry decade of mass murder is that a) the Chantry Boom was the beginning of a Civil War b) That Civil War started, in part, to prevent a genocide

(Canonically, Meredith had called for the Rite of Annulment with no good reason. Canonically, she is going to enact it knowing the Circle mages are innocent. Canonically, the Gallows had over 800 innocent people inside including children and the elderly. Not to be utilitarian, but yes, I would kill 100 political and religious leaders in a corrupt, dictatorial, violent theocracy in order to save nearly a thousand innocent people.)

The third difference between Anders and Hawke and the gang’s multiple-hundreds head count is that you, the player, don’t do it. So you don’t excuse him the way you excuse yourself - despite the fact that Anders’ last ditch effort to save over 800 people after ten years of peaceful protest is infinitely more justifiable than Hawke’s slaughter of hundreds of refugees and gangs in a city that is canonically riddled with poverty, prejudice, unemployment and homelessness.

When I say Anders Was Right, I don’t mean, “he’s my favourite character so I’m turning a blind eye to his actions”. I mean, seriously, I think that what he did was the morally correct choice and a necessary one.

I don’t mean that Anders isn’t an asshole. He’s a huge asshole!!! He shouldn’t have lied to Hawke. He shouldn’t have manipulated them. He’s selfish, and ignorant, and often blind to the way his words and actions hurt other people. He can become self absorbed and arrogant. He demands disclosure of trauma, he’s short tempered, he leaps to conclusions, he hurts people’s feelings, he IS blinded to the causes and needs of other communities because of his single minded focus on mages and his own suffering. And a lot of his dialogue towards Fenris and Merrill (however cartoonishly exaggerated, but more on that anon) is unforgivably rude AT BEST.

I think Anders actions at the Chantry were correct and morally justifiable. Does that mean I think he’s perfect? Of course not! His flaws are what make him interesting!!!!

But even if all of this weren’t true - EVEN IF the rest of the gang didn’t canonically have a kill count as high as, or higher than, Anders’ first action in a civil war to prevent a genocide - EVEN in that case.

I also cannot condone Bioware’s conscious, deliberate, centrist, toxic, ableist caricature of a mentally ill, queer character and his fight for civil rights. I…don’t actually think we need a story right now that explains to us how, fundamentally, queer bipolar men are ‘unhinged’, violent and evil, simply for the fact of their resistance against state and religious abuse. Even when they’ve been tortured. Even when children are going to die.

We have this appalling, condescending, imperialistic idea that people - in reality and in fiction, are only allowed to violently resist violent oppression by the state and church if we find them palatable. If they step a toe outside of our personal comfort zones, (themselves constructed by the same imperialistic propaganda we’ve consumed since childhood) we immediately rescind that right - damning an individual for resisting, even if their life is on the line. Even if it concerns the death of children. This is not a moral choice. It’s a social bias.

As for Fenris and Merrill - I struggle to believe that a man who spent ten years providing free medical treatment to refugees, criminals and the homeless never met an elf or learned anything about discrimination against elves. I also struggle to understand how - despite the fact that the Circles are the only place in southern Thedas where elves are not segregated from humans, and where they can reach an equivalent position of authority to humans, somehow Circle mages are most often the mouthpieces for anti elven discrimination.

And by this of course I mean I don’t struggle at all. It’s very helpful for bombastic, oppressive governments like the USA, and all who support them, to set up a false dichotomy between marginalised communities. To peddle the lie that marginalised communities’ biggest threats are one another and not, say, the church or state actively enforcing violence against them. (The Chantry teaches that mages corrupted heaven. It also teaches that elves are inherently more sinful than humans because they are ‘born further from the Maker’s light’).

Once again, apart from the catastrophic failure in internal logic that results in these forced, cartoonish caricatures of Anders as a character - I also disagree with this because I fundamentally do not believe that we need a story about queer people and mentally ill people fighting people of colour but never daring to raise a finger to the people lobotomising them, r*ping them, killing them and driving them to s*icide. I don’t like that story because I don’t think it’s a good one - I don’t think it’s narratively interesting. I do think it’s morally corrupt. I think it’s toxic propaganda. I think it drives us apart.

There’s this incredibly condescending attitude among DA fans towards people who like Anders. The patronising, lazy assumption is that we saw a pretty blonde white man and didn’t engage with the narrative at all. This is rarely the case. We are also adults. We also played the game. We just came to a different conclusion.

[other-cullen-ficrecs]

MLM!Cullen Fic Rec List

Inspired by this post. Here is my fic rec list of some of my favorite fics with queer Cullen. Happy Pride :)  🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍🌈

Cullen/Dorian

Only True in Fairy Tales by Dragonflies_and_Katydids

Summary:  In which Dorian is a special forces operative, Bull is his partner, and Cullen is the guy they're sent to rescue. Hijinks ensue. // Words: 110150

Modern AU. Dragonflies_and_Katydids makes me read the weirdest stuff. But their work is always captivating. The more ridiculous set up the better outcome, I promise. This one is both ridiculous and absolutely perfect. And somehow one of the very few modern au fics in which Cullen's lyrium addiction is well transfered without making it literal.

Fashionably Late by tsurai

For the tumblr prompt: Cullen/Dorian Soulmates AU? <3 "Maker’s breath, this is absolutely the worst timing, he thinks distantly." // Words: 1038

This is but a tiny thing but I'm a sucker for a soulmate AU. Would I love it more if it was 150,000 words? Yes. But I'm just greedy.

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART by spicyshimmy, stonelions

Summary: Cullen and Dorian's friendship deepens. Cullen is a romantic. Dorian is literally cold. Cullen is no longer certain what he would consider surprising. Mages and Templars working in perfect cooperation, perhaps. Evil and corruption disappearing into the ground along with the blight, blood magic falling so far out of favor it ceased to be. A united Thedas: that would be a surprise. // Words: 25369

I think this is most recced Cullrian fic and for a good reason. Slow burn, drama, all the delights. 

Light In This Darken'd Time Breaks by RamonaDecember

Summary: Cullen wouldn't say he hates mages, not anymore, but he can't see himself ever trusting one again. Dorian is no exception. The mage is off-color, self-important, and all together too much for Cullen to deal with. So why is it that every time Cullen is at his lowest, Dorian seems to be the only person by his side? // Words: 121289

Slow burn with 121289 words, what more do you want?

Cullen/Bull

Jump In by Dragonflies_and_Katydids

Summary: In which Cullen is almost terminally awkward, Bull and Dorian are literally brothers (because why not?), and Bull tries really hard to be good. Or: In which Dorian tries to set up his brother and his roommate, if he can avoid killing them for being so clueless. (You might get cavities from reading it. Don't say I didn't warn you.) // Words: 33700

What did I say about Dragonflies_and_Katydids and ridiculous premises? But if you're as delighted with awkward Cullen as am I - enjoy.

Dragons from Stars in an Empty Sky by Midna_Ronoa

Summary: The one in which Bull takes Cullen dragon-hunting. // Words: 10423

Fluff and smut and dragons!

Stuck on the Puzzle by thespectaclesofthor

Summary: Once, back in Kirkwall, Cullen had an arrangement with a member of the city guard that satisfied his needs. But time changed all things, and he despaired of ever finding a similar arrangement again - that was, until he met The Iron Bull. Problem being that Bull seemed to care far more about sorting out the nitty-gritty of such an arrangement than Cullen ever has. // Words: 235586

No fic rec lists that can involve Bullen canot do without Stuck on the Puzzle. If you haven't read it - please give it a try. As far as I'm concerned - the best fic in the fandom. And definately one of the best fics in general. <3

Cullen/Dorian/Bull

Exit Light by Dragonflies_and_Katydids

Summary: In which Cullen is suicidally depressed, Dorian is a high-functioning alcoholic, and Bull just wants them both to be happy, except when he wants to crack their heads together for being emotionally stunted idiots. // Words: 77427

This premise is actually very close to canon, compared to some other stories by the same author recced here. The angst? Delightful. The smut? Delicious. The exploration of issues? Delectable! Cheff kisses all around.

to burn cool and collected by toomanyhometowns

Summary: Dorian hums. "Here is the function of the spell: Upon invocationne, ye caster's spyryt shal sterte to ye form of whomsoever mofte recently achieved releafe by hys hande." He taps the page in punctuation and looks back up. "And then there's a lot of text about the vast joys we may experience together, et cetera, et cetera." // Words: 16121

Ok, this list shows more than anything that my main delight is issues and angst wrapped in with porn. Anyway - cracky premise (body swap!), and angsty, sexy outcome.

Hold by queeniegalore

Summary: Everyone knows Cullen doesn't trust magic. But he trusts Dorian and Bull, so maybe they can make this work. // Words: 6654

Issues? Trauma? Kink? I'm a one trick pony when it comes to recs.

Cullen/Cole

Okay now that we’ve gotten the obvious out, let’s enjoy the trully unexpected enjoyment.

Into The Light (Cole/Cullen Ficlets) by Sinister_Kid

Summary: A series of what I hope are tasteful Cole/Cullen fics that don't exploit or overly sexualize Cole's developing character. Based on a prompt I filled out of boredom in which I imagined the spirit actually hearing someone's pain like a physical noise in his ears that caused discomfort. Explores the option of making Cole more human, with my own original take on how that affects him as a character, and depicts Cole developing romantic feelings for the Commander as he discovers what it means to be human. // Words: 20454

I admit I don't often read Cole shippy fics but this one stays true to the info in the summary and it is careful and tasteful. Also Cullen learning to speak with Cole properly - <333

Cullen/Varric

Verse & Volley Triptych by boycoffin

Summary: POSSIBLE TITLES: This Shit Was Even Weirder: A Surprisingly Not-Doomed Romance In The Shadow of the Apocalypse The Commander and the Rogue already taken, Antivan maritime smut with an elf girl in it How The Hell I Ended Up With That Guy: A Tale for The People Who Keep Asking Me About It In Bars The Short and Curlies that's just terrible Love Among the tropey garbage A Tale of Two Names pretentious and unclear The Penman's Paramour Memoirs of a Moron (That He's Going to Regret Publishing and Will Never Hear The End Of for As Long As He Lives) // Words: 133354

One of the very few fics in which I can not only accept but love 1st person POV. Crack. Slow-burn. Pennames. Lovable OCs. DELICIOUS. Also a fic that made me start this blog, so love all around.

Cullen/Krem

Last but not least, my delightful fave (maybe, possibly, probably) and involving a shameless self-plug because it’s the month of pride.

Swordplay by orphan_account

Summary: The Bull's Chargers are undisciplined, untested, and unprofessional; but Cullen can't stop thinking about their lieutenant. // Words: 3910

I have a soft spot for whoever Krem being shipped with not knowing he's trans at first. But also oblivious, pining Cullen <3

If you have been starving, a creature of bone by missivesfromghosts

Summary: Cullen is content with where he is. He has a life and a purpose. He’s doing the Maker’s work and he’s cut the Chantry’s leash on him. He barely thinks about the fact that he’s trans anymore. The last person who knew he was born anything different, barring his sister Mia, died during the Blight. This works for him. That is, until he starts falling for Krem. // Words: 769

A tiny thing but I have a soft spot for the idea. Also what's better than a ship with trans character? A ship with two trans characters. Keep that in mind for further recs actually.

Sweet, Merciful Andraste by Tainaron

Summary: PWP. Honestly, Cullen should invest in walls and a ceiling that don't have holes if he's going to keep having such loud sex. Pure, unapologetic smut between trans men who love each other. // Words: 4187

¯\_(ツ)_/¯  What more do you want from me? Sometimes porn is just porn. Enjoy.

Champions of the Just by Tainaron

Summary: En route to Griffin Wing Keep before the battle of Adamant, Cullen falls prey to an injury that reveals a shameful secret about his trauma with magic. As Cullen struggles with his past, his duty to the Inquisition, and his love life, he becomes increasingly uncertain if he’s the target of an assassination attempt or just his own personal demons. // Words: 67885

Well, I also have some plottier and angstier fics in my rec disposal. This one actually explores the problems Krem and Cullen could encounter in their relationship and all within the canon plot line. Plus bonus points of Cullen actually interacting with other Chargers.

cabbage: a love story by psikeval

Summary: Krem’s grin fades into a quiet smirk, his eyes warm and amused, and Cullen does not forget how to move his legs because he is a grown man, a leader of soldiers, commander of the Inquisition’s army. He breaks the silence by coughing loudly, because he is also an imbecile. // Words: 18932

Creme de la creme of Krem/Cullen fics <3 Fluff, crack, porn <3 This delightful series has it all! 

[crackinglamb]

Hi! I hope it isn’t too much trouble, but I’d like to ask how or why you decided to write Twist? And then also how and why you decided to write Wicked Games a little bit after. Did you wanna explore different relationships with characters when having a different personality in your ‘Modern Girl’ or different goals, because Carly talked Solas down and guided him into a different path, while Imogen seems to want him to go through with his plans with her help and a large dose of “what the heck is the canon timeline?” I love both of the stories, I might reread them again to help with the Modern Girl in Thedas withdrawals.

I ask because I’ve been reading “Modern Girl/Person in Thedas” stories and really wanna try my hand at them, I just feel like I am only writing it for little one shot type interactions between characters, and don’t really know why I’d actually have a “Modern Girl” be sent to Thedas, how and why, and what they would do, If your willing to give insight I’d love to hear it. I just hope I’m not a bother.

Oh no, you're not a bother at all! Thank you so much for this ask!! I love to talk about how I fell down this rabbit hole! I hope you're ready for a dissertation, because this got really long. 💕💕💕

I came to Dragon Age backwards. I didn't know anything about the series other than a lot of people liked it and had very strong opinions about it. Then a fellow writer began to write a Varric/Hawke story and I read it because I wanted to support her return to posting.

And I fell in love with a world I'd never seen.

I realized that, due to its age, I actually did know more about the games than I thought I did. I knew the ending already, and who this bald dude was that had the fandom so divided. A classic villain, right? Wrong. Some people think he's just terrible and some people defend him to the death. Some people think he's terrible but don't let that stop them from defending him to the death. So what was the real deal?

I did some research (because at that point I was writing my own Varric/Hawke fic and I'll still die on that ship hill. Anyways...moving on). I discovered that everything I thought I knew about Solas was skewed by fandom interpretation. Which is valid. I mean, all our opinions end up that way when it comes to fandom, right? All interpretation is subjective. But the fact remains that Solas interprets the world around him through the eyes of the Inquisitor and how they treat him. And that is player based. Low approval proves his opinion that this is a world not fit to live it. High approval shows him that his decision is going to destroy something beautiful, but he still feels he needs to do it.

I got to thinking about what it would take to stop him. Through the course of watching his romance, reading a lot of meta and lore posts and listening to his companion banter, I had a headcannon emerge: Solas could only be stopped by someone who knew what he was doing from the start.

But that's not gonna happen in canon. He already allegedly killed the only person who knew. (Seriously, #saveFelassan) So who else would make him rethink it?

The answer that came to me was a person he needed, so he couldn't risk eliminating them. The Inquisitor who bears his mark. I then went a step further, and decided that someone who knew all his secrets and plans, and who could possibly help him shift them, would have to be from our world. Enter the Modern Girl in Thedas, because I love a good romance, and I wanted a happy ending to this otherwise tragic love story.

And Carly was born. A modern gamer girl, sucked through to a fictional world because the universe is vast and unknowable (and certain wisps of certain Evanuris like to nudge). I'd read a bunch of fic by the time I started writing Twist, including some self-insert types. None of them told him flat out from the beginning. So I determined that she would. She'd tell him what she knew and try to persuade him that his plans were awful and that if he wanted to claim he wasn't a monster, then he'd have to find another way.

I knew from the start that I wanted her to save the orb, because losing that is what tips the scales for Solas. Losing that means he has to find power from somewhere else and sets him on his path of death. Saving the orb meant his plans, while derailed, weren't ruined. Yes, I know in Trespasser he'll tell the Inquisitor that the world would have burned in raw chaos while he rewrote it, but considering the nature of magic and reality on Thedas, I think that's more due to human reaction than any actual destruction simply based on the lifting of the Veil. Demons are real and represent emotion. Humans look down on elves and do everything they possibly can to oppress them. Like the colonizers they are. Of course they'd react to an elven demigod rewriting the world to give his people back their strength poorly.

And then covid hit. Twist rapidly became a beacon of fluffy stability to my readers. It was an escape from the literal dumpster fire that my country was, so I was highly motivated to keep writing it. To keep it light and happy and epic in a way that felt satisfying to everyone. So that's what I did.

But...

I still hadn't played Inquisition when I started (and I still need to play the other two). I was missing so much of the nuance of the world. In the end, Twist wasn't the story I really wanted to tell. I mean, I'm proud of it, and I love it. I am deeply humbled and gratified to know how many people look at Carly with love and admiration. I love hearing how many times a reader has opened it up and binged it. That kind of feedback is the lifeblood of a writer, as I always say.

Wicked Game is the story I wanted to write. A little grittier, a little more plausible in keeping with the lore. Having Imogen be human gave her the power to call out other humans on their bigotry. And to show Solas that he's not the only one who can see how damaged the world is and want to fix it. Having her be a scientist gives me a chance to explore how magic works, and what the Veil really is after a year of immersing myself in this world. Yeeting canon so thoroughly came from thinking about the major plot points and what could be changed about them from the POV of a character who knows how this is all 'supposed' to happen...and the resultant fallout from her decisions.

Imogen can see the forest for the trees. Her outsider perspective gives her all sorts of insights on her companions and the world at large. The fact that she falls ass over teakettle for the Dread Wolf against her own better judgment is just a good trope. Having him do the same is my clapback against his racially locked romance. (Here's where I'm gonna throw out my own extra kudos to writers who also portray Solas as bisexual, because dammit, he should be. Immortal beings would not bend to any heteronormative conventions.)

Carly and Imogen have rather similar motivations behind them: they want to save the world and not lose him. They often go about it in similar ways too. I guess the biggest difference between them is that now I know what I'm doing and I have more confidence in my storytelling ability. Neither of them is a self-insert. Plenty of people do that and that's totally valid. I'm just not really a fan of it myself. These two characters are no different to me than any other OC starting out at the beginning of the game. They just have slightly more backstory than the average Inquisitor.

Now, in regards to you writing your own and feeling like all you have are oneshot ideas. Go for it. Doesn't matter if they're oneshots. A story doesn't have to be hundreds of thousands of words to be awesome or complete. Write what YOU want to read. The best reason to make a character be a certain way, like being MCIT, is because you want them to be. No other justification is necessary. The only rules in storytelling are grammar ones, and even those are iffy at best. The only courtesy if you decide to go ahead and share it is don't plagiarize and tag it properly. That's it. The sky's the limit and up for grabs. Go forth and be bold.

[wizardofozymandias]

14 Days of DA Lovers, Day 7: Wearing the Other’s Clothes

I’m playing catch-up, since I didn’t get this finished yesterday, but better late than never.

Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event.

Prompt: Wearing the Other’s Clothes

Pairing: Varric/Female Hawke

Characters: Varric Tethras, Marian Hawke

Summary: When Hawke shows up at his window drenched and half-frozen, Varric offers her some of his clothes to wear. 

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Varric sat at his desk, busily scrawling away at the next chapter of his novel. Outside, the wind was howling like it wanted to shake the whole tavern apart. Sleet rattled against the windows. Good day to be inside, Varric thought, taking another sip of brandy. 

A sudden frantic knocking at the window made him drop his pen. What in the name of. . . ? Varric peered through the frosty glass.

It was Hawke, of course. Her clothes were dripping wet and she was shivering like her bones wanted to rattle apart. Varric eased the window open. It was colder than Maferath’s left asscheek out there. “Hawke, what the hell happened to you?” he asked her.

“Long story,” she said.

“Is that ice in your hair?”

“Probably.”

“Well, since I’m assuming you knocked on the window for a reason, you’d better get in here before you freeze to death.”

She clambered inside, still dripping like a mop straight out of the bucket. 

“T-thanks, Varric,” she said through chattering teeth. 

“Don’t mention it,” he told her, securing the window shut.

There was a decent-sized puddle starting to form under his best friend. Varric grabbed a towel from the washstand. “Here.” He tossed it her way. “You’d better dry off before you flood the place.”

He shook his head as he watched her start to sponge off over her clothes.

“Hawke, I know you’re a lady, and you might be sensitive about. . .things.” He could not be blushing right now. “But you’re going to get any warmer or drier if you insist on staying in those clothes.”

She paused her frantic daubing at her clothes. “I’m an idiot,” she muttered. “You’re right.” She hauled off one of her boots, almost losing her balance in the process, and tossed it in a bare corner. 

“If you’ll promise not to fall and kill yourself, I’ll turn my back for the sake of your modesty.”

Hawke laughed. “There’s not much of me you haven’t seen, anyway. We’ve played enough Wicked Grace together.”

“I’m trying to preserve my reputation as a gentleman,” he protested.

“Avert your virtuous eyes, then. I’m about to strip.” 

As promised, Varric kept his eyes firmly fastened to the wall. Hawke was right— he had seen her without most of her clothes often enough when she drew a bad hand in Wicked Grace. Not to mention the handful of times where she had played badly until her lack of clothing made it easier to bluff. But that wasn’t in his bedroom. Alone. 

In the past few months, Varric had given up trying to deny that he found Hawke attractive. Hell, half of Kirkwall was probably attracted to her. She was the type of woman that branded herself onto your brain. Not beautiful, necessarily. But unforgettable. 

Not to mention loud-mouthed, smart-assed, and more hard-headed than a herd of Fereldan billy goats, Varric thought. 

Of course he was attracted to her. It was something he noticed early on, decided it didn’t matter, and forgot about. And it hadn’t mattered, until recently, when his face kept turning the color of his best shirt every time she glanced his way. 

Varric blamed Bartrand. Once his crazy brother was safely in the ground, Varric had started thinking too much about his own expiration date. Which came with plenty of uncomfortable realizations, like the fact that he was getting too old to eat his fill of the Hanged Man’s spicy chili, and that he had probably been in love with his best friend for the past two years.

He yanked his thoughts back to the present. “Are you going to explain what you’re doing knocking on my window?” he asked Hawke.

“Well. . .”

“Let me guess: you picked a fight?”

“No!” she insisted. “Technically, it was the other guy’s fault.”

Varric sighed. “As always.”

“Bodahn made way more soup than the three of us could eat, so I decided to take some to Merrill. I’m walking back, minding my own business, and this templar—”

“Andraste’s ass,” he interrupted, “you picked a fight with another templar? I can’t leave you unsupervised for a minute!”

“Hey, this asshole made a joke about what a shame I’m not as pretty as my little sister. And—I won’t repeat the rest of it.”

Varric’s mouth fell open. A strangled sound issued from his throat.

“Yeah.”

He coughed. “I hope you got him good.”

“I broke his nose and pitched him into the harbor. It had started snowing at that point, and there was a bunch of ice in the water. Unfortunately, he dragged me down with him.”

“I’m still missing the part of the story where I come in.”

“I thought that was pretty self-explanatory. It was pouring snow and sleet, and I was out in Lowtown. This seemed like the obvious place to wait out the weather, but they wouldn’t let me through the front door. After all I’ve done for this town!”

Varric laughed. “Kirkwall’s biggest menace.” 

“I’d wear that badge,” she said. “And, speaking of wearing things, do you have any spare clothes I could borrow? It’s either that, or I may have to commandeer your curtains.”  

“If you pull down my curtains, I’m throwing you out. I don’t think the management would stand for it.”

“Aren’t you their best customer?”

“Yes, and I’m not about to let you change that.” He walked to his chest of drawers and pulled out one of his shirts. He had no idea if it would fit her, but it was the only real option. He tossed it at the bed.

“Thanks,” Hawke muttered. 

“Any time. Let me know when you’re decent.”

There was some rustling around, then Hawke burst out laughing. “Um, Varric, you need to see this. I’m not sure if it counts as ‘decent,’ though.” 

He turned and stifled a laugh of his own. 

Hawke’s arms looked humorously large sticking out of his shirt. The hem barely grazed her thighs, and the neckline sat around the same level as her ribcage. If she had been as well-endowed as Isabela, the results would have been slightly scandalous. As it was, the only part of Hawke that was exposed was a ridiculous amount of skin below her collarbone. 

“I definitely don’t have the chest hair to pull this off,” Hawke said, still cracking up. “Or the chest, for that matter.”

Varric laughed, trying once again to hide the redness of his face. “Here,” he said, tossing his leather coat her way. “Put this on and get over here by the fire before you freeze to death.”

“You’re the best, Varric.”

“I know, I know.” 

Hawke ended up wrapped in one of his blankets while she unthawed, but even bundled up in that, Varric could still see the scarlet fabric of his shirt against her shoulder. He tried very hard not to think about how the color brought out her cornflower blue eyes. 

[aria-i-adagio]

5,10, 14,20 please!

Gracias! I’m guessing this is from the OTP asks and for Anders/Hawke. Hope it is.

10) What scares them about entering a relationship?

Heheh.

Anders, of course, is convinced that being with him will likely get Hawke killed. Or that Hawke will decide that he’s a monster who is unworthy of being loved.

Adrian gets intensely attached to people. (Anxious attachment style.) He’s deeply afraid of getting into a relationship only to lose another person he loves.

14) What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Good news. They’re both idiots, but they’re both touch-starved idiots. Asking for it probably isn’t a problem.

Adrian is also very much a “I found this thing I thought you’d like/made me think of you, here is it. Do you like it? Please like it.” kind of guy.

20) When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

With Anders canonical default endearment being ‘my love’, there’s plenty of evidence that he’d also be fairly free with the “I love you.” Adrian tends to be a bit more reserved. Be that as it may, Adrian said it first.

5) How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

I guess the question is like versus *like*.

I tend to go with the idea that no matter what romance route is played that Anders has at least some romantic interest in Hawke from Act 1. But after Karl’s death, I think there’s a combination of both not being ready and believing that he’s too dangerous for anyone to be in a relationship with him.

Adrian was interested in Anders from very early on. Oddly attractive man with a ‘sexy, tortured look’ develops into honest admiration of the fact that Anders is one of the few people in Kirkwall who’s actually interested in doing something good. But he’s A) used to playing his cards close to his chest (as while Ferelden may not particularly care about same-sex relationships, there does seem to be something of an expectation that they shouldn’t get in the way of children, Leandra has definitely messed with his head, etc.), and B) he’s a small, somewhat insecure ball of anxiety who’s afraid of rejection. He also very good at repressing things, so for most of Act 1, he’s in denial of being interested beyond a “yep, that one’s handsome.”

However, have a show rather than tell. (SFW fic below. Unedited.)

Hawke has determined that he does not like the Deep Roads. And he hates Bartrand. Who the fuck does that? Leaves their brother to die over a chunk of stone, or whatever that idol was made of?

You let your brother die. You left him.

That was different. I couldn’t protect him. I tried, I swear.

Bethany sneaks up on him from behind and loops her arm through his. She leans her head on his shoulder. “Carver was already dead, ‘Dri.”

He knows that she can’t actually read minds, but sometimes he wonders whether she picked the skill up somewhere. Or maybe it’s a little sister thing. He stops walking and tilts his head to the side, touching his cheek to her hair. “I should have -”

“If any of us could have, we would have.” Bethany pats the other side of his face. “Look about, is this a decently safe place?”

The Deep Roads do require a qualifier for the word safe. Adrian lifts his head and glances around. Ahead, there’s a bridge over a chasm. If it’s sturdy enough, it will give them good lines of sight and walls on two sides. “Ahead will do.”

“Thanks, ‘Dri.” Bethany lets go of his arm and jogs ahead to where Varric and Anders are walking together, both with their weapons in hand, reasoning that if Anders could sense darkspawn, Varric might be able to take them down with Bianca before they got too close. Or thin them out. “Hey. Think it’s night yet?”

“You’re the only Sunshine I see. What’s your opinion?”

“That I’m tired.”

Varric looks around and shrugs. “Then it’s night. Might as well make camp.”

Hawke keeps watch well after they've eaten a sad and meager (who knows how long they'll be searching for an exit now?) meal of hard bread. Bethany told him that he didn't need to; the glyphs she and Anders had set on either end of the bridge would last far past the time Varric's little clockwork watch was set to come. But he couldn't talk himself into following her advice. Darkspawn had killed Carver. They were not going to take Bethany from him.

He isn't the only one still awake. Anders had laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he could, and he huddles close to the glow of the embers. He’d panicked when Bartrand swung the door closed on in, and once it became clear that neither Varric nore Hawke would be able to pick the locking mechanism, cast multiple spells at the door before giving up on the idea of breaking through it by force. The mage had been quiet since, not even Varric had been able to draw him out.

"You alright?"

Anders lifts his face. There are always dark circles around his eyes, but they look worse in the low light of the fire. "I hate the Deep Roads."

"You could have said no." Hawke asked him to come because he had experience with the Deep Roads, and Darkspawn, and according to what was said of the Grey Wardens would be able to sense them ahead of time. "I would have understood."

Anders smiles grimly. "They're worse without a cat."

"You should try to sleep."

"You should too. Those glyphs I set were designed by a Warden mage. They're strong. This spot is as safe as it's going to get."

"Good to know." Hawke lies down, unsure whether he'll sleep, or just rest his eyes and listen for trouble. "Hey, Anders -"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Well, I'm here now."

It might have been an hour, it might have been two, and Hawke might have fallen asleep, or he might have been awake the whole time, but his eyes snap open the moment he hears something other than the crackling of coals. A low, distressed groan and panicked, incoherent mumbling. Hawke opens his eyes. There’s just enough of a glow left in the few embers to see Anders rolling over fitfully, flinging his arm out, nearly managing to catch his fingers in what’s left of the fire. His other arm falls over his mouth, muffling what might have been a scream if allowed to escape.

Hawke tosses off his blanket and crawls across the pavers to him. As he pulls Anders outstretched arm back from the fire, the mage’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright with a gasp, forehead knocking against Hawke’s chin.

“Hey there. You were dreaming.”

“I can hear them.” Anders curls forward, draws his long legs against his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees. “I can still hear it.”

"Hear what? The darkspawn?"

Anders doesn't respond with words, he just goes limp and slumps to the side. Adrian catches him and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He's perfectly still for a minute, then awkwardly runs his hand through the mage's hair, not entirely sure Anders is awake enough to know where he is, much less who's holding him.

"Take a few deep breaths, okay?" Adrian wraps his other arm around Anders' and pats his shoulder. His joke about Anders 'sexy, tortured look' didn't seem quite as funny at the moment. "Nothing has tripped the glyphs you set. We're okay."

Anders' breathing calms, at least a little. "It's so dark. I can't do this again. I can't."

"I'd build back up the fire for you, but there's no fuel left." Varric had carefully gathered a certain dry fungus from the walls of the cages as they walked. It was the only combustible material available. "Do you hear them more, in the dark?"

"Or I hear nothing in the dark. Not a sound, not a word. I'm alone in it again, and..." The pitch and volume of his voice begins to rise and on instinct, Adrian hugs him tightly. Maker, the poor man is miserable. Hawke never would have asked him to come if he had only known.

Anders shudders and hiccups. "I can't be alone in the dark."

"I'm here." What happened to Anders that made the dark so terrifying? The Deep Roads themselves weren't always dark. Parts were. Other parts were lit by the glow of some sort of marvelous dwarven lamps that still worked after centuries. This wasn't one of those areas, and the lower the embers grow, the more Anders trembles. Without really noticing it, Adrian begins to rub his back and whisper in his ear, the way he sometimes had when one or the other of the twins woke with a childhood nightmare.

He doesn't know Anders well. It's maybe been three or four months since he sought him out to get the maps of the Deep Roads. He's good to know though - a good man. Bethany agrees. And Varric had taken the mage under his wing; Hawke knew the dwarf was paying off the Carta to leave the Darktown clinic alone.

Anders is also handsome in his own way, devilishly funny, and flirtatious, despite the very sad look he gets in his eyes if someone mentions the word Tranquil. 'I hadn't seen him in years,' Anders said, the one time Adrian got him to talk. 'But you know how it is, with first loves.'

Adrian does not actually know how it is with first loves. What relationships he had in Lothering weren't love affairs, just temporary flings with a presumed end date. A Ferelden freeholder needs a wife, needs children to help him work the land. It's just the way of things. No sense in getting too attached.

Like he's getting attached to this mage who hides years of sadness underneath dry humor. Anders has put himself back together a few times already, and right now, the cracks are showing.

"Lay back down. I'll stay with you."

It takes a few more shivers and hiccups before Anders does stretch his long limbs back out. Adrian intends to just sit next to him, maybe keep their fingers together, but Anders pulls at his arm until he lies down beside him on the narrow bedroll, on his side with his head cushioned on his folded arm. Adrian hesitantly strokes Anders' hair, and when that earns him a soft sigh, loops his free arm around the other man and snuggles a bit closer.

After all, it's not just dark in the Deep Roads, it's damn chilly as well. That’s what he tells himself.

When Varric’s little mechanical clock chimes a fake morning, Hawke still curled up around Anders, and Bethany is smirking at him.

[dacompanionreactions]

Hi! Good to see another reactions blog. Just to start you off... DAI companions reacting to a somniari Inquisitor whose powers are greatly amplified by the Anchor?

Cassandra is unsure of what to think. Everyone has unique abilities, her own being able to set the lyrium in one’s blood aflame. She finds it unsettling at first. The idea that someone could enter the Fade while she sleeps and warp it worries her. According to Solas, a somniari himself, the Anchor amplifies this ability. Mainly she worries for the Inquisitor since they are much more vulnerable to demonic possession and the very presence of demons is painful. However, she finds there is no need to worry - the first (and last) demon that attempted possession was wiped out of existence. Cassandra has heard of how the somniari can use the Fade to drive their enemies mad, and in extreme cases, kill them. Cassandra considers the Inquisitor a dear friend and knows they will never hurt her on purpose. Truthfully, she pities the Inquisition’s enemies.

If romanced, she will be less wary around her lover and more concerned. When she’s having a particularly stressful day, the Inquisitor can shape her dreams to be pleasant. By her lover’s side, Cassandra never fails to sleep peacefully. For all the bad that comes with being a somniari, it can also be used for good. When the nights are particularly painful, she will embrace him, whispering sweet nothings and praying for some way for his pain to end.

Varric has seen a lot of weird shit in his lifetime. At this point, he’s hardly surprised, if not cautious. He makes a mental note to put this in his new book. It goes with the title. He’s become good friends with the Inquisitor, so he asks them questions. He doesn’t really understand all this Anchor stuff or the Fade, but he makes sure to regularly check in on the Inquisitor. Being a somniari isn’t the easiest of things, and when Varric learns the very presence of demons cause great pain. He finds the whole ‘enter the Fade and drive people mad’ weird to say the least, but he doesn’t let it change his view of the Inquisitor. They are his friend, abilities or no.

Solas is delighted to say the least. Somniari are extremely rare, believed to have been extinct for two ages. He is a somniari himself. Solas asks the Inquisitor question after question if they are comfortable. After studying the Anchor, he offers to teach them techniques on how to refine their abilities and lessen the pain associated with a demon’s presence. Often they will discuss the day’s events in the Fade rather than outside of it. Solas is almost rendered giddy with excitement, a difficult feat for the usually composed elf, when he realises they can offer him stories of their journeys into the Fade.

If romanced, Solas’s reaction does not change much. He is excited, anxious for knowledge and eager to teach his vhenan what he knows. However, this does leaves room for ‘Fade dates’. Two somniari in the Fade? Anything is possible. The pain is more manageable now, especially since Solas has someone who understands, but he would not wish it on his worst enemy, let alone the woman he loves. This revelation will make it so much harder for him to leave.

Dorian is beside himself. “If my family knew I were friends with a somniari, my father would positively shit himself,” he says between sips of wine. He is almost jealous of the Inquisitor. Tevinter culture widely romanticises the Dreamers, giving them their own name of ‘somniari’. However, his jealousy melts to sympathy when he learns of the great pains that come with it. Dorian researches ways on alleviating their pain, even going to Solas and Vivienne for help. The fact that they can enter the Fade and use it to kill doesn’t really bother Dorian, he’s a necromancer for the Maker’s sake.

If romanced, his initial reaction isn’t jealousy, it’s concern for his amatus. Dorian knows the dangers of being a somniari as well as the dangers that come with angering one. Dorian does not fear the Inquisitor’s abilities, rather he fears what it is doing to him. He is especially grateful when his nightmares ebb away into serene dreams, no doubt the work of his amatus.

Sera shudders. She hates the magey shite, the Fade, all of it. She can’t help her fear of the Inquisitor at first, even if they are friends. There is a whisper at the back of her mind, over and over, ‘what if?’ What if they attack her in her dreams, make her go mad? Then she realises who she’s actually talking about. The Inquisitor, helper of the little people and above all, her friend. Then she discovers the pain that comes with being a somni-what’s-it and all doubts wash away. In a way, seeing the Inquisitor like this makes them more human. It makes them little too.

If romanced, Sera will focus less on the scary magic stuff and more on how her Honey Tongue is feeling. She may consult Dorian in pain management because she doesn’t know jack about magic or the Fade, and frankly he’s the only mage apart from her Inky that she can tolerate. She worries for her Inky, and anyone who throws a shitty comment their way gets arrows.

Blackwall doesn’t really know what to make of it at first. He admits that he doesn’t quite like the idea of someone slinking into his dreams and driving him mad, though inwardly he believes it’s no less than what he deserves. He does acknowledge how the abilities can be useful and offers what comfort he can when he learns of the pain associated with it. Blackwall doesn’t necessarily understand all of the Fade stuff, but he knows how to be there for a friend.

If romanced, he will always check on his lover. If the pain is too much he will turn to Solas, Vivienne and Dorian for help. If he could, he’d enter the Fade and slay all the demons there if it meant the Inquisitor could be in peace, but things are rarely that simple. He makes sure his love knows that he has her back in this.

Cole is conflicted. On one hand, he is worried that their abilities could be used to hurt people. On the other hand, Cole worries for their safety, more so when he realises the only person hurt from this is the Inquisitor. He doesn’t understand ‘somniari’, to him it’s just a word. For the Inquisitor it’s another pressure, another expectation. People are either afraid of me or want to use this to their advantage. Don’t they see me as a person anymore? He appears by the Inquisitor’s side as soon as he hears these thoughts. “You are a person. Somniari is just a word. You are more than that.”

Iron Bull figures he’ll need a stick bashing soon. It’s not common knowledge, but his greatest fear is madness. To know that someone whom he respects greatly has the power to achieve this effortlessly? It’s not the best feeling in the world. However, his outlook changes quickly when he finds out about the pain. The Inquisitor didn’t even need to tell him verbally, his Ben-Hassrath training did that for them. Bull doesn’t get the Anchor or Fade stuff, but he tips off the Chargers about providing a fun distraction whenever the pain gets too much for the Inquisitor.

If romanced, he will pull his kadan close to him. He knows about their abilities but never once does he fear for his own sanity. Bull will consult their mage companions for a way to manage the pain. If anyone voices displeasure towards his kadan, they’ll be met with an angry qunari.

Vivienne is curious. For the last two ages, somniari were believed to have gone extinct. “My dear, that is absolutely fascinating! Do tell me more.” She wants to know everything there is to know about about their abilities, and chides them for not saying anything earlier. Her line of questioning ends abruptly when she’s informed of their pain. Vivienne has an affinity for potions, so she throws herself into research and even goes so far as to asking the apostate hobo, ahem, Solas for a second opinion. Within days she has a whole batch of elixirs ready for the Inquisitor.

Cullen doesn’t like it. His fears of magic almost override his friendship with the Inquisitor until he realises how it affects them. He empathises with them - lyrium withdrawal had him in so much pain on some days that he thought he would die. The Inquisitor informs him that it’s the same with them, and he hesitantly hugs them, unsure of whether the mage would appreciate comfort from a former templar. To his unexpected delight the Inquisitor does, and Cullen often finds himself confiding in the Inquisitor, and vice versa.

If romanced, Cullen will worry greatly for his lover, especially when she’s outside of Skyhold. Before each trip, he’ll nag the mage companion accompanying her to make sure they’re looking out for her. Cullen wishes the pain will end, but he takes solace in knowing that his presence helps her, and hers him.

Leliana has a mixed reaction. She admires the stealth that comes with entering someone’s dreams and shaping the Fade around them. She dryly mentions how it would solve many problems with the Inquisition’s enemies. Leliana also acknowledges how this could curry favour with Tevinter, but will only do so if the Inquisitor allows. She pities them, and no one knows how, but the Inquisitor suddenly finds themselves with an abundance of pain relieving elixirs. The Spymaster works in mysterious ways. Any negative comments towards the Inquisitor are met with silent but very deadly threats.

Josephine is unsure of what to think. She doesn’t like violence at all, preferring to take diplomatic approaches. She sympathises with the Inquisitor when finding out about their pain. Josephine writes to her mage contacts for information on how to lessen the pain and receives urgent replies within a week. She also asks the Inquisitor for permission to share this information publicly, for she knows a few nobles houses that would favour this knowledge.

If romanced, she will hold her lover close to her. She wants them to be in peace. As soon as she receives replies from her contacts, she passes the information on to their mage companions. Josie does not fear the abilities of her love for she knows that she will never come to harm with them.

[saltybiowarefantears]

Inquisitor as a Companion

template by dextronoms 

Inquisitor’s Name: Evahala (Eva) Lavellan

Race, Class, & Specialization: Dalish elf, Storm and Rift mage

Varric’s Nickname for them: Page because of her penchant for reading and studying and also, as Varric puts it, she’s as quiet as a page turning in a library. Or Sly if convinced to drink during Wicked Grace where she reveals the “translation” of her name in common tongue is close to “moon fox.”

Default Tarot Card: 

Knight of Cups - enthusiasm, imagination, moodiness, creativity, excess, sentimentality, foolishness, impulsiveness (The Linestrider’s Tarot by Siolo Thompson)

How they are recruited: Found in the wyrm den in Crestwood where she is studying the elven murals and statues. Upon entering the cave, the party discovers the wyrms scattered about, appearing to sleep while an elf woman is sitting cross-legged in the grass, scribbling furiously in a notepad. You can walk up behind her and either cough to get her attention or walk closer. If you walk one more step, you can ask her what she’s writing. Or take one step even closer and touch her shoulder. If you cough or ask what she’s writing, she’ll jump at the sound, not noticing the party arrive. If you ask what’s she’s writing or touch her shoulder, she’ll immediately reach for her nearby stave, frustrated at being startled. She’s more open and warm to a elf inquisitor, inquisitive towards a dwarf of qunari inquisitor, and closed off and skeptical to a human inquisitor, which flavors the initial interaction. When asked what she’s doing in the cave, she’ll reply researching elven history and magic at the behest of her clan, pointing to some ravens in cages near her tent. She was traveling to find ruins or libraries before the Conclave, and after the explosion decided to stay longer in search of any way to seal the rifts before more Dalish clans are overrun by demons. When she notices your Inquisition insignia, she asks to come with you given she’s heard of a supposed Herald of Andraste with special magical abilities. At this point you can choose to recruit her or not. If not, she huffs a moment and sits back down in the grass with her notebook, back to you, claiming she has no reason to talk with your like any longer. If you recruit Eva, she smiles and claims she’ll quickly pack, at which point the wyrms appear to stir. She’ll grab your arm and implore you to leave the “beasties” alone, and she’ll just pack the necessities and return for the rest of her camp at another time. She explains she seeped some meat in a sleep draught and fed them to the wyrms before settling down in the cave for the night. There’s no need to waste life given she trespassed on their home first. If you decide to kill the wyrms anyway, and you rudely startled her in the beginning or were rude to her asking questions about her studies, she’ll start a relationship with the inquisitor on a bad foot.

Where they are in Skyhold: in the basement library, occasionally in the garden when she needs a breath of fresh air and some sunshine

Things they Generally Approve of: being compassionate towards those in distress, nonconfrontational solutions to problems, magical or historical research speech options, pro-Dalish decisions, cunning or crafty solutions 

Things they Generally Disapprove of: direct confrontation, rudeness when conversing with her or others, pushing Andrastian beliefs on her, aggressiveness, dismissing of the needs of others or lack of empathy 

Mages, Templars, Other?: Eva approves of siding with the mages, given you do not conscript them. 

Friends in the Inquisition: Joesphine, Varric, Cole, and Iron Bull. Will befriend Solas, but only if taken in a party together, otherwise she rarely speaks with him.

Romanceable?: Only romanceable by a high approval Inquisitor of any gender that’s managed to get past her guard (ie not rude to her, talks with her often about her studies, sided with the mages, gifts her the elven book in her companion quest, etc.) Easiest to romance with another elf and hardest with a human, but not impossible if the correct dialogue options were made. If not romanced, she will occasionally swoon over Josephine, although never outright admits to liking her.

Small side mission: collecting small elven relics, which she then displays on a shelf near her cozy chair in the basement

Companion quest:

After Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts and Morrigan stays in Skyhold, Eva receives a note from her Keeper informing her of a previously unknown elven temple that contains possible information about the location of the library of Arlathan. Morrigan insists upon coming with you, much to Eva’s discomfort and annoyance. The note leads to the Lost Temple of Dirthamen. Throughout the quest, Eva comments on translations and solutions to the puzzles, being more vocal than normal. She even argues with Morrigan, something she never does openly. Usually she is reserved and allows herself to be talked over. After restoring and defeating the high priest, an ancient tome materializes on the pedestal. While not a roadmap or containing information about the library on first glance, Eva is thrilled to comb through the book and discover more about the magic inside. Morrigan walks over  to read over Eva’s shoulder. She states that if she is gifted the book instead, she can provide the Inquisitor a powerful magical tool with the help of Dagna.

Option 1: Give the book to Eva. She clutches the book close to her chest, beaming with a rare, full smile. Morrigan sighs and hand waves the decision away. Eva snaps at her that she’s being rude and assuming the worst about her, again. She allows Morrigan to study the tome with her, but on her terms only. When talking with her in Skyhold, she’ll thank the Inquisitor for believing in her and her abilities to find meaning in the book. After her companion quest, she is more vocal during conversations with others, piping up with her opinion and even pressuring usage of her solution if she feels confident in it. 

Option 2: Give the book to Morrigan. Face completely closed off, she shoves the closed book at Morrigan and walks off, changing to a run close to the exit. Eva will not appear in Skyhold until you leave to the world map and return three times. Once she comes back, her entire demeanor is cold and closed. She thanks the Inquisitor for reminding her that she in fact does not know as much as she thought, and more direct people get what they want. After this option, Eva becomes openly emotionally manipulative of the Inquisitor and companions, employing her innate high empathy and natural talent of reading others. She utilizes whatever argument she thinks will help her win and get her way. This choice, while gifting her the same self-confidence of the other option, leads her to believe only in self-reliance and independence as a means forward. Leaning on others only leads to disappointment. In the epilogue, Eva steals the tome from Morrigan and does not return after Corypheus’s defeat.

Tarot card change:

Option 1: Queen of Cups - The Queen of Cups rules the realm of emotions and indicates compassion, love, and concern for ourselves and our fellow man. She is a beautiful, introspective woman who cradles a cup in her hands. The cup is closed, and contains a fish, the symbol of spirit and creativity. The closed cup is an indication that the thoughts of the queen originates from her own inner depths rather than the external world. Her watery companions and crown of sea stars are symbols of the unconscious mind, creativity, emotion, spirit, and feeling.

 - (from the Linestrider’s Tarot by Siolo Thompson)

Option 2: King of Cups (reversed) - overwhelmed, anxious, cold, repressed, withdrawn, manipulative, selfish. (image by The Linestrider’s Tarot by Siolo Thompson)

[chaosride]

A Divine Appointment (x7)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

“You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.” — Franklin P. Jones

Their next weekly Wicked Grace night was interesting. Anders had tried to beg off with the reasoning of not wanting to leave the kids alone all night at the clinic, and Varric had easily told him to bring the kids with him. Anders had expected Norah to run them off, as the owner had made it clear that the Hanged Man was a place for drinking and gambling. However that night Norah had just waved them through towards the stairs to Varric’s quarters. At Anders’ questioning look, Norah shrugged.

“New management,” was all she told him.

It was really all the explanation needed; the Hanged Man changed hands so often between the shadier figures of Kirkwall’s underground that they were under new management every other week it seemed. It was something that made Varric rhapsodize about how the Hanged Man deserved a better owner, someone who knew what they were doing and deserved her. It was no secret that the someone the dwarf had in mind was himself. Anders hoped he wouldn’t be too irritable about it tonight- it made him ruthless in cards.

Varric, however, was cheerful as ever when they got to his room. Hawke, Fenris and Isabela were already there. Aveline was going to come later after her patrol and had asked to bring Donnic along. They chatted as Anders settled at the table with them, allowing the twins to sit in his lap when neither would tolerate being put down. He rolled his eyes as Isabela cooed at them but allowed Cahir to go to her regardless. Primarily because he knew who the boy was really wanting to go to. He chuckled when Isabela called Cahir a traitor when he immediately began squirming in her hold, trying to get to Fenris. The elf let out a very put upon sigh but he was smiling when he took Cahir from her.

“You are very determined, I’ll give you that,” Fenris told Cahir.

The boy had settled down once in Fenris’ lap. Anders determinedly did not stare at them together; Cahir was skittish and didn’t like to be held by many people. He sought out even fewer as actively as he went to Fenris anytime the warrior was around. The sight of them made Anders want things to be different, despite the fact that he had more than he ever expected to. So instead he determinedly pulled the tie free from Cat’s hair and rebraided her curly red hair so it was away from her little face. Anders had learned if he didn’t she would pull at it until it came out in clumps in her small fists.

The mage had worried that the kids would get bored, but he supposed he should have known better. The entire group had learned to sit still and entertain themselves in order to avoid unneeded attention. Even the twins, young as they were, seemed to have learned it, sitting quietly with them at the table and watching them play with curious eyes. Tanner, Rosalyn and Bree had settled on the open stretch of floor a little away from the table, talking quietly amongst themselves as they played some game they had created with pebbles Tanner had produced from his pocket. Raelnor had sat with them at the table at Hawke’s merry invitation for him to join the game.

Anders had thought the entire walk over that he should bring something for them to do but he didn’t have anything. At the clinic they normally chased each other around or played games together but unlike other children they didn’t get loud or unruly without his attention on them really. The older of the kids had become quite adept at entertaining their younger siblings when no adults were around to mind the toddlers, and with them occupied were happy to sit quietly together all evening.

In the end they hadn’t even made it through an entire round before it clearly bothered Varric too much to continue. He laid his cards down despite it being his turn and stood up.

“Y’know, I got a cousin who owns a toy shop, I’m sure I’ve got some of his stuff around here,” he had said.

To anyone who didn’t know him, it would have been a convincing lie but Anders knew there wasn’t a single member of Varric’s family with any such business. The lie was confirmed with how quickly the rogue located the box of toys he presented to the children to go through. Raelnor was watching him with the same puzzled face he used to direct at Anders; bafflement at someone doing them a kindness with no expectation of anything in return.

Bree, the sweetheart that she was, had brought over a small selection of toys for the twins to choose from, showing first Cat then Cahir the ones she had thought they would like. Cahir had latched onto a small rattle drum which he clumsily waved until Fenris gently corrected his grip and showed him how to roll it between his palms to make the small beads hit the drum more consistently. Cat’s choice had been a carved wooden horse with wings and little wheels attached to its hooves. As she rolled it back and forth on the table in front of him, Anders resigned himself to picking it up a thousand times throughout the night as she lost her grip on it. Once content that the twins had gotten something as well, Bree returned to Tanner and Rosalyn. The dwarven boy was showing Rosalyn how to make the top spin with a practiced hand, and gave a proud grin when the girls exclaimed at how long he got it to spin.

Pleased with himself, Varric retook his seat and took his turn. He shrugged his shoulders amicably at Anders’ knowing look without a hint of shame. The healer wasn’t going to complain; he knew the kids needed toys, they just weren’t expenses he could afford. Technically he couldn’t afford to feed himself and seven kids but he was making it work. Mostly.

“So, you had any luck?” Hawke asked Raelnor, who had been sullenly studying his cards.

Raelnor had been moody and temperamental since he had lost his job at the docks. Burgess had been upset that Fenris had interrupted the fights. He had even accused Raelnor of setting him up since someone had massively outbid him at the last moment before the fights and took the entire betting pool in result.

Raelnor had pointed out that he didn’t exactly have the money to place a big enough bet to more than double Burgess’ bet, which was what it would have taken for the mystery gambler to take all the winnings from the betting rather than just a portion. He had bit his tongue to avoid mentioning that without Burgess setting the rule of the whole pot going to the top bet if it was more than twice the second highest bet to benefit himself, he wouldn’t have lost everything. Of course, he had been correct but it hadn’t helped him keep his job.

Anders couldn’t blame his sour mood- Raelnor had spent years knowing he had to make money for any of them to survive, the only one besides Delilah remotely old enough to work a regular job.  Every person that turned him away was a personal failure to Raelnor, no matter how Anders told him they would figure it out. The assurance that there were people around now who would make sure the kids didn’t starve only served to make the teenager complain of feeling useless, like deadweight.

Anders mourned the childhood the boy had clearly given up in favor of caring for the younger children. He wished he could tell Raelnor not to worry about money or finding another job even as he knew logically they needed the extra income for food and necessities for the kids.

“Nothing yet. The only place willing to hire Fereldans, much less one as young as me, is the Bone Pit-”

“I would rather pay to not have to go there,” Varric said.

“Bad news, that place,” Isabela agreed.

“Yeah, don’t take that,” Hawke told him.

“But my overbearing mum told me I would not be working there under any circumstances,” Raelnor finished. He scowled at his hand of cards and set it down face up to show he was folding.

“Yes I did,” Anders told him. “I would rather you not be turned into mincemeat by giant spiders or blighted dragons, Rae,” he began, which the boy waved away dismissively. It was an argument they had revisited a few times since the subject came up.

“Yeah, yeah, like I said mum here said I couldn’t take that one so I’m still looking.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” Varric told Raenor. “It would mean you can’t come to work for me. Think you can handle serving food during the day here?”

“What? You can’t seriously be offering to pay me to come run and tote for you all day.”

“Well, Norah works nights here and they’re going to start serving more meals during the day.”

“Ah, Varric, I know you basically run it but I don’t think you can just offer him a job here.”

The dwarf grinned, the kind he only wore when he was especially proud of whatever trickery he had managed. Usually when one upping petty criminals or raining fire on unsuspecting enemies with Bianca from the backlines.

“Oh, I didn’t mention? I recently came into possession of a little something that gives me a bit more say about what happens here than before.”

Oh, Anders thought, remembering the look Norah had given him earlier when he came in with the children.

“You’re the new management.”

“Aw Blondie, why did you have to steal my thunder? I wanted to deliver it all dramatically,” Varric pouted. When Anders just raised an eyebrow he chuckled and confirmed, “yeah, I’m the new management.”

“Good on you Varric!” Hawke praised.

“Now you can stop bringing it up to Aveline,” Fenris said.

“I know, she was no help.”

“You’re who out bet Burgess,” Raelnor realized.

“The bookie who he had working the fights is an old friend of mine, he was happy to tell me how much he bet and lied about who I betted for. Figured he wouldn’t give you a fair cut even if you did take the dive for him. Sorry if I caused any trouble for you, kid.”

For the first time since being fired, Raelnor’s laugh was raucous and sincere.

“He only scheduled me for that fight because he figured he would kill me. Fuck that blighted nug-”

“Rae, language,” Anders scolded, mainly because all of the younger kids would no doubt repeat what he said, all eager to emulate their older brother. He tried to ignore how Fenris stifled his chortle into his drink he had been raising to his lips.

“Sorry, mum,” Raelnor said, still beaming. Varric winked at him.

“Can you start tomorrow at noon?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good to hear, you’ve got the job, on one condition.”

Raelnor hesitated, his eyes flicking to Anders then Fenris and back to Varric.

“Which is?” he asked nervously.

“No more fighting for money.”

“Done,” Raelnor said immediately. He had already promised Anders (and a tearful Bree) the same thing the morning after his last fight.

“Alright, I’ll show you around tomorrow. Welcome aboard.”

“Anders, we found one of your kids on our patrol,” Aveline called as soon as she and Donnic arrived. Delilah waved at them meekly at the mage when she followed the guardswoman in, Donnic bringing up the rear.

“I thought you were staying at the Rose tonight?” Anders asked her.

Delilah had a bunk there along with some of the other girls where she usually stayed after her shift. She would usually come to the clinic around midmorning to spend time with the kids, taking them out into town or bringing them odds and ends she thought they needed. She had been steadfastly stubborn about not needing anything, to give to the kids instead.

“I changed my mind, was hoping you wouldn’t mind me bunking with the kids tonight. I was fine waiting at the clinic but, uh,” she floundered, and looked at the guard-captain.

“Aveline,” the redheaded woman provided kindly, smiling. “I insisted.”

“Thanks Aveline. Delilah, you can stay whenever you like,” Anders told her.

“You know how to play Wicked Grace?” Isabela asked her.

“Boy, do I.”

---

Delilah continued to stay her nights at the clinic once she was off work. Working at the Blooming Rose usually meant she crept in during the early morning hours. The first few days she looked surprised to find that Anders had waited up for her, but after a few times she seemed to grow used to it. They had established a tradition of sorts; Anders would stop working on his manifesto for the evening when she arrived and they would brew tea and discuss their days before both going to bed.

It was a nice routine, and Anders hadn’t had quite enough of those in his life. Delilah had been very polite and distant at the start, even offering to pay Anders for watching the children. He was just glad she seemed to be warming up to him.

She seemed extra tired tonight though. It was later than she normally got home and Delilah was walking favoring one leg. Anders had noticed that something seemed to be going on with her; something that had made her stop feeling safe enough to sleep at the Rose and jump at corners. He wasn’t sure it was his place to push her though. The other children had been all but officially adopted as his charges. Even Raelnor had come around.

“Sorry, healer, you didn’t have to wait up for me,” she told him softly.

“I didn’t even realize how late it was,” Anders lied. “Here, come sit down and I’ll make us some tea.”

Her smile was weak but sincere. Anders put the lid on his inkwell (improvised, a necessity with kids running around and bumping into the desk) and put his work and quill away. He gave his knee a brisk rub before he got up. From how it and his elbow ached, it was going to storm soon. Delilah watched him as he gathered the tea pot and filled it with water.

“Healer, I can do it,” she said, getting up.

Anders flapped a hand at her and continued with making tea. Rather than the normal tea he normally made, he dug out the last of the mix he had made to help with pain. It was a little bitter but it did the trick. He winced when he stepped wrong and felt the bolt of pain shoot all the way up through his hip.

“Healer,” Delilah protested but Anders was already leveraging himself to sit in his chair in front of the fire beside her, the water coming to boil hanging in the fireplace.

“How many times have I told you to just call me Anders?”

“It just feels weird,” Delilah admitted.

Anders rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. Delilah had tried to call him messere or serah at first but he had finally got her to stop doing that. Maybe one day she would refer to him by something other than a title but every step closer felt nice regardless.

“Guess you could be calling me mum instead,” Anders conceded.

Delilah giggled and glanced towards the back of the clinic where the rest of the kids were resting. Her expression was fond, if not a touch sad. She got up to get the teapot from its hook before Anders could once the water inside could be heard boiling. Delilah poured their cups with a practiced hand and set the tea in it to steep.

“Sorry if that bothers you,” she told him once she had sat back down. “Rae means it in a good way. His dad was terrible and wasn’t around much but he had his mum, even if she spent more time drinking and wailing on him than taking care of him. She’s basically his only concept of a parent, he probably never even considered calling you anything else. He just calls his dad William.”

“It doesn’t bother me. My father… wasn’t the best, usually so I understand that,” Anders admitted. He picked up his cup but didn’t drink from it, content to let its warmth leech into his hands.

“What… ah, you can tell me if it’s out of bound, but what was it like growing up?”

She asked so hesitantly that Anders found that he wanted to answer more than he wished to avoid thinking about his parents or the life he had had, all those years ago. Usually remembering it made him feel lonely and like he was twelve years old again, cut loose and thrown to the wolves.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-” Delilah began to backtrack, her dark brows furrowed.

“No, sorry, it’s fine. I’m an only child, my parents moved out of the Anderfels to a small Fereldan village when I was very young, and we had a farm there. My mother was a caring soul, and she wanted more children but couldn’t have them. My dad was from a large family that was mainly still scattered all over the Anderfels. He was… bitter a lot because he was homesick. I remember I tried to learn his native language, and called him Táta when I was younger. I thought maybe it would make it… easier. It would be something special we shared, like my ma teaching me about healing. Eventually he told me to stop calling him that and just call him father. I think I disappointed him. His only son, flamboyant and more interested in cats and my mother’s garden of herbs than anything he considered boyish. He was the one who turned me into the Templars. I guess I should have just been happy that I had evaded the Circle as long as I had.”

Anders took a sip of his tea even though it was still much too hot for his taste. It helped force down the knot in his throat even if he still felt a bit like crying. He always felt like this when discussing his father; wistful for what could have been, if Anders hadn’t been so… Anders, shamed that he had not been enough for his own father, mournful and angry in equal measures with the cold, distant man who had wanted to love him so badly. His father had been sad under it all, plagued by darkness Anders could not have understood. More than once as a child when he had gone to his father in search of affection or comfort and had been turned away. Anders had sworn he would be a better father. As he had grown, Anders realized that perhaps his own father was a sign he shouldn’t be one himself. He often drowned in his own feelings of helplessness and desolation, he didn’t want to risk a child suffering for it.

Delilah reached to him and carefully tugged one hand from his cup to fold in her own.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. For him to turn you in, Maker it’s awful,” she whispered. “I was lucky in some ways I think, since I never knew who my da was. I was just another brothel brat, and all the girls looked after all of us kids as their own.”

“Is that how you and the kids found each other?”

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Our village avoided the worst of the blight, it was kind of out of the way, but a horde of Darkspawn were pushing in. The… Andraste, some of the villagers got the idea that if they locked the gate from the alienage to the rest of the city and set it on fire, everyone running out the other gate onto the road into the village would draw the Darkspawn that way and they could defend the village.”

“Did it work?”

“I didn’t stick around to find out. I just remember seeing some of the kids running and jumped the gate. Raelnor and I grew up together and he followed me over when he saw me go. We saved what kids we could and ran. Bree and Rosalyn ended up staying with us, we were going to get them to safety but that… didn’t end up happening. We met Tanner when we were passing through Denerim. He asked for help because he didn’t know where to get milk that was safe for babies to drink. The twins had been abandoned outside the local chantry with a note that just had their names. But the chantry didn’t have space for babies or the resources, especially after how hard the blight had hit them and Tanner… he refused to leave the twins even when everyone else in his travelling party moved on. They told him they didn’t have the money to take care of them so he stayed and did it, as best as he could. His parents were killed by Darkspawn, he ended up with other refugees from his village. In the end, we wound up on a boat here looking for some of the people he had been travelling with who said they were coming to Kirkwall but we never found them. Everything else is kinda history I guess,” she shrugged. “I know a lot of people think I’m stupid for staying here and taking care of them but I couldn’t just leave them. We’re a family now, after everything.”

Anders smiled and squeezed her hand. “Yes, you are a family. All those who think you’re stupid are the dumb ones. It’s admirable to do for others with no ulterior motive. You have a good heart, Delilah.”

She blushed and looked away from him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything other than how little they were. Bree was so small then. I mean, she’s still small but she was tiny. I picked her up and she weighed basically nothing. I just… couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. I wasn’t trying to be a good person, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to them.”

“Because you’re a good person, sweetheart,” Anders told her.

She smiled some to herself before carefully pulling her hand back and taking to her own tea. They finished their drinks together, the silence comfortable and contemplative. The warmth from the tea seemed to fill him at his core and slowly the pain ebbed away. He hadn’t even realized the heat of the fire on his skin and the familiar hissing crackle had lulled him into a light doze until he felt Delilah’s lips touch his forehead.

“Night, ta, thank you,” she murmured before creeping away.

He listened to her as she got things settled before slipping back into their sectioned off sleeping area, a smile he couldn’t fight off gracing his face. The healer had planned to get up and bank the fire before turning in for the night himself. Instead when he awoke it was the Cat squealing in joy the next morning. Someone had covered him with a blanket and couldn’t even be upset about being woken up when Tanner was so apologetic about it. His kids were worth more than any amount of missed sleep.

---

It was inevitable that Hawke would need him for an overnight trip. She had agreed to look into demons that were coming from one of the caves near where the Sabrae clan had set up. With how long of a trek it was, they had never managed to make it back before nightfall and always had to make camp along the path back. But Hawke wanted a healer along with them and Anders needed some of the rarer herbs that only flourished on Sundermount.

Of course, that didn’t make it any easier to leave the children. He had given Rosalyn the key to the clinic so they could lock up if they left and had told them where to leave it when they went to bed so Delilah could get in. He had asked Varric to check on them and even accepted Aveline’s offer for Donnic to swing by during his patrol to make sure they were alright as well. He had made sure Tanner and Rosalyn knew where they kept the extra coin stashed in case they needed it. None of it eased the anxiety of leaving them to fend for themselves without him.

“Go, ta, we got it,” Tanner had assured him when he mentioned telling Hawke he would send her with extra healing potions, that he just couldn’t go overnight. He considered asking about the new nickname the kids (except Raelnor) had adopted for him but let it slide. At least they had stopped just calling him healer.

Varric knocked on Fenris’ door in the late afternoon. When he first saw Varric waiting for him his heart had rabbitted in his chest, sure that something was wrong. He couldn’t think of another reason for the rogue to come calling for him when Hawke was out of town for the night.

“What’s happened?” he asked immediately.

Varric chortled at him and raised his hands in a soothing gesture.

“Calm down Broody, there’s no fire. I just figured since I’m going to check on your children you should come along,” the dwarf cajoled.

“They’re not my children, they’re the mage’s children,” Fenris answered, but stepped out of the mansion to follow him regardless. He hadn’t even considered the logistics of where the children would be while Anders was away. Just another reason they weren’t his children; he wasn’t suited to looking after others.

“Whatever you say, elf.”

Fenris had expected they would go to the clinic and find the children inside, or perhaps playing on the landing just in front of it as they often did. They met Donnic coming down from Lowtown, apparently given the same task as them by his wife. The man didn’t look too put out by it though, laughing and joking with them as they made their way through the slums.

Rather than the sound of Rosalyn’s distinct tinkling laughter or Bree shouting or even one of the twin’s excited baby talk, there was the sound of a child crying. Fenris heard it first and took off in a run, hearing Varric’s surprised shout at his sudden departure and the clattering of Donnic’s armor as he hurried to catch up.

When he rounded the corner, his heart calmed some to see all five of the younger children sitting against the wall just outside the clinic’s doors. Rosalyn’s face was buried in her knees as she wailed, Tanner rubbing her back with a contrite expression.

Cahir was the first to notice Fenris approaching and called out, “Da!” to him excitedly just as Donnic and Varric rounded the corner. Varric complained about how fast he was when they caught, practically panting. Fenris made a note to tease the dwarf about being out of shape later.

Once he knew what was wrong with his kids. The mage’s kids, he meant.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked Rosalyn when she looked up at him with wet eyes.

Her face scrunched up again before she could speak and she let out a small hiccuping sob. The warrior found himself wrong footed and unsure how to proceed; danger and fighting were more his forte, crying girls and children not so much. He wasn’t sure what to say to calm her but clearly she was upset and needed something. Fenris would have given her anything to wipe away her devastated expression.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Tell me what has happened and I will do what I can to rectify it.”

“T-the healer gave me the k-key to hold onto but I lost,” she choked out before sniffling miserably. “It’s his only one, he’s going to be so mad. He told me he was giving it to me because he t-trusted me with it and-” she sobbed again.

“Well that’s not the end of the world, sweetheart,” Donnic told her.

Rosalyn looked up at the guardsman.

“B-but I lost it, and…”

“No one’s hurt or dying, the sky isn’t falling, the clinic isn’t on fire, and all of you are together,” Donnic told her in a calm voice. He knelt and ruffled her hair.

“If you know about where you lost it we can ask around and see if anyone found it, if not we can retrace your steps and look for it,” Fenris offered when she looked at him.

“Even if someone did pick it up they would have no way to know which door in the city it opened,” Varric agreed. “Not to mention I can just pick the lock to let you in and replace the lock.”

“Oh! We know right where it is we just can’t… uh… get to it,” Bree told them. “You’ll help us, right da?”

Fenris looked to Varric and Donnic, unsure who the girl was addressing only to find them both aiming what Fenris could only describe as shit-eating grins at him. Oh, she means me, he recognized. Looked like he would probably be best keeping his taunts about Varric’s stamina to himself for a bit.

"Yes, we'll help you," he told Bree, already resigned to his fate.

“How ?”

Fenris felt a little bad for his incredulous tone when Rosalyn hiccuped and sniffled behind him but really how she had managed to drop the key where she had eluded Fenris. Over a wall and down the side of the steep rock Kirkwall was built into and on top of, of all things. The kids hadn’t been wrong; they had taken them straight to the key. It taunted them from a jutting section of wall built out to take the brunt of the waves that crashed against Kirkwall’s walls. Occasionally the light winked off it whenever the clouds weren’t hiding the slowly setting sun.

“Cahir saw a bird,” she offered meekly.

All three of the adults stepped away from the low wall they had been leaning over to peer down at the key to turn and look at her more fully. Ironically they were within eyesight of the clinic’s door still.

“Cahir… saw a bird…” Fenris repeated slowly, feeling his eyebrow raise in question against his will.

“He’s been fussy all day and didn’t want to be carried, but if we let him down he ran off. There was a bird here, and he saw it and tried to grab it. Tanner was holding him but he was so wriggly that when he jumped Tanner couldn’t catch him. I did but I forgot… I forgot I was holding the key and it flew out of my hand. I just panicked! I… the spikes, and no one else was close- I had-”

“I see,” Fenris said, nodding. “Things happen, we will figure it out. Cahir is more important than the key,” and he didn’t even want to imagine the boy managing to land on the rusty spikes that lined the outer half walls of Darktown’s walkways.

“Told you,” Tanner told her, “Cahir would have gotten really hurt, I knew they would listen and not be mad, Ros.”

“No, you didn’t, you just said we might as well tell the truth because they would find out.”

“Shh,” the dwarven boy said but wouldn’t look at any of them. “You could have told them I dropped it, I told you.”

“No one’s in trouble,” Fenris assured. “We just have to find a way to get the key now, alright?”

They weren’t going to be able to get the key. It was too far down with no real path to get to it. The three men had stood for a long time discussing ways of getting it before they had given up on the idea. They had discussed trying to hook with something or even getting a boat and going at it from the water. In the end, none of their ideas got them any closer to the elusive key. They had nothing that they would use with any accuracy to snag it and pull it back up, and any boat they would have been smashed agaisnt the rocks around the outcropping of rocks. Their plan of picking the lock itself and simply replacing it was dashed too as one by one Varric broke every lockpick he had in it, growling and cursing the entire time.

“If we got some rope one of us could rappel down to it,” Varric suggested.

“Are you going to go down after it?”

“I know us dwarves are small but we’re dense. There’s no way I would get down without falling, not to mention back up. Donnic? Dashing rescues are supposed to be your thing, just pop on down and grab the key.”

“I’m in full plate armor, I’m pretty sure the rope would snap if I tried. Fenris could go, he’s the lightest of us.”

“I’m able to pass through solid objects, not scale vertical walls,” Fenris informed them drolly when both the rogue and the guardsman looked to him. They stood in silence for a moment and Fenris glanced back at the clinic door. “I can kick that door down though.”

Varric considered it for a moment, tapping his index finger on his chin contemplatively.

“I got a guy that can replace it today,” he agreed.

Donnic perked up. “We have spare locks at the Keep we can install. They’re replacements for the ones on the main entrance to the Keep, so they’re sturdy. And come with more than one key.”

“Okay, so new plan,” Varric said and clapped his hands before giving out orders.

The new door looked almost too nice as it set into its new frame, out of place in dingy Darktown, but there was no questioning it was sturdy. Much more secure than the one Anders had had previous, and could be locked from the inside instead of just the outside, unlike its predecessor. To lock up for the night, Anders had rigged some kind of bar and chain across the door from the inside.

“Sorry about all the trouble,” Rosalyn told them all over dinner. Donnic had left to finish his patrol after helping them install the new lock but had returned for supper and had even brought sweets back for the children to have for dessert. They had all been ecstatic when presented with them, something Fenris made a note to bring them more of.

“We’ve been harping Blondie to change that door for months,” Varric dismissed, “really I should be thanking you for giving me a reason to just take care of it.”

Rosalyn smiled some down at her food and allowed Bree to pull her into whatever the kids were discussing so seriously. Fenris half listened to them, mainly happy that they were all at ease again and there were no more tears.

“Oh, were you two there when Aveline said something to Isabela about the dinner party? She was pretty hurt about her not coming and said she told her about it but I’m not sure I believe her. You know Ave,” Donnic asked them once it was clear the children were absorbed in their own discussion.

Varric snorted. “Oh man were we. Your wife can be ruthless, told Bela that if you two ever had kids together who asked what a slattern was, she’d just point at her and tell them ‘that’s a slattern.’ In the middle of Hightown.”

Donnic’s laugh was startled and boomed out of him.

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” he agreed.

“What’s a slattern?” Bree asked innocently, her head cocked to the side.

“Uh, nothing you need to worry about,” Varric said at the same time Donnic said “you’ll find out when you’re older.”

Both answers just made Bree pout but she dropped it anyway. Fenris hoped she didn’t ask Anders about the word later, as the mage had been persistent about them not cussing around the children. Evidently hearing Tanner call something “absolute blighted nugshit” had been a bit of a wake up call to how much they listened and repeated what the adults said.

After dinner, Varric had said his goodbyes and mentioned he would send Raelnor home with his own key once he got back to the Hanged Man. The boy had been enjoying his new job, especially since he got tips on top of his hourly wages. Donnic mentioned that he had to get home to clean before Aveline got back the next day. Before long it was just Fenris and the children. The elf was tidying up the clinic and trying to convince himself to leave for the night as well when Bree tugged on his shirt.

“Will you stay tonight, da?” she asked him. He wanted to dissuade her from calling him that but couldn’t bear to say anything when she was looking at him with wide earnest eyes. “Please?”

“Yes, fine, but you need to start getting ready for bed. It’s getting late.”

“Okay but you have to tuck me in!”

Bree grinned and scurried away to do as he said without waiting for an answer. Fenris sighed and surveyed the cots available to sleep on for the night. He supposed he should have guessed that he wouldn’t have the heart to return the mansion and leave them alone for the evening. He was just starting to put bedding on one when Raelnor came in and regarding him with a confused face.

“Just sleep in mum’s bed, it’s not like he’ll mind,” he had told Fenris, “those cots are tiny, you’ll never sleep on ‘em comfortably.”

“Da! I’m ready for bed, come tuck me in?” Bree interrupted. She tugged at his hand and Fenris followed her back to the children’s makeshift room, Raelnor’s chuckle following him as the teenager sat at their little table with his own dinner.

Rosalyn was sitting on the edge of the twins’ cot with a book open in her hands. She looked at him in surprise when he came in.

“Da’s tucking us in tonight,” Bree informed them and clambered into her own cot.

“Oh, did you want to read to us then?” Rosalyn offered, and held out the book. It looked well worn with it’s yellowing pages and cracked spine.

“Sorry, I can’t,” he told her.

“O-oh, right, sorry. We’re not your kids, um, everyone say goodnight and thank you,” she said even as her little voice wobbled with tears at being turned away. Fenris laid a hand on her skinny shoulder even as he refused to look at any of them.

“I wouldn’t mind reading to you, I just… can’t. I can’t read,” he admitted, something he had taken pains for even his friends to not know coming out easy when he knew it would comfort the girl. “I will stay and listen though, and I believe I did promise to tuck everyone in.”

He settled down in the rickety chair that was undoubtedly there for Anders to sit in and read to them nightly. Fenris wondered what he sounded like, reading to the children every night. With his expressive face and array of voices, Fenris imagined Anders was a good storyteller for children’s stories.

Rosalyn read a chapter to them from the book, something about a princess escaping a curse from what Fenris caught. The twins were asleep by the end of the first page, and when Rosalyn softly closed the book Fenris looked around and realized that all of the younger kids were out like lights. He tugged Bree’s blanket up to her chin, tucked Tanner’s more firmly around his feet and made sure the twins were not at risk of rolling out of their bed in the middle of the night while Rosalyn extinguished their lantern.

“I can teach you,” Rosalyn whispered to him as she got into her own bed, the book safely put away with a small collection of other books and toys shoved into the corner. “How to read, I mean. I used to teach the kids in the alienage, and some of their parents too. If you want, it’s okay if not, you may want someone else to teach you or-”

“Ros,” Fenris said to get her attention. He knelt beside her cot and brushed her hair back from her worried face. “That sounds very nice, thank you. I would love for you to teach me.”

If I am teachable, Fenris bit back. Rosalyn smiled at him and laid down. He settled her blanket around her shoulders and smoothed her hair back before standing and sliding out from behind the curtain.

Raelnor had put away the bedding he had set out on the cot and jerked his thumb at the door to Anders’ cupboard of a room. He didn’t go back to his cot with his siblings until Fenris had slipped into it and abandoned the thought of sleeping out on the cot.

“What happened ?” Anders asked as soon as he saw the new door the next day.

“Cahir saw a bird,” Bree told him sagely. Around her the other children nodded with serious expressions on their little faces and Anders could only sigh. At least the clinic was cleaner than it was when he left, he supposed.

(leave kudos and comments here please ♥)

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

What’s the Hero of Fereldan like you doing in a place like this?

Pairing: Varric Tethras x Naia Brosca, Past Alistair Theirin x Naia Brosca

Fandom: Dragon Age

Summary: Naia Brosca does not expect to meet the Viscount of Kirkwall in a dingy little tavern like the Hanged Man. She doesn't expect to have her sorrows soothed or have a free therapy session from him either. But, her life had always been anything but ordinary.

Rating: T

Notes: If you follow my main blog @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ then you’ll probably know that I think Varric/Brosca would be a pretty sweet pair especially considering all the pain they go through.

Archiveofourown

“What’s the Hero of Fereldan like you, doing in a place like this?” It’s terrible, but he’s the first person to notice who she is in this dingy pub in Kirkwall and she knows exactly who he is too. Usually it would bother her, after all she was here to drown her sorrows, not be fawned over...not that that happened very often anymore. Most people seemed to ignore her, disliking the idea of either a dwarf being the one who stopped the Blight or the idea of a castless dwarf stopping the Blight or better yet, the idea of Wardens completely. Besides, after the whole inquisition, tears in the sky mess she wasn’t the hero in demand anymore...The Wardens hadn’t done so well out of that mess either. Naia Brosca officially considered herself retired from hero duties especially after finally finding a way to cure blight sickness and stop the wardens untimely demise due to the calling, and after returning to find the whole of her forces decimated. She was officially retired from fixing other people's messes whether those people be long dead magisters or warden commander Clarel. 

Aeducan, her Mabari, named after Paragon Aeducan for his stand against the Darkspawn, bounced about as Varric sat down beside her on a rickety wooden chair. The Mabari was as tall as the both of them when seated and didn’t settle until Naia gave him a strong look. He settled himself down at her feet, large paws resting beneath his head. She smiled down at him before turning to her new drinking companion. 

“I could say the same to you, Viscount of Kirkwall.” She softens it with a slight smile, she hasn’t smiled fully in years. Truth be told, becoming a Grey Warden had started as a dream come true, a way to get out of Dust Town, an escape from death, and simply ended as a nightmare. That’s what happens when you fall in love with someone above your station, take on more responsibility than any one person can handle, and become the go to person to fix everything. But, she at least had her faithful furry companion out of the whole mess and somehow her life. 

                                                                                                                            “Touché, but aren’t you supposed to be Commander of the Grey right now? Are you even allowed to be here?” He’s right of course, the last most people had heard she was the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, sitting up in Amaranthine trying to recruit, rebuild, and fix whatever messes she was left to inherit. She’d told very few people about her movements over the last 2 years and most people had very little interest in what the Wardens were doing outside of a Blight. 

She leans back in her seat, legs crossed on a small stool, a hand reaching back to run through the dark hair that had grown unwieldy in her long hunt for a cure, a fix. To Varric she looked to be the picture of an exhausted hero, tankard in one hand, dark sullen circles beneath brown sad eyes, but always ready with daggers at her side. She’d grown used to watching her back for a quick knife in the dark or fireball. Although Aeducan was a very good guard dog.

“Well, while I was off trying to figure out how to save us all from the blight and the calling, someone got the brilliant” she says this with a twisted, sarcastic smile, nose scrunching in distaste, “idea to use blood magic to ‘save’ the Wardens and supposedly the world, and I came back to decimated forces and a whole load of nugshit to fix...blood magic…” She takes a deep drink from her tankard and raises her hand to gesture for another, gold already on the table, “They wanted me to rebuild, as if it was my responsibility to fix their mess again, to take up that mantle again. I said go fuck yourself and put someone else in charge...hopefully with better sense.” Naia Brosca had been royally pissed when she’d heard what had happened, when she’d returned to find out that Warden Commander Clarel had fucked it all up because she had no critical fucking thinking skills. It hadn’t been her plan to return to a decimated force, both physically and in reputation. Who would trust the Wardens now? They had gone from the heroes who saved the world, to the idiots who almost destroyed it. It was a headache of mess to fix and she’d had enough headache inducing messes for a lifetime. 

“Yeah, I kind of had a front row seat to that bullshittery at Adamant. Sorry.” Her eyes darted over to him, evaluating. There’s a genuine furrow to his brow and a look in his eyes that she knows well, a horrible reminiscence of a scene you never wanted to see.

“I joined the Grey Wardens because I won a Proving when I shouldn’t have even been fighting, because Duncan saved me. I became the Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey because Alistair and I didn’t have a choice. I had a choice this time, I'm retired from commanding, from fixing other people’s messes. I’m too old for that.” She had never had the chance to do so many things; travel for pleasure, fall in love (again), marry, have kids, raise them better than her mother ever had, go exploring again, write a book or something. There were so many things that had slipped her notice in the 10 years she’d spent fixing other people’s messes. She was tired of her life catering around fixing other people’s fuck ups, it was about time they fixed their own problems. She wanted to have some of her life back.

“You don’t look a day over 25 to me, topsider”, Varric says it with a teasing smirk, one corner lifting up just so. It’s a look he’s perfected, she’s certain of that because for all her years she still feels the skin of her cheeks heating and her eyes darting away from his.

“Flatterer,” Naia rolls her eyes, she hasn’t been 25 for a while now, but he knows that she’s sure, “I doubt anyone would believe that I was only 24 during the Blight. A Dust Town 24, though.” Truthfully, being raised in Dust Town had given her years on her peers in other parts of Orzammar. She’d had to fight, scrounge, steal, all to feed herself, her sister and her drunken mother. She’d killed for the Carta, killed for her sister, all before she was 20. Maybe, if she’d been an Aeducan or had an actual caste she’d never have been able to do what she did. “10 years on and I feel like I’m 100. I’m old spiritually, Master Tethras, very, very old. 34 doesn’t feel like it used to.” 

“24? Seriously? You became Warden Commander, Hero of Ferelden, slayer of archdemons at 24? Fuck.” They fall into a contemplative silence. Truthfully, most people expected her to be older. It had made it hard to get respect especially when she became Warden Commander, at 24 half the recruits were older than her and getting them to listen had taken a lot of threats and reminders that she’d slayed an archdemon and could damn well kill them if they tested her. 

Varric can’t quite wrap his head around the fact she was so young, that she’d done what seemed impossible to him. At 24 he’d have run away from that sort of responsibility, he’d have high tailed it to the farthest place he could find. At 24 he wouldn’t have been a hero, but he’s learnt that some people are just made that way. Something in them calls for them to do the right thing. 

Naia can’t quite get over the exhaustion and sadness that had her seeking out the Hanged Man on her journey to investigate some Warden ruins. It’d all been that damned letters fault, opening old wounds, reminding her of things she’d chosen to forget, reminding her of how old she was and how little she’d really done for hself. It was still crumpled in her pack, royal seal, scruffy handwriting and all. 

Varric watches her, takes her in. The braids, typically Orzammar in style, pull her brown hair back from her face while leaving the rest loose, the brand on her cheek marks her as casteless, the down turn of her mouth, the slump of her shoulders remind him of how much she’s done in 34 years. It’s more than just retiring that’s brought her here, more than just a desire to get shitfaced after years of being in charge. There’s a story there that he doesn’t quite know yet. But, he wants to. He loves a good story...and he can’t help but be curious about the one Hero he’d not befriended. 

“What’s eating you up, Fereldan?” She chooses not to comment on the name, hoping he’ll pick something more creative in due course. He was a writer after all, though Swords and Shields hadn’t been his best work, so perhaps even prolific writers had their off days. Instead, she decides that she might as well open up to someone and who better to do it with than a fellow dwarf who she’d probably never see again, even if he was Viscount. What were the chances of her staying in Kirkwall? Of befriending Varric Tethras?

She takes a good long look at him, hard, calculating, before softening her gaze back to the tankard in front of her. The ale is bad, but she’s not really drinking for the taste tonight. “People think I was this hero, with a band of friends and that’s it. No big romance story there, no heartbreak, no betrayal...no nugshit politics getting in the way of things.” She takes a deep drink, this is a story no one had told because it would be shameful, not for her, but for him. “No one wants to tell the truth, that I had a lover in a man who I made a king...and then he didn’t need me anymore. Love is...I didn’t know what love was before I became a Grey Warden, but...it hurts, it hurts more than any battle wound, any fall I’ve taken, any joining ritual. It tears you apart...” Naia turns her head away from him to stare at a group not far away playing Wicked Grace, mostly to hide the tears that have started to collect in her eyes. She never talked about it. Not with Zevran or Leliana, Wynn, Sten, Oghren, Morrigan or Shale. None of them. She had too much to do at the time, didn’t allow herself to stop and ponder on it, but that meant she never truly got to heal. 

“Wait...you and Alistair Theirin? King of Ferelden? Shit...well, why aren’t you Queen, Topsider?” He can’t understand why she wouldn’t be. Surely, they’d welcome the Hero of Ferelden with open arms? Surely, if they’d been in love he’d have insisted as king..surely...but then Varric remembers that his stories are always a sugar coated version of reality. That his own experience with love has shown that things don’t work out the way you want them or need them to. Love doesn’t prevail, love doesn’t conquer all and the baker down the street with the simple, normal sort of love always does better than the Hero. 

“He couldn’t have a dwarf for a Queen, for a wife. I was told I could be a mistress, I could be there, in the background, loving him while he parades another on his arm and I refused to be hidden in the shadows like some seedy little secret. Like something dirty and unworthy. I had enough of the dark in Dust Town. I was the Hero of Ferelden and no matter how much I loved him I would not sacrifice my worth like that…” She remembers Dust Town like it was yesterday. Living off of scrapes, hidden away from everyone else because the Casteless were unworthy, a disgrace. She refused to be that girl again, hidden away for someone else's comfort and convenience. 

“I thought that maybe he’d fight for me. Fight to be with me. I would have. I would have done everything in my power to stay with him if I had that sort of position...but he didn’t. Duty, duty, duty. It’s my fault really,” She gives him a long sad look, brows turned down, “I was the one who made him king, I was the one who put him on the throne because I thought he’d be a good king...I was the one who made him think like that, made him put romantic notions aside. Maybe I should have been selfish…”

“So...why are you here?”

“Because I received a letter...royal seal, messy handwriting, pressed rose petals between the pages…” She pulls the crumpled note from her back, the rose petals fall on the table between them, the drying process removing some of their potent red colouring. He suspects there’s more to them than just being a romantic gesture, and can see it by the way she gently strokes one of them with a far off look that there’s some history there. “He’s gotten betrothed to some noble human woman who he barely even knows...I hate that she gets to marry him, that she gets to just because she’s human and noble, because she’s tall and her blood’s right. I was never enough even after the Blight. I slayed an archdemon, I saved Ferelden, I...I was never enough even after all that. What does a dwarf have to do, Varric Tethras?”

It pulls at his heart strings for a multitude of reasons; 1) he’s a romantic and always has been. He likes a happy ending, he likes the lovers to find happiness and be together, he doesn’t like heartbreak, 2) it’s one thing to be hurt because someone doesn’t love you anymore or never did, another thing entirely to know you’d be together if the world wasn’t so damn prejudice or if they just fought a little harder, tried a little more, and 3) because it reminds him of his own sorry love story with Bianca. After all, she was married to another man, he wasn’t allowed anywhere near her and he wasn’t good enough in the first place for her. After the red lyrium affair he’d decided to let that ship sail, let her go and he’d told her so despite her popping up randomly as if she thought she could change his mind. It was the first time she’d ever known him to say no to her, to turn her away. But, damn if it hadn’t been freeing for him. For the first time in a long time he didn’t feel the weight of her on his shoulders. He could see that weight on Naia Brosca now, the wondering, the hoping, the love. The longing for someone who had moved on with their life in a way you had yet to. 

“It’s his loss, Ferelden,” A large, warm hand settles on her shoulder and she leans into it without thinking. How long has it been since someone gave her a comforting hand on the shoulder, a celebratory clap on the back, a hug? A sign of companionship, closeness? She thinks it must have been...must have been nearly 10 years. The last person to hold her was Anders and he’d pissed off and then blown up the chantry in Kirkwall and then pissed off again. She hadn’t seen her old companions in years, they wrote, but it was a shitty imitation of what their group had been before...and Alistair, she hadn’t allowed herself to see him in person except where her presence as Commander of the Grey was needed and every time had been heart wrenchingly distant. 

“Who wouldn’t want to be married to the Hero of Ferelden, c’mon? You’re beautiful, you’re deadly, you have an inspiring origin story.” He counts them off on his fingers with a smile, she can feel a smile tugging at her lips, a storyteller he certainly was. 

He was...different. Alistair had been sweet, goofy, childish, a kid like her. He’d been a romantic but in that boyish sort of way that had endeared her to him because she hadn’t ever known anyone so open, so unchanged by the hardships of the world. Varric was rough, but charismatic. Older, more worldly than Alistair had been, but then she was older and more worldly too now. He was charming, compassionate, and had confidence, but she could see it was a smokescreen behind which to hide. She didn’t know what he’d gone through, other than the bits his stories told, but she knew he was just as tired as her. Probably even more so with the responsibilities of Viscount hanging over his head like a sword waiting to drop. 

It helped that he was handsome. Perhaps in Orzammar he wouldn’t have been ‘dwarf’ enough, no beard just some scruff across his cheeks, no tattoos to show his clan or caste. But, she thought he was more than handsome enough although his chest hair was a little distracting especially 3 ales in. She was sure he did it on purpose, dressed in a way that added to his charm, in a way that would make people think of how masculine and dwarven he was...at least to anyone but an Orzammar dwarf. Leske would have made some joke about it, probably asked if he was hunting for a noble to marry, but Naia didn’t mind. He was nice to look at and she hadn’t had someone nice to look at in a long while. It helped that he was complimentary as well, how long had it been since someone called her beautiful? Too long. 

“No one’s told you that in a while, huh? How long has it been? Since someone gave you an honest compliment that didn’t revolve around how you kill darkspawn?” It’s the furrow of her brow and the averted eyes that give it away, no one’s told her she’s beautiful in a long while and she is. She’s beautiful but clearly able to kill you and honestly, that just makes her prettier to Varric. 

“A...A while...Alistair used to...but then…” It’s hard to explain, that she hasn’t pursued anything with anyone in so long because she still holds out hope that maybe Alistair will decide to fight for them, for their relationship that no longer even exists. She lets herself get drawn back into the sea and dashed against the rocks every time he writes a private letter and every time she’s reminded that he isn’t hers and he never will be. This time is the worst, the realisation that he’s not coming back, he’s moving forward without her. That he’s marrying some noble human woman who can give him noble human babies and sit pretty beside him at functions. She wasn’t in his plans and she hadn’t been since he took the throne. 

“I know what it’s like, Ferelden, holding out hope that they’ll come back, that they’ll forsake the other and that you’ll finally get the story you always wanted. But, he’s not coming back, he’s going to marry that girl and you can’t hold on forever, you can’t waste your life waiting for a man that didn’t care enough to fight in the first place. I nearly did. I nearly wasted my life waiting for a woman who got married...it took her making mistakes for me to realise that I...that I was wasting my life waiting for a woman who only wanted me when she needed something fixing.” It’s the most he’s ever shared with someone he barely knows, but he’s growing...maybe, and maybe he’s realising that narrators can have stories to, they just have to choose who to share them with. Varric is also smart enough to know that she needs to hear it, she needs someone to finally tell her that it’s a lost cause and that she deserves another chance at love…and maybe it’s a little selfish, maybe part of him is hoping that she’ll consider him a candidate. 

It hits her like a hurlock to the chest or that broodmother that one time. She thought she’d realised that, that she’d understood that her and Alistair weren’t really going to happen but...truth be told she’s been holding on desperately, fingers clutching at a ledge, hoping he’d come along and help her back up. Hoping that he’d fight for her and the love they once shared. It hurt, it hurt to finally understand that it was a lost cause, that she'd spent 10 years of her life waiting for something which was never going to happen, agonising over someone who wasn’t doing the same. 10 years of seeing him in an official capacity, the physical distance and distance in the way he addressed her as if they’d never travelled together, never kissed, never been in love. She feels like she might be sick or she might burst into tears, both are options, alternatively she feels like storming to Denerim and taking her anger and sadness out on Alistair...although that option might get her arrested which is less than ideal.

Varric chooses to sit back and wait, watching realisation, sadness, and angry flit across her features one by one until she settles back in her chair resigned to the truth. Naia grabs her tankard again and downs the rest of the shitty ale before looking at the ceiling with a big sigh. “Fuck! Do you think it’d look bad if I punched the King of Ferelden in the face?” 

“Mm, the Hero of Ferelden breaks the King of Ferelden’s pretty face? Might cause a slight diplomatic incident but I could always ask Ruffles if she’d help smooth it over.” Naia twists to look at him again and he’s not surprised to see her eyes swimming with tears, though he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t piss him off that a woman who could end the Blight is brought to tears by someone who wouldn’t even be king without her help. It reminds him of Hawke, the tears she shed for Blondie all because she loved him too much and fell too far. At least Hawke had been loved back, Blondie might have been an asshole, understatement by a mile, that blew up the chantry but he loved Hawke, she cried over his revolutionary actions not his love for her. 

Naia Brosca cried because she’d wasted a decade on a love that was never going to come to fruition and of all the places to cry it was the Hanged Man. A shitty little hole in the wall. Not worthy of a hero’s tears. 

“Hey…” His large hand cups her cheek and it’s softer than he expects from her. Part of him expects...He doesn’t even know, maybe chiselled cheek bones, scars and rough skin, but she’s everything but, soft and sweet and it’s hard to think that a face like that belongs to a woman so formidable. It reminds him that appearances can be deceiving. 

His thumb wipes away the tears and it’s the sweetest feeling to her, that someone cares about her wellbeing, about her. Not her title, not who she is. It has her closing her eyes and turning into his hand and she knows the ale is helping, it’s making her more open than she’d usually be, but she thinks Varric probably just has that way about him. Caring enough that he can drag things out of you and get you attached. “Maybe he deserved you once. Maybe he was kind. Maybe he loved you right, but he doesn’t anymore...and it hurts, I know it hurts, but you deserve so much better, Topsider.”

He knows she’s a little past tipsy when she gives him that look, the one that says she’s going to kiss him and he anticipates it turning his cheek so her lips meet the scruff on his jaw. He wants to kiss her, but he knows better. She’s not in a place to make that decision and he won’t be a thing she regrets just because he decided to be a little selfish. So he lets her kiss his cheek and when she pulls back with an offended look he gives her his most charming smile. 

“You’re drunk, Topsider. I’d love to kiss you right now, but you’d regret it and I don’t plan on being a decision you regret, sweetheart.” He says it with that smile, teeth showing hoping she understands that he wants this, or something like this, he’s not entirely sure, but he knows better than to take it right now. He has no doubt that Naia Brosca is a woman he could easily fall into bed with or in love with, but she deserves more than a drunken kiss when she’s clearly still getting over what could have been the love of her life. 

So instead, he helps her up from her seat, her Mabari following behind the two of them as he helps her to her room despite her bad directions. She is uneven on her feet and it’s clear more than ever that she probably doesn’t drink often and that the last ale had put her over her limit. He’s the perfect gentleman, see’s her to her room, gives her Mabari a treat he always carries in his pocket thanks to Hawk’s own, and makes sure she’s safely inside before leaving for his own home. 

In the morning Naia wakes to Aeducan slung over her like the massive lap dog he is, her head pounding and the embarrassing image of trying to kiss the most handsome dwarf she’s ever met, but being politely turned down. She pushes her face into the ratty pillow and screams, but in truth embarrassment and giddy anticipation are feelings which she’s relieved to have after years of longing and heartache. 

[xmarblox]

Well it's time for my daily rant 🤷‍♀️

I will start with whyy, just whyy it seems that, companies I used to like a lot are just going off killing characters I like??

I get it, there are a lot of puffly, fluffy happy endings out there but it is neceserary to force a bad ending? To force a character to die with no way back?

Playing for me it's different, I don't know about other people but in my case, games are a way to cope with stuff, I play them to relax, to self insert myself in another type of life, so characters are much more than characters to me, they are friends.

In dragon age series, they're my friends, I love sera craziness, varric being... Well, varric, solas being an smart ass, Dorian is like my bff in inquisition if I'm not romancing him.

So of course, when I started playing Harry Potter hogwarts mystery, OF COURSE , my bff Rowan was going to be my real bff. I often found myself thinking how, if a had a friend like Rowan in real life, I would be much happier. She was very special to me, I even though that at some point in the future, I might even see what a romance would be like with her, if any.

But nooo, jam city pulled the plot twist and killed the only one character I wish was steady, I'm not gonna hate and say why not Ben? Even though I'm also not very fond of him and his "change", but it was really necessary to kill Rowan? Why not get her badly hurt but alive? Wasn't this supposed to be a game for children??!

The grief is real my fellas.

I know, it's been a long time, by this point, the Fandom must have moved on, but I can't, even since learning of this, I couldn't pick up the game again... In fact because if I never play the chapter, Rowan is never going to die in my game... But yeah.

I got disconnected from it, I don't know what changes they made or how is the story progressing at this point, but I don't care.

Wich brings me to my next, long coming grief.

ELDARYA

Like, seriously? Beemov? I never expected anything from you and, oof, you still managed to disappoint me lol. I Knew there was going to be drama in the final chapters, and obviously someone was going to die, I actually was expecting the main character to do so. But woop, first CDM, and now this.

Killing romance options is really going to get your fan base excited isn't?

Like, Okey, valkyon? Death.

Lieftain? Death, I kind of saw this one coming but I... I wished it wasn't. Not many games introduced a Set, plot relevant, soul mate (as if, the one and only)

Ezarel? Leaving duh.

Main character? Death, but comes back, only that we don't know when (landscape completely changed) and obviously nothing is going to be the same.

I feel like we missed the point here, or I missed the point? I know they wanted to trow a season two, but if it's going to be like CDM S2 then no, I was one of the fortunate people whose favorite LI didn't get removed (castiel ) but even I can recognize that there was no need to cut Armin or Lysander (more so considering that Armin's twin, Alexis, is still in the game🙄 and Lysander was one of the FAVORITES LIs)

So yeah, I can totally see season two with new characters and cut off LIs, and I can totally see the Fandom rising again in a uproar of rage, and I wouldn't blame them, tho I will not be joining them.

Even since the fallout of CDM, I stopped caring for beemov as a company (lots of shady stuff, money hungry decisions) I was just fond of ELDARYA, I really like fantasy settings, but if it's going down the same path then sorry, no.

I guess this post is sort of a good bye to those games. It may seem like a silly reason, but it is reason enough and strong for me.

If something I used to do and enjoyed is no longer enjoyable, then what is the point? I can't do anything with it

And so I'm dropping them.

I might still come back to Harry Potter hogwarts mystery depending of how the game ends, but that's it.

(this almost reminds me when I started playing the red embrace: Hollywood. Man, was I disappointed lol)

[pinayelf-archive]

Cullen’s Revised Redemption - my take

This was previously an undetectable read more but decided to update it and also make it (more) public since people have asked for it. This is very wordy, so grab a bag of chips or something lmao.

Disclaimer and Request (PLEASE READ)

I am putting this above the read more because I need people to see it before they do anything with this post. The reason I had the first version of this basically invisible is I’m genuinely not here for people yelling and fighting in the notes so that being said:

I wrote out the first one so I had something to link to people in the case someone asks me why I’m romancing him with an elven mage

This is a hot button issue and I know people have feelings varying from either extreme sides or in the middle so

If you vehemently hate Cullen and find him irredeemable that is fine and valid, but please do not come onto this post and reply why. To be frank, you won’t make me dislike him considering I hated him initially

If you think his redemption is perfect that is fine and valid, but please do not come yelling at me for this post.

Let us agree to disagree NOW.

I love Cullen. If the URL wasn’t obvious I’m saying it now. But I am also allowed to feel that his redemption wasn’t fully realized and lackluster and wish it didn’t happen off-screen. 

I believe Cullen does want to change. Failing and slipping at first is realistic. What didn’t work is that it wasn’t fully realized. If you disagree that is fine.

Cullen’s PTSD is a reason for the things he did. It is a reason NOT an excuse. Mental illness is not an excuse to do bad things. You can say that while acknowledging his trauma. Said by a person who also suffers from mental illness

“Ellie why do you care so much about a white dude, he doesn’t deserve your time and energy!!!” - because he is a comfort character of mine, he is fictional so I have the ability to make him safer for me and for my OCs and I think that’s more than fair

This is NOT the only right way to write a fix-it for him you can 100% write your own, this is just mine and an example of one

Now...let’s go!

This is meant to have been a longfic, but I can never finish anything I write so you’ll get a condensed version. This is for my worldstate where Imryll (my main Cullenmance) is the Inquisitor, but I also use this same redemption in all my timelines, just tweaked a bit for whoever the characters are.

DAI starts and Cullen has just stopped taking lyrium. He wants to change, , he is full of regret and ready for it but is obviously harder than he anticipated. Especially since the Herald, Imryll, wants to ally with the mages. He and Imryll do not get along, Imryll doesn’t trust him and they have had a couple of public fights. 

Imryll allies with the mages. Cullen is worried abominations might occur. The ones from Kirkwall see Cullen and refuse to interact with him. Some hate him and look at him with disdain. He’s made an announcement saying he no longer operates under the Templar Order and denounces what Meredith did. But they still don’t trust him.

He is frustrated by this and Leliana calls out the fact that he still doesn’t trust them because he believes they’ll turn into abominations, so why should they trust him? Cullen says he’s seen it happen, like in Kinloch, especially if they’re exposed to power. Leliana points out how the same thing happened to Meredith. Cullen snaps out of his frustration, admitting he knows he’s wrong but it’s hard to accept it. Leliana tells him he must accept he is wrong if he wants to really change.

(Note: In my canon Leliana becomes his support for this rather than Cass. I love Cass but she is too static in her beliefs and will just enable or stunt Cullen from growth. They are still close friends but it’s Leliana who he confides in with about this - they both have the same faith but Leliana is more open-minded and will help him grow)

The Templars and the Mages clash at Haven and Imryll demands Cullen to do something about it. Cullen is hesitant and doesn’t do much, he doesn’t want to believe his comrades are acting this way. This sours his relationship with Imryll and the mages.

(This idea is taken from a text post that I can no longer find :c) One of the mages give birth and the others are overjoyed and crying. They need supplies and Cullen offers to help but they all refuse to speak to him until he arrives back with Josephine. Cullen wonders why they are celebrating and crying and Leliana says that most mages never stay with their family because they are separated. Another realization hits Cullen.

Cullen joins Cassandra in looking for rogue Templars and when they encounter the group, Cullen attempts to reason with them but they don’t relent. He sees his old self in the leader and realizes what he sounded like. After dealing with the Templars he and Cassandra see a group of young refugee mages starving and hiding in a small cave. They quiver in fear when they notice his Templar gauntlets and refuse to come to Haven despite them being in near-death from starvation. Luckily, Varric is there and convinces them to come. 

The encounter dawns on Cullen what the Templar Order truly looks like to mages. This haunts him. It is the same fear he had for years after Kinloch - the difference is, the order protected him but no one truly protected the mages. He finally accepts that the order he once romanticized so much is corrupt.

The next time he sees that his Templars are the ones who start the altercations. He does something about it - but at the same time angering his lieutenant. 

During the fall of Haven, the Red Templars show Cullen anyone is apt for corruption, seeing the people he once trusted become the army for a magister breaks his heart. He witnesses the mage recruits give their lives for the Inquisition. He watches Imryll sacrifice herself for the sake of the Inquisition. When have the Templars ever done this? He’s never witnessed this. He must make amends. He must. 

Upon arriving at Skyhold he requests to be judged by the mages and Fiona - the ones from Kirkwall especially. He tells them it’s time he answered for his inaction and the things he enabled. Surprised, Imryll calls Fiona to form a council of mages to judge him. 

Cullen prepares for whatever sentence they are to give him. All the while after owning up to what happened in Kirkwall, the Inquisition loses some support, including soldiers who leave due to their disillusionment in him. The day of trial comes and to Cullen’s surprise they sentence him with reparations. He is to do the Inquisition mages’ bidding and to work with Fiona along with his Inquisition duties.

Besides the loss of support, many begin to look at Cullen differently and turn cold towards him, like some staff and people who have joined the Inquisition. He helps build a mage tower and joins Fiona in doing small missions  to help the refugee mages. While some mages warm up to him, some don’t and while hard he accepts they never will.

One day a missive arrives at Skyhold stating that mages from Starkhaven are taken hostage by Red Templars for a hefty ransom. Josephine insists they pay the ransom and plans to take a loan out from an Antivan bank - however Cullen sees the situation as time sensitive. He is afraid that if they wait too long, the Red Templars will kill the mages. Josephine, and Leliana surprisingly argue against this, seeing it too risky. But Cullen has a terrible gut feeling, and after finding the location of the abandoned keep they are located in, he takes some of his troops who are willing, and mages who are looking to save their brethren.

The raid goes all right, and the troops manage to retrieve the hostages without any casualties, however at the last minute, one of the templars set off hidden explosives that begin to set the the keep ablaze. As it falls into ruin, Cullen makes sure everyone makes it to safety. But then he sees a young mage girl trapped under rubble, and in spite of his lieutenant demanding he leave her, he doesn’t. He runs to her rescue and seemingly dies as the castle crushes both of them.

The troops return to Skyhold with the news that Commander Cullen has died in the rescue. Shocked, the remaining advisors and Imryll set off to find a new Commander.

Surprisingly, Cullen and the young mage girl, who introduces herself as Lyra, survives. Lyra mustered up her remaining strength to put a barrier around them as the castle fell. Cullen and Lyra then set to Skyhold in order to get her to safety. Cullen does everything in his power to make sure she is safe, and shocks everyone at their return. 

After this event, Imryll begins to warm up to Cullen. They form a friendship as Imryll often spends late nights at the mage tower doing research. Cullen initially stayed there to make sure nothing happened to Imryll (as she was not very popular with his troops or certain Orlesians). Despite them being from separate worlds they find they have a lot in common. 

When asked how he feels about the Dalish, Cullen tells her that in the Circle, elves were not treated differently and it does not matter who you are. Imryll tells him it’s a very blind way to view discrimination, as despite her existence not revolving on her being a Dalish elf, her being a Dalish elf is how people will always view her. Cullen finally understands when he accompanies her to Val Royeaux to deal with Josephine’s assassination contract and he sees how Orlesians treated Imryll in spite of her title. He speaks to her about it, and apologizes, saying he will never understand how it feels, but he will make sure she and the other elven members of the Inquisition feels safe. 

And all the while, Cullen begins to see what protecting those who need it is truly like. 

Cullen opens up to Imryll about his withdrawals. She tells him she supports him not taking lyrium again and encourages him not to. While suffering from a terrible spell, Imryll uses a healing spell to alleviate his headache and it triggers a memory from Kinloch. He freaks out at Imryll, who he scares off. He and Imryll don’t speak for a few days until he goes up to her and explains what happened. Imryll then says that if they are to be good friends they must always remain transparent with each other and learn boundaries and communicate well. Cullen agrees.

Cullen quitting lyrium inspires some of his troops to leave the order and quit lyrium. To be able to cope and deal with it, Cullen asks if they can have a rehab clinic in Skyhold. Imryll agrees.

As Cullen’s friendship with Imryll deepens he realizes he’s falling in love with her. Unsure what to do and already assuming she will never feel the same way he tries to shove the feelings aside despite Imryll showing signs of reciprocating. 

As time goes, Imryll’s relationship with Cullen’s lieutenant worsens because of the decisions she makes as the Inquisitor. The Lieutenant and Imryll get into a fight when Imryll allows the mages to make their own separate army group, as the lieutenant feels it will make them corrupt with power. He calls Imryll slurs and tells her that she has no right being a leader because of who she is. Cullen publicly calls him out, to which the lieutenant responds he is only doing because he wants something from Imryll. Cullen tells him he is doing it because it’s the right thing to do, and that the lieutenant should not speak or Imryll or any elf or mage in the way again. When he refuses to apologize, Cullen kicks him out of the Inquisition. 

Meanwhile, Imryll struggles with learning how to be a Knight-Enchanter. She questions her self worth and her bravery. Cullen comforts her, telling her she is the best person he knows. He tells her she is brave because of how she still continues to fight and to lead the Inquisition, not in spite of who she is, but because of who she is. He offers his support.

During the Shrine of Dumat, Cullen is hurt badly after attempting to keep a Red Templar Shade from Dorian. He refuses care, saying the others need it more. Imryll insists he does and asks if she can use a healing spell to alleviate the pain of his bruised chest. He lets her. Amidst this, they share a kiss and cements their romantic relationship.

Cullen and Imryll’s romantic relationship flourish and for the first time in his life, Cullen feels he’s found someone he can have a healthy love with. He also finds he has friends - real friends, which he hasn’t had in a long time.

During Samson’s capture - memories flash back and threatens Cullen to slip. This makes him realize that his say on the matter is biased and lets Imryll and the others choose what to do with him. (Imryll conscripts him but doesn’t have Cullen handle him, she has another recovering ex-Templar work with him and spend time in the rehab they’ve built in Skyhold).

When Imryll chooses Leliana as the Divine, Cullen shocks his former colleagues when he says he approves of the choice.

After Corypheus’ defeat the idea of the rehab clinics begin to spread and open up in other places - which begins to open conversation about how the Chantry exploits their own Templars.

Following the events of Trespasser, Imryll disbands the Inquisition. With land Cullen inherited from his parents he and Imryll build another rehab clinic as well as a place for former Circle mages to find a home in, and learn how to live lives outside the Circle (this post is Cullen-centric so I’m not gonna write a long thing about it but in my canon Divine Leliana and Vivienne find a middle ground and build centers/schools where abandoned and former Circle Mages can find a home in and learn, without them being prisons)

And scene! If you reached this end thank you for reading all that. A lot of the later stuff is mainly skipped over because this focused more on how Cullen changes - the repercussions from his actions and how he actively shows the changes.

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Ancient History, Part I

Chapter 24 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up on AO3! 

In which there is a dump of lore and I pray that the 10 hours straight that I spent researching this shit was worth it. [hysterical laughter]

~6300 words; read on AO3 instead, and please check out the endnote on AO3 for sources (codex entries and metas) if you’re interested.

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

“I understand that Solas spoke to you of a war,” Felassan said to Tamaris. “One where the Evanuris emerged as heroes and eventually came to be revered as gods?”

“He told me that much, yes,” she said.

He nodded. “What do the Dalish know of the Forgotten Ones?”

The Forgotten Ones? she thought. Was that the enemy that the Evanuris had fought in their big war? 

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s a reason we call them the Forgotten Ones, you know.”

He smirked. “Indulge me, avise.”

She sighed. “We thought they were the antithesis to the Creators. They were gods of pestilence and malice, and they resided in the Void.”

“Ah yes, the Void,” Felassan said cheerfully. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Honestly? I’ve no fucking clue,” she said bluntly. “A bad place, I guess, if the Forgotten Ones lived there.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot: our stories told that the Dread Wolf tricked the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris into getting locked in their respective realms so he could have the entire world to himself. That’s one of the stories that all the Dalish share. ” 

Felassan laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see his reaction when he heard that particular Dalish tale.” 

“Honestly, he didn’t bat an eye,” Tamaris said. “I think he’d probably heard it before he met me. He was pretty good at keeping his calm about those kinds of things, at least at first.”

Varric huffed at this. “Anyone else ever think about how much he must’ve been screaming on the inside during his time with the Inquisition?”

“Often,” Dorian said. “And I thought I was repressed and stifled.”

Felassan smirked. “Well, from what our histories tell, the war that brought the Evanuris their fame was against these so-called Forgotten Ones: a group of elves and spirits of which little was remembered, aside from the fact that they disagreed with the Evanuris and brought strife upon our people. This war had been raging for a thousand years before the Evanuris vanquished them. When the final eight rebels were rounded up, the Evanuris had to find some fitting punishment for these enemies who had plagued them for so long.” He lowered his arms and trailed his fingers lazily along the carpet. “After much deliberation – a few hundred years’ worth, give or take – the Evanuris finally decided on a punishment befitting the Forgotten Ones’ crimes: the rebels were forced into the shape of enormous dragons, all but one of them bound in submission to one of the Evanuris.”

“All but one?” Tamaris said curiously.

“Wait a minute,” Dorian cut in. “Eight rebels, you said?”

“That is what I said,” Felassan replied.

“But there are only — well, there were only seven Old Gods before the Wardens started killing them,” Dorian protested.

“That is what your human histories say, yes,” Felassan said.

Tamaris could practically see Dorian’s frown through the crystal. Then Dorian sighed. “All right, build the suspense. I see how it is. He’s just as bad as you, Varric.”

“Thanks, I think,” Varric said dryly. 

Tamaris held up a hand. “But wait. You said one of the eight rebels wasn’t bound to an Evanuris. Who didn’t get a dragon?”

Felassan shook his head. “It’s not a matter of who didn’t get a dragon. It’s a matter of a dragon not having an Evanuris to bind to it just yet.”

Tamaris frowned in confusion, then realized what he meant. “Ghilan’nain wasn’t counted among the gods yet,” she said.

He nodded in satisfaction. “She hadn’t even been born yet. Truly, she was a child compared to the other Evanuris.” He quirked a playful eyebrow. “Just makes her all the more frightening, doesn’t it?”

Varric grunted. “All right. So your Forgotten Ones are turned into dragons and forced into submission to the Elvhen… heroes, who aren’t gods yet. But there’s one spare dragon. What happened to that dragon?”

“You know, I can’t really say,” Felassan said. “Maybe it was paraded around like a symbol of the Evanuris’s power. Maybe Andruil just kept it as a pet; she was Mythal’s favoured protégée for a very long time.”

“Her protégée?” Tamaris said. “I thought Andruil was her daughter.”

Felassan tilted his head in an ambivalent gesture. “This is one of those cases where changes in the Elvhen language have caused confusion from my time to yours. I honestly can’t confirm whether Andruil was Mythal’s daughter; by the time I was born, the Evanuris all denied any direct blood relations to each other. But Mythal called Andruil ‘da’len’.” He cocked his head at Tamaris. “Which means what in modern Dalish Elvhen?”

“It means ‘child’,” Tamaris replied. “But it implies a student sort of relationship with someone who is older and more knowledgeable.”

Felassan nodded. “This may be where the confusion arose. In my time, ‘da’len’ was also used to refer to someone younger, but it implied a strong kinship like adopted family — one that you would protect and treat as dearly as though they were family. If the Dalish construed the word to mean ‘child’, they could easily have thought this meant that Andruil was Mythal’s child by blood.” He shrugged. “Maybe that was true. But by the time I was born, Andruil and Mythal were… not on the best of terms, shall we say. I certainly never heard Andruil refer to Mythal with any particular respect.”

Tamaris frowned thoughtfully at this, and Felassan raised his eyebrows at Tamaris and Varric. “Are we ready to move on to the next part of the tale?”

“Please do,” Dorian said.

“All right,” Felassan said. “Now, in the wake of the Evanuris’s victory, the Elvhen empire began to truly flourish. No longer were the Evanuris and their resources bound to the constant demands of war.” He waved one hand in an elegant gesture. “With infinite time at their disposal, they began creating beautiful works of art and architecture and magic. They explored our world in depth to determine its secrets so they could make even more fantastical creations. They wrote songs and created literature that would make you weep to hear and read them. The eluvians were created during this time, as well. Their initial design was by June, but their construction truly was a joint project between all of the Evanuris.” He gave Varric and Tamaris a rueful smile. “A cooperative project between seven confident and powerful mages: can you imagine? It really is something to marvel at.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s not wrong,” Dorian interjected. “It’s hard enough getting even three brilliant mages on the same page. Tamaris, do you recall that argument I had with Solas and Vivienne that almost resulted in a custard pudding being thrown at–”

Varric cleared his throat. “Maybe not right now, Sparkler.”

Felassan snickered. “Save that story for later, though. I would like to hear it.”

Tamaris harrumphed. “We’ll probably need the comic relief later.”

Felassan shot her a quick sympathetic look before going on. “This time of great intellectual and artistic growth is the time that Solas was so proud of, and that he is so wistful for. He told me that this was when he began to grow strong, feeding from and feeding back into the pride that his people had in themselves. He and Mythal became very close during this time, as she was the Evanuris’s de facto leader and the most clever and creative of them all.” Felassan’s expression grew serious, and he looked at Varric. “This was also the time that the Evanuris’s explorations took them underground, to the places that you now call the deep roads.”

Varric sighed and tugged an earring. “Oh shit. Here we go.”

Felassan gave him a wry little smile. “This was some two thousand years or so after the Great War was over. Andruil had made contact with a strange people who lived underground, toiling like ants to tend to something that they called ‘isana’.”

Tamaris frowned. “Isana. That’s the old dwarven word for lyrium, according to Valta.”

Felassan nodded, and Varric frowned. “‘Toiling like ants’? That’s not very flattering.”

“It does seem rather insulting, doesn’t it?” Felassan said lightly. “In any case, Mythal decided to accompany Andruil to the deep roads to get more information about these strange durgen’lin — these children of the stone. Upon her arrival to the deep roads, Mythal found the lyrium that Andruil had spoken of. And she found a race of people who, to her horror and pity, had no connection whatsoever to the Fade.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows jumped up at this, and Varric sat forward slightly. “Hang on. So the ancient dwarves never had a connection to the Fade?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Felassan said. 

Varric frowned and rubbed his chin. “Then why…?”

Felassan picked up where he trailed off. “Why do mages and the Dalish and everyone else think that the dwarves were cut off from the Fade somehow? An excellent question.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “A better question might be this: since when in the history of any culture has something different ever been accepted simply as a difference and not a deficiency?”

Tamaris grimaced at his bluntness, and Varric let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s grim, Jester. Even for you.”

Dorian spoke up in a serious tone. “Grim but true, unfortunately.”

Tamaris looked up at Felassan. “Mythal conquered the dwarves, didn’t she?” she said quietly.

He nodded again, and his expression was utterly somber. “Her intentions were… benevolent, if you can call them that. She pitied the dwarves for their inability to draw from the Fade. She pitied the fact that they could not hear the hum of the Fade. She and Andruil, with Elgar’nan’s support, went into the deep roads and took control of the dwarves’ domain, in the name of trying to help them access the Fade.”

Tamaris inhaled slowly; Felassan’s words were making her feel faintly nauseous. “What do you mean, trying to help them access the Fade?”

Dorian answered. “Experiments,” he said grimly. “That’s what you mean, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Felassan said quietly. “She experimented on the dwarves. The experiments were largely unsuccessful. And yet, despite their inability to access the Fade, the dwarves had access to lyrium: to this incredible source of power that was so potent that it poisoned anyone who approached it. Anyone who wasn’t a dwarf, that is,” he added, “since the ancient dwarves were completely immune to lyrium’s poisoning effects.”

“Immune?” Varric said in surprise. “Actually immune? Not just resistant?”

Felassan pulled a little face. “Perhaps immune isn’t the right word. What is the word I’m looking for…?” He pinched his lip thoughtfully and muttered to himself in Elvhen for a moment, then looked up at Tamaris and Varric. “When you entered the Titan with Valta. You said that something happened to her. She became connected to the Titan in some way?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “She did something that looked like a spell, and she was all… calm and wise.” She looked askance at Varric, hoping for help to describe how strange Valta had been.

“She said she was pure,” Varric said. “It was pretty weird.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “Pure. She used that word? ‘Pure’?”

“Yeah,” Varric said warily. “Is that significant?”

“More than you know,” Felassan said. “In any case, the way she was connected to the Titan, as per your descriptions: from what I’ve been able to discern and from what Fen’Harel told me, this is the way that all of the dwarves were once connected to lyrium — which, as you know, is Titan blood.”

Dorian spoke up. “So you’re saying that there was once a time that all dwarves had perfect control over the power of lyrium?”

“That’s my understanding,” Felassan said.

“Then Mythal appeared,” Dorian said, “and she began experimenting. And she… broke that connection?”

Felassan sighed. “In part. But the experiments were not the only problem. It was…” He sighed again and scratched the back of his head, then shot Tamaris a wary look.

She blinked. “What?”

He eyed her for a second longer, then let out a little laugh. “I can just imagine his face if he knew I was telling you this.”

She frowned. “You’re not his agent anymore, Felassan. It’s up to you to tell us whatever you want.”

“I know, avise,” he said. “It’s just… I can understand why he kept certain things to himself. Not everything,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “but some things.” He sighed. “The greatest mistake — the greatest act of Elvhen hubris — was not the experimentation on the dwarves per se, though that was a mistake to say the least.”

“The very least,” Varric muttered.

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement. “Mythal’s greatest mistake was in going deeper into the deep roads — deep enough that she found the Titan’s heart.”

Tamaris’s heart seized. “Mythal killed the Titan, didn’t she?” she asked.

“No,” he said, to Tamaris’s surprise. “She didn’t kill the Titan. She carved out a piece of its heart in order to use its power, and in so doing, she damaged the Titan and forever disrupted its song — an act that had damaging consequences that have lasted to this day.”

Varric sighed heavily. “The song,” he said. “It’s always about how lyrium sings. Regular lyrium has a song, red lyrium has a creepy song, Valta talked about the stone singing to her…”

“The Wardens spoke of the calling as being a song,” Dorian said. 

Tamaris frowned. “But that’s different, isn’t it? That’s because they’re tied to darkspawn.”

Dorian hummed an acknowledgement. “I suppose that’s true.”

“No, Dorian,” Felassan said. “You make a fair point. Darkspawn are tainted with the Blight, so it is tied to lyrium.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “How? Just because lyrium can be blighted too?”

Felassan waved a careless hand. “You’ll see. All in good time.”

Varric sighed and glanced at the sending crystal. “He’s worse than I am with the suspense-building.”

Dorian and Felassan chuckled, but Tamaris didn’t laugh. She looked up at Felassan with wide eyes. “Wait a minute, though. You told me that Templar powers are just a different form of magic powered by lyrium.”

“That is true, yes,” Felassan said.

“Wait, seriously?” Varric exclaimed.

Dorian snorted. “Oh, that makes a great deal of sense. And is terribly ironic to boot.”

Felassan smiled, then looked at Tamaris once more. “What are you thinking, avise?”

“If Templar powers are just magic,” she said, “then… then the ancient dwarves’ powers — and Valta’s powers — are a kind of magic too. They had to be.”

Felassan’s smile widened. “Exactly.”

Varric stared at him, then slumped back in his chair with a stunned look. “Andraste’s sacred ass.”

Dorian’s reply was indignant. “If the ancient dwarves were magical, why did Mythal think they weren’t?”

Felassan shrugged. “It was magic the likes of which the Evanuris had never before seen or felt. They didn’t understand it, so they dismissed it.”

Frustrated, Tamaris lowered her face to her hands, then dragged her hands over her braided hair. “For fuck’s sake,” she spat, and she glared at Felassan. “Why couldn’t they just leave the dwarves alone?”

He shrugged again. “It’s funny how often people think they must destroy something in order to truly understand it.”

“This isn’t funny!” she snapped.

“And I’m not really joking,” Felassan said calmly. “I’m just stating a fact.”

She blew out a sharp breath, then looked at Varric, and her heart twisted; Varric looked unusually angry.

“Chuckles knew about this, didn’t he?” Varric said quietly, and Tamaris’s stomach dropped; she hadn’t thought of that. 

She whipped around to look at Felassan. When she saw the look on Felassan’s face, her stomach twisted even further. “He knew?” she said faintly.

Felasan nodded slowly. “He accompanied Mythal for much of her travels in the deep roads.”

Fuck, Tamaris thought. Solas had watched Mythal experimenting on the dwarves and treating them like lesser creatures, and he hadn’t stopped her?

She took a deep breath to try and ease the pain in her chest. Dorian broke the tense silence. “That explains why there were so many wolf statues in that one place in the deep roads. You know the one, where the qunari were mining lyrium.”

Tamaris took another breath. “Yeah,” she said. She looked at Varric once more, and her pulse jolted with worry. The last time she’d seen him look this angry was when they’d discovered that Bianca had gotten mixed up with Corypheus’s Wardens. 

She stood up and went to sit on the armrest of his chair. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head slowly and looked up at her. “Do you remember him talking to me about the ancient dwarves? He made it sound like I was doing something wrong by not trying to bring back my so-called heritage like some Orzammar lord. And he was there the whole time, watching this Mythal person chip it away.”

His voice was hard with anger. Tamaris squeezed his arm in sympathy, then looked at Felassan, who was now wearing that dreaded look of millenia-old sadness. “Solas really agreed with Mythal’s actions against the dwarves?” she asked.

Felassan twisted his lips. “Keep in mind that Solas was still a spirit at the time of all of this. Mythal was proud of her… achievements, shall we say, and thus Solas was proud as well. He reflected and embodied her pride, and he was strengthened by it. But he was not… necessarily capable of understanding what was wrong with what had been done.”

Varric sighed loudly and shook his head. “This spirit shit is beyond me.”

Felassan sat up on the couch and folded his legs. “If it is of comfort to you, he realized Mythal’s errors once he became an elf.” He gave them a small twisted smile. “Yet another thing he bore considerable guilt about.”

“Yeah, well, he had a funny way of showing it,” Varric retorted.

Tamaris patted his shoulder soothingly. “He had a funny way of showing a lot of things.” She smiled wryly. “I mean, think about it. His way of telling me he loved me was by breaking up with me, right?”

Varric looked up at her in surprise, and Dorian’s words carried equal surprise. “Did you just make a joke about Solas breaking up with you?”

“Um, yes,” she said slowly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“No reason,” Dorian said. “I mean, you absolutely can. I just… am surprised you would.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s kind of funny in retrospect.” She looked at Varric, who was looking at her in an appraising way.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s – really, it’s nothing.”

Tamaris tsked and folded her arms. “That’s the last time I try to make a fucking joke.”

“I liked your joke,” Felassan said. 

He was smiling at her in a way that made her heart flip. He waved for her to approach. “Come here.” 

She huffed. “Bossy,” she muttered, but she rose from Varric’s chair and went to sit on the couch beside Felassan. 

He draped his arm around her with a smile, then addressed Dorian. “By the way, I answered your question. The orb of power that Solas had was essentially a refined chunk of Titan heart.”

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Well, that’s almost disappointingly simple.”

“Not if you get into the mechanics of it,” Felassan said. “But we can discuss that another time on our own. If Tamaris won’t be jealous about it.”

She tutted and tried to push him away, but he pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, let’s move on. So Mythal carved out a piece of Titan heart—”

“She and Andruil carved out several, actually,” Felassan corrected. “One for each of the Evanuris. They were still getting along at that time, you see.”

“Right,” Varric said. “So she carves out seven pieces of Titan heart, ruins the ancient dwarves’ connection to the Titans and weakens their resistance to lyrium, and the ancient elves are all, ‘hurray! Three cheers for the conquering heroes!’ Literally.”

Felassan let out a lovely rolling laugh. “An incredibly sarcastic and accurate summary. I like it.”

“As do I,” Dorian said. “Please keep summarizing events this way for us, Varric.”

“I live to entertain,” Varric said dryly.

Felassan smiled at him, then continued his telling. “Now, back on the surface in Arlathan, the Evanuris were rising beyond the status of mere heroes. They had enormous powerful dragons under their thrall, and each of them had become more unfathomably powerful than before thanks to their secret orbs, carved straight from a Titan’s heart. The mining and import of lyrium began, which brought even more raw power into the empire, and the artistic and intellectual endeavours of the Elvhen people continued to flourish. But this new power that Mythal had introduced was poorly understood, and the consequences of this poor understanding would take centuries to manifest.” He looked at Tamaris and Varric in turn. “This is when the Evanuris really came to be seen as gods. And this is when the corruption of my people truly began.”

She smiled faintly despite her disquiet. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

He smiled in return and squeezed her shoulder. “I know how much you enjoy it. In any case, many things were happening in the heart of Elvhenan. At first blush, this will all seem like gossip, but I assure you that it is relevant.” He released her and leaned back casually. “Andruil was growing jealous of Solas, who was starting to supplant her as Mythal’s so-called favourite. Solas, in the meantime, had made a new acquaintance: a young woman of great power and creativity who bore a special interest in animals and creatures.”

“Special interest…” Tamaris mused. Then she looked up with wide eyes. “You mean Ghilan’nain. Solas was friends with Ghilan’nain?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “A very long time ago. In fact, it was Solas who first brought Ghilan’nain to Mythal’s attention. Ghilan’nain was brilliant and bold, or so I’m told, and her pride drew Solas’s interest. He mentioned her to Mythal, and Mythal sent Andruil to learn more about this brilliant young woman.”

“Uh-oh,” Varric deadpanned.

Felassan let out a little chuckle that fell a little flat. “Quite,” he said. “Andruil quickly became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, and we spoke already of how Ghilan’nain and Andruil… egged each other on, so to speak. But Ghilan’nain and Solas were good friends, and Andruil was already jealous of Solas for having Mythal’s affection and trust… A messy situation all in all.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wonder if I could sell the rights to some Orlesian playwright and reap the royalties.”

“Please don’t,” Tamaris said flatly. “The humans will just use it as more of a reason to look down on us.”

“I’m kidding, of course,” Felassan said. “This looks worse on me than it does even on you, after all.” He thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Now where was I? Oh yes, the height of the Elvhen empire.” He gave Tamaris and Varric a wry look. “Nothing lasts forever, not even the glory of an empire of immortal beings. Eventually, the cooperation among the Evanuris began to crumble. Competitions and rivalries arose: petty feuds and bitter jealousies. The Evanuris began to form factions — Sylaise with Andruil, Falon’Din with Elgar’nan — but even those factions didn’t last for long. It was during this time, when the strife among the gods began to rise, that Mythal asked Solas to adopt a body and truly join her at her side.”

Dorian piped up from the crystal. “So he became an elf at Mythal’s request?”

Felassan nodded. “Mythal was his closest companion, and the person he felt the greatest affinity to. When she requested his assistance and companionship, he agreed. He left his spirit life behind and adopted a corporeal form.” A slow but broad smile lit his face. “And in so doing, he took Arlathan society by storm.”

Varric quirked an eyebrow. “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he liked to party, and he did it well,” Felassan said with a grin. “He was…” He looked at Tamaris. “How was it that you said he described himself? ‘Young, cocky, and ready to fight’?”

She huffed. “That’s it, yes.”

Dorian and Varric scoffed, and Felassan chuckled. “Hard to believe, perhaps, but that was Solas in his youth. He was charismatic and charming, and beloved by most of Arlathan. Not by Andruil, though; her jealousy only grew worse once she and Solas truly began treading the same paths in society.”

“Does her jealousy, er, matter in the long term?” Dorian asked.

Felassan shot the crystal a mock-affronted look. “You wound me by suggesting otherwise. Of course it matters.”

“My apologies,” Dorian said. “Go on.”

Felassan rubbed his chin. “Maybe I’ve been remiss. I should describe what Andruil was like, and perhaps my focus on her will make more sense. She was forceful and commanding, which is not a bad thing in itself, but she had…” He twisted his lips. “Let’s call it a mean streak. She was a brilliant hunter, but one who shamelessly enjoyed the kill. She was compelling, but more out of intimidation than persuasion. As time went on, her mean streak only became more tangible. Her devotion to Ghilan’nain was probably her greatest virtue, but even that was…” He trailed off and smiled at them, but the smile was hardly humorous. “I joked about Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s liaison before, but from what I observed and what Solas told me of the young Ghilan’nain — before she met Andruil, I mean — their mutual devotion was a poison to them both.”

Tamaris pulled a little face. “That’s… that’s really shitty.”

“It is unfortunate, yes,” Felassan said quietly. “How different things could have been if…” He trailed off again, then looked up with a smile. “Forgive me. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He chuckled and rubbed his forehead, but Tamaris could clearly hear the fatigue beneath his mirth.

She shifted closer to him on the couch and rubbed his knee. “Do you want a break? This is a lot to get into.”

He smiled at her. “I can’t stop now. Not when things are getting good.”

She frowned worriedly; his smile wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He stroked her hair, then looked at Varric. “This is the time I was born into,” he said. “My people’s greatest achievements were largely behind them, and our revered leaders were beginning to fight amongst themselves. The pillars of our greatness were being slowly eaten away by a sea of small-minded selfishness.”

His tone was bitter, and Tamaris squeezed his arm. He gave her a tight smile, then took a deep breath before continuing in a more measured tone. “Class divisions were clear, from noble to peasant, but those divisions were… worsening, so to speak.” For Varric and Dorian’s benefit, he explained, “I was born as a servant of into Andruil’s household.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose, and Felassan gave him a crooked and humourless smile. “Oh yes, that cruel and talented huntress herself. I say I was a servant, but by the time I was old enough to understand the difference between a servant and a slave, the distinction no longer existed.”

Dorian sighed. “Fasta vass. I am… so sorry, my friend.”

Felassan inclined his head politely. “Thank you. Truth be told, I was more fortunate than some. I was among the first slaves that Solas ever freed.”

Tamaris took his hand and laced her fingers with his. “I’m glad you didn’t have to suffer for long.”

“As am I,” he said. “Two hundred years or so is nothing compared to the suffering that some endured.”

Tamaris and Varric gaped at him, and Dorian exclaimed through the crystal. “Two hundred years as a slave?” 

Felassan waved them off. “As I said, it was a drop in the ocean compared to some. Do not feel sorry for me. You can feel sorry for my parents, but not for me.”

Her gut suddenly twisted. He’d never mentioned his parents before. “What happened to your parents?” she asked weakly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smile lifted his lips. He chuckled and shook his head, and when he met her gaze, his eyes were faintly bright. “Remember how we spoke of Ghilan’nain and her experiments?”

Her heart stopped for a split second. “Oh gods,” she breathed. “Oh fuck. Felassan…” She took his hands in hers.

He chuckled inappropriately, and Tamaris gently squeezed his hands. He took a deep calming breath, then met her eyes once more. “Don’t feel sorry for me, avise,” he said. “It is a pain worn down to dullness like the glass that you find in the sea.”

Varric cleared his throat. “Sorry, Jester,” he said quietly. “That’s rough.”

“You have my condolences as well,” Dorian said.

Felassan let out a little laugh that sounded more normal. “Cheer up, all of you. This story was meant to be entertaining.” He gently disentangled his hands from Tamaris’s, then draped his arm around her.

She tucked herself snugly against his side, and he smiled at her before tapping his chin. “Where was I? Oh yes: Solas setting me free. He’d taken a special interest in the wellbeing of slaves.”

Varric huffed. “That’s weirdly altruistic for a guy who watched Mythal crushing the dwarves.”

Felassan nodded in acknowledgement. “I am not making an excuse for him when I say that adopting a body humbled him. I have known several people who transitioned from spirit to elf, and I can guarantee that the transformation changed the way that Solas thought, if not his general… spirit, for lack of a better word. In any case, he channeled his boldness and his pride to justice for the empire’s slaves. He charmed and tricked and snuck his way into the Evanuris’s households and set free their slaves one by one — a few at a time, so the Evanuris wouldn’t notice — and Mythal welcomed us into her household instead. At least she did at first, when there weren’t so many of us and they could hide what Solas was doing.”

Tamaris frowned. “What happened when there were too many of you to hide?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Give me time, avise. I’ll get there.”

She tsked. He smiled cheekily at her, then began to tick off his fingers as he spoke. “At that point in time, the Evanuris were starting to fight among themselves, and Mythal was trying to keep the peace. Solas’s attention was divided between helping Mythal, freeing the slaves in secret, and his growing concerns about Ghilan’nain, whose experiments were becoming more disturbing. Solas eventually explained his concerns about Ghilan’nain to Mythal, and the Evanuris decided to offer Ghilan’nain a deal: she was to stop her experimentation and destroy her more disturbing monsters, and in exchange, the Evanuris would raise her to their status and would bestow upon her the greatest symbol that signified their status: that final Forgotten One in draconic form.”

Dorian spoke up. “But that still doesn’t explain how there were eight Forgotten One dragons and only seven Old Gods.”

Felassan grinned at Varric and Tamaris. “Is he always this impatient?”

Varric smiled ruefully. “Take it as a compliment,” he said. “That’s how you know you’re telling a story he likes.”

Dorian grumbled through the crystal, and Felassan chuckled. “Oh, good. Anyway, the Evanuris’s attempts to curb Ghilan’nain came too late. Around this same time, Andruil had been taking longer absences from her lands, and by all accounts, she was stranger and more cruel with every return. Much later, later than any of us could have prevented, we found out that…” He sighed. “By the time Ghilan’nain was ascended to the status of an Evanuris, Andruil had already brought back a gift for her from her hunts — a gift that…” He paused and licked his lips. “A gift that unnerved Solas when he eventually discovered it, and his apprehension was enough to terrify those of us who knew him well.”

Tamaris’s gut twisted with dread. “What was it? What did she bring back?”

Felassan smiled at her, but his smile was all wrong. “You know what he brought back, avise.”

She gazed at him in horror, but it was Varric who said the words. “Red lyrium,” he said hoarsely. 

“Yes,” Felassan confirmed. “It was Andruil who brought red lyrium to our people from the depths of the dwarven lands — or, as these lands would eventually come to be known, the Void.”

“Why?” Tamaris said tensely. “Why would she do that?”

Once again, Varric answered. “It whispered to her, right? That has to be it.” He sounded tired and sad, and Tamaris shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I suspect that you’re right,” Felassan said. “She was seeking power, so she must have gone to its source: the lyrium mine, which was still mainly guarded by dwarves but was under elven control. Red lyrium and its corrupted song would have lured Andruil’s interest and called to her natural cruelty, and upon finding it, she brought it out of the Void and back to our people — specifically to Ghilan’nain.”

“Why the fuck did she need more power?” Tamaris burst out. “She already had a piece of Titan heart!”

Felassan gave her a fond look. “Aren’t you sweet for asking such a question?”

Dorian chuckled. “She is quite precious, isn’t she? Even after everything that she’s had to do.”

Tamaris curled her lip and folded her arms. “Don’t condescend to me, you assholes.”

“We’re not,” Felassan said. “I’m genuinely charmed by the humility that your question implies. To answer your question, Andruil didn’t need more power. She simply wanted it. Or in this case, she wanted it for Ghilan’nain, but she certainly made use of the red lyrium power herself. By the time Solas realized what was going on with Andruil and Ghilan’nain and the red lyrium, it was…” Felassan shook his head ruefully. “His position in society was growing precarious. His work freeing the slaves was too extensive to hide, and he had begun construction of a fortress to house us.”

Tamaris’s eyes went wide. “He started building Skyhold?”

“We started building it, yes,” Felassan said. “He also began working on a type of magical… shield for us that would repel others’ perception and magical interference, and that would allow us to continue freeing slaves in secret.”

“A shield to repel perception?” Dorian said sharply. “You mean that it made you invisible?”

“It made us difficult to detect and to enact magic on,” Felassan said.

“Interesting,” Dorian said keenly.

Felassan smiled faintly. “It will be, soon. Anyway, as popular and well-liked as Solas had once been at parties, his activities with the slaves were making him equally unpopular. Mythal was having great difficulty justifying her favour of Solas when he was actively antagonizing all of her compatriots. When he took his suspicions about red lyrium to Mythal, she almost didn’t act on them for fear of disrupting the delicate balance she was holding between the Evanuris and the counsel of her beloved wolf.”

“What did he tell Mythal, exactly?” Tamaris asked. “What did he know about red lyrium?”

Varric sat forward in his chair. “That’s what I want to know. If this was the first time that red lyrium was ever seen, that means it’s the first time the Blight was ever seen, right?”

Felassan hesitated, then sighed. “What Solas told Mythal is that Andruil brought back a form of corrupted lyrium from the deep roads — lyrium that had a detrimental, corrupting effect on the minds of those who used it. He asked Mythal to go back to the deep roads and seal off the lyrium mines to stop any further red lyrium from being removed.”

“Let me guess,” Tamaris said flatly. “She refused.”

“Not exactly, no,” Felassan said. “She went and investigated in the deep roads. Shortly after, she returned — and by shortly, I mean fifty years later or so, an incredibly short time in ancient Elvhen time. Another few years later, the Evanuris’s mighty dragons were no longer seen at the Evanuris’s palatial compounds.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows quizzically, but Dorian spoke up. “The Evanuris moved them to the deep roads?” he said.

Felassan gestured playfully to the sending crystal. “And so you see, the pieces start to come together.”

Dorian sighed in satisfaction. “That’s a satisfying mystery to have solved. I always wondered how in the Maker’s name a handful of enormous dragons found themselves underground.”

Tamaris frowned. “The Evanuris moved their dragons to the deep roads… but those were their big symbols of power. They wouldn’t have moved their symbols of power out of sight unless something really unnerved them.” She looked up at Felassan. “The archdemons are guarding something, aren’t they?”

Felassan smiled at her, but the expression held only sadness. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Solas said that the dragons were being placed around the Titan to prevent anyone else from taking more power where they didn’t need it.”

“But that isn’t the real reason, is it?” Tamaris pushed. “That’s not really why the dragons were put there.”

Felassan sighed. “I can’t confirm this with certainty, because Solas would not confirm it for me. He was too… frankly, I believe that he was terrified of anyone knowing for sure what the dragons were guarding. But this is what I think.” He looked her in the eye, and his violet eyes held a fathomless depth of sorrow. 

“I think that the Titan heart is the original source of the Blight,” he said. “I think the Evanuris placed their dragons there not only to keep anyone from getting in, but also to prevent the Blight from getting out.” 

[anemeraldknight]

About Duke Cadash, part 2

okay so I know that this is supposed to be like an ask thing from here! butI only have like 3 followers on here, I just finished my second playthrough of Inquisition and I really really wanna talk about my Inquisitor :’)) so we’re doing this

what is your inquisitor’s name & race? - Duke Cadash, surface dwarf

what is their sexual orientation? - bisexual <3

what do they look like? (add screenshots, drawings, descriptions!) - he's a freckly ginger and has bright blue eyes, a very well groomed beard (he at least tries to redo the braids every morning), undercut on on the left side of his head but otherwise longish hair, scarring underneath his right eye and between his brows; he's like muscular and thick at the same time, I don't know a good word for it? but yea :) he's prettyy

how did they feel about being called “the herald of andraste”? - he uses it to his advantage. he doesn't outright deny it to people he doesn't really trust, only those closest to him know his real stance on it. he just takes being called the Herald in stride, doesn't hate it but isn't the biggest fan either

what are their religious beliefs, if they have any? - believes in the Stone because his parents had been cast out from Orzammar and they passed on their beliefs to him as well. he's not super into it though, more like a casual believer.

what is their opinion on the mage/templar war? - supports the mages and even though he can get along with templars if necessary, he often calls them out for their prejudices and bullshit. he believes that the war was inevitable and kind of necessary as well because in his eyes big change usually comes by, sadly, using harsher tactics.

who is your inquisitor’s best friend? - he was suuper close with Blackwall in the beginning because their humor was pretty similar, he was one of the first people he recruited on his own, and they're both pretty close in terms of age as well. however, as Duke grew closer to Dorian, they became best friends instead (and then eventually lovers). I'd say his real best friend is either Cassandra or Solas? because even though he disagrees with both of them quite a lot, they still somehow manage to get on pretty well <33 and they both have been there from the very beginning of this entire journey!! so it makes sense :) also, Duke is suuuuuper loyal, so when he found out about Blackwall :)) he fucking flipped and completely shunned him and never again took him into his party.

who is their rival? - uhhh among the companions? I don't think he really has one...

who is their love interest, if they chose one? do you ship them with anyone else/non-romanceable options? - DORIAN!! <333

warrior, rogue, or mage? - rogue, archer

how do they feel about the dalish? - he feels for them and wants to support them and work together as much as possible. he can see that a lot of them seem arrogant and standoffish on the outside, but he gets why that is, so he just lets them be and tries to work with it.

how do they feel about the qun? - he does not like the qun, to him it seems like a cult. he can also see many similarities between it and the chantry so.

how do they feel about the chantry? - he doesn't like the chantry BUT he does not shun them out loud because he knows that having them support him makes him look good to those who believe in Andraste and such, but also he doesn't wanna take away hope from those who find it in him during such a difficult time (even though he doesn't believe he's chosen in any way)

which demon is most frightening to them? - definitely the nightmare. Duke doesn’t get rattled very easily but that whole thing managed to get underneath his skin. plus! he’s incredibly scared of spiders and the nightmare created to many of them to freak him out, so the entire fade thingy was very hard on my poor Master Cadash :((

did they choose the qun or the chargers in iron bull’s personal quest? why? - the chargers. he didn’t trust the whole thing from the beginning and basically went along with it because he wanted to support the Iron Bull and because he could feel that something fishy was going on. also, even before the whole thing Duke got along with Krem really well, because he has this habit of taking younger people under his wing (exhibit A: Cole) so that’s also what kinda happened with Krem. ALSO! another thing is that Duke id very much against sacrificing lives in order to get something, so even if he hadn’t cared about any of the chargers personally, it would’ve just went against everything he stood for.

when are they the happiest? - when he's exploring the wilderness with his party, probably picking elfroot or iron lol

how do they feel about the mark/the anchor? - it doesn’t really cause him very much pain so he sees it mostly as something  that’s just there and helps him deal with this whole mess.

upon first meeting cole, were they afraid of him? - not really? he could tell that he was different but Thedas is full of so much surreal and nonsensical shit that this kid who acts a bit outside of the established rules of the society didn't really faze him. when he first met Cole during the attack on Haven, his first reaction was that “why is this young kid out here??? get him to safety!!!!” but yknow in a way where he could still see that Cole was perfectly capable of pulling his own weight, Duke just worries.

did they use the templars or the mages to close the breach? - mages

what was their court approval like at the winter palace? did they have any fun at all? - the only things that Duke liked during the whole charade was seeing Josephine and Leliana enjoying the whole thing AND getting to dance with Dorian. he got 100 court approval but he hated that everybody kept shitting on him for being a dwarf etc. also dealing with Gaspard, Celene, and Breala was frecking frustrating.

someone is encroaching on their love interest. how do they respond? - idk how to answer this. he knows that Dorian can handle himself but if the situation requires his help then he will get supper angry and protective

what is their favourite weapon? - Duke’s Bayard!! :D this really great bow that he got made

are there any creatures in the wild that they refuse to/are reluctant to kill? why? - nugs because to him they look like a rabbit and an old wrinkly man merged into one. so yea, no. he also doesn’t like killing dragons. the only proper dragon he and his party ever killed was the big one in the hinterlands but Duke didn't feel right about it afterwards so he never went after another again

what is their opinion on blood magic? would they ever use it, if given the chance? - to him blood magic is just a type of magic really but I don't think he'd use it if he were able to

what is their favourite place within playable regions? - interestingly, the hinterlands. it's because he grew up in fereldan is used to that kind of nature

did they feel suspicious of dorian upon first meeting him, because of his tevinter heritage? - a bit, yes, but it quickly faded

as a whole, how do they feel about tevinter + the imperium? - he hates the whole slavery business that they've got going on over there but Dorian manages to convince him that the imperium could be changed so he has hope for it. he doesn't blindly hate every vint he meets.

did they encourage cullen to continue taking lyrium, or to stop? for what reasons? - to stop because even though he’s not very close to Cullen and he has his issues with him, he didn't want him to be dependent of lyrium in order to work to the best of his abilities. because Cullen is in charge of such a huge part of the Inquisition, he needs him to be dependable

does it bother them to sleep in tents when on the road with the inquisition? - nope! Duke loves tracking and yknow finding and looking for stuff out in the wilds so he’s used to that sort of thing since he grew up in a naturey place. he had to spend a lot of nights in similar situations while he was part of the Carta too

are they an optimist, a pessimist, or neutral? - i guess something between an optimist and a neutral? I guess you could call him an optimistic realist. he rarely veers towards pessimism

if varric wrote a book about your inquisitor, how would they feel about that? - he would actively encourage it because it would be fucking hilarious to read

do they get along with vivienne? - nope, he doesn’t even recruit her.

are they afraid of anything specifically? - spiders

what was their reaction to the destruction of haven?

how do they feel about “the game”? - a bunch of nugcrap

are they especially protective of certain inquisition members, even those capable of defending themselves? - even though he knows that all three of them can take care of themselves and he trusts them to do so, he still worries about them the most. Cole, Krem , and scout Harding.

do they like their skyhold pajamas? - he hates the pajamas. but the outfits that he usually wears look superrr fly so he doesn’t mind those one bit

are there any insults they find to be especially offensive? (i.e. “knife ear”/”rabbit” for elves, “oxmen” for qunari, ect.) - I am not sure what insults a dwarf would get in terms of specific words. the fact that people keep making comments about the Inquisitor surprisingly being a dwarf does annoy him though

if varric gave them a nickname, what would it be? - either cherry because of his red hair OR the Archduke :P

do they enjoy being the inquisitor? - yes!! at the beginning, he's more wary of it, which of course makes sense, but even then he's just ready to take on the role of the leader because no one else will do it and he does have the mark so it makes sense for him to do it. as time moves on he grows to really like it! he makes a great leader and he knows it.

[virlath]

Alas so long as the music plays, we dance

The references to music and song in dragon age is important.

Cole:

He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same.

and then Cole, to Varric:

Do you write to reach across? To hear the song that was sundered?

Dwarves don’t dream or use magic because their connection to magic and dreams was severed for some ~mysterious reason~. However, dwarves are the only race that can mine lyrium effectively, and lyrium is a substance essential for the creation of magic. Therefore it’s clear dwarves did in fact have a strong connection to magic in ancient times, before a ~significant event~ happened that altered the course of their culture and race.

It’s funny to note, even though dwarves don’t dream, Varric is renowned for his creative works of fiction. I think even Cole questions this in Trespasser (can’t remember the specific dialogue).

Things we know

Dwarves have no gods, instead venerating the stone.

Some dwarves have a sixth sense for the stone and are able to detect lyrium veins easily. Some also hear lyrium “sing”. Since it was revealed lyrium is the blood of the Titans in the Descent, we can assume the song blue lyrium gives off is the “song of the Titans”.

We also know dwarves are the most methodical race in Thedas to document their history, however their memories don’t record the history of the Titans and the Sha-Brytol.  

We all know lyrium sings in some sorta way, be it blue or red lyrium.

Lyrium is often referred to as a source of magic and creation (people use lyrium to literally create magic).

If Leliana dies in DAO, the epilogue for Leliana Inquisition states: “The lyrium sang thought into being. Now time is stale, and the melody is called elsewhere.”

Varric is so opposed to red lyrium because not only is it tainted, he constantly asserts how he just feels like there’s something evil and unsettling about it. Even though he doesn’t know a thing about magic, he knows it should be destroyed.

And finally, we know the elves lusted for more power, and we also know Mythal had already defeated one titan to harvest lyrium (to sustain the elvhenan empire?) in the times of ancient Arlathan.

Major thoughts I have:

It is implied lyrium can be used to create beings.

How did the dwarves lose so much of their history if they are so adamant about preserving it?

Why does the lyrium sing?

Valta, in the Descent:

Its blood now flows through me, and its song fills the gaps in our history. I close my eyes and see glimpses of the world that was, before everything changed and the dwarven race broke in two. Something caused the Titans to fall, and the fate of my people fell with them. The Titan wants me to know. No, more than that. It wants me to understand. There is a loneliness to its song.

The Titans are lonely because many of its children (modern day dwarves) are no longer connected to it.

============

Some theories on the history of Dragon Age

*puts tin foil on*

In the elves’ civil war and lust for even more power, could the evanuris have inadvertently created the taint and resulting blights through the killing/sacrifice of Mythal?

Mythal was one of the most powerful beings in ancient Arlathan. Combining her power with blue lyrium would be unprecedented and likely result in some extremely powerful magical abilities.

The evanuris got the power they wanted, but their plot also resulted in red lyrium- a corruption that was extremely powerful, weakened/infected titans, and eventually infecting the Sha Brytol and turning them into the first darkspawn.

It is important to note, the Primeval Thaig contains magical items, rock beings, and of course the red lyrium idol, all of which seem to have a mind of its own. That was the inate power of red lyrium - it could be used to create and animate inanimate objects like stone. For spirits like the elven who were already powerful, this would have been useful- much like how a demon army sounds like a good idea to mortals.

Dwarves could have also used this red lyrium to perform even more powerful enchantment or magic. The dwarves seemingly revered the red lyrium idol- perhaps for Mythal’s sacrifice in creating some sort of higher form of lyrium?

Once Solas learned of how the red lyrium was corrupting the evanuris and being used in the fade itself, he locked the gods up, sealed up the primeval thaig in hopes it would stop spreading, then went to sleep. Unfortunately during this time, the first blight started as the taint spread through the Titans and Sha-Brytol, and then onto the Forgotten ones who were sealed deep underground. That’s why red lyrium sounds “angry”, and why it gives off a heat. The song in red lyrium contains the voice of the titans as well as the old gods who are trapped down there.

Cole, on red lyrium:

The red lyrium is different, darker. Daggers under the skin. It eats you inside until you're nothing. They hear a different song. The song behind the door old whispers want opened. They are dead and dark and done.

It is important to note, Solas’ next plan of attack in DA4 involves heavy use of red lyrium through the idol, and through some sort of “ritual” as described in Tevinter Nights. His use of red lyrium is also implied through the teaser murals, and the wolf’s red eyes.

He needs to use red lyrium because it’s either extremely powerful, he’s desperate, or maybe it’s the only thing powerful enough to destroy the veil now that his orb is broken...but, there’s not much info to go on at this point. It just seems very...odd to me that his character would resort to using red lyrium to destroy the veil.

The Idol

The red idol represents the sacrifice (or blood ritual) resulting in the death of Mythal and perhaps other unidentified sacrifices or elven slaves. Notice how it looks like the people are being pulled into the stone, featuring very prominent red lyrium veins.

Could Solas have severed the dwarves’ connection to the fade and magic through the actual creation of the veil? It’s implied he collapsed the primeval thaig that had the red lyrium idol in it, and considering the enormous implications it has on dwarven history with magic, he had to have had a good reason to do so.

I’m still not entirely sure about the dwarf/elf relations at this time, but the elves may not even have seen the dwarves as “people” back then because they were simply a collective hive mind joined to the Titan. The only reason the Sha-Brytol attack you in the Descent is because they are acting as an “immune defense”. Maybe it was the construction of the veil itself that allowed the dwarves free will, the caveat being they would be cut off from magic altogether.

Since the dwarves of that time were intrinsically tied to the titan’s magic as a whole, the creation of the veil would mean they lost their collective memories and abilities to use magic altogether.

Solas on dwarves:

"Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood, undirected, whatever skill at arms it had gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream."

The blood may reference the blood of the titan, but it could also represent how their race came to be the way they are- through red lyrium and elven blood magic.  Maybe they used the red lyrium in the primeval thaig, not knowing it was corrupted until it was too late.