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atrwriting · 2 years ago

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chapter two -- the wolf and the dragon (aemond x you)

super original title right

captain 'barely proofreads' reporting for duty with another chapter

as always, warnings: no smut (sorry i know), violence, sexism, alcoholism

you fell into a routine soon after the arrangements were made: wake up, work your normal business hours, politely kick out all of your employees after closing duties were finished, and retreat to your apartment so the targaryen brothers could do what they pleased with your business downstairs. it proved rather difficult to ignore the louder screams, but from a peak out of your bedroom window you realized men were never carrying a body over their shoulder. you considered that a win. busted and bruised men walked away from your building, aegon and aemond usually left after a drink or two, and while you probably should’ve felt wary… you didn’t. you would breathe a sigh of relief at every sight.

there were times where you would venture out from your bedroom late at night in search of the comfort that the sting of jose cuervo down your throat provided you when you couldn’t sleep. you tried not to, as you were a firm believer in curiosity killed the cat, but some nights proved more difficult than others.

“my brother told me you liked to venture out late at night,” a tired and raspy voice spoke when you found yourself downstairs in the bar one night. “never thought i’d make the acquaintance with smiley face pajamas.”

aegon targaryen. you sighed.

“you’ll be waiting a bit on the pajamas,” you spat. “after hours visitors means i am completely covered. when i’m in search of a night cap, that is.”

he smacked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “damn shame. stark women are always a sight. mean, but always a sight.”

“i’m quite pleasant when i’m not being bothered,” you grumbled, grabbing two glasses. “poison?”

“beer, doll,” he rasped. “i’m about as bothered tonight as you always seem.”

“not something stronger?” you genuinely asked. “you look like you need it.”

he shook his head. “business to take care.”

“damn shame,” you sighed. “you’re nicer when you’re drunk.”

he chuckled. “next time.”

you fished out a cold bottle before pouring yourself tequila. aegon’s gaze was far away, even though he stared at the top of the bar. the wood was cracked and worn and it definitely didn’t deserve as much attention as he was giving it, which meant he was in another world.

“do you need to talk about it?” you ventured.

he was still before a small smile was brought to his lips. “pillow talk is reserved for post-sex. and… sweetheart, you don’t want to know.”

you shook your head. “you and your brother are so cryptic.”

“you studied law, right?”

you narrowed your eyes. “how did you know about that?”

“jimmy loved to talk about you,” he laughed, trailing off. “but, anyway… you of all people should know that if you’re kept in the dark, no one can charge you with being an accomplice.”

“aiding and abetting is still floating in the air,” you snapped.

"only if they can prove it," he quipped.

suddenly, a loud crash was heard from below your feet. you immediately jumped, but aegon didn’t move a muscle. your gaze snapped to him, but he remained unbothered.

“should we…”

“no,” he stated. “my brother will take care of it.”

that’s when you heard aemond’s loud scream. you both ran for the basement door.

it was stupid to follow the sound of the scream, but you couldn’t help yourself. if you got in front of aegon, that meant he couldn’t stop you because he was more worried about his brother than making sure the small bartender didn’t see what secrets were hiding in her basement. barreling down the steps, you both looked around the room trying to catch your breath.

“fuck—“ aemond gasped.

aemond was wrestling with an unknown man in the middle of the floor. the man had a piece of tape lingering on his forehead, and one piece on his cheek, meaning aemond had tried to dull the man’s senses. discarded ropes were on the flood, a chair has been thrown to the ground, and you immediately gasped before throwing yourself into the fight.

the man was on top of aemond, holding him down by the throat with his knees pressed into aemond’s shoulders. his intent to kill was so strong — and probably also the pain from the torture he had endured minutes before — that you successfully hopped over the man and wrapped your forearm around the man’s throat, having his chin rest tightly in the crook of your elbow. you yanked his weight back, holding his throat in your grasp. he struggled against your hold, but no one's strength could last for that long when their air supply was cut off. headlocks were your favorite.

“fucking bitch — where did you —“

you weren’t very strong, but aemond had done a number on the man before that he gave away easy when you hauled him off aemond and to his feet. he was struggling against your forearm, but there was no strength or adrenaline left in him to try and kick our your legs. kicking him in the back of his knee, coupled with the loss of oxygen, he fell to his hands and knees on the hard cement. you held him in place before aegon had finally stepped in, smacking the man upside the head with the handle of his handgun.

“thank god you had the next move because i usually flip the channel before a poor asshole gets knocked out,” you breathed heavily, placing your hands on your hips.

aegon eyed you quizzically, genuinely confused. “and miss the best part?”

you rolled your eyes.

aemond got to his feet and immediately cast daggers at his brother. his face was red, bloody, severely bruised, and his glare seemed hazier than usual.

“you let her down here?” aemond bit.

aegon shrugged. “smiley’s fast.”

aemond was seething, “you let her best you? more than once?”

aegon quirked an eyebrow. “i wasn’t the only one bested it seems. you don’t look well, brother.”

“come upstairs,” you ordered aemond. “we need to reset your nose.”

“it’s not broken!” aemond grunted, casting a glare your way.

you rolled your eyes. “i can tell it is. aegon can deal with… him.”

aegon let out a sigh of discontent before he muttered how he should’ve taken the vodka over the beer. you went up the stairs as aemond followed reluctantly behind you.

“whiskey or vodka?” you asked, grabbing your kit from under the bar and gesturing him to sit down at one of the stools.

“tequila,” he stated.

you nodded before pouring him a glass. “what happened?”

“don’t ask.”

you sighed. “...alrighty then. how’s the pain?”

“it’s fine.”

“not a man of 'tmi,' are you?”

“nor a man of many words,” he spat. “especially when you knew you weren’t supposed to be down there.”

“seeing as though aegon looked worried, i figured it was allowed.”

“it’s never allowed. you know better,” he spat as you disinfected his wounds.

“yeah, well…” you sighed, trailing off. “your eye socket is okay… but under your patch is bleeding. can i… check?”

he swallowed thickly and paused. he nodded reluctantly.

you removed his eyepatch and set it down on the bar next to you. he was sure to have a black eye in the morning, even if only a sapphire jewel rested in his socket. what remained of his eyelid was split, but nothing too worrisome.

“first time i’ve ever seen you get got this bad,” you sighed. “usually you walk out untouched.”

“and it will be the last time,” he said through gritted teeth, like a warning.

you chuckled, lacing his patch back on. “mad a girl got him off of you?”

he grabbed your wrist suddenly then and glared at you. also a warning.

you sucked in a sharp breath as you stared back at him, frozen. his angry eye remained on you as you tried to shrug off his hold, successfully getting out of it before returning to your work.

“was only joking,” you grumbled. “finish your tequila… i have to reset your nose.”

with his eye still on you, aemond slammed his tequila and placed the glass back down on the bar. he swallowed thickly and gestured for you to continue. your jaw tensed as you reached for the side of his face with one hand, his nose in the other, and snapped it back into place in a swift movement.

“fuck-!” aemond grunted through gritted teeth, leaning closer towards you in pain.

“all better,” you said, pressing gauze underneath his nostrils to catch any stray blood. “you’re a bleeder, aemond, jesus…”

he ignored you. “where did you learn to do this?”

you swallowed. “bartenders should.”

“came in handy,” he sighed, reaching for the stray tequila bottle and pouring himself another glass. he finished his pour quickly before pouring another. “saved me a trip to our shit doctor.”

you chuckled. “do you need pain meds?”

he shook his head. “tequila is fine.”

he went to get up, but his shoulders were swaying. you immediately grabbed him by the arm to steady him. “tequila is fine, but it’s strong… sit down.”

reluctantly, he sat back down. “i need to make sure aegon doesn’t need help.”

“there’s only one way to get out of that basement,” you reminded him. “we’ll hear either him or that guy running up it, hopefully not the latter, if they need you. you should rest. you’re no use to anyone like this.”

aemond didn’t respond, and you didn’t think it was right to push it. you left him at the end of the bar with his glass and his tequila, and passed him a cup of water. you turned on the frier and started making chicken tenders and fries to curb his drunkenness. as you both waited for aegon, you tidied up the bar as he sat there quietly. through his injured eye, his gaze was trained on the bar. his exhaustion and annoyance was obvious, and you hoped it wasn’t being worsened by the tequila.

unlike his brother... he wasn't nicer when he was drunk.

the frier signaled it was done, and you immediately retreated behind the bar to the kitchen. grabbing his food and condiments and going back to him, you served him his food.

“you should eat. tequila’s deadly on an empty stomach.”

he picked up a fry. “so is no sleep. aegon needs to hurry up.”

“do you want me to check?” you asked.

“no,” he grunted. “he’ll be up soon.”

you busied yourself once more, hoping to pass the time. aemond ate silently, and thankfully finished his food. you threw in more food for aegon, thinking he probably would want a bite to eat after he came up — and his own bottle, but that was a different story.

aegon came up shortly after you had plated his food, and the man from before left out your front door without acknowledging anyone. the two brothers didn't bat an eye, let along glance in the unknown's man direction as they let him leave. you eyed the door curiously, and then the brothers, and threw your hands up in annoyance.

“you knocked him out with a glock!" you stated with eyes trained on the both of them.

aegon shrugged. “these for me?”

you shook your head in disbelief. “y-yes… here’s your vodka. why is he allowed to just walk out of here?”

“killing is messy,” aegon settled calmly. “he won’t cause trouble after this.”

“why’s that?” you demanded.

“we’re a team of two, sweetheart,” he reminded, shoveling food in his mouth and washing it down with vodka. “we have no need for an accomplice. and, right now: i’m a team of one. on that note, i need to get laid, so i’ll be off... unless you’re willing to take one for the team, sweetheart.”

you scoffed. “i’m not a member, as you just reminded me — so, no, find another victim."

he winked before walking away. “aemond, i’m taking the car.”

“drop me off first?!”

“nope,” and he left.

aemond sat and stared at the door, and then also shook his head in disbelief. he muttered a few insults under his breath as you contemplated your next move.

“i’d drive you, but i’ve been drinking,” you said.

he ignored you.

you shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “you can… crash here… if you promise that was the last visitor of the night.”

he looked up at you and narrowed his eyes. “and why would you let me do that?”

“seems like you don’t have another ride,” you shrugged. “also, scary men are less scary when you’re nice to them. you’re grumpy.”

“i’ll pass.”

you rolled your eyes, sighing. “i’m off then. goodnight aemond.”

you didn’t expect him to come up. you really didn’t. you figured he had found a ride, called some broad, overstayed his welcome and kept eating chicken fingers downstairs, or aegon had busted a nut too quickly and came back around to apologize to his brother. actually, scratch the apology. probably just finished his dick appointment and picked up his brother.

no matter what happened, you didn’t expect him to come up that night. so what did you do? you planted yourself on the couch and watched sitcom reruns. there wasn’t much else to do at 1am when it was difficult to fall asleep at a normal hour, and you were too frightened to venture downstairs and find another nightcap. so you laughed along to chandler bing, and tried to drift off to sleep.

emphasis on tried. you were comfortable, snuggled up in your favorite blanket and cute pajamas, and exhaustion was about to take you when you heard your front door knob began to twist.

fuck.

despite your dream like state, you immediately jumped up when the intruder showed himself.

aemond targaryen.

you threw your hands up in anguish. “i was about to go for a knife!”

he pursed his lips. “my apologies.

you sighed, retreating to a defeated stance with your hands on your hips. “take the bed in the other room.”

his brow furrowed. “i’m not taking your bed from you.”

you rolled your eyes. “a woman in hospitality doesn’t let guests sleep on her couch. plus, i’m watching television.”

“fine,” he replied with reluctance, stepping into your living room. “then i’m watching bad sitcoms too.”

#aemond fic #aemond #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aegon ii targaryen #aegon #aemond x oc #aemond x you #house targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemong x oc

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hopefullystillliving · 2 years ago

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Tag 10 people you wanna know better

Tagged by @miriel-therindes, thank you!

Relationship status: Single as a pringle and perfectly content. (also alsjdflsj Lyndeth I've proposed to people with ringpops before as a joke)

Favorite colour(s): Blues, teal-greens, purples, gold, silver

Favorite food: Specifically my mom's cucumber sushi. It's to die for.

Song stuck in my head: Don't Stop Believing. I heard it over a store radio and it's been haunting me. I hate it.

Last thing you googled: Ring verse black speech

Time: 8:18 pm

Dream trip: I literally don't know. I want to visit all seven continents (3/7 so far) so maybe get Antarctica out of the way?

Last thing you read: Today's Dracula Daily

Last book you enjoyed reading: In full? Lord of the Flies

Last book you hated reading: Jane Eyre. Not my cup of tea.

Favorite thing to cook/bake: Hmm. Probably devil's food cake or chocolate chip cookies. The former because it's to die for and the latter because they're super easy. I like making lots of stuff though.

Favorite craft to do in your free time: Well if writing counts, that, I do origami sometimes when I'm bored and I've been trying to get into embroidery...

Most niche dislike: Bad history teachers, specifically. More than any other subject to me, a history teacher makes or breaks the class, and even I who loves history will grow to hate it.

Opinion on circuses: I haven't been to one since I was six, and barely remember it. I remember thinking it was pretty cool- the acrobats are definitely a highlight, but I'm glad that less circuses are using animals now.

Do you have any sense of direction? ...A little. A very little. I can figure out NESW via the sun and can sorta recognize how to get to places I'm very familiar with but. Yeah. GPS is a wonderful thing.

Tell us about your D&D character(s): HAHAHAHA!!! INFODUMP TIME!!!

Kaelind Siankiir-Kranuv: Half-elf Bard/Cleric (College of Lore/Life domain), my perfect angel of do no harm take no shit. She's got wanderlust and a tendency to never fit in, made worse by her setting, but she's shockingly well adjusted overall. Her backstory is very jack of all tradesy- her parents traveled for her mother's seasonal dock-work and her father's scholarly odd-jobs, she was involved in both of those and music from a young age, she became a cleric bc her mother was healed by one after a serious accident. She actually isn't a cleric to her primary deity (his domain is mostly music) so her service has some interesting warlock-pact undertones since she is doing it for power, even if that power is intended to help. Which is kinda heresy but unbeknownst to me at the time actually fits her god's backstory really well. Her campaign has been set aside for now in favor of Aret's bc hers is all homebrew while theirs is Waterdeep: Dragon Heist so it'll be easier to get everyone used to each other/the game. She's my pfp!

Aret "Reign" Pyrnomos: Tiefling Sorcerer (Wild Magic) and also an investigative attorney. They came about bc I thought "You know what would be funny? A bunch of demon tiefling lawyers who love order but have super chaotic magic. And like a really big family. I mean really big. The family tree I made has 75 people. The family business (Pyrnomoi & Co. at Law) was started by great-great grandpa who made a pact with his grandmother Fierna for power and prosperity of his descendants so long as the law firm stands, more or less. Aret and their family and the business are all kind of inexorably linked? As a result of prejudice everyone is hyper aware of how what they do affects the family and business, and are very strict in how they act publicly. We have a rogue on the team but Aret literally refuses to aid/abet crime without serious backup plans so that's gonna be interesting! Also they have half-proficiency in animal handling bc of all their little cousins XD

Aster Stardew: "Drow" Oracle Track Druid (1st lvl but he's gonna be Circle of Stars). His name coinciding with my favorite game was unintentional on my part but delightful- I translated it from dndelvish "Holistacia" without realizing lol. Drow is in quotes bc his campaign is in a homebrewed Owl House setting (hence the Oracle Track)! I know very little about the Owl House, so it's gonna be interesting to play! He is best characterized in short as "neurodivergent and a minor", and also "looks like he wants to kill you (edgy), is actually a cinnamon roll". He tries to be edgy (his background is "haunted one" bc it's hilarious but also suits if I play up the edgelord a little) but literally can't stop himself from being nice, to his dismay and his therapist's delight. He's probably read the Boiling Isles version of My Immortal unironically. I just made him a few days ago, so he's still percolating in my mind, but he's babie and I love him.

Tagging: anyone who sees this and wants to. I don't have the brainpower to tag people right now, but rest assured I want to get to know yall better!

#tag game #my ocs #kaelind #aret pyrnomos #aster stardew

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pennamesmith · 4 years ago

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Romeo and Skeletor

Double Trouble needs dating advice. The Super Pal Trio is here to help. More Skeletor stories!

“Remember,” Wrong Hordak recited, “recovery comes from connection!”

Several hands went up. Most belonged to clones. This was a common and welcome sight in Wrong Hordak’s Ex-Horde Therapy Group.

“And no,” Wrong Hordak continued, anticipating everyone’s question, “that does not necessarily mean romantic connection, or even connection with another sentient being. It means that in order to heal our traumas, we must be a part of the world around us, and acknowledge the world as a part of us.”

Most of the hands went down. Thoughtful murmurs rippled through the crowd. It was the end of another day of helping and healing. With a few more words of wisdom Wrong Hordak closed the meeting, and the assembled members began to stand and make their way out of the room. Most seemed sanguine and cheerful, but one stayed seated and watched the others wearily.

Double Trouble was the group’s newest and most skeptical member. They were trying, they really were, but it wasn’t easy. A lifetime of artful deception did not exactly lend itself to sharing or emotional honesty.

They had their reasons for being there, though.

Wrong Hordak, effervescent as ever, looked over and winked. “Another successful session, my most exalted paramour!” he told Double Trouble proudly. “Now then, I must consult with Perfuma about the itinerary for next week’s field trip to Mystacor. But tonight, I hope you are prepared to be dazzled by my famous quiche!” He beamed brightly.

Double Trouble worked very hard to maintain a calm expression while their stomach did acrobatic flip-flops. “My breath is bated, darling,” they finally managed, before scurrying off to the other side of the room.

The thespian cursed, internally. It should not be this difficult for a shapeshifter to hide a blush.

Closer to the door, Hordak was showing Adora something on a data pad. Double Trouble wended a wide circle around them, even as Adora gasped in surprise and began babbling what certainly seemed like juicy gossip. They simply weren’t in the mood.

Outside, Catra, Scorpia, and Entrapta were strolling away together, while the scorpion princess spoke excitedly about something called ‘Super Pal Trio Game Night.’ Double Trouble pricked their ears — this, perhaps, was a more promising prospect for their problem.

They took a step forward, and were immediately interrupted.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

Besides Perfuma, Wrong Hordak’s other assistant for his therapy group was ‘Skeletor,’ one of Entrapta’s eccentric bots. Once, he had been a part of Horde Prime’s drone army. Now, he had a nasally voice, a talent for self improvement, and a puppy.

The puppy’s name was Relay.

“How’s this for a surprise?” Skeletor said, holding Relay and patting the robotic canine gently on the head. “I’m considering putting him on a leash!”

“That’s very nice dear, but you’ll have to excuse me,” Double Trouble deflected. “I’ve got issues right now.” They began to move past the skinny robot, before a thought occurred to them.

“Actually, you might be able to help me out with something. Tell me, how do you feel about aiding and abetting identity fraud? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Mehehehehe! Just like the old days!” Skeletor cackled. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal! What’s your plan?”

Shadows Over Salineas was going swimmingly.

It wasn’t really a game night, more of a game afternoon, but that hadn’t stopped Scorpia from bringing a tower of boxes into Entrapta’s Bright Moon lab. An entire world of cardboard and plastic was spread out before the three women.

“I am going to finish this Sword of Protection quest!” Catra angrily declared as she moved her game piece back and forth. “No matter how long it takes!”

“Okay, but the Evil Horde already has a lot of points at the Princess Alliance table,” Entrapta cautioned, gesturing to another part of the board. “Plus they’ve got a lot of tanks in front of the castle.”

“Anyone want to help me battle the Laughing Dragon?” Scorpia spoke up from behind a clawful of cards. “I’m gonna —”

She was cut short as the laboratory door suddenly opened and Skeletor slouched inside, wearing a miserable expression.

“This is the worst day of my life!” Skeletor moaned, flopping bodily across the table. Game pieces flew in every direction and clattered on the floor. The other three exchanged nervous glances.

Catra tossed her cards aside. “Well, I guess this is what we’re doing now. What’s the matter, boneface?”

“You’ve got to help me!” Skeletor blubbered. “When are you goody-goody fools going to understand? I care for no-one and no-one cares for me!” He shook his fists and produced a rose tied to a card covered in cartoony hearts.

Scorpia tilted her head. “Is that a flower?”

“It is a flower!” Skeletor howled. “The bitter rose! From a secret admirer.” He clutched it to his chest lovingly.

“Seriously?” Catra floundered. “Does somebody actually have a crush on that goof?”

“I know it sounds strange,” Skeletor retorted. “Never mind that!”

Entrapta rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So, to be clear. You’re happy about getting the rose?”

“Yes, I am!” Skeletor shouted.

“But it’s a problem because…?”

“I live to be bad!” Skeletor whined. “How else can I act when I’m surrounded by such fools?” The robot swooned again. “Nice? Doesn’t sound like much fun to me! Yuck! What a disgusting idea!”

“Oh, I get it!” Entrapta grinned. “Skeletor needs us to teach him about love!”

Scorpia’s eyes sparkled. “A Super Pal Trio rescue mission? For love? I accept without any further questions!”

“Wait, wait,” Catra protested. “Stop. No. None of this makes any sense. Entrapta, is this another one of your secret friendship experiments?”

“Nuh-uh,” the scientist shook her head. “But... it is unexpected. Skeletor, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Skeletor looked uncomfortable. “Certainly! Um… Tell me about the loneliness of good! Is it equal to the loneliness of evil?”

Entrapta seemed suspicious. “Hang on,” she said, peering more closely at Skeletor. “Something isn’t quite right here.”

At that moment, Skeletor walked into the room, again. This time he was holding Relay and a fresh armload of barbarian romance novels.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted with an apologetic shrug, sheepishly handing back the books. “And, I do not look like you.”

“Oh phoo. I went too far, didn’t I?” the other Skeletor sighed, in a completely different voice. “I knew this wasn’t going to work.”

In a flash of dark light, Skeletor morphed into a decidedly more reptilian shape. Double Trouble huffed and tossed their hair back. “Well, that was different, at least. I’ve never done a robot before!” They paused. “Not in that sense, anyway.”

Catra started out of her chair. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Just what I said.” Double Trouble sat back down on the table and nonchalantly studied their nails. “I need advice. Romantic advice. And since you three are all half of some of the oddest couples on the planet, I thought I might start here.”

“Okay,” Entrapta said, already beginning to take notes. “But you’ve come to me for that before. Why the disguise?”

Double Trouble looked away and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s because I was embarrassed, all right?” Double Trouble crossed their arms and pouted. “This is not something I usually need help with. I’m supposed to be the one who’s cool and in control. I’m Double Trouble! But now I keep feeling things! In my mind, and my body! Making my guts act all weird, and my brain stop working, and… gah!”

“Those are called emotions, Dee Tee,” Catra deadpanned.

“Plus, you and Wrong Hordak have been going steady for a while now,” Scorpia added. “What’s the matter? Oh no! Have you lost… the spark?” She gasped, claws to her face.

“Just the opposite. Wrongie is perfect! He’s always in a good mood, he always wants to spend time with me, he always knows the right thing to say, and he’s just so darn cute! All the time!” Double Trouble’s face sank. “And sooner or later he’s going to realize that I’m not perfect, and it’s all just an act.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Entrapta pointed out, looking up from her notes.

“This is just like what happens in Romeo and Julian!” Double Trouble wailed, ignoring her.

“What?” asked Skeletor.

Double Trouble sniffled. “It’s a play. Someone in the Bright Moon army wrote it and it’s been getting rave reviews in all the theatre magazines — oh, but that’s not important! We’re talking about me!” The lizard flailed their hands helplessly. “What I mean is, it’s like we’re from two different worlds!”

“What, Horde World and Etheria?” Scorpia guessed.

“I’m thinking more Innocent Baby World and Cynical Opportunist World,” Catra cut in.

“Hey!” Double Trouble snapped. “I am not a cynic! Anymore!”

They turned to Scorpia. “But I can still make it work! I just need more research. Your girlfriend is all about this self-care nonsense. How do you deal with that?”

Scorpia got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah, Perfuma’s pretty great. She’s kind, and patient with me, and she knows all kinds of meditation stuff, which is good because hey, funny story, it turns out I’ve actually got a lot of pent-up anxiety from —”

“Ugh! Useless! Next!” Double Trouble pointed to Entrapta. “You! Space bats. How do they even work?”

“Good question! I could share some of my research on Hordak with you,” Entrapta suggested. “It’s more of a hobby though, so I’ve only got a few terabytes of data. Did you know their species has an entire sub-language of ear movements? It’s fascinating!”

Double Trouble paled. “Um. Do you have an abridged version, or…?”

“Look,” Catra interrupted. “I think you’re coming at this the wrong way. First off, you can’t control what other people do or feel.”

Double Trouble narrowed their eyes. “That’s a bit rich coming from you, kitten.”

“I have been doing a lot of self-reflection the last few years, okay?” Catra growled back. “And trust me, trying to be the coolest, the strongest, the best? It doesn’t work.”

She looked across at Entrapta and Scorpia, and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. “Sooner or later you have to show your real self. Even if that’s uncomfortable. You can’t connect with someone that way until you’re willing to be weak in front of them.”

Double Trouble regarded Catra for a long time while their face registered a range of unreadable emotions.

“Fine,” they finally groaned, defeated. “But can you at least help me think of something nice to do for our dinner tonight?”

Catra smiled. Entrapta and Scorpia squeaked in excitement.

“For that, you’ll need my help!” said Skeletor. “I’ve longed for this moment!”

Wrong Hordak looked up brightly from his cooking. “You are here! Come in, come in!” He swept Double Trouble up in an enormous hug.

The lizard blushed and did not try to hide it. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling.” With a flourish they revealed a rose and a box of distinctively tiny chocolates, which Wrong Hordak accepted gleefully.

“Now then, why don’t I stand back and let you impress me for a while?”

Wrong Hordak glowed with excitement.

“Impressive?” Skeletor said, somewhere far away. “You boob, it was spectacular!”

#spop #spop fanfic #skeletor #double trouble #wrong hordak #wrong trouble #catra #entrapta #scorpia #super pal trio #DT had everyone fooled until they quoted Skeletor from the live-action movie instead of the 80s cartoons #Romeo and Julian was written by General Juliet #it's a romantic comedy and everyone lives

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holeyweasel · 4 years ago

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༄ daniel padilla, cismale, he/him + the color orange, impressive explosions, fireworks in the night sky, trolley carts ignited into flames, graffiti on stop signs, and quivering palms concealed by a nifty hand-buzzer. – is that george weasley ? their ministry records say that they are twenty-five , a pureblood , and went to hogwarts . currently they are the owner of weasley’s wizard wheezes . whenever i see them saintlike by jakey starts playing in my head. i think this may be because they’re astute & whimsical , but they also happen to be deviant & reticent . ( BIOGRAPHY. | PINTEREST. | PLAYLIST. )

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL & SUBSTANCE ABUSE / ALLUSIONS TO ALCOHOLISM.

basics .

name & origin : george felix weasley ; based on the Greek word georgos; meaning farmer. the word georgos is a combo of two Greek words, ge (γῆ), meaning earth, soil, and ergon (ἔργον), meaning work. && george doesn't apply much of a personal meaning to his name; perhaps molly was following the trend of her late, twin brothers, gideon & fabian, or maybe it'd just been a coincidence. george doesn't know; it's possible he never will, since molly doesn't talk about her brothers that have passed too often. nicknames : forge, fred, georgie, gred, twin #2, & weasel. preferred name : george is fine. age & birthdate : twenty-five ; april first. gender & pronouns : cis male ; he/him. orientation : straight ; heteroflexible ; questioning. ethnicity & nationality : filipino ; english. hometown : ottery st. catchpole, devon, england. current residence : the loft above number ninty-three diagon alley. occupation : owner & operator of weasley’s wizard wheezes. hogwarts house / school graduated from : gryffindor.

miscellaneous .

phobias : he can’t be alone, because when he is, that’s when he gets into more compromising situations. he excessively relies on others to fulfill his own emotional needs (eg. fred, specifically) his codependency to fred ran, and continues to run, so deep that even his level of confidence changes without his brother around. he needs fred around to feel okay with himself. he fears being rejected and abandoned as lone unit; rather than the one collective unit he was with fred. quirks : when disinterested in something, doesn’t put the effort in; rarely expresses his true emotions unless it’s through anger; jokes so much it’s hard to tell when he’s being serious; sometimes doesn’t realize when a joke has gone too far & unintentionally hurts people’s feelings. when his emotions are too much to handle, can act rashly, and do something stupid; he often winds up in trouble since he couldn’t careless what others think. also he’s not great at overly complicated math. fred was better at math, while george is better at reading/writing/words in general. basic addition and subtraction is fine, but once you get to double digits? oof. he uses his fingers to count. hobbies : comforting others & giving advice anonymously, creating his own spells & potion recipes, dueling, inventing things, quidditch beating, quick-wit, speed reading, stand-up comedy; there’s never a dull moment with him; he’s always able to entertain an audience and make people laugh. likes : adventures, biscuits, breaking things, causing chaos & confusion, conjuring up ideas & schemes, creating inventions, discovering new things, explosions, fireworks, flashing lights, freedom, friendly debates, hippos, irony, jokes, laughter, memes, mum’s home-cooked meals, parkour, philosophy, petty arson, punching things, puns, quidditch, quotes, rebellion, rioting, sweaters, & unlimited knowledge. dislikes : being alone, being controlled, boredom, commitment, conformists, copycats, cucumbers, disloyalty, early mornings, feelings that aren’t joy, grapefruits, hypocrites (ironically), instant tea, judgmental people, ordinary living, pocket watches, purists, restrictions, school, sellouts, silence, sitting still, spinach, the government, the rich, the status quo, & unnecessary rules. wand : 10 ¾ inches ; dogwood ; dragon heartstring core. patronus : previously, his was a magpie; along with fred’s. since fred’s death, he struggled to conjure one for many years, but eventually was able to - and it’s now a peacock. boggart : him, completely and utterly alone. without fred or just without anyone in general? the world may never know. reverse amortentia : burning cedar, broom polish, firewhiskey, freshly baked biscuits, & roasted chestnuts.

history .

➵ the fifth son born to arthur & molly weasley right after his twin brother, fred, george was practically born a prankster & inventor. after graduation, he planned to become a successful entrepreneur. from birth, both him & fred were attached at the hip; getting into all sorts of shenanigans together. not much has really changed regarding that. growing up, they successfully set off a dungbomb during christmas dinner, turned ron’s teddy bear into a spider after he broke fred’s toy broomstick, gave ron an acid pop that burnt a hole in his tongue, and nearly tricked ron into taking an unbreakable vow. ➵ during his first year, him and fred swiped the marauder’s map from filch’s desk; this aided more in their mischief. ➵ george, while not being a hat stall, could definitely have been a fair candidate for slytherin with his ambitious & cunning nature — if only he wasn’t a red-headed, reckless weasley. ➵ this curious boi might have a teeny, tiny case of undiagnosed ADHD. he definitely exhibits all of the symptoms; he’s never gotten officially checked out, though. ➵ second year, he joined the quidditch team as beater. at one point, ron informed harry that george received ”really good marks” for his first few years. ➵ the summer before his fourth year, he stole arthur’s ford anglia with fred and ron. this was in order to rescue harry from the dursley’s and bring him to the burrow. ➵ the summer after fourth year, george went on a trip with his family to visit bill in egypt. with fred, of course, he tried to push percy into a pyramid. ➵ fifth year, he & fred graciously gifted harry the marauder’s map since they’d already memorized it. ➵ sixth year, he attended the quidditch world cup with his family, harry, & hermione. he and fred gambled on the outcome & won a great deal of money from ludo bagman. however, they were never paid, and harassed bagman all year. fred wanted to inform the ministry; george was against it since that’s considered blackmail. after harry won the triwizard tournament, he gifted fred & george his winnings to make up for their lost bet. they put this money away with the intention to invest it into their future joke shop. this is also the year they began selling their inventions and he took his ordinary wizarding level exams; received 3 OWLs in, what’s assumed, charms, defense against the dark arts, & transfiguration. ➵ seventh year, he spent the summer before school at 12 grimmauld place. after being given harry’s winnings, george had no interest in returning to school, but did anyway. he spent most of the year selling his and fred’s products. he also joined dumbledore’s army; not being a huge fan of umbridge. ➵ later that year, umbridge kicked him, harry, and fred off the quidditch team after george & harry got into a fight with draco malfoy. once the DA was discovered, george decided with fred, that he didn’t care about getting in trouble, and they began an all-out rebellion. they shoved an inquisitorial squad member into a vanishing cabinet, set off an array of fireworks that they made themselves, & created a portable swamp in the corridor. after the vandalism & chaos, george flew away from hogwarts with his brother; encouraging others, and peeves, to follow their example. ➵ after fleeing the castle, george worked with fred to establish a weasley’s wizard wheezes storefront. the summer before the golden trio set off for their sixth year, they had their grand opening. they remained open in diagon alley even while growing tensions of the war ensued. draco malfoy even purchased peruvian instant darkness powder from their shop, which assisted him during the battle of the astronomy tower. in theory, the twins unknowingly helped the death eaters twice, but we don’t have to unpack all that right now. ➵ him & fred lived in a loft above their shop. ➵ sometime after turning of age, george joined the order and assisted them during the battle of the seven potters. he was paired with remus lupin, and sometime during this mission, snape hit him with sectumsepra. he lost his ear and it was unable to be healed due to being cut off with dark magic. ➵ the burrow operated as a new headquarters for the order until they were ambushed by death eaters and they had to flee. ➵ george & fred were frequent guests on lee jordan’s radio show: potterwatch. ➵ george was hit with snape’s sectumsepmra curse and ended up losing his left ear. since it was dark magic, his injury wasn’t able to be repaired. he has permanent hearing loss and a scar where his ear used to be. he’s picked up BSL (british sign language) since the incident. ➵ he split up from the rest of his family after the death eater ambush, but remained with fred. him & fred were apart of lee jordan’s radio broadcast, potterwatch, so it’s assumed they were with lee in some way. ➵ there was an incident where george, alone, was taken in front of the wizengamot while fred had stepped out for the afternoon. he was brought on charges of aiding and abetting the mass breakout of muggleborn criminals. supposedly, they had items sold at weasley’s wizard wheezes that’d aided in their ultimate escape. ➵ questioned & tortured at the hand of umbridge, they almost sent him off to azkaban… but the department of magical law enforcement requested time to gather more evidence to build a stronger case of george’s involvement. his blood status wasn’t in question, and therefore, he was free to go. ➵ during the battle of hogwarts, george lost his twin brother, fred, in an explosion orchestrated by augustus rookwood. the years that followed were absolutely the hardest thing he’d ever gone through. ➵ upon fred’s demise, george might have taken up a biiit of a drinking problem. while it hasn’t entirely taken over his life, some would definitely consider him a “functioning alcoholic.” ➵ depending on a potential charlie mun, after fred’s funeral, george followed charlie to romania in order to “travel” and “find himself” without fred able to stand by his side anymore. he eventually stole a dragon from charlie and took it across the world. goooo georgie! he returned about a year after fred’s funeral initially took place. ➵ for quite some time, george struggled to conjure a patronus. with all of his “happy memories” linked to fred, the charm became quite difficult for him to perform. of course, george is a determined individual; he continued to try anyways. ➵ eventually, two years after fred’s passing, george was able to cast a patronus. although, instead of a cheery magpie revealing itself, a peacock took its place. this was significant because, slowly but surely, george was beginning to detach his identity from fred. ➵ george continued to build the business he’d started with his late brother. these days, he fills his time with work; occupying his mind with weasley’s wizard wheezes instead of the void fred’s passing left within him.

#abduco : intro #abduco : task 001 #( ✺*. intro .*✺ )#( ✺*. headcanons .*✺ )

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covrtofnightmares · 4 years ago

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&&. cauldron above, ( sevastian valentina ) was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it ( he ) is affiliated with ( the winter court ). ( he ) is a ( 290 / physically 35 ) year old ( half-high fae / half-warrior fae ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( ben barnes ). ( he ) has been said to be ( ambitious & intuitive ) but also quite ( single-minded & cunning ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( the tsesarevich of the winter court ).

— ❝ you live in a single moment. i live in a thousand.❞

name: sevastian aleksander valentina

birthday: june 5th | gemini

scent: tonka bean, cedar, fresh pines, snow and frost, mandarin, sandalwood, citrusy woods + ( SIGNATURE COLOGNE: Sauvage by Dior )

appearance: 6′3″ with a strong, muscular build, sevastian holds the grace of the high fae and the strength of his warrior fae heritage. sevastian has spent decades training himself, in the hopes that his skills with magic and his inherited traits will help him in his eventual showdown with the high lord of winter. scars mark his black, leathery wings, and an additional scar mars his temple, sweeping down alongside his jaw. because of this, he tends to keep a groomed beard, and his thick, dark hair tends to fall naturally against his head.

current familial / relationship status: sevastian is an only child and both of his parents are deceased. however, his closest surviving family are the reigning valentinas: viktor, dimitri, and tatiana valentina are all his first cousins, through his father’s side of the family.

biography: the prince of frostfire. the demon in the mountains. sevastian valentina has been called many things throughout his long, immortal life, but kind has never been one of them. his father, the tsesarevich of the winter court, was brothers with the valentina reigning patriarch, nikolai valentina. but where nikolai was a loving, just ruler with eyes always set on the horizons, his younger brother, alexei valentina, was different. alexei married a prized member of one of the warrior fae clans living in the mountains surrounding the winter court. anya novikov was all but considered a princess among her clan, and while the match was one made out of love, it was also done pragmatically. with purpose and promise. alexei didn’t just want a wife whom he loved--he wanted someone with a powerful family and ancestry. someone who would help him create the ultimate heir; a child who might one day rise above the ranks and learn to challenge the line of succession in their kingdom. who was nikolai, after all, to be named high lord just because he was born first? alexei was smart, cunning, and ruthless--he’d been invested in court politics and war since they were children.

and he believed the kingdom belonged to him.

sevastian aleksander valentina, much to alexei’s dismay, was born with too much of his mother in him. while anya was undoubtedly a revered warrior fae heiress, alexei had been convinced that their children would bear traditional winter court markings. but when sevastian was born, instead of the glittering, fluffy wings reminiscent of wintry owls, the valentina heir bore black, leathery, taloned wings, not unlike that of a dragon. the traditional wings of anya’s clan, jutting from his child and his heir’s backside like a filthy, crooked secret. dissatisfied with the cosmetic outcomes of his oldest son, alexei and anya attempted to produce other children over the course of the next handful of years, but to no avail. conception proved to be difficult, and they were advised by healers that sevastian would likely be their only child. their heir apparent.

sevastian, meanwhile, grew up attending studies and training with other members of high and inner-ranking court circles. he had proven that he was strong and had great endurance, but much to the delight of anya, his main skills and prowess resided in the legendary valentina magic. the winter court ran through his veins, and although the wings that jutted from his backside screamed of a warrior, alexei began to think that, perhaps, his son held potential. like father, like son--sevastian was raised alongside his cousin and the reigning crown prince, viktor valentina, and the two were as different as night and day. viktor was a kind and thoughtful child. sevastian was consistently testing boundaries placed against him; he had a desire to see how far he could push others, and it was partially due to the way other children mocked him for how different his wings made him look. alexei was pleased to see the antagonistic relationship between the two boys and hoped, that in due time, sevastian would ultimately prove to be more skilled than his cousin.

at this time, rumors swirled about and circled back to the grand duke, and alexei was led to believe that there was a legendary healer who could perform intensive cosmetic surgery to alter and replace wings. it was outstanding news, and perfect for someone as career-driven as alexei. so, when sevastian had reached his twelfth year, alexei attempted to pin him down and carve the offending, leathery wings from his son’s back. sevastian’s screams rattled the very mountains, and in a burst of magic and pain he fought off his father. his mother, screaming, came to her son’s aid, protecting him as his wings had nearly been ripped to shreds. not wanting to bear the weight of scrutiny and court gossip in winter, sevastian was covertly sent into the mountains, for anya’s family to heal him and teach him how to fly again. it took a great deal of healing, work, and training, but to this day, sevastian still bears the scars and marks on his wings. by the time he returned to the winter court, he was a teenager. jaded. cold. calculating. people whispered and stared, noticing the scars that marred his wings, along with the scar that now ran from his temple down along his jaw, but none approached sevastian.

after that, the prince of frostfire was finished playing schoolyard games.

viktor became sevastian’s sole source of anger. he found himself projecting; if he had been the crown prince, if he had been born into a different family with different wings, he might have been accepted. his potential might have been used, rather than wasted. grief, rage, anger, and arrogance clouded his vision. in the end, sevastian valentina became everything his father had once aspired to be: he became a nightmare. but while alexei valentina was quick to anger, sevastian was a slow burning flame. he kindled his anger close to his chest, allowing it to transform to something hard and unfathomable in his chest, until he became rage and frost and ice. there was, of course, the matter of his father to deal with. but, like all good things, alexei valentina would have to wait.

when viktor was on the path to being officially declared crown prince, leaving his younger brother, dimitri valentina, next in line behind viktor, sevastian realized he had two paths: he could act now, and fulfill his father’s immediate desires, or he could wait. the best traps were ones planned in advance, after all. so sevastian disappeared into the fae realms, pretending to be studying abroad. but while he falsified accounts of studying and traveling for educational purposes, sevastian was gathering resources and intel. creating alliances, political and romantic, in courts whose eyes and ears he wanted for himself. he became consumed with power, the taking and keeping of it, and plotted destruction in his wake.

sevastian valentina has worn many hats in his quest for power. he’s impersonated guards and traveling noblemen; he’s done mercenary work and has aided and abetted fae in other courts for the sake of an owed favor of bargain. he trades in souls, rather than coin, and refuses to let anyone see anything beneath his armor. finally, with news of a marriage alliance between winter and spring reached sevastian valentina’s ears, he realized it was time for him to return home. for him to claim what has always belonged to him. his father, believing him to be raising an army in the more traditional sense, was displeased and disappointed by his only son’s return. sevastian’s mother had passed during his travels--a devastating loss, and one that alexei had not bothered to communicate to sevastian, but a sacrifice that had only fueled sevastian’s long-seated hatred of his father.

sevastian’s plans to rid himself of his father had been a slow-burning flame, kindled and cared for year after year. he pretended to be the faithful, if not stoic son, standing by his father’s side as he poisoned him. day after day, night after night, sevastian poisoned his father. small amounts, nothing that would arise suspicion, but it was almost refreshing, in a way, to see sevastian’s least favorite monster waste away before his very eyes. finally, alexei valentina passed away, “peacefully in his sleep,” and sevastian stepped forward to take his title. opresently, he’s working alongside another member of the valentina royal court who is eager to see destruction and dismay as much as he is: ilsa valentina, a woman with as much fire and hatred for the valentina family as him. though their relationship is anything but healthy and stable, they make powerful allies--for now. and with his father finally out of the picture, the prince of frostfire is one step closer to becoming the high lord he’s always been destined to be.

sevastian valentina is the tsesarevich of the winter court. and he will get what he’s owed, come hell or high water.

affinity: sevastian’s strengths lie in traditional winter court frost and ice magic

wings: from his mother’s side of the family, sevastian has durable wings perfect for flight and combat. his are large, black wings similar to that of a dragon, leathery and marked with talons. his wings are scarred from his youth, but mark him as a predator in the sky.

#SEVASTIAN //#the unseelie king: ( intro )#ptsd tw #violence tw #abuse tw #abuse mention #murder tw #poison tw

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coinofstone · 4 years ago

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2x11 The Witch's Quickening

Hey Arthur, remember last time you were on a manhunt in Camelot and it led you to Morgana's chambers, and she talked you out of searching them and later admitted that she'd been hiding a fugitive in there? Have you learned NOTHING

And Merlin too, he doesn't like, double back and confront Morgana or suggest Arthur do that?

Why is Arthur yelling at Merlin so much in this? Who wrote this episode.

::Coin watch the show instead of playing on her phone challenge::

Morgana being manipulated by a nine year old

Why is Arthur insulting the food as if Merlin cooked it himself? Every other meal he brings up is from the palace kitchens but on this occasion Merlin cooked himself? Ok.

Even the fkin dragon is OOC in this ep

Morgana is so much more intelligent than this.

Gaius needs to bring this to Uther in the throne room like a member of the public? He couldn't get a private audience with the king? Ok.

I really don't remember this episode being so terrible, maybe I'm in a bad mood.

You know, not for nothing, but from Mordred's perspective Merlin is being an absolute dick, not only siding with the oppressor but actively working to sabotage their plans and hurt their people. As we, the audience, are privy to the reasons behind this, WE don't necessarily questions Merlin's actions, WE know he's after the crystal because he's trying to prevent Mordred and Morgana from teaming up and bringing harm to Arthur - that's all good and well but like... Merlin could never bring himself to kill Mordred because he's just a boy, but yet he's allowed the boy to go off and become somewhat radicalized (I say 'somewhat' because honestly, it's not all that radical to plot to overthrow the king that has been waging a genocidal war against your people for twenty fucking years) without ever trying to bring him into the fold. If Merlin had explained his and Arthur's destinies to the boy, made an argument for waiting out Uther's reign in the hope that Arthur's reign will bring peace and magic back to Camelot, but which may not happen if he sees his father killed by sorcerers, and explained his reasons for hiding who he is from Morgana, regardless of Mordred's ultimate destiny to be Arthur's doom, Merlin would've at least had a shot at cultivating an alliance or at very least an understanding between them. Instead, all Mordred sees is this supremely powerful sorcerer who isn't even a druid, serving the very people that would bring an end to their entire race if they could. Although, it seems as tho Mordred has forgotten who exactly snuck him out of the castle and back to the druid camp in three first place. Makes you wonder if Morgana never explained to him that she was believed to have been kidnapped when they found her with the druids last time, and that she went along with that lie for her own safety.

Tl;dr: communication is important kids!

Do I even need to point out how much sense Morgana's little tiff with Uther did not make? Or her sudden distrust of Gwen? If anything she should think Gwen would be an ally considering a) her father was killed by Uther, as an innocent victim of Uther's war on magic, b) Gwen was party to Morgana's previous involvement in aiding and abetting a druid fugitive, c) Gwen L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y sacrificed herself to save Morgana from Hengist's men, the is zero reason to question Guinevere's loyalty to Morgana, and d) Gwen has never said a WORD against sorcery or hinted at any kind of prejudice against druids or anyone with magic.

I looked up the writing credit for this, it's Jake Michie who is also credited with some fantastic episodes like Lancelot, Beauty and the beast, and the Lamia to name a few. It was directed by Alice Troughton who has also done some good eps, including other eps written by Jake Michie, so like I really don't understand what went wrong here.

Oh God there's a commentary track on this episode. I don't wannnnnaaaaaa but maybe I'll learn something, like why it turned out the way it did.

Commentary by Julian Murphy, Alice Troughton, and Katie. I do not have high hopes.

Katie right off the bat explaining shit that's important to note, God I love her on these tracks. Apparently, this was one of the last things to be shot (Merlin films everything out of order and films several episodes concurrently, depending on filming location.) and it was being shot while three other episodes were being wrapped up - so they had FOUR episodes filming concurrently and a lot of THIS episode was directed by Julian Murphy, and Jeremy shot some of it as well. This COULD explain a lot of the inconsistency, but I question how much since Julian seems to be involved in filming lots of scenes in lots of episodes. But I guess it's possible that just that on top of the rush to finish and the pressure of so many spinning plates in the air right at the end. They've just said that for this episode they had the least amount of days to shoot it out of all the episodes they've done, which is partly why they had so much going at once. It's as good a reason as any to explain it being so off, but I don't really see that explaining the wildly off characterization.

Katie going on the whole thing about Alvarr-as-revolutionary and Alice picks up on Morgana's sort of desire to be in that position and they're having a quite meaningful discussion then Julian:I think she just thinks he's hot 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Katie says the script changed a lot even as it was filming, and that things were being changed as it was filmed so I'm kind of thinking for whatever reason this entire thing was a mess and that's why it came across looking so disjointed to me.

At least Julian realize the soup scene was terrible.

Idk why they're ganging up on Katie over the chemistry between her and Alvarr. She says she wasn't playing it that way and that she wasn't feeling it and they're just like "yea uh huh sure."

They're talking about having two units filming like a few feet away from each other in the forest, while there is another two units going in France.

Julian says they had added Alvarr's girlfriend in because they wanted to dramatize his charisma and calculation... but it's not manipulation - ?????????? Someone get the man a dictionary. 'We added a random blonde in four him to kiss so that the audience knows he's got a girl already, who sees him working his charm on Morgana and comments on it 'you played her well', but Alvarr isn't actually manipulative' ??????????

They've just pointed out two entire significant beats within a sequence that was constructed on set and off script. Arthur's confrontation with Alvarr in the forest and Merlin's slow motion tracking the crystal to show its got a powerful draw. The more they describe the specifics of filming the more it sounds like an utter disaster which kind of makes me feel bad for being so harsh on the episode.

I keep having to rewind to focus on what they're saying and I feel like I've been watching this episode for about 4 hours.

Awkward bit of prop-exposure there. Trying to work out what LK could even stand for.

Idk everyone's really happy with this scene between Morgana and Uther and I'm still sitting here thinking the dialogue was utterly ridiculous.

They talked about changing that final scene, where Uther clearly knows/suspects it was Morgana who helped Alvarr escape, so that it doesn't prematurely push the story too far ahead. They cut a look Morgana gives Merlin which, rightfully so, because it would've been too much too soon. The ending to this episode still feels wholly unsatisfying to me. I understand the little tag with the dragon yelling for Merlin to release him, I don't mean that, but the ending to the main story where Alvarr just escapes and Uther not only accepts that but also accepts that Morgana must've helped him. Overall Uther's been entirely sort of neutered throughout this episode, which I understand that partially has to do with it being Morgana, but like, in previous episodes when she's been so defiant against him, he's had her by the throat and locked her in a dungeon overnight. So I just doubt understand him being so subdued here, especially since he directly threatened her when he found pr Mordred escaped, and now another druid's escaped and he essentially knows she was involved given how she spoke to him, yet he doesn't do anything? Just wildly inconsistent behavior.

Anyway apologies for overanalyzing this episode, I realize I tore it apart pretty thoroughly during the commentary and the post became quite long. I wish there was a way to add a cut on mobile but there isn't. I'll have the S2 finale post up in a few hours - I might hold off on posting until I've watched the extras, I didn't do that for S1 but then I felt the extras didn't quite warrant a whole post on their own, so I might just tack on any thoughts I have to the 2x12 post. We'll see.

#bbc merlin #merlin #bbc merlin spoilers #merlin spoilers #merthur #2x11 #bbc merlin 2x11 #merlin 2x11 #the witch's quickening #onceandfuturerewatch

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sinsbymanka · 5 years ago

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The Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Update! Chapter 32: The Sound of Silence

In which Haven is destroyed and Maria Cadash is buried while they watch helplessly from above. Full story on AO3!

When Maria was a little girl, Nanna told her that dwarves built Ostwick, that they built many surface cities ages before. Nanna of course didn’t care for them, those first deserters of the Deep Roads were nothing but thieves and murderers exiled from their home according to her. They were the same people who founded the illegal smuggling operations her eldest granddaughter would someday join, although Zarra never considered that possibility. The second wave of dwarves fleeing, of course, happened to be the houses that would make up the Dwarven Financiers Union. Those blood traitors (Nanna’s words, not hers, although the sentiment felt accurate) planned their exit strategically and left their homeland in a lurch as the remaining once great houses scrambled to save their home.

The great stone cities underground still stood, but nobody visited. Dwarven architecture lasted the test of time, after all.

Maria’s people, her ancestors, were among the last dwarves to flee their dying cities at the turn of the industrial age. The last ones to see the only hope of survival was to abandon their pride, their blighted stone, and take their chances up on the surface where the dwarves with money and power shoved their brethren into dark, dank factories churning out poison only slightly less lethal than what killed the remaining dwarves beneath their feet.

But, Nanna grudgingly admitted, there was nothing like good dwarven architecture and Ostwick had plenty of it thanks to those traitorous bastards. Ostwick was built to last the ages even as the buildings grew higher and people from every corner of the world poured into the city.

Maria wished Haven had been built the same way. There was no dwarven stone to protect them here, nothing but wood cottages with cheerful painted clapboard going up in smoke and flame. Only one building in Haven was made of heavy brick, the quaint little chantry, and that’s where they all fled to instinctively like nugs escaping a flood, blind and desperate in the smoke.

Screams for help pierced the night around them. The dragon made another pass overhead and they pressed themselves flush against one of houses, the roof above them erupting into flames. From inside, Maria heard weak, desperate sobs for help. She pressed her hand automatically to the doorknob and found it blazing hot. She swore and wrenched her burned fingers away, darting to the side of the house.

“Cadash!” Dorian hissed, unaware of the people trapped inside. The rear exit was blocked by some burning debris, a fallen electric pole maybe. But there was a window high above her, one she couldn’t quite reach even if she stretched as much as she could.

“What are you…” Varric followed her. Of course he followed her. She turned to him insistently, braced her hands on his shoulders and fought the urge to curl into his welcome warmth and give herself over to horrified sobs.

“Lift me up.” She demanded instead.

He arched a brow. “Is this really…”

“Listen!” She slapped his shoulder, even though she shouldn’t have, and pointed up over her head. His face went blank for an uncomprehending second, then understanding dawned on him and he mumbled a curse under his breath.

“How in the world did you hear that through all of this?” Dorian asked, aghast. She ignored him. Varric still wasn’t moving fast enough for the urgency of the situation. She dug her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise and glared steadily into his eyes. “I know you can bleedin’ boost me up there!”

If he could carry her the whole way up to her bedroom while kissing her within an inch of her life without dropping her he should be more than capable of tossing her through a window. He finally acquiesced and bent at the waist. He tossed his broad, sturdy arms around her thighs and hoisted her up like she weighed nothing. She twisted in his grip to reach for the high window, trying valiantly to ignore the way his hands squeezed just below her ass, his face pressed just below her breasts.

“This isn’t how I planned on getting my hands on you again.” He joked weakly.

She gripped the windowsill and tried to shove the pane glass open, but it didn’t budge. “Close your eyes and look down.” She ordered tersely. “Both of you.”

To his credit, Varric shut his eyes immediately, like he’d aided and abetted in a hundred break-ins. It was Dorian who continued to stare up at her, and she thought part of that reason may have been the sudden keen interest in the man’s too shrewd eyes when he heard the word ‘again.’ “Dorian!” She snapped waspishly.

When they both finally dropped their gaze, she thrust her elbow through the glass and it shattered easily despite the jarring throb to her sore shoulder. She tried to punch out as much glass as she could, peering through the smoke filling the home. She saw two figures huddled together and yelled. “Here! Over here!”

Thank fucking Andraste herself they moved at her voice. She hauled herself through the window, a tight fit, but manageable. Varric yelled her name as she vanished from view, but Maria simply rolled to the tile floor and shoved her arm over her mouth to try and keep from inhaling the acrid smoke. There was a kitchen chair nearby, a rickety old thing, but it would have to do. She pulled it over and the first figure, a skinny child with a human’s too long limbs, was thrust up onto it by the woman behind him. The kid paused, uncertain, peering down into the darkness outside.

“Jump!” Maria yelled, coughing on the smoke. “They’ll catch you!”

For a second, she still thought he wouldn’t, but his mother’s hushed, gentle words convinced him to clamber up through the sill. She watched him pause, breathless, before he tumbled into the abyss outside.

“You next!” Maria ordered, shoving the woman forward. She clambered up and vanished through the opening in seconds. Maria jumped up on the chair herself, listened to the threatening crack of the flimsy wood and leapt for the windowsill. She caught it just in time, the chair falling to pieces beneath her as she struggled to lever more of her upper body through the opening. She heard the panicked caw of a bird, her name ringing in the alley, felt fingers wrap around her wrists and tugging her forward. Dorian released a blistering torrent of swearing she didn’t understand, then she could breathe again, the air crisp and clear in her lungs before gravity took over and she toppled out of the window.

She collapsed on top of a sputtering Tevinter witch, his face embedded in her breasts while Nyx flapped above them in a panic.

“C’mon, we’ve got to move.” Varric urged, pulling her up by the damn arm that’d been nearly wrenched from her shoulder. She winced in his iron grip and he loosened it immediately, running his thumb over her arm apologetically instead while his eyes caught Dorian’s on the ground. “Sparkler, you with us?”

“All of me but my spleen, perhaps, which is almost certainly ruptured.” He complained acidically.

“I’m not that heavy.” Maria muttered under her breath.

“Perhaps not for chiseled dwarven physiques.” Dorian grumbled under his breath. She ignored him as they pushed back out into the square.

Bull guarded the outside of the chantry like a dragon himself, horns thrown in sharp relief by the flickering flames. He shoved soldiers and witches past him like he threw opponents in his boxing ring. She couldn’t decide if it felt like yesterday or a million years ago that she’d sat and watched him stalk the ring like an old god. Flames threw his craggy features into sharp relief and she didn’t know whether it was fear or relief that made her break out into a cold sweat.

“You’re late boss.” He growled, one long arm reaching out to sweep her inside. They were among the last and Cullen stood in the center of the chantry, blood dripping from a gash over his chest, but shouting orders. Beside him, Leliana and Josie both looked grim.

“Herald!” Leliana shouted. Maria wished she wouldn’t have. The crowd parted around her, people staring and whispering. She imagined she could hear their venom, their recrimination. She’d brought this down upon them somehow. Perhaps it had been when she lost her temper at the Lord Seeker, perhaps when she’d snubbed them to go to Redcliffe. Her decisions led them here. Her actions.

Her cowardice because if she was what they wanted, she could have just gone and maybe everyone else would have been safe. She hunched her shoulders forward defensively and ducked her head.

Just in time to be nearly knocked off her feet by sturdy, warm arms wrapping around her. Bea’s lips pressed against her cheek. “Thank the soddin’ Maker.” Bea whispered, pulling back to sweep her eyes over Maria’s form. “Thank our fucking ancestors or whoever the fuck is out there. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Outside, the dragon screeched and Bea flinched, but didn’t pull away. Maria reached to rip her hand off her jacket. “Bea, go back downstairs.”

She meant it to sound like an order, but Bea had never been good at following instructions. She dug her nails into the leather more insistently, blanching in the dim beams of flashlights bouncing around the cavernous space.

Maria didn’t have time to fight with her. Instead, she stalked away, Bea’s fist remaining resolutely embedded in her jacket. She was gratified to see Cole at her sister’s elbow, pale and quiet as a ghost. At least they were both still okay, at least…

At least they were together. And as they walked she saw the rest of the people she worked with peel off to join them. Vivienne and Cassandra. Blackwall, Solas leaning on him and limping. Sera with an angry burn on her arm.

“The dragon stole back whatever time we’d bought ourselves.” Cullen snapped feverishly. “We’re cornered and I fear if we surrender…”

“We have children.” Josephine protested shrilly, trying to press a cloth to Cullen’s chest to stem the bleeding. Her fingers shook, but she maintained her resolute demeanor.

“Witch children.” Leliana murmured. “They will not stop to separate them from the others and they pledged to eradicate all the witches in Thedas.”

“We’re going to die.” Cullen dropped his voice low, but not so low that Beatrix didn’t hear it. Her sister made a small, choked noise in her throat. “They’re beyond taking prisoners. We have nowhere to retreat. We’re sitting in our tomb.”

As if to punctuate his statement, the whole building rattled. Cullen’s face twisted into bitter defeat. “We may as well take the rest of the explosives and detonate them here. It would be faster.”

“No!” The word fell out of Bea’s mouth before Maria could say anything at all. “No, I don’t…”

She knew what Bea’s mind flashed to. Knew what she saw as soon as Cullen hurled those words into the air. She felt herself transported back to their old apartment immediately, felt her hand on her father’s bedroom door, heard her voice echo in the silence as she called for him. She could smell the gunsmoke and iron of blood like she’d never walked away from that door. She could feel the earth trailing through her fingers while she stood above a fresh grave.

“We can’t give up.” Bea was panicking and Bea couldn’t panic, because Bea always did the stupidest shit when she did, but Maria couldn’t quite find the words to soothe her.

Cole did instead.

“But there’s a way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cullen spat furiously. “There isn’t…”

“The witch who put the hollow crown on the king’s head.” Cole murmured, curling in on himself, hand reaching blindly for Maria’s own. He grasped her fingers tightly and squeezed. “She laughs while she spins her spells. The first time she came here, she was so afraid, but she’s stronger, smarter, older. Can’t catch her if she can’t be caught. Never be in the tower again, never be chained again. Free, flying, fierce…”

“Wait!” Leliana burst out, reaching gentle, trembling fingers to turn Cole’s chin to her eyes. “Do you feel her? My Warden?”

Leliana’s anguish was palpable, her eyes shining. “Chantal, was she…”

“She smiles when you sing. Hums the songs you taught her as she works. The king ordered her to seal them up, make them safe, make them secret, make them gone. But crows leave nests to flee back to, she knows that. Can’t catch her. Can’t send her back. Can’t see through her spells unless they know where to look.”

“Maker…” Leliana whispered, then shook her head as the building rattled again. Someone screamed. “Maker bless her.”

“What is it?” Jospehine asked.

“The tunnels!” Leliana exclaimed. “When we first came here, we discovered the people in this village using forbidden magic in the tunnels beneath Haven. Ali sent Chantal here to destroy them after the war but…”

“She didn’t.” Cole repeated. “She couldn’t.”

“The tunnels are still there, then, hidden. Chantal…” Leliana’s eyes sparked triumphantly.

“I heard she was a master of illusions.” Vivienne drawled thoughtfully, approaching as if she hadn’t been listening to every word. “I confess, I would love to discover her tricks. Her glamors were legendary, yes?”

“You have no idea.” Leliana muttered. “We would need the best witches to untangle her knots and we never explored all the tunnels. They must all end outside, eventually, but I cannot say they are free from traps or where they lead.”

“Take Dorian and Vivienne, then.” Maria directed with a hiss, turning back to Bea and threading her fingers through her sister’s curls, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s going to be fine. We’re not giving up, okay? We’re going to get through this.”

Bea nodded, eyes closed, fingers shaking while she cupped Maria’s hand with her own. Maria pressed a searing kiss to her sister’s nose. They couldn’t give up, Maria always swore to Bea they wouldn’t end up like dad, they wouldn’t…

“Bianca.” Varric ordered tersely. “I need every record you can dig up for tunnels under Haven. Maps are best, anything from the electric company denoting access points further down the mountain would be top priority, but I’ll take what we can get. Maybe help us avoid any nasty surprises down there.”

Cullen launched into a plan immediately. “If we can find these tunnels, we need time to evacuate. The remaining forces are coming, if we allow them, they will follow us. The explosives are already here, if we collapse this building down after we leave…”

“Sera can rig a remote detonator.” Bea whispered.

“Fuck yeah I can.” Sera muttered darkly.

Of course she could. And of course Bea would hit it off with the most insane and dangerous woman within fifty square miles. And Maria, for some reason, couldn’t feel better about it. She managed a small, she hoped slightly reassuring, smile for Bea. “Can you help her?”

“Can you stay safe?” Bea countered, opening her eyes. “For once in your damn life can you do that?”

“I’ll try.” Maria promised.

Bea nodded, trying her best to be satisfied with that. Maria dropped her hand from her hair and pulled back with a kiss on her sister’s flushed cheek. She lightly pushed Bea away. “Go on then.”

Bea staggered away, looking over her shoulder as she ducked through the crowd, following Sera pushing through. Maria couldn’t watch her stumble away, couldn’t reconcile the elegant way she usually moved with the fear that made her sister wooden and jerky instead. Bea shouldn’t even be here. Wouldn’t be here, except Maria dragged everyone down with her. Just like she always had.

The building shook. A small trickle of dust fell from the ceiling, stuck to the sweat and grime on her forehead. She wiped the grit off and stared up at the hard line of Cullen’s jaw.

“If this building collapses before we can evacuate…”

“He knows you’re here.” Cole’s voice cut insistently through the panicked melee of voices. “He doesn’t care about the people. Doesn’t care about the town. The Elder One wants…”

“Me.” Maria interrupted.

“You.” Cole confirmed softly. “The herald.”

She wanted to scream that she wasn’t anyone’s damn herald, that she’d never claimed to be, that she’d tried to stop it. She wasn’t sent by Andraste, she wasn’t chosen or special. She was…

She was going back into the fire, back into the darkness, back into the night because if she didn’t, the dragon would bring the whole thing crashing down on their ears and everyone she cared about would die in the rubble and flames.

“Stick with Bea, Cole.” She directed grimly. “Cullen, I want your pistol and all the ammunition you have left.”

“No!” Cole protested. “If he gets you…”

“He won’t.” She had to believe that. If she stopped believing that, she’d never find the courage to leave. “When my sister and Sera get that detonator sorted, get it to me. I’ll stay outside as long as I can, draw them away from here. Then I’ll run back here and press the damn button as soon as I’m in the tunnels.”

It was the only path. The only way forward. And it was a damn long shot, she could see it in Cullen’s face as he calculated her odds. She could feel it in the suddenly heavy silence around her while the core of their team tried to consider if there was any other way.

“We will find these tunnels.” Vivienne declared cooly. “And we will await you on the other side, darling.”

Maria wished she had Vivienne’s confidence as the woman lifted her chin in elegant determination and strode toward the doors leading deep into the chantry, the steps that would take her into the basement. From behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric, felt warm fingers trail lightly across her shoulder as Dorian pressed past. He didn’t look down, she didn’t look up. Maria wondered if he was just as afraid of it feeling like a goodbye as she was.

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “You are the one with the maps, you need to go with them.”

Varric. Something thumped unevenly inside her, a thin glass wall shattering, reminding her that no matter how much she tried to ignore his presence, she no more could banish it than she could rid herself of the fear threading her veins. Everyone was speaking, debating where they should go, what they should do, making plans to get the refugees out with as much of the supplies stashed below that they could, and Varric…

Varric was arguing with the Seeker that he needed to stay with her. She couldn’t keep track of the words over her spiking heartbeat while she focused on the gun Cullen pressed into her hand, his leftover ammunition.

“Maker be with you, Herald.” Cullen folded her fingers around it and she tried not to laugh hysterically. One small pistol, one small dwarf, against a dragon and whatever remained of an army of monsters.

“The Seeker’s right, Varric.” She didn’t even need to listen to Cassandra to know the Seeker was right. “You and your damn glasses can help spot traps too. And your fucking robot can find a path out.”

She watched him throw himself to the monsters once trying to save her. She couldn’t watch it again. She wouldn’t. He had asked her to forget it, but sweet ancestors she couldn’t. All she could do was stop it from happening again.

“Princess I -”

Maria whirled on Varric, gun in her hand, furious, frightened, and desperate. “Do you have a better plan?”

She knew he didn’t. He knew he didn’t. There wasn’t a better plan and he looked just as terrified as she felt, just as resigned. This, this was the only plan, and it was a shitty one, and they were all probably going to die, especially her, and….

Fucking sod it all, then.

She darted forward into the space around him, the space the still smelled slightly of his cologne underneath the lingering scent of smoke. She crashed her lips against his in a kiss that bruised, brought her free hand up to tug him closer by a steely grip in his hair. He froze in stunned disbelief, just like she had the first time she’d decided to say fuck it all and kiss the blasted man, before one arm wrapped snugly around her waist and pulled her tight. He tasted like iron, like gunpowder and fire and he held onto her like...

Like he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Before she could convince herself to believe that, she pulled herself away. Cullen coughed awkwardly in the background. High above Varric’s shoulder, Bull had the good grace to pretend to be very interested in the ceiling crumbling above them.

Although, really, that was the more pressing problem than the ache in her chest as she smoothed Varric’s sweat-slicked hair back. His eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, and sweet Andraste if she was going to die at least she had this, even if she only had it for a second, even if it meant nothing.

It had been enough.

She apologized, silently, to Fynn’s ghost while she whispered one more time to Varric.

“Go.” She ordered, wrenching herself out of his loose grip. “Now.”

She stalked away without looking back, she couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t lose her nerve if she saw him staring after her.

She wasn’t surprised the Bull shadowed her. She dropped her eyes to her gun, checking the magazine. “You could stay, you know. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Or safe. Or sane.

“And let you have all the fun?” Bull asked with a rueful laugh. “You always knew how to find the best trouble, boss.”

“Well.” Maria looked up from her pistol with a watery smile, one hand braced against the chantry door. “You always said you wanted to fight a dragon.”

She expected the dragon to incinerate her on sight as it passed, low enough she could see the gleaming scales of it’s belly flickering with firelight, so low the rush of air whipped strands of her hair across her face.

Instead, the dragon soared upwards with another screech, turning south and back into the pass. Maria didn’t have time to appreciate their sudden good fortune because within moments it was obvious they weren’t alone.

It was like the templars had been waiting for her to reappear, wolves circling, monsters craning in the darkness to catch sight of her brilliant red hair. She heard their cracked, parched voices screaming for the false herald. Then the first round of bullets split the smoke and she dashed to a piece of burning debris, a pile of what once had probably been a charming, picturesque chimney. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bull fold himself behind an overturned car.

She aimed at the vague shapes in the dark, in the smoke, but she couldn’t tell if she hit anyone or anything. She thought, perhaps, she heard a strangled shout. The rumble of Bull’s rifle split the night and Maria wondered if this reminded him of Seheron, if he regretted finding himself back on a battlefield.

It didn’t matter, it was all mechanics. Deft fingers exchanging an empty magazine for a full one as quickly as she could. Aim and squeeze, aim and shoot. They weren’t people, not anymore, these were monsters that only sounded like people when they fell because she could barely see their grotesque forms in the dark.

She saw one shadow drop as she squeezed the trigger, but when she took aim at another and pulled, the gun rattled ominously empty. She swore and dropped her hand to her jacket pocket, moving as quickly as she could as the footfalls picked up pace, intent on storming her makeshift barrier while she struggled to reload.

She didn’t have enough time, she knew she didn’t, so she dropped the magazine and waited only a fraction of a second for the large, human-ish shape to appear, gun pointed right at her forehead. If he would have pulled the trigger, she’d have been dead instantly. But he didn’t, and instead Maria swung her leg out. She caught him right at the knees, the hit hard enough to send him down.

They didn’t pick templars for their flimsiness. He was up in a half second, glowing red eyes blazing in his face, red lines burned underneath it like lava. He’d dropped the gun he’d been holding, but he didn’t need it. His fist slammed into her unguarded abdomen so hard and fast it sent Maria toppling into the grey slush beneath her.

She could barely catch her breath, her muscles clenching and spasming, but she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the red lyrium encrusted glove smashing into the ground beside her. The human scrambled on top of her, shoving her down into the snow, and she brought up one knee to catch him in the groin, praying that it worked just as well on monsters as it did on men.

She was lucky. Despite aiming blind and breathless, her shin connected just right to cause the monster on top of her to howl and fold in on himself. She shoved herself up, scrambling in the snow, fingers numb and freezing, trying to get to his loaded weapon if she couldn’t load hers.

His fist clenched in her hair and ripped a half-formed whimper from her throat as he twisted her neck violently to the side, but her fingers had found searing hot metal in the darkness, wrapped around it like a lifeline despite the burn. She fumbled it blindly and pressed the muzzle to the form behind her.

The blast was muffled, but his scream pierced her ears as he released her hair. She was on her feet in a second, twisting to finish him off, but before she could another shot echoed and the man fell.

The Seeker loomed over her, features fierce, eyes calculating. “Are you hurt?”

Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. Cassandra held something white in her hand, thrust it forward without a word and Maria’s hand closed over the detonator with a thud. “My sister?” She asked quickly.

“Stated she would not leave without you.” Cassandra snapped. Maria’s heart began to sink, but Cassandra kept speaking with a steely glare into the darkness, aiming and picking off one of the approaching monsters effortlessly. “So Blackwall threw her over his shoulder and manhandled her into the tunnels on my orders. I thought it was what you would wish.”

She could kiss the Seeker. She really could. Maria pointed her stolen gun into the dark and fired twice, dropping two more templars that were approaching Bull’s position. Cassandra reached into her pocket and pulled her phone from within, bringing it to her lips. “I am with the Herald and Bull. I will remain here until we receive the signal.”

“10-4 Seeker.” Varric’s graveled voice replied. “Keep her safe.”

Maria hoped the heat rising in her face wasn’t as transparently obvious as it was in Cassandra’s.

A knot in Varric’s chest loosened. The Seeker was with her, the Seeker was a battering ram, a match for Aveline if ever one existed. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

Sweet fucking Andraste he could still taste her, could still feel her fingers in his hair, the dip and curve of her waist and the press of her body against his. That brief kiss reignited every ounce of passion that had cooled in the grim realities of desperate, pitched battle for their lives.

And yet, this time, the sheer scale of his veneration was too recent to be forgotten entirely. The woman who pressed searing lips to his also held their front lines a truly impressive amount of time, managed to topple a behemoth with her precise aim and perfect timing, heard a cry for help in the midst of pure chaos and climbed through fire without a second thought to rescue civilians as a bloodthirsty dragon circled their heads.

His inner author took copious notes. The rest of him stood silent in shocked, reverent awe like a man enraptured with a goddess.

And he’d left her. Left her to face a dragon. Left her knowing Hawke’s cards spelled doom. He knew their situation was impossible, knew they were very likely all going to die, knew she’d be in the greatest danger of all and even still…

He left because a part of him, a shriveled, weary part of him, believed. Hell, not that she was Andraste’s choosen because that was an idiotic notion, but Maria…

He believed in her. He was beginning to believe in her like he’d believed in nothing else.

He had to keep that in mind, because if he thought for a second she wouldn’t survive this, he’d throw his tablet right at Dorian’s head and turn tail back up through the tunnels while the rest of them tried to figure out where the fuck they were going.

Ideally, they’d be heading south, under the templars, down into the mountain pass. That would get them close to the Hinterlands and all the little, charming towns and villages scattered among the area. Even though the countryside was war-torn, he’d take it over the hell erupting above their heads. He’d even drag Maria back into Redcliffe if they needed to.

Unfortunately, they weren’t going south. The tunnels veered west, straight under the Frostback mountains, which wasn’t particularly somewhere they wanted to be stuck with a shit ton of people carrying whatever supplies they could manage to haul with them. Varric could hear the great mass lumbering some distance behind him, the wail of children, clipped orders from the remaining soldiers ushering them through. Varric feared he was navigating them all right into the asscrack of Ferelden and Orlais.

Still better than being murdered by red templars, but only marginally.

“We’re going to get lost and starve to death, aren’t we?” Dorian asked the silence surrounding them. “A glorious end for the Inquisition.”

“Weren’t you camping behind some farm in Redcliffe when we met, darling?” Vivienne sniffed.

“Don’t remind me.” Dorian sighed wearily. “Worst week of my life and not just because I met you.”

Varric couldn’t help himself, he snorted half a laugh. Immediately, both witches turned their critical gaze to him and his tablet. Varric mouth worked quickly as he and Bianca continued to examine and contrast the different maps side by side. “Some people explore tunnels like this for fun. I think it’s called spelunking.”

“Is that what you and our dear Herald were up to before we got kicked in the teeth by an army?” Dorian drawled. “Spelunking?”

Varric Tethras wasn’t one to kiss and tell, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, but before he could retort, Vivienne made a noise of sudden understanding.

“Ah, that does explain his role in the Inquisition.” She tapped her elegant manicured fingers against her chin thoughtfully. “I assumed it was simply to annoy Cassandra.”

Before he could retort that he may be short, but he certainly wasn’t deaf and was in fact, right there, his eyes zeroed in on something in front of him that caused his heart to nearly stop in sheer excitement. “Bianca.” He called out, eyes roaming the maps frantically. “Can we use an old natural gas conduit to get into the mining tunnels?”

“There are no natural gas conduits listed on the maps.” Bianca stated cooly. “But if one could be found…”

Bianca wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t see what he did. Thank the fucking Ancestors Hawke spent so much time dragging him through Kirkwall’s sewers, because Varric recognized the conduit entrance like a glowing neon sign. Varric ran forward to the hatch on the wall, ripped it open with all his rather considerable strength. He poked his head through and shone the light from his phone down the dark tunnel. His knees almost went weak when he saw another hatch some distance down. If he was right, and he was pretty certain he was, that would deposit them in the old mining tunnels, and those could be followed back to the surface easily.

“Bianca, connect me to Curly.” He directed. “I’ve got a way out.”

She felt like she’d been fighting for hours. Her arms shook with exhaustion, her mouth was full of ash and soot. Every movement came robotically, came without thought, her mind wiped clean of everything except blood, except death, except sheer, animalistic survival. They’d been forced back against the chantry doors, their backs nearly against the wall, and still they came. It was unstoppable. Relentless.

But she still didn’t expect Bull to fall first.

The great mountain of a qunari didn’t scream, he only grunted as he’d been doing the entire gunfight, but the hot blood splashed against Maria’s face and he crumbled to one side, his other arm bracing on the rough stones behind him. Maria didn’t even know she could still form words, but his name was in her mouth instantly, her arm over the gaping wound in his abdomen.

“It’s alright boss.” Bull tried to grab for his gun, and that’s when Maria realized it wasn’t just the one wound. There was at least one more, high on his shoulder, a gauge through the rippling muscle. She suspected another in his leg.

“Bull!” The blood pulsed through her fingers, like Fynn’s had, warm and sticky. Panic nearly stole her breath as he winced under her and Maria looked to Cassandra. “Get him inside.”

“We have not received the signal.” Cassandra responded tersely, eyes scanning the darkness that suddenly seemed empty. Too empty.

“I’ll wait for the signal.”

“I will wait for the signal while you…” Cassandra argued.

“Maria.” Bull hissed her name, but it sounded too quiet. It sounded like it was fading and there was so much blood, so much…

“I can’t carry him!” Maria screamed the words into the night, fury hiding her fear. She couldn’t lose Bull, not like this, not with his blood on her hands just like Fynn’s, not when he’d been the one that held her while she keened for his loss.

She couldn’t lose Bull because he refused to abandon her again, even when it was the smarter option, and she couldn’t carry him, she was too small, but Cassandra could. Cassandra had to. “Please, please.”

She couldn’t tell what stunned Cassandra more, her temper or her pleading, but she saw the effect they had on the Seeker. Beside her, Bull cursed in Qunlat, the low rumble dim and incoherent.

She had lost so much, she couldn’t bear to lose the one friend she’d always had. If Andraste or the Maker was watching, if they were listening, they had to do this one thing for her. It was all she asked.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened and she thrust her phone into Maria’s hand. Then she knelt down and slung one of Bull’s hulking arms over her shoulder. Maria nearly cried in relief even as Bull made a noise of protest, even as his large hand brushed against her red hair.

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” Her voice shook. “Just don’t bleedin’ die on me, you big asshole.”

“I will wait in the tunnels.” Cassandra promised, eyes blazing as Maria twisted to wrench the big chantry doors open, once pristine, now scarred with signs of bullets and fire. “As soon as he gives the signal, abandon the fight.”

Maria simply nodded, but it was enough for Cassandra. The Seeker dragged the hulking form of Bull through the open door. Maria waited for the space of one heartbeat, two, before she slammed it shut after them. She had the detonator in her pocket, Cassandra’s phone in one hand, gun in the other. Around her, Haven blazed like an inferno, but it was quiet. Finally, blissfully, silent.

Quiet like her ancestor’s tombs.

Quiet except for the beat of wings in the air. A sound that chilled her to her bones. She pulled back from the door, fastening her eyes on the sky above, pinning the huge figure of the dragon against the flickering flames. It barreled through the sky, fire sparking in its throat, heading straight towards her.

She had little choice, she tore herself away from the chantry doors just in the nick of time, running for her life as far from the building as she could. The spot where she had stood erupted into a tower of flames immediately, the old wooden door catching blaze in seconds.

The force of the dragon landing rocked the very ground like an earthquake and sent her sprawling back into the ashy snow. Cassandra’s phone skidded away, but she kept her grip on her gun and pushed herself to her knees, spinning to face the beast.

It’s head was twice the size of her small form, easily, and it screeched while she staggered backwards. She waited for it to spew flames, to finish her where she stood, instead it simply raised one wing as if shrugging a shoulder at her insignificance.

There was someone underneath the shiny black wing, someone tall and slender, someone that looked more corpse than person.

“You are the one they call the herald of Andraste.” It drawled, seeming to float rather than stride. All of Maria’s hair stood on end and she raised her pistol on instinct, aiming for the indistinct figure.

The gun wrenched out of her hand so suddenly it startled a cry from her lips, the power burning her fingertips like open flames as the gun skittered far beyond her reach. She brought them to her numb lips and stared in growing horror at the emerging man. He stood taller than even Bull, but made of nothing but mottled ruined flesh studded with red lyrium. He stared down at her with pale, furious eyes. “The dwarf who ruined my plans. A mere slip of a girl with nothing more than luck. And yet, they would call you a god.”

“What do you want?” Despite her fear, she managed to push the question through her chattering teeth. What could possibly be worth this destruction, this death? Why? Why?

“I want the opportunity you stole. The magic in your form that belongs to me, not you.” He was above her now, looming through the poisonous smoke like the most terrifying demon Maria had ever seen. “The god you claim to serve…”

“I don’t…” She protested.

“SILENCE!” He roared, reaching down to wrench her from the snow. She thought he meant to pull her upright, but to her shocked dismay, he lifted her effortlessly until she dangled from her throbbing shoulder, spinning in his withered grip. “You have been raised up by superstition and hysteria, as all gods are. Not one has been worthy of the name.”

The Maker wasn’t her God, nor was his bride of any particular use to her. Nanna said the Stone once called to their people and if you were quiet, you could hear it singing softly still like a mother in mourning.

If that was true, it didn’t sing to her. It never had.

The creature threw her to the ground and Maria hit it so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. “I will give this world the god it deserves…” The creature promised silkily. “But first, I require what you took…”

“I didn’t fucking take…” Her temper flared, the profanity boiling in her mouth, but before she could say much else the man began to speak. The second he started, the breath caught in her lungs and turned solid like cement. She was choking on it. She didn’t understand what he was saying, the words dark and heavy, foreign and only barely reminiscent of the musical curse words from Dorian’s language.

She felt like they landed on her skin, burning like hot coals, like brands, starting in her fingertips and rising up her wrist, her arm, her shoulder. They grew brighter, hotter, she swore she heard her skin sizzling.

A scream pierced the air. At first, she didn’t recognize the terrible, echoing sound as hers, not until it was joined by another before the first finished echoing. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t fight him.

All she could do was scream.

Varric didn’t realize Harding was recording. Not at first. She crouched beside him, pulling people from the tunnels and into the snow. Her voice blended into the mess of babbled prayers, strangled shouts, sobs of relief and horror. Below them, glowing in a blaze of flames, Haven stood. He couldn’t make out anything there, nothing beyond shadows and fire, the chantry building still standing tall. He couldn’t hear gunfire, but he couldn’t stop to listen for it. All he could do was reach for the next grimy pair of hands.

A kid, no older than sixteen, held Harding’s phone in shaking hands, trained on the reporter and the mass of people she was hauling out of the tunnels beside Varric. Her words came, clipped and furious, terse and to the point. ��There is no telling how many people have perished in this unprovoked attack or what the templar order intends to do next. Haven’s refugees will require food, medicine, and safe transport. The soldiers that are left are unable to single-handedly…”

“Are you live?” He asked incredulously. Harding flicked an annoyed glance at him, one that clearly said of course she was, and that this wasn’t the time to be asking stupid questions. She continued her monologue without interruption just as Blackwall called his name.

The next pair of hands he grabbed tightened around his wrists immediately, Bea’s pale face nearly the same shade as the pristine snow around them, drained of all color by terror and fury. Blackwall hauled himself out after her and reached back for Cole as Bea’s eyes landed with a helpless dry sob on the scene in the valley below them.

“This is the last group.” Blackwall snapped, taking Varric’s place in the line. “Tell them to get the fuck out of there while they still can.”

Thank the fucking Maker for that. Varric twisted Bea away from the tunnel, but her hands dug more resolutely into his wrist. “Varric, please, please…”

“Bianca.” He snapped impatiently, trying to pry her nails from his skin as gently as he could. She didn’t need to beg him. He wanted her sister out of that hell just as much as she did. “That line to the Seeker still open?”

“Connecting.” Bianca chimed. Then her voice fell away, leaving not-quite silence in his ear instead. He could hear the crackling sound of flames, something else he couldn’t quite place, but no gunshots.

His stomach clenched but he tried to keep his face carefully blank. He didn’t need Bea panicking and darting back into the tunnels. “Seeker!”

No answer. Varric called out again. “Cassandra, can you hear me?”

His voice echoed back to him. Varric ripped one of hands from Bea’s grip, ignoring the bloody groves her nails left in his skin, and pressed his palm against his empty ear, trying to make sense of the sounds on the other end of the call.

Muffled voices. There were muffled voices, a woman and a man, but he couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t…

“SILENCE!”

Icy dread hit him like a brick wall and he didn’t keep the horrified expression from his face, he knew it by the way Bea raised her free hand to her mouth to stifle either a scream or a sob, Varric didn’t know.

What he did know was that voice, he knew it and he’d never forget it, not as long as he lived. He still conjured it in his nightmares and the terrifying, gruesome form it belonged to raving for an old god to smite them down. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, they killed him, banished him back to the afterlife they’d ripped him out of.

The sound of an impact, something soft against something hard, an involuntary gasp of shock and pain, all the breath leaving a small figure as something hit her, or threw her, or…

She’d made the same kind of sound when Varric tossed her on the bed, but it’d been softer then, a delighted huff of surprise instead of…

More muffled words, then a surprisingly sharp and clear retort despite the breathlessness of her reply. “I didn’t fucking take…”

“She’s alive.” Varric ripped free of Bea’s other hand, digging for his phone, shouting out an order into the darkness. “Nightingale! Cameras in Haven, are any of them still working?”

“None! Not since the town lost power!” She cried back. “Varric, what…”

He didn’t bother to answer. He needed his shotgun, didn’t know where he’d thrown it. He had to go back, had to get to her, because there was no other voice on that line but Maria’s, and she was alone, alone facing a monster they let loose into the world.

The first scream through his earpiece nearly tore a matching one from him, although his was born of frustration and hers from whatever that gigantic piece of blighted trash was doing to her. Each scream crested higher, screeching more desperately, wordless agonized howls into the night that Varric was shocked nobody else could hear. He knew she couldn’t hear him, knew it was hopeless, but he called her name anyway. “Maria! Maria!”

This, at least, got the attention of both Blackwall and Sera. They whirled to him, confused and concerned. He met their eyes with a mixture of both panic and dread.

“They’ve got her.” Blackwall guessed with a growl.

Not they, he, and he was killing her, Varric was listening to her die, her screams tapering out into wrenching, exhausted sobs. “We have to go back.”

They’d never make it. He saw the thought reflected in all their faces, and yet he could see the determination follow it. Blackwall turned to push back through the rest of the refugees, his hulking form prepared to shove back into the tunnel.

Varric heard the rumble in his earpiece first. A great explosion of cracking stone and imploding rubble. It echoed, not just in his head, but across the valley and into the mountains. Varric turned, helpless, to stare down at the burning ruins of Haven.

And the smoking pile of rubble where the chantry stood.

“No.” Bea choked on a sob, swaying where she stood, “No, no, no, no…”

Varric reached forward to catch her, helpless to do anything else.

They couldn’t go back through the tunnels. They couldn’t get to her. The sound of silence echoed in his earpiece.

“Maria?” He whispered.

But she couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t save her.

It was like breathing in glass and fire, the smoke searing her lungs, the lingering pain turning each gulp of air into a hiccup. Tears, ugly, bitter things, stung her cheeks. She wanted to curl into a ball, exhausted and limp, the racking memory of pain still unbearable.

She wanted to beg for him to stop, but she never begged Dwyka. She wouldn’t plead with this monster either. She could see the outline of the chantry, so close and so far away. She’d never make it into the tunnels, never get out of here past this monster and his dragon, but she could make sure nobody else would either. Her shaking fingers dove into the pocket of her coat and caressed the cold switch. All she had to do was flip the top of it off, then press the button.

It was easy, even if she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt it work in the way the ground shook, the sound of the explosion. She saw the great, grand stone building buckle in on itself, collapsing effortlessly with a rumble that felt like one of the mythical titans finally laying down it’s burden and going to sleep.

The monster grabbed her arm and wrenched her back off the ground, not the whole way into the air, but enough to cause another startled, painful cry. Something pulsed beneath her skin, something frightening and agonizing. A dark, violet bruise bloomed in the palm of her hand and he scowled before dropping it. “As I thought. The spell is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

He twisted from her in disgust, through tear filled eyes she saw him reach a skeletal hand out to the dragon. It reached out for him in return like a monstrous cat it’s master. Maria felt sick, felt weak, felt so frightened she could hardly move. Still, she dragged herself up from the snow, near doubled over, staring at the monster.

“I will find another way.” The creature muttered to himself, dark and foreboding. “But I will not have a false prophet as a rival. You must serve as an example of what happens to those who would link themselves to the gods of old.”

She was going to die. The knowledge settled over her with an air of finality. Maria Cadash was going to die here in the ruins of the town that took her in and paid the price.

At least it wasn’t Bea or Cole. At least it wasn’t Varric. And maybe, maybe Bull would survive. They’d all be okay, except for her. And that, too, was okay. She should have been dead a long, long time ago.

Maybe she’d see Fynn again. Maybe he’d forgive her.

“I’m not afraid.” She lied through her teeth. She wouldn’t admit it, not to this monster, not to the universe that waited for her demise with baited breath. “Do it. Fucking do it.”

The mad, eerie grin he turned on her made her blood run to ice. His mocking, harsh laughter made her knees weak. He lifted his arms to the ruins of Haven and grinned down at her. “I have seen your nightmares, false herald. I know what frightens you.”

She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid, she wouldn’t allow herself to be, but the corpse continued to talk. “You fear you’ll find your ancestors in the dark, and they’ll know you for a thieving whore. You fear their disgust when they know what you’ve done. And worse, you fear it was all for not, that you’ve failed, Maria Cadash. And you have.”

His grin stretched his face grotesquely. “Perhaps most charming of all, you fear dying in the stone that claimed your hapless ancestors, buried and forgotten.”

Her skin prickled and she shook her head in denial, in vehement protest, but it was too late. The wraith-like figure vanished into the open wings of the dragon. Then the great beast itself sprung from the ground, lifting into the smoky sky above them. She could barely make it out as it flew over her head, leaving her alone in the rubble.

For a moment, she thought she survived. For a second, a shining second, she nearly laughed in relief and tried to remember where Cassandra’s phone had vanished to. She could call for help, she could…

Then she saw the dragon flying to the Eastern mountain, saw it’s great maw open, heard the whoosh of flames. Saw the blizzard it kicked up with wings and claws. At first, she didn’t understand. She watched, confused and dazed, exhausted and numb.

By the time she understood, it was too late, although she’d never had a chance to begin with. She was simply a dwarf, a woman, and she wasn’t made to survive monsters and demons.

The snow was beginning to roll down the mountain and the dragon screeched, taking off into the sky. The first gentle shifting became a raging torrent, the avalanche forming as she watched, heading straight for what was left of Haven.

She’d be buried. Buried just like her ancestors.

She could barely move, the pain making her limp like an old woman, but she twisted and began to run, even if it was helpless. Even if she knew she couldn’t survive. She wouldn’t go down without trying, wouldn’t lie down and make it easy like her father had. She owed Bea and Bull that, at least.

The roar grew louder, closer, and Maria stumbled in the slush, her aching hand in the snow. She could feel the approaching mountain in her teeth, feel the ground trembling beneath her. She scrambled to get back up, the very earth fighting her, as if it was opening up beneath her to swallow her whole.

Then she fell into the abyss. Fell into the darkness of her ancestors’ tombs.

They were helpless to do anything but watch. Helpless to do anything but witness the fires of Haven snuffed out in a sea of white far beneath them. Varric strained to see a small form in the chaos, a flicker of life struggling before being snuffed out, but it was his writer’s heart that tried to convince him that she could have outran the avalanche the dragon called down, could have slipped out of that demon’s grasp.

Maria Cadash hadn’t been delivered to them by Andraste, because if she had then the Maker would have plucked her from danger. She hadn’t been a fairy tale heroine, because if she had then Varric would always have written her victorious and safe.

She’d been a woman, bright and brilliant, soft and sad, fierce and furious. For a brief period of time, she’d been perfect. She’d been untouchable. For a second, she even could have been his.

Then she was gone. In a few, brief seconds, she was gone. Her life cut short. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t enough.

“Connection lost.” Bianca notified him softly, her voice almost gentle in his ear. He couldn’t bear to listen to it, reached up to pull it away as he stared at the pristine valley below, looking untouched by humans and battle. A grave for their fiercest warrior.

“If I’m still broadcasting…” Harding’s voice shook. She had her phone clenched in trembling hands, aimed not at her face but at the valley below. “If anyone is listening, Haven has been destroyed. Maria…”

Harding’s voice cracked and she coughed, pulled herself together just enough to finish the sentence. “Maria Cadash, recently known as the herald of Andraste, is believed dead along with countless others who perished to save innocent civilians.”

The words broke the silent, terrible spell over them. It was Bea’s keening wail that shattered the horrifying quiet like a bullet, her wrenching sobs too loud, too painful, too desperate to ignore. Maria’s sister pitched forward in the snow, falling to her knees and shaking her head in denial.

Varric couldn’t even look at her without a surge of guilt threatening to send him crashing to the ground beside her. It was Sera who fell beside Bea, folded her into her too long, too skinny arms and rocked back and forth as Bea sobbed like a broken, wounded animal, her sister’s name the only thing coherent in the words spilling from her mouth.

Varric left her even though he knew what she faced. Left her like a coward. Left her to die alone.

Hell, he’d been the cause of it. The fucking red lyrium he found, the monster he helped release back into the world. His actions, if you followed them back to Kirkwall, were the ones that led them here. Led them to Maria Cadash entombed in the ruins of Haven with countless others while he watched impotently.

He thought he was going to save her. He could almost laugh at the audacity if he’d ever laugh again. He’d fooled himself into thinking he wasn’t dangerous, but he should have known better. Her blood wasn’t on the templars’ hands, wasn’t on Dwyka’s.

In the end, Varric Tethras killed Maria Cadash and he could never forgive himself.

The footage from Haven vanished. The last choppy, horrifying moments, a reporter’s garbled voice saying Maria Cadash was dead. The two Hawke sisters sat, twisted together, on Sebastian’s overstuffed couch. Hawke could feel Bethany’s hand shaking within her own. A different reporter appeared on the screen, a pale woman who looked as horrified as they felt.

“Varric was not in the valley.” Fenris growled from his spot behind the couch. Hawke felt his fingers dig into the overstuffed leather. “I saw him beside the reporter. He is unharmed.”

Thank Andraste for small miracles, Hawke guessed. The bitch couldn’t pull one out of thin air for her damn herald, of course, but at least Varric…

“Bianca.” Hawke called out, her voice tight in the terrible, heavy silence. The light on her phone flashed blue in acknowledgement. “Can you connect us to our favorite dwarf?”

“Connection impossible.” The AI’s voice drifted out of the phone’s speaker. “Cellular coverage has been disrupted and the local program has not established an alternate method of connection at this time.”

Varric hated being disconnected. He’d fix it as soon as he could, but who knew when that would be. Until then…

Varric was alright. And Varric wasn’t alright. She could feel it in her bones. She slipped from the couch even as Bethany tried to pull her back down. Fenris intercepted her before she could make it back to the little card table in the corner. “Stop this.” He demanded tersely.

“I love it when you’re bossy.” She muttered more out of habit than anything else, sidestepping him easily. He had the good sense not to try and physically stop her, but he shadowed her regardless with a scowl. She placed her palms on the table and leaned over it, nauseous and helpless, glaring at the cards staring up at her.

Death and the Hermit. She couldn’t pull anything else and hadn't been able to all day. She swiped them back into the deck mechanically. Fenris placed his hand on the small of his back, leaning over her form to whisper in her ear. “There is nothing you could have done. You know this. Don’t be foolish.”

She leaned into his touch for comfort and reassurance in spite of herself, eyes closing. Foolish. Was it really so foolish to hope that something good could have come through all this? Had it really been so naive to wish…

She slammed her open palm down onto the table and the cards went flying. She bit back a broken sob of outrage, of terror. If the templars had begun taking red lyrium, not only had they killed Varric’s pretty herald, but Hawke’s family would never be safe. They’d never stop hunting her, never stop…

“Oh.” Bethany’s soft exclamation broke through her scattered thoughts and made both her and Fenris turn to look. Bethany stood, in sweatpants and a too-large shirt, the cards scattered around her feet. They all landed face down in nearly a perfect circle, their elaborately designed backs identical and indistinguishable.

All of them face down except, of course, one. One that landed nearly perfectly in the center of the mess.

It was the brightest of her cards, the most brilliantly colored. A woman with hair of red, oranges, and yellows standing tall, one hand extended above her head, eyes closed.

In her palm, she held the sun.

Everything shifted. The universe tilted precariously on its axis while they stared at the card.

“Oh.” Hawke echoed Bethany, looking up to meet her sister’s eyes. They stared at each other while Hawke listened to the voices, suddenly so much louder, clamoring in her prophet’s skull. Sometimes she could nearly make sense of them. This, this…

There was a picture burning in her mind. Vague, indistinct, colors shifting and boiling as she tried to make sense of them. A flash of red, blinding sun on white snow, a cheer, a song, a small woman on the edge of the abyss lit up from within, sunlight pouring from her veins, ambition turning her into the sun, turning her into gold and crimson.

The Sun. The fucking Sun.

“This wasn’t destruction.” Hawke smiled, a slow, tenuous thing as she stared at the cards. This was collapsing. This was crumbling, a star from a black hole. A phoenix rising from the ashes.

It was rebirth.

#fanfic #dragonage #dragon age #varric tethras #varric romance #inquisitor #dwarf inquisitor #inquisitor x varric #inquisitor cadash #dragon age inquisition #dai #in your heart shall burn #modern thedas #modern magic

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el-jarado · 3 years ago

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I feel like some people get the routes jumbled up and forget a lot of the shit Rhea tells you in Verdant Wind is information she only parts with if Claude puts a gun to her head and tells her he won’t help her unless she drops the cryptic bullshit and tells him what the fuck has really been going on NOW. This was not info people could just go look up somewhere, which turns “but what Edelgard thinks about X is contradicted by Rhea’s secrets” into “how dare Edelgard not know information Rhea deliberately destroyed because she was afraid it would be used against her!”

I also feel like...a number of the things she believes aren’t wrong, there’s just different contexts?

People take issue with the record of past emperors that portray the War of Heroes as a personal vendetta between Nemesis and Seiros, and deny the divinity of Relics by saying humans invented them and the Church took credit later.

Both of those things are true, is the thing. Yes, Nemesis committing genocide against the dragons didn’t make it into the historical record (because Rhea deliberately hid that information, it must be emphasized) but Rhea and her siblings fought Nemesis because he killed their family. It was a war for revenge, and when she had her revenge, Rhea kind of lost direction in her life and focused more on the resurrection of Sothis than building a future for Fodlan’s humans for the next thousand years. Relics and Crests, meanwhile, were the inventions of humanity, as guided by TWSITD, and the Church consecrated them as divine gifts that symbolized the nobility’s inherent right to rule afterwards in a pragmatic gesture to get the most powerful people in Fodlan to bend the knee so the War of Heroes might finally end.

Edelgard can relate to making war on behalf of your murdered siblings and understand making a deal with people you hold responsible for your suffering in the name of pragmatism but neither of those points change her view that Rhea doing the best she could then doesn’t mean what’s going on now is OK, and once again, Rhea doesn’t explain any of this shit to anyone but Byleth and Claude if she has no other choice.

As far as the division of the Empire afterwards, this one is a little less on Rhea than Edelgard thinks but a little more on Rhea than the fandom wants to believe. Yes, Loog’s Rebellion and the Crescent Moon War were both set in motion by TWSITD sleeper agents to undermine and divide the Empire so that it would be easier to infiltrate and control the nations of Fodlan. The Church did still have a habit of letting these bloody conflicts play out until a winner was obvious and then legitimizing the clear victor in exchange for their continued fealty to the Church. So while the events that led to the creation of the Kingdom and Alliance were not set in motion by Rhea, saying that Rhea “divided the Kingdom from the Empire and then the Alliance from the Kingdom” isn’t really wrong, either. Rhea had the ability to step in before Loog killed a shitload of people in his rebellion or the bloody war between Loog’s successors, but did nothing until she knew her intervention would place the victor in her debt. The Empire, somewhat understandably, saw this as a betrayal, while Rhea was just trying to play it safe so she didn’t get dragged into a conflict she didn’t really care about. She was unwittingly aiding and abetting Thales in so doing, however; war became basically inevitable because Rhea at no point moved to block anything TWSITD were doing and her decisions almost always helped them make the continent weaker and divided. People argue Edelgard is wrong to assign malice to Rhea just going with the flow, and that might be fair, but I think it’s also giving Rhea a little too much credit to claim it never entered her thoughts that the Empire breaking up into smaller, weaker pieces was a good thing to legitimize because those fragments were less likely to threaten her one day.

The most saddest bit, though, is the suppression of the true nature of crest stones. Rhea’s outraged ��do you even know what those are?!” when the Imperial Army starts seizing them from the holy tomb is a big “oof” for Rhea because the answer is a resounding “no” and she worked very hard to make it that way. Nobody knows what crest stones really are and why they’re so goddamn important to Rhea because she hid away all information about them. Rhea’s outraged her family’s remains are being disturbed again but as far as anyone else knows all Crest Stones are is the power core of weapons of mass destruction; from where Edelgard’s standing this isn’t invading a tomb, it’s a raid on a weapons depot, and that’s on Rhea that nobody knows better.

"edelgard is wrong about certain information "

ok and ?

false information that rhea deliberately made sure people believed ?

and that makes edelgard LESS right in what shes doing??????

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jamiedodgerart · 7 years ago

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the fade is a liar sometimes

aka, a really long post about how mal hawke survived dragon age inquisition. warning for big but kinda vague spoilers for dai and mentions of alcoholism

ok full disclosure i dont know how he survived the fade. but im thinking the nightmare like. didnt wake back up in time to block the way through the portal, and so never caused the Do I Kill The Warden Or Hawke dilemma. cos. that was kiiiiiiiinda bullshit.

i had to pick between alistair and mal. and i really didnt want mal to be actually really dead bc at the time of here lies the abyss he’d be in a really shitty place, mentally, and i didnt want him to just! die! without resolving that! so i gave canon the finger and concocted a convoluted plan to give mal a better ending

background, after the events of da2, he ended up leaving kirkwall and fuckin’ around in the woods for a bit. i imagine he was helping refugees get out for a little while, until anders showed up and convinced him to help groups of renegade mages/circles on the verge of winning their independence. at this point he was pretty sick of the world at large, didn’t know what he wanted or where he was going to go next, and let himself be (guided? directed? pushed around?) by anders, drinking himself into oblivion and generally feeling like garbage. he fell out of contact with most of his remaining friends and began convincing himself that he was guilty for the explosion, by trusting anders (he’d suspected something was wrong with the ingredients anders was asking for and confronted him about it, but trusted him and helped him by distracting the grand cleric)

i rambled about this on my private twitter but mal and anders... ended up not being a great fit for one another and past me said it better than present me can

eventually, the inquisition came into being and grew in power. anders, still being a wanted man and mal too by association, avoided the inquisition’s patrols pretty easily. but stories started to spread about the inquisitor and his... particularly creative justice. see, pica really likes choices that have some poetic irony to them that also focus on rebuilding (he had alexius work for the mages, stuff like that), generally avoids executions, and is pretty chill with mages. the inquisition is also independent of any government, really, and is about as impartial as you can get in thedas. so when mal gets word from varric that corypheus is back, a problem, and something they need mal’s help with (that is also, in his professional opinion, his fault), he gets an idea.

he heads to skyhold, meets pica (who read the tale of the champion, asks varric questions about it constantly, was expecting a hero, and was not expecting the hero to be a depressed alcoholic) and iunno here lies the abyss happens with the aforementioned edit of no one important dying (i guess i could kill alistair and preserve a kind of important turning point in pica’s character with an added bonus of giving mal another thing to have survivor’s guilt about but i dont think i could go through with it. imagine the emotional toll. pica could get that change some other way anyway) mal by this point has gotten to know pica fairly well and has found what he’s heard to be true, and gives him a proposition

(i would like to add now that while ive read asunder, until i looked it up just now i didn’t remember where it sits in the timeline relative to da2, and it wasnt super clear to me just how much each of the two events affected the mage/templar war. so some text in sketches might be inaccurate, historically)

so you can imagine that anders is Pissed Off by this development, but justice is kinda like

cos like. pica Is a real actual authority figure. who is down to dispense some quality justice esp re mages. and is coming at it from a “yo i know you meant well and you did kinda have a point but you also killed a lot of people so there does have to be Some kind of consequence of that”

(but neither of them are at all happy with mal turning them in)

anyway the trial ends up including a full investigation of the events in kirkwall, as well as the events at the spire (cole, rhys, and evangeline all give their testimony) and it’s more a straightening out of what was up with the whole start of this shitshow anyway, cos the confusion and misinformation about it is probably the worst part.

pica finds anders guilty and sentences him to community service, which a lot of people disagreed with. pica thinks it was a GREAT IDEA though because that community service comes in the form of anders teaching the inquisition mages about healing magic!! something that anders is good at, loves doing, and can actually help people with!! why are we still fuckin about with herbs when there’s magic!!!!! this also has the added bonus of making mages less scary to the general populace- chuckin’ fireballs is a lot more alien and intimidating than healing up a broken arm, yknow? it can help mages seem more human and good for society than they were, separated from the public in towers.

anders is still a prisoner, though, which hes super not happy about, and part of his sentence is also that dagna gets to study him. he and samson are in grudging solidarity in the face of tolerating her extreme cheerfulness. and maybe he gets a cat too. i wonder if he and samson could talk about how shitty the chantry is re: lyrium addiction in templars? its obvs not on the scale of mage shittiness but it could be an interesting discussion

see in the grand scheme of things mal really didnt do all that much. he was duped by a lover into doing something he 100% would not have done if hed known what was actually going on. i feel like the most anyone could bust him on was aiding and abetting. and maybe helping hide an apostate. mal was found, as pica informally put it while distracted by looking at a transcript of a kirkwall templar’s testimony, “kinda guilty? just like. if ur asked to help blow up a chantry dont do it again” but cassandra elbowed him really hard and he said “look ok your sentence is, fuck, i dunno, work for the inquisition. what do you wanna do”

that was not what mal was expecting and he didnt have an answer. and pica looked at him and said “ill give you some time to figure it out, ok. just. take care of yourself, man. u look like shit” which got him another elbow, which he returned to cass with equal force

anyway. mal is now officially Not Guilty in the court of the law. which fuckin sucks bc that assessment does absolutely NOTHING to stop his shit brain from keeping being guilty about everything. so he tries to quit drinking, fails, and just has a rough time in general, while also sometimes visiting anders in prison. which probably really doesn’t help.

ENTER WARDEN-COMMANDER OF FERELDAN, MADRANA “MAD” TABRIS, AND HER PARTNER/GF/ADULT SUPERVISION EMMARIE “EMMY” COUSLAND

(you may also know mads as hester, as i called her in previous playthroughs. hester’s not a really elfy name and shes grown far enough away from her namesake that i felt a change was warranted. also emmy was created by @1500birds. i love her)

thats them (mads then emmy) so mad tabris, legendary fighter, unkillable blight-ender, bather in darkspawn blood, and general bottle covey is looking for a challenge. its been like ten years since shes had an actually hard battle to win and she’s near skyhold, and she’s heard that mal hawke, another legendary fighter, is also in the area. oh and some cadash guy. hes apparently good too. also, she’s looking for some way out of the whole grey warden death sentence thing. shes not keen on dying unless she’s killed, ydig, and apparently skyhold’s doing a lot of groundbreaking research these days

she and emmy swing on in to skyhold and finds that hawke is, well, a mess

important background. mads is not good at dealing with other peoples’ emotions. so shes not really equipped to deal with this. emmy, however, is kind, has nerves of steel, loves to help people, and is Very equipped to deal with this. and so the two of them adopt mal. (even though hes older than both of them.)

theyve got really, really different ways of trying to help mal. emmy is a great listener, and understands survivor’s guilt and the lost-all-my-family brand of trauma pretty well. she helps him sort through all the shit that’s happened to him and offers a lot of support. and hugs. by god shes a hugger. also theyve got a symbiotic cuddling relationship bc emmy is always cold and mal is always warm, so they platonically nap together sometimes. mads is unfortunately too wriggly and pointy to be a good cuddler :’( she squeezes in the mix sometimes anyway though and it’s uncomfortable but nice

mads’s method of helping mal is in her area of expertise: getting out pent-up negative emotion by fighting. for a long time, mal has internalized a lot of shit, and mads is really good at annoying him into either yelling or punching out that shit. shes doing it out of concern for his well-being, she swears, and not because she takes joy in pissing people off. she does but thats not the point. it’s not a perfect strategy but it does help a lot

unfortunately for her, sometimes mal can be downright vindictive when drunk and angry, and can hit on the few things she’s insecure about

(i would really love to make a post about mads sometime, cos she ended up being a lot deeper of a character than i originally intended. i really just wanted a really sharp angry lady who fought with the subtlety of a brick to the face, and ended up getting that plus bravado covering up a whole host of insecurities. i feel like i should finish dao before writing it up though ahah)

(what mal said is also not totally accurate- mads cares very much for emmy. but yknow how when things get heated it doesn’t really matter if they’re really accurate anymore- they just have to be close enough to get a reaction, ydig)

anyway! the two of them together help mal get his life back in order- he cuts down and eventually quits drinking, starts taking better care of himself, and gets more of a handle on life. i guess you’re probably wondering where varric is, right around now. so am i mal pushed away a lot of people close to him after da2, including varric. but varric kept looking out for him (lying to cassandra to protect him, using his network of contacts to keep an eye on where he and anders were operating). when mal comes to skyhold i think he’d try to avoid varric out of guilt- yknow how when it’s been a really long time since you’ve talked to someone, and you know you should have called them back, but you never did, and they kept asking how you were, and you want to be in an actually good place before you call them back, but shit keeps happening, and it’s been like two years since youve said anything to them, and then you see them and do some serious acrobatics trying to stay out of their sight so you don’t have to confront their honest interest in your well-being that they have no right to still have after so long with no word from you, and you have to make it seem like you havent been avoiding them because that would be rude, and really it’s just easier to be constantly vigilant of where they are and make sure youve got plausible reason to be leaving casually yet quickly

well mal did that. emmy had to physically bar his way from escaping a room once when varric came in, and dragged him by the scruff of the neck to talk to him. varric was painfully understanding and ended up hitting it off nicely with emmy

so! someday mal gets a job. specifically, pica gives him one. because he still owes the world some community service. with his experience as a hunter and highwayman, he becomes a scout!

whoaaa color

more specifically, mal becomes a... specialized type of scout. some idiot who shall not be named but whose name sounds a whole lot like pica cadash gave him command of a small squad of scouts, heavier armored and armed than average inquisition scouts but not heavy enough to count as infantry soldiers. their job is to dismantle highwayman and rogue mercenary bands, in whatever way necessary. so! originally this was supposed to mean sneak attacks on their strongholds or whatever, but mal talked with him about his own experiences with crime (mostly that most people in his crew back then were in it out of necessity, and needed money to support family) and the squad kind of became. really heavy recruiters. it became kind of a joke that the inquisition would take anyone- and they would! practically any skillset could be used in an organization as big as the inquisition, and at this point it was still growing

like. barely any exaggeration here

so that’s where he is pre-trespasser! thank u for reading and if youve got questions or want to learn more PLEASE ask i lov my ocs and love talking about them

i want to add that in @1500birds‘s latest playthrough (miranda trevelyan, a pro-chantry mage cullenmancer) mal rags on cullen endlessly

that was supposed to be the playthrough where he survives the fade, but then bran realized that miranda would kinda hate mal and would 100% leave him behind

#dai spoilers #dragon age #mal hawke #madrana tabris

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