#i love it when i get to paint morrigan and a f!warden
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Commission of @alynshir's Shay Mahariel and Morrigan!
#i love it when i get to paint morrigan and a f!warden#my art#dragon age#mahariel x morrigan#morrigan
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Felassan/f!Lavellan: Paint
Chapter 26 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up!
In which Felassan reveals yet another hobby. 😂 Featuring gorgeous art this week by @elbenherzart!!
~8100 words; read on AO3 instead.
The following days were a buzz of activity for Tamaris and Felassan. Gone was the lazy flow of leisurely-executed activities that had previously characterized their time; now, it almost felt to Tamaris like there weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything they wanted to do.
Their morning sparring sessions were becoming longer and more strenuous as Felassan’s grasp of his magic grew. He switching between types of magic now in his attacks, transitioning from fire to lighting to ice to raw Fade strikes while using barriers to repel Tamaris’s blows, and by the time they finished their sparring these days, they were often too fatigued to fuck right afterwards like they’d been doing when his magical control was more modest.
Outside of their sparring sessions, Felassan kept working on his magic by himself. He tinkered with Dorian’s crystals and pored through the few tomes on magic that he’d found in the mansion’s library, as well as a few tomes that Varric had given him from the stock that was salvaged from the Gallows during the Kirkwall Uprising. Dorian was sending a selection of more complex books from Tevinter, and until they arrived, Felassan cheerfully made fun of the Chantry-based books he did have access to, even as he read them.
While Felassan was working on his magic, Tamaris worked on getting herself back up to speed about current events happening in Thedas and what the other branches of the wolf hunt were doing. They sat together in the study, Felassan working at the desk while Tamaris spread her papers and reports across the couch and floor, and they frequently made snarky comments to each other about what they were reading. Although it wasn’t pleasant to be so busy again, Tamaris had to admit that it was nice to have a constant companion who was working just as hard as she.
One day, Tamaris looked up from one of Leliana’s coded letters to find Felassan leaning back against the desk with his arms folded and a pensive frown on his face.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He met her eye. “That piece of ironwood I gave you. Can I have it?”
Her eyes widened. He’d given her his piece of ironwood so long ago now that she’d been half-wondering if he’d forgotten about it. “Of course,” she said, and she stood from the couch. “What are you — are you going to make a staff with it?”
“I’m going to try,” he said.
“That’s great!” she exclaimed. “That’s – I’ll go get it right now.” She ran upstairs to her bedroom and pulled the short length of ironwood out of her dresser.
It was wrapped in a fine silk scarf Josephine had given her. She carefully unwrapped it, then ran back downstairs and held it out to Felassan.
He smiled faintly as he took it. “Why do I get the impression that you’re more excited about this than I am?”
“It is exciting,” she insisted. “You’re going to… I mean, I don’t really know what you’re going to do, but you’re going to try and make this into a staff! That means you feel pretty confident that you can do it, right?”
“I’m reasonably confident that I won’t blow up the house while trying,” he said wryly.
She frowned. “Come on, Felassan, don’t be so down on yourself. You’ve got so much more control than you did a month ago.” Just this morning, they’d been discussing the possibility that he shouldn’t spar with her anymore out of concern that he might harm her, since his attacks were surpassing the bounds of her barriers to repel him.
“True,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I am close to what I used to be.” He twirled the ironwood in his fingers and gave her a knowing look. “Using magic in this time truly is a matter of control and skill, you know. The feeling of magic being like a second seamless heartbeat really was an artifact of my time. Waking up in this time was like… like having to learn to speak again. Conscious manipulation of a skill I once took for granted.” He gestured at himself. “This relearning is like doing that all over again, but even more difficult since I can’t do what I intend to do.”
“You couldn’t before,” she said emphatically. “Now you can.”
He shrugged. “I can sometimes.”
She frowned more deeply. “Most of the time. You do what you mean to do three-quarters of the time now.”
He smirked. “Have you been keeping a ledger of my progress that I don’t know about?”
“I’m proud of you, okay?” she blurted.
He raised his eyebrows, and she hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’m just… You thought you might not recover anything when you first got here. You’ve come a long way.”
His expression softened with fondness. “I haven’t tried to do anything particularly complex. Certainly nothing as complex as making a staff.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “Just try, and if you can’t do it right away, keep trying. You’ll get it.”
His smile widened. “Look at you, being all optimistic. If not for your scowl, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”
She scoffed and gently shoved his chest. “Go make your staff, you brat. I’ve got reports to read.” She started back toward the couch, but Felassan grabbed her hand before she could get very far.
He pulled her close and stroked the metal joint of her left wrist. “Ise inor vhenan. Do you know what this means?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “‘Heart of fire’?” she said hesitantly.
“‘Fire in the heart,’ yes,” he said. “It’s an Elvhen term for someone who refuses to give up, even when the odds are stacked against them.” He smiled faintly. “Determination to the point of stubbornness.”
“Uh-huh,” she said flatly. “You’re calling me the stubborn one here, I guess?”
His smile widened. “I’m saying you are the fire in my heart, Tamaris. And I appreciate your stubborn reminders that I am, in fact, getting better.”
Her belly burst into giddy butterflies. The fire in my heart...
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop a stupid grin from spreading across her face. She gave him a chiding look instead. “Now who’s trying to seduce whom?”
His smile curled with mischief, and he tipped her chin up with a gentle finger. “Not when you have so many fascinating reports to read,” he murmured. He placed a sweet kiss on her lips, and for a blissful moment, she melted helplessly into his kiss.
He leaned away from her with a smile, and Tamaris grinned goofily at him before tottering back to her spot on the couch. Felassan chuckled and returned to his desk, and it was with a light and happy heart that Tamaris returned to her pile of reports.
Their evenings were spent with Varric and Dorian discussing the ways they could use Felassan’s information to benefit the wolf hunt. Tamaris felt that getting in touch with the Grey Wardens’s commanders should be a top priority. “We should be telling them not to kill the last two archdemons, right?” she said one night as they gathered at the dining table with Dorian’s crystal. “They should know the archdemons might be guarding against the Blight, so if anything, the Wardens should be protecting the archdemons from being found by the darkspawn.” Based on the information that Felassan had outlined, they had come to the conclusion that events like the Fifth Blight happened when the darkspawn infected the archdemons, and not that the archdemons were galvanizing the darkspawn into action like everyone seemed to think.
Felassan shrugged. “It probably would be ideal for them to stop attacking the archdemons, yes.”
“But you don’t think they’ll stop,” Varric said.
Felassan smiled faintly. “I think they have several centuries’ worth of evidence that killing archdemons coincides with the end of a Blight event, and no reason to accept the hypothesis of a random elf.”
“Well, we still have to try,” Tamaris retorted.
“I am not saying not to try,” Felassan said. “But I also think it might be worth launching our own independent ventures to find the archdemons.”
Varric grimaced. “That’s a pretty ambitious undertaking, Jester.”
“True,” Felassan said casually. “You could also speak to individual lower-ranking Wardens rather than approaching their commanders.”
Dorian’s voice floated up from the crystal. “Why shouldn’t we try and approach the Warden-Commanders?”
“People in charge are usually disinclined to listen to strange ideas,” Felassan said. “They’re considerably more skeptical than the average person. The more experience they have, the more convinced in their rightness — and the more closed-off — they tend to be.”
Varric chuckled. “Not a fan of authority figures, are you?”
Felassan widened his eyes. “I respect authority figures deeply. That doesn’t mean I listen to them or follow what they say.”
Tamaris snorted with amusement. Felassan smiled at her, then casually waved his hand. “Anyway, we should start looking for stray lower-ranking Wardens. Not only might they be more open-minded, but they could lead us to Weisshaupt, if that’s still where you think the Wardens are gathering.”
Varric scribbled a memo in his notebook. “All right. More efforts to find the Wardens. Any other thoughts?”
Dorian spoke up. “I was thinking about the fact that Solas has so much knowledge at his disposal now, with those two other souls piggybacking on his body. It certainly puts us at a disadvantage, but he’s not the only person we know whose head is stuffed with ancient knowledge.”
Tamaris nodded ruefully; she’d been thinking the same thing. “You mean Morrigan.”
“Yes,” Dorian said. “We should try and get her assistance. There must be information from the Well of Sorrows that can benefit us.”
She ran her hand slowly through her hair. When Dorian spoke again, his voice was gentle, as though he could see her reluctance. “I know you wanted to let her raise Kieran in peace, but if Solas drops the Veil, there will be nowhere safe left for them to live. Or any of us, for that matter.”
“No, I know. You’re right.” Tamaris sighed and lowered her hand. “How should we even go about trying to find her? She doesn’t care about keeping in touch with anyone.”
Varric tapped his quill idly on his notebook. “The Hero of Ferelden would be a good bet. Nightingale said she and Morrigan were close back in the day.”
Tamaris frowned. “That was over ten years ago. And isn’t Mahariel already going off to spy on the qunari?”
“She’d have time to send a letter,” Varric said reasonably.
“I guess,” Tamaris said, somewhat reluctantly. She still felt guilty about the Hero of Ferelden doing so many tasks for the wolf hunt after everything she’d already done for Ferelden, but no one seemed to have any choice about getting pulled into all of this.
“Okay,” Varric said as he took another note. “Get the hero to write to the swamp witch.” He looked up at Felassan and Tamaris. “Any other ideas?”
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about, actually,” Tamaris said. She gave Felassan a critical look. “The Well of Sorrows. The fact that it even existed and that Mythal had warriors who were bound to her will. Don’t you think that’s fucked up?”
He pulled a little face. “It’s not a fate I would ever choose, that’s for certain.”
“So why did she make anyone choose it?” Tamaris demanded. “Why make anyone be bound to her will?”
“Remember that the Sentinel order arose around the time that the Evanuris were all starting to war with each other,” Felassan said. “In retrospect, I wonder if the rising of the Sentinels might have been the first sign that Mythal was worried she would be betrayed. An order of warriors who are bound to your will means they can’t betray you, not even if you die. Allegedly die, that is,” he added.
Tamaris folded her arms. In her opinion, that was no excuse. “What did Solas think of the Sentinels when Mythal started recruiting them?” she asked.
Felassan grimaced again. “He was… conflicted,” he said slowly. “On the one hand, Abelas and the others were willingly giving themselves into Mythal’s will, so technically they were submitting to her by choice. But by submitting to her, they were effectively making themselves her slaves.” Felassan twisted his lips ruefully. “It certainly kept him up at night, even if he didn’t speak against her outright.”
Tamaris relaxed slightly at this. “It didn’t seem to sit right with him when we were there, either.”
Felassan nodded and gave her an appraising look. “You never considered drinking from the Well, did you?”
“I mean, sure, I considered it for a second,” she said. “Until Solas refused point-blank to drink from it. If he was saying no, then I sure as fuck wasn’t going to do it.”
Felassan snorted a laugh. “Wise of you to follow his example. It would be a very different Tamaris sitting before us now if you had drunk from the Vir’Abelasan.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t be sitting here at all, if Solas really is hosting Mythal.”
Tamaris frowned, but Dorian filled in his unspoken thoughts. “Fasta vass. You think he would have taken control of Tamaris via Mythal?”
Tamaris’s guts went cold at the thought, and Felassan’s answer only discomfited her more. “It’s possible,” he said.
“So that means Morrigan could be in trouble now, then,” Tamaris said tensely. “And Kieran too.”
“Also possible,” Felassan said.
“Shit. Fuck.” She ran her hands through her hair, then gestured at Varric’s notebook. “Write that down. Trying to find her should be a priority.”
“Fen’Harel won’t kill them, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Felassan said.
Varric gave him a skeptical look. “If he’s willing to bring the Veil down on us, he’s probably not too concerned about killing one woman and her kid.”
“It’s not like that,” Tamaris said. “Solas doesn’t want to kill more people than he has to.”
Varric looked at her in surprise, and Dorian sounded surprised as well when he replied. “That almost sounded like you’re defending him.”
“She’s not defending him,” Felassan said. “She’s just explaining him.”
She looked up to find Felassan smiling at her. But instead of smiling back, she frowned. “Can you explain something to me? Why did he trust her?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Who, Morrigan?”
She gave him a chiding look. “No. Mythal. She was so fucking shady. The dwarf stuff, the Well of Sorrows stuff, hiding her dragon without telling him so he thought she was dead, not to mention how smug and bitchy she was when I met her, and all the shitty things Morrigan said about being raised by her. How could Solas have trusted her?”
His smile began to melt into that look of anachronistic melancholy that made Tamaris’s heart twist. “I don’t know if it is possible to explain the strength of the ties that exist between them,” he said quietly. “Can any of us even imagine the depth of love that could develop between two beings who have known each other for several thousand years? Solas knew Mythal since he was barely more than a wisp. She was one of the main sources of pride that fed and fostered him before he became an elf. She shaped him in ways that none of us can fully understand. Even if he later realized that some of her proudest achievements were terrible mistakes, the depth of his devotion to her would have made him incapable of seeing her as truly flawed.”
Dorian hummed an acknowledgement. “Love is blind, hm?”
Varric grunted. “It’s a literary cliché for a reason.”
“It really is,” Felassan said. His tone was jocular, but his smile was wry and sad.
Tamaris reached over and squeezed his thigh. Then Varric snapped his fingers. “Hey, that reminds me. I was thinking about the whole Mythal-hiding-her-dragon thing the other day, and I thought, uh… well, what if Mythal’s dragon really is dead?”
Felassan straightened in his chair. “Interesting. Then how do you propose that she survived?”
Varric put his quill down. “Well, Hawke had this amulet that Flemeth told her to take to the Dalish. She took it to our friend Merrill’s clan, and Merrill did some kind of ritual, and Flemeth popped out of the amulet like… like, uh…”
“Like magic?” Dorian suggested wryly.
Varric laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Obviously.”
Dorian chuckled, but to Tamaris’s surprise, Felassan just stared at Varric without laughing.
“Felassan, what’s wrong?” she asked.
He continued to stare at Varric. “Why didn’t you mention this the other day when I was talking about the dragons?”
Varric shrugged. “I didn’t think of it then.”
“I wish you had,” Felassan said. “That changes everything. If Mythal’s dragon truly was killed, but she had another piece of her life essence stored in an amulet…” He trailed off, then snorted a sudden little laugh. “Amulets are far easier to hide than dragons, you know.”
Varric shrugged and picked up his quill. “I mean, I could be wrong. You can read The Tale of the Champion yourself and see what you think.”
“You should read it, actually,” Tamaris piped in. “There’s more detail in there about Merrill and her eluvian, too.” She turned to Varric. “It’s the same eluvian that gave the Hero of Ferelden the blight, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what Daisy said,” Varric replied.
Felassan looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, an eluvian gave the Hero of Ferelden the blight?” he said sharply.
Varric tilted his head in an equivocal gesture. “Well, maybe it didn’t directly give Mahariel the blight, especially if only living stuff can have the blight. But it was definitely involved, from what Daisy told us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, eluvians aren’t alive, are they?”
“No, they’re… they’re not alive,” Felassan said numbly. He kept staring at Varric in a stunned sort of way that made Tamaris nervous.
She tapped his thigh. “Felassan, are you–?”
He suddenly burst out laughing — a distinctly hysterical-sounding laugh. Tamaris shifted closer to him and held out her hand, and he grabbed it as he dragged in a breath.
She squeezed his fingers. “Just breathe,” she said soothingly.
He nodded, then burst out another uncontrolled laugh. “Just when I think I have a grasp on this time, I realize something enormously significant that I missed,” he wheezed.
“What do you think you missed?” Dorian asked.
Felassan giggled before dragging in another calming breath. “An eluvian that’s steeped somehow in the blight makes me think there is a specific place that it was keyed to access. A place that was so catastrophically affected by the blight that the eluvians connected to it might be growing red lyrium.”
Tamaris’s eyes widened. “Arlathan?” she breathed.
Felassan nodded and chuckled, and Tamaris sighed. “Fuck. So we should try and get Merrill somewhere safe too, then.”
Varric sighed. “I hate to tell you this, but I haven’t heard from Daisy in a while.”
Tamaris’s stomach went cold once more. “You think she’s working with Solas?”
Varric twisted his lips sadly. “She’d have good reason to, if he sweet-talked her with stories about the ancient elves.”
Felassan sighed. “That’s good.”
Tamaris frowned at him, affronted. “It’s good? What do you mean, it’s good? One more ally for Solas means one less for us!”
Felassan gave her a chiding look. “It would also mean that an eluvian leading straight to the Black City is under Solas’s control and not, for example, Tevinter’s. Neither is… ideal, but having that eluvian in Tevinter hands is probably worse.” He cocked his head. “Probably.”
“That hurts my feelings slightly,” Dorian said.
Felassan chuckled, then sighed and rubbed his forehead, and Tamaris studied him with a pang of sympathy. He looked so tired.
She squeezed his hand once more. He gave her a little smile, then squeezed her hand in turn before kicking his feet up on the table. “In any case, I know what’s next on my reading list.” He shot Varric a smirk. “Maybe you should just give me an annotated bibliography of your work so I can catch up on everything I need to know about the last twenty years.”
Varric huffed in amusement. “I guess I could get you a copy of all my works. I am just a humble servant to my loyal readers, after all.”
Felassan smiled at him. “A sweet sentiment. That reminds me, how is your most loyal reader?”
Varric rolled his eyes. “Cassandra’s fine. Yes, I wrote her a smut scene. And no, you can’t read it.”
Dorian burst out laughing while Felassan complained playfully about not being allowed to read Varric’s smut, and Tamaris listened to the three of them faux-bickering with a bittersweet feeling in her chest.
Later that evening, long after Dorian ended the call and Varric had gone home, Tamaris trudged gloomily back to the study to read some more reports. A minute later, Felassan sidled into the study as well.
He pushed some of her papers aside to sit down beside her, and Tamaris poked him in the arm. “Hey, don’t touch my mess. I have a system.”
He draped his arm over the back of the couch. “You’re not really going to continue working now, are you?”
She scratched her ear. “Well, I — there was one last report I was in the middle of reading, so I just want to finish it.”
“Finish it tomorrow,” he said.
She gave him a chiding look. “You’re being a brat.”
“And you’re working far too hard for someone who doesn’t actually have anything to do.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to rub it in? I feel guilty enough already.”
He tilted his head. “You feel guilty staying in this house with me while my magic is too uncontrolled to travel?”
Her eyes widened in dismay. “Wha– no, that’s not what I mean at all!”
“Then why bother feeling guilty?” he asked.
She gazed at him in exasperation. “It’s — I can’t just turn it off, okay? Everyone else is working hard, including you. I need to do something.”
He shrugged. “You can help me with making my staff.”
Her irritation melted into surprise. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said. “You have full control of your magic. It will form a stabilizing influence to help me channel mine into the ironwood.”
She smiled at the thought of helping Felassan with something magical, then wilted slightly. “Are you sure you don’t want Dorian’s help instead? His mana reserves are way stronger than mine.”
Felassan smirked. “Jealous, are you?”
“No, for once,” she said snarkily. “Just being practical.”
His smile widened. “So you admit that you are jealous of my friendship with Dorian.”
She rolled her eyes and picked up her half-read report. “Fuck off and let me read my report, will you?”
He chuckled and plucked the papers from her hand. “To answer your question, no. I don’t want his help. Even if he could help via the sending crystal, which he can’t, I would still be asking for your help instead.”
“And why’s that?” she grumbled.
“Because I’ll enjoy feeling the hum of your magic in my fingers when I use the staff,” he replied.
She looked at him with fresh curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll leave a magical signature in the wood if you help me make my staff,” he explained. “It will be an enjoyable feeling when I’m blowing apart our enemies.”
“Oh,” she said dumbly. His tone was casual, but she couldn’t help but feel oddly flattered that he would want to feel her magical signature during a fight.
She shyly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, um. Sure, I’d be happy to help.”
“Excellent,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll let you know when I need your hands.”
She blinked in confusion. “Oh, you – you don’t want to do this now?”
“Oh, no,” he said casually. “My experimentation today proved that I need more time to practice the spells for imbuing our signatures into the wood, not to mention tailoring it to the size-modulating spell I’ll be putting on the staff.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Besides, we’re not working anymore tonight.”
“We’re not, huh?” she said wryly.
“No,” Felassan said. “We’re going to do something fun.”
His tone and the curl of his lips were mischievous, and Tamaris smirked. “Like what?” she said drolly.
His answer surprised her, though. “Like painting the walls.”
She wilted. “You want to start painting the walls? Now?” She eyed the plain washed walls of the study with some resignation.
“Not those walls, and not that kind of paint,” he said. “Come.” He stood up and held out his hand.
Tamaris sighed and allowed him to pull her up from the couch. He led her to the foyer and jerked his thumb at the east-facing wall of the foyer, which they’d painted a deep peacock blue. “This bores me,” he said. “I think we should paint a mural.”
She balked slightly. “A mural?” Her mind instantly went to the murals Solas had painted on the walls of the rotunda: those huge, floor-to-ceiling works that he’d painted during the year he’d spent by her side — beautiful masterpieces that she’d once considered as tributes to his love for her, but which had later been too painful for her to look at, leading her to avoid the rotunda altogether.
Felassan, as usual, picked up on her thoughts. He gave her a knowing look. “Not a mural like Fen’Harel’s. Something much simpler and much less planned.”
Tamaris gave him a cautious look. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing in particular, really,” he said. He looked at the wall and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I usually just start painting and see where my hands take me.”
She gazed at him with growing confusion. “W-wait. You… do you know how to paint?”
He shrugged. “I have been known to paint sometimes.”
She gaped at him. “Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I didn’t want to be made fun of for having yet another hobby.”
She gently punched his arm. “Don’t be stupid! I would never make fun of you for being an artist! Would I have seen anything you painted? In the Vir Dirthara or any ancient temples or anything?” Her eyes widened. “Or — or even at Skyhold?”
He gave her a mischievous grin. “You flatter me by suggesting anything I paint would be worthy of such illustrious locations.”
She eyed him shrewdly. “That's not an answer.”
He chuckled. “You’re right. And you might have seen some of my work, though it would be hard to tell it apart from the work of others.”
“What do you mean?”
He let out a little huff of laughter and rubbed his mouth, as though he was thinking of a private joke. “Did you ever see quick, messy paintings of elven warriors going to battle on halla?”
“Yes, in many places,” she said. She paused, then double-taked at him. “Wait, those were by you?”
“Not just me,” Felassan said. “Fen’Harel’s rebels had a tendency to leave our mark in the places where we foiled our foes.”
Tamaris stared at him, then smiled. “You vandalized the Evanuris’s property while you were freeing their slaves?”
Felassan grinned. “I like to think we improved their decor, much like you and I are doing in this house. Now let’s see how we can improve this wall, why don’t we?” He started opening the pails of paint, then glanced up at Tamaris. “Can you bring some bowls so we can mix the colours?”
“Sure,” she said. She hurried to the kitchen and came back a minute later to find that Felassan had already laid some dropcloths on the floor along the base of the wall.
He gestured to the floor. “Set them here. You don’t mind ruining those bowls with paint, do you?”
“I don’t give a single fuck about these bowls,” she said.
He snickered. “I figured as much.” He poured together some red and yellow paint to make a deep orange shade, then looked up at her as he stirred the paint. “What colours are you in the mood for?”
She blinked in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he said drolly. “What colours do you want to start with?”
She recoiled. “What? No. I’m not — I’ll just watch.”
He paused in his stirring. “That won’t do. You have to paint.”
She laughed at his bossy tone. “No I don’t. I’ll just watch.” She sat on the carpet and wrapped her arms around her knees, perfectly willing to watch Felassan the way she used to watch Solas during the long nights when he painted his murals.
Felassan gave her a chiding look, then gestured for her to come closer. “Come, avise. Paint with me. You’ll like it.”
She stubbornly shook her head. “I don’t know how to paint.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think I knew how to paint before I started vandalizing the Evanuris’s walls?”
“I thought you were ‘improving their decor’, not vandalizing,” Tamaris retorted.
He grinned. “Silly me. Of course that’s what we were doing. Now come, I need your help to improve this wall. What colours do you want to add?”
She gave him a knowing look. “If I touch that wall, I’m going to fuck it up.”
“Anything you do will be an improvement over the wallpaper that was here before,” he said.
She snorted a laugh. “You know what, that’s true.”
He raised his eyebrows hopefully, and Tamaris finally gave in with a sigh. “Fine. How about…” She paused and gazed idly into his expectant violet eyes.
“Purple,” she said. “Mix me up some purple paint.”
“Purple it is,” he said. He mixed together some red and blue paint and added some white to lighten the shade, then held out the bowl.
She stood up and took the bowl. “I need a brush.”
“Use your fingers,” he said.
She recoiled slightly. This would make an enormous mess if she painted with her hands. “Are you serious?”
“I never joke about vandalism,” he said. “I take it very seriously.”
He was grinning. His eyes were dancing with mischief and he looked so carefree and young, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile in response to his joy.
She blew out a breath. “All right, but if it looks really bad, we’re painting over it.” She dipped her fingers in the thick paint, then smeared some of it on the wall.
She immediately regretted what she’d done. The paint began to run in slow drips, and Tamaris was forced to catch it with her fingers and smear it even more. Exasperated, she started rubbing the paint haphazardly onto the wall until it was a blobby patch of purple.
She threw Felassan an I-told-you-so look. “See? It looks like shit.”
He shook his head. “Keep going,” he said. He was still smiling, and Tamaris gazed at him with rising annoyance.
“Keep going with what?” she demanded. “It’s an ugly smudge.”
“You had something in mind when you started painting,” he said. “Keep going with it.” He picked up the bowl of orange paint, then padded over to the other end of the wall and began dashing the paint onto the wall in quick practiced strokes that clearly told her he’d done this a thousand times.
She sighed, then dipped her fingers in the paint again and kept slapping it haphazardly onto the wall in a series of vaguely rounded irregularly-sized blobs. A few minutes later, she set the bowl down and wiped her hand on the dropcloth before looking over at what Felassan was doing.
Her eyebrows jumped up. Felassan was painting a series of what looked like stylized orange teardrops that varied in size and shape, but the shifting shades of orange and red and yellow were clearly meant to signify fire.
She narrowed her eyes. The shifting colours in his painted flamedrops represented such a subtle blend. How was he managing to make the colours meld so seamlessly? He was holding the bowl of orange paint, but the buckets of yellow and red were sitting on the floor a good two metres away from him.
She stepped away from the wall, and Felassan looked over at her. His gaze darted to the wall, and he smiled. “Clouds,” he said.
She grunted and rolled her eyes. “Really original, I know.”
He gave her a chiding look. “A wise woman once said you shouldn’t be so down on yourself.” He approached her end of the wall and examined her purple smudgy clouds for a second, then dipped his fingers into his bowl of orange paint and added a dash of orange to the underside of each cloud.
Tamaris raised her eyebrows. The orange underline gave the impression that each blobby cloud was lit from below by the setting sun. It was exactly what she’d been thinking of when she started to paint: sitting on the roof with Felassan while the fading light of day lit the clouds aglow from beneath.
She looked at him, and he raised his eyebrows. “Better? Worse?” He smiled faintly. “Did I ruin your artistic vision?”
She swallowed hard, feeling oddly emotional by his addition. She shook her head. “You un-ruined it,” she said gruffly.
His smile widened. “Oh good. I’d always dearly hoped to un-ruin something during the course of my life.”
She scoffed, then nodded her chin at his drops of flame. “What are you doing over there?”
“Sketching,” he said. “Working out an idea.” He nodded at her clouds. “Keep going. Or paint something else.”
She nodded, but as Felassan returned to his side of the wall with his bowl of orange paint, she couldn’t help but watch him instead. He continued painting drops of flame on the wall, then eventually put the orange paint aside and picked up the bucket of green paint instead. He set the bucket on the floor by his feet and started scrawling green shapes on the wall that looked like stylized leaves, and Tamaris was once again awed — and bemused — by how seamlessly he seemed to be blending the orange of the flames into the green of the leaves.
She watched him with unabashed interest, her own painting endeavours forgotten in favour of watching Felassan instead. He eventually paused and smiled at her. “If you’re going to stare, this really is your chance to paint a picture. The paints are open and everything.”
She smiled at his cheeky remark. “I’d honestly rather watch,” she said. “I want to see what you come up with.”
He gave her a reproving look, and she waved dismissively. “I mean it. I’ll have more fun watching you than I will with actually painting.”
He frowned at her for a moment longer, then finally shrugged. “All right, but you’re going to start off the next mural. I insist on it.”
She wilted slightly. “The next one?”
He nodded. “We need to cover every wall of this house with filthy knife-ear art.”
Tamaris burst out a laugh. “That would be pretty good revenge for how aggressively Orlesian this house was before we got here.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” he said complacently. “I have always enjoyed exacting petty revenge through the use of paint.”
She beamed at him. “You really are a vandal, you know that?”
He bowed politely to her. “Thank you, Tamaris. That warms my heart.”
She chuckled and settled on the carpet once more. She hadn’t been self-deprecating when she’d told Felassan she wanted to watch him instead of doing the painting. She’d always enjoyed watching artists working on their craft — and one of the artists she’d most enjoyed watching, unfortunately, was Solas.
She’d never seen an artist who worked the way Solas did. Watching him transform the rotunda walls from raw rock to smooth plaster to charcoal sketches and finally to fully-rendered murals had been, in her eyes, its own form of magic. Solas’s careful stepwise method had also been something to marvel at; he always started with a lovingly-crafted small-scale sketch of each design before translating the sketch to the walls in perfect proportion, and the actual painting of the mural was an all-night process that exemplified his focus and methodical devotion to the art. During those all-night painting sessions, Solas was intent and focused and almost completely silent, and Tamaris couldn’t remember a single time when he’d faltered or made a mistake in the execution of his spectacular works.
Watching Felassan paint, on the other hand... truly, it was nothing like watching Solas. Felassan hadn’t planned a thing, opting instead to experiment directly on the walls with his fingers instead of the sorts of fine brushes that Solas used to use. His movements were loose and relaxed and lacking in precision, and he kept jumping between the different elements of the scene he was creating: adding a bunch of those green leaf shapes, then adding some more flames, then swiping a streak of gold in a bold vertical arch through the cluster of flames before starting to add some violet clouds to his end of the mural. He hummed to himself as he worked and made little playful comments to her over his shoulder, and when the occasional drop of paint rolled slowly down the wall from his quick and messy application, he simply blended it back into the wall or painted over it with a new leaf or flame.
She stared shamelessly at Felassan’s emerging work. His application method appeared slapdash and careless, but the effect was anything but; his work was striking and bold, and to Tamaris’s eye, very appealing. The lines varied from dark saturated lines to graceful faded streaks, giving his mural a dynamic and energetic feel that was more emotion than story, and Tamaris felt energized in turn as she watched him moving from one end of the wall to the other and back.
The longer he worked, the less he spoke and the more focused he seemed to become, even as his movements remained loose and flowing. He looked incredibly graceful as he moved across the wall, and he was using both hands now to paint, and–
Wait. Both hands? she thought. And with a jolt, she realized that Felassan was no longer holding a bowl of paint in his hand. Even so, the colours continued to flow from his fingers as though he had dipped his fingers into the paint. But how…?
She narrowed her eyes and watched him more carefully. And eventually, with a rising of wonder, she realized what he was doing. He kept gesturing in the direction of the paints and twisting his wrists as though he was dipping his hands into the paints, and the amount of paint in the buckets and the bowls was actually decreasing in accordance with the movements of his hands.
It’s magic, she thought in amazement. He’s using magic to pull the paint to his hands and to blend the colours. Her heart was pounding now with excitement at his exquisitely controlled magical feat, but she continued to watch him in silence, unwilling to disturb his flow by commenting on what he was doing.
He flicked his wrist at the bucket of gold paint, then dragged his fingers in a long horizontal line from the center of the vertical arch and back toward Tamaris’s end of the wall, and Tamaris finally recognized the shape that dominated most of the mural: a stylized bow and arrow, with a background of flames toward the front of the bow that blended into leaves toward the end. Enthralled by his design and by the magical way he was executing it, she wrapped her arms loosely around her knees and continued to watch as he added a silvery-white bowstring, then a purple-silvery arrowhead and purple-and-red fletching to the arrow.
He stood back briefly to study the design before going over the golden bow and arrow again with a smattering of brown, making the bow and arrow look like a combination of wood and gold.
He paused again and idly scratched the back of his neck, and Tamaris watched with a swelling of affection as he smeared some paint on his neck.
He turned to face her then. “Look at me?” he said.
She lifted her eyes to his face, and her breath stalled in her chest; his beautiful amethyst eyes were bright with focus. He studied her face intently for a long second, then nodded and turned back to the wall. He flicked his wrist at the paints, then started painting over the leaves again with a slightly lighter shade of green that blended into a darker green at the edges.
When he finished re-painting the leaves, he stood back once more and folded his arms as he surveyed his work, and Tamaris stared shamelessly at his handsome profile as he studied the wall. He carelessly flicked his wrist at the paint buckets, then flicked his fingers at the wall, and Tamaris watched as a fine blend of white and bright blue droplets appeared in misty-looking streaks near the upper edge of the bow — a fine blend that would have required painstaking care to paint by hand, but which Felassan’s magic had rendered quick and doable. His magic, which he was clearly gaining better control over with every passing day…
Her heart throbbed again with an undeniable surge of pride. Felassan continued to flick streaks and curls of fine blue-and-white droplets across the mural, and Tamaris eventually realized that the streaks and curls looked like smoke, which made sense given the omnipresent stylized fire that dominated much of the right-hand side of the mural.
He stepped away from the wall one more time to examine his work, then finally nodded in satisfaction. He turned to face her with a smile. “So? What do you think?”
“I love it. It’s beautiful,” she said. Then she immediately regretted her inane compliment. It sounded so paltry compared to the way her heart was pounding in her chest, as though it wanted to escape the confines of her ribcage and leap into his open hands.
He sat beside her with a satisfied sigh. “I’m glad you like it. It’s us, after all.”
She raised her eyebrows. “What?”
He gestured at the wall. “It’s us. A slow arrow dancing with flames. And a little bit of deep mushroom smoke, of course.” He smirked, then gently lifted her chin and studied her face. “I’m not convinced that I captured the shade of your eyes right, though.”
“My eyes?” she said stupidly.
“Yes, your eyes,” he said vaguely. He was still carefully examining her face. “Those green shapes on the left half of the wall.”
Those are my eyes? she thought. The green shapes he’d painted, then painstakingly repainted a second time to adjust their shade: those were meant to represent her eyes?
He chuckled and lowered his hand. “Tell me the truth. You thought they were leaves, didn’t you?”
She stared wordlessly at him, overwhelmed by the perfection of this moment — the perfection of him. Her body was still buzzing with energy from watching him paint, and her heart was humming besottedly from the careful way he’d inspected the verdancy of her eyes. The memory of his loose and joyful movements danced across her mind as surely as his paint-slathered hands had danced across the wall, and gods, the laughter in his voice and in his smile…
Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was shocked he couldn’t hear it. She swallowed hard and gazed at the mural once more — this mural that was them, that was her and Felassan together: a slow arrow dancing in flames, splashed boldly across the wall of this house for everyone to see. As Tamaris studied the bold jewel tones of the freshly-painted wall, it dawned on her that she had never seen any mural more beautiful than the one Felassan had just rendered with his magic and his own two hands.
Tamaris tore her gaze away from the mural and met his bright violet eyes. “I love you,” she said.
A slow and brilliant smile lit his entire face, like a bursting of joy that rendered him even more painfully handsome than he already was. Tamaris stared gormlessly at him, her throat thickening with emotion as she took in the tenderness in his face.
He cradled her neck in his palm. “I know, Tamaris,” he murmured.
Her heart squeezed with nerves. She swallowed hard, then smacked his chest. “You know? What do you mean, you know?”
His smile grew wider and softer at once. “I know you love me. I don’t need to hear you say it.”
Feeling slightly stung, she scoffed and tried to push him away. “You’re so fucking smug.”
He pulled her easily into his lap. “I don’t need to hear you say it, but I have been waiting for you to say it first.”
“Why?” she complained. “Why did I have to say it first?”
“I didn’t want you to feel obligated to say it back if I said it first,” he replied.
She darted him a cautious look. If he said it first? So that meant — did that mean…?
She cleared her throat and rubbed at the dent on her metal arm. “So… say it back, meaning…?”
He chuckled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It means that I love you too, felasil’ain. But I think you already knew that.”
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she gazed silently into his glittering amethyst eyes. As usual, Felassan was right. He’d been right when he said that empty words couldn’t wipe her bitterness away. And now, in this moment, he was right when he said that mere words of love weren’t necessary. Just because he’d never said he loved her didn’t mean she didn’t know — and if she dug beneath the surface of her own stubborn insecurity, she could openly admit that she’d known all along.
She knew Felassan loved her; of course she knew, because it was infused into his every act. He made foods that he knew she would like and concocted herbal remedies for her withdrawal and her pain. He offered her massages and pulled her out of her terrible moods with his terrible jokes. He kissed her like there was nothing else he would rather do, and he fucked her like he was trying to wring every last shiver of pleasure from her body, and he was patient — almost unfathomably patient. He listened while she talked about Solas, and he’d tolerated the torture of their heated trysts until she was ready to have sex again, and he’d waited quietly while she held back the words of love that seemed to consume her more with every passing day.
No longer would she be consumed by those words. No longer would she be held hostage by them — especially not when his feelings for her were so patently obvious.
She straddled him and cradled his paint-stained neck in her palms. “I love you,” she said huskily. “I — you’re right, okay? I wanted to say it for weeks but I felt — I don’t know, shy or something. I was being stupid.”
He squeezed her waist soothingly. “You were not being stupid. And there’s no need to explain. I told you, I don’t need you to say it.”
“Well, I need to say it,” she retorted. “And you deserve to hear it, okay? I fucking love you.”
He grinned at her, then broke into laughter. “How is it possible for someone to be affectionate and rude at once?”
She tsked and smacked his chest. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she kissed him.
He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her tongue with his, and Tamaris happily capitulated to the heat of his kiss. When he broke away from her lips to laugh, she was helpless to do anything but laugh in turn.
They sat twined together on the floor, kissing and laughing and making fun of each other in husky murmured voices, and Tamaris basked shamelessly in the ample evidence of Felassan’s love. His lips pulled gently at hers and his hands moved carefully over her body, and there on the wall, looming benevolently over them in bright and brilliant strokes of colour, was the most visible sign of his love: a mural rendered by Felassan’s bare hands — a mural showing his slow arrow dancing fearlessly and boldly through the fire of her heart.
#felassan#save felassan#felassan romance#felassan/lavellan#felassan x lavellan#the love that grows from violence#pikapeppa writes#elbenherzart
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Shizuka Cousland.
Full Name:
Shizuka Cousland.
Nickname/Alias:
Lady, Lady Cousland, Lady Shizuka, Ice lady, Yukion'na, Shirayuki-hime.
Meaning:
Shizuka:
Quiet, Summer, Fragrance.
Yukion'na:
Snow Woman.
Shirayuki-Hime:
Snow White.
Title:
Lady, Warden, Lady Warden, Shirayuki, Shirayuki-Hime, Shizu.
Pet Name:
Pup, Ice Lady, Hime.
Gender Role:
More lady-like than anything. But, she has her moments.
Class:
Enchanted Warrior
Sheild and sword.
Orientation:
Straight.
Real Age:
Depends on the place and time.
Age Appearance:
17-20.
Birthday:
August, 24th.
Birthplace:
High Ever.
Zodiac Sign:
Virgo.
Immediate Family:
Father:
Bryce Cousland.
Mother: Eleanor Mac Eanraig.
Brother: Fergus Cousland
Sister in law: Oriana.
Nephew: Oren Cousland.
Ethnicity:
Alamarri and a Fereldan.
Eye Colour:
Crystal blue.
Hair Colour:
White-Silver, with a blue Tint in it.
Hairstyle:
You would think her hair was easy to tame, but it wasn't. She has thick hair and while it was still straight and seemed to look neat, Shizuka always had a hard to taming it into the usaul hairstyle. It was down, never tied up so what could be hard about that. Right? you would be surprised to know how many tugs is there. Brushing it into a neat place and leaving it was the hard part mostly, unlike most nobles who move there hair into buns or braids. She preferred it down and long, at least to her hips. Her bangs were combed to both ends, right and left. Leaving the centre of her forehead and face to be seen.
Makeup:
Her lips are painted red or pink, depending on her mood or how they got up. There was no need to put anything on her face really, she was perfect the way she is and her mother believed that woman should wear less than more when it comes to make up. She did, have some silver eye shadow as well. It was barely seen though.
Appearance:
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Body Type:
Athletic, but looks fragile from the first glance.
Build:
Petite looking, but well built for a women.
Birthmarks/scars:
There was a birth mark, of two eagles on her right shoulder, her twin has it as well.
Distinguishing Features:
Her pure white hair, pale skin and blue eyes.
Posture:
Lady-like.
Scent:
No one can place her scene, but apparently it's a flower called Andraste's Grace.
Heroes:
Mother and Father, Though recently it was the Grey Wardens.
Pets/Familiars:
A wolf, Though for this it is going to be like a normal dog, able to withstand the Taint.
Wardrobe examples:
F-o-r-m-a-l. O-u-t-f-i-t-s. B-a-l-l-r-o-o-m. O-u-t-f-i-t-s. F-i-g-h-t-i-n-g. O-u-t-f-i-t-s. C-a-s-u-a-l O-u-t-f-i-t-s. D-a-n-c-i-n-g. O-u-t-f-i-t-s. N-i-g-h-t w-e-a-r.
Equipment:
-Family sword.
-Sword level one.
-Sword level two.
-Sword level three.
-Cousland Shield.
-Shield level one.
-Shield level two.
-Shield level three.
Accessories:
-Locket.
-Family Ring with the crest on it.
-Magic book
-Journal/Diary.
-The crest of the Cousland family.
Element:
Water.
Biggest Failure:
Letting the people she loved die alone, even at all. Her life was always about them and how she would bring her people up as a heir. At least, they told her as much. If she didn't then her brother would. Even then, they would have found someone willing to marry her anyway.
Secrets:
As a young girl she wished to be free, never to hold herself back. Her family always knew she wanted to be free and wander like her brother did. However, due to her class he was forced to ignore that and grow up. But, in there group she fears that her secret love for freedom might come out. A witch who has been free since a child, A sister who choose her path and lived with it, Even there Assassin friend made her wonder. No one like her should even be thinking of that, but she did.
Hobbies/Interests:
Writing in her journal and diary, by herself, Walking in the forest alone or with someone, Watching the night sky, singing, Dancing, writing poems, horse riding.
Skills/Talents:
-There is a small part of magic in her, but not enough to call it dangerous. I'm trying something new with this, so I hope you will accept this part- She is NOT a full blood mage. -Casting without her hands. -Making her magic flow into her weapons. -Knowing different herbs, poisons. -Cooking. -Flower Arranging. -Can work with a shield, but she choose a smaller one than most.
Likes:
Singing, Dancing, Children, Animals, her brother, Alistair, morrigan, Writing poems, Cooking, Night walks.
Dislikes:
People treating Elves, Servants or anyone of low class bad, Her title coming up, talking about the past, howe.
Pet Peeves:
-The Servants being treated badly. -Someone giving up with not say in the matter. -Pointless talk. -Bringing up the past. -Judging someone for no reason.
Personality Detailed:
Personality:
Intelligent
The Virgo are an intelligent lot, who would love to know about various subjects and increase their general knowledge.
Practical They don't believe in living in the fantasy world and will be very much in touch with the reality. Their practical approach is one of their biggest strength.
Analytical The Virgo possess an analytical mind and see things in black and white. They are capable of producing a clear analysis and thereby a solution of even the most complicated problems.
Reliable You can trust a Virgo for following the instructions and trying his best to do the job well. Besides, he is a rational person and would not let emotions affect his decisions.
Modest Since they are goal-oriented, perfectionists, rational and reliable, it is very likely that they are great achievers too. But you will rarely see them boasting about their accomplishments. Overcritical They have such a clear picture in their minds as to how things should be, the Virgo tend to be overcritical and lose the plot in the process. Fussy The Virgo-born often get lost in details and they will not have a peace of mind till they resolve all the issues. Besides, their strong likes and dislikes make them quiet fussy. Fastidious Pleasing or impressing a Virgo is tough job, as anything less perfect (in their eyes) does not make the cut. Harsh They call a spade a spade and they don't sugar-coat their opinions before putting them across. Their harshness does not always go down well with the people around them.
Conservative The Virgo are conservative and won't readily accept modern ideas. Maybe it has to do with their need to test the waters and be sure of the outcome.
Judgemental
The Virgo-born are criticised for being judgemental. They cannot ignore faults and mistakes as anything less than perfect is not good enough for them.
Symbol:
Cousland Crest.
Vice:
Chastity.
Virtue:
envy.
Background.
The outpost of Highever was originally a bannorn and was held by the Elstan family, who was a secondary branch of the then-freeholder family of Howes. During the Towers Age, Bann Conobar Elstan was murdered by his wife, Flemeth, thus ending the bloodline. Sarim Cousland, the captain of Conobar's guard, took the lands and title. The Couslands declared their independence from Amaranthine, starting a war that lasted thirty years. When the war ended, Highever won its independence and possession of half the land that had once been southwestern Amaranthine. Highever became a teyrnir during the Black Age. Previously, the Couslands held only the minor title of Bann. During the lycanthrope plague, Bann Haelia Cousland[1] or Mather Cousland[2] according to other sources, gathered the lords together under the Cousland banner to drive the werewolves out of their lands, thus earning the title of Teyrn. Calenhad Theirin was born in Highever in 5:10 Exalted as the third son of a poor merchant. He left at a young age to become a squire, but returned during the Unification of Ferelden as a Teyrn. The contemporary ruler of Highever was Teyrna Elethea Cousland; She fought the soon-to-be-King Calenhad in an attempt to maintain Highever's independence, and so when Calenhad's army reached Highever, Teyrna Elethea led the local banns against him, but lost against the future king. After Elethea's men were defeated, Calenhad asked her to swear fealty. She did, thus allowing the Couslands to retain the teyrnir in Calenhad's new kingdom.[2] In the beginning of the Storm Age, the Couslands conspired with Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden in the Grey Wardens' attempted rebellion. The rebellion was betrayed to King Arland by politicians before it began, and the king's guard ambushed their meeting place, with the rebels barely managing to escape. The Couslands were not so lucky, however. King Arland executed the Cousland Teyrn and a number of others, and then sent soldiers to Soldier's Peak to stamp out the remainder of the rebellion. During the rebellion against Orlais, the Couslands opposed the Orlesian rule. However, Arl Tarleton Howe of Amaranthine supported the Orlesians and this resulted in several bitter battles between Amaranthine and Highever. Eventually, the Couslands manage to capture Harper's Ford and hang Tarleton Howe for his treachery. Unlike his father, Rendon Howe was part of the rebellion like his uncle Arl Byron Howe. Rendon and Bryce Cousland fought beside each other at the battle of White River, becoming two of the fifty rebels who survived the defeat. Thereafter, Arl Rendon Howe was a great friend of the Couslands. Arl Howe later betrayed the Couslands, using the chaos of the Fifth Blight as his route to power. Teyrn Cousland had called together the forces of Highever and Amaranthine, intending to ride with Howe to support King Cailan against the darkspawn. However, upon arriving at Highever, Arl Howe told Teyrn Cousland that the Amaranthine forces would be delayed for a few of days. Not one to keep the King waiting, Teyrn Cousland sent the bulk of Highever's forces ahead to Ostagar under the command of his eldest son Fergus Cousland, intending to leave with Howe's Amaranthine men once they arrived. After Fergus left the castle, Howe's forces took advantage of the Couslands' weakened defense and made a surprise attack during the night, killing the teyrn, his wife Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, and Fergus' wife Oriana and son Oren, as well as most of the other inhabitants of the castle. Though Fergus was left as the rightful heir to the Teyrnir of Highever, Howe then declared himself the new teyrn. Eventually, however, Duncan will rescue the human noble from the surprise attack on Castle Cousland in exchange for joining the Grey Wardens. Following the end of the Fifth Blight, Fergus Cousland will inherit Highever and become the next Teyrn. Fergus will also be given control of Amaranthine, which he presents to the Grey Wardens.
Theme song:
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Oohh for the fandom meme! Dragon Age?
Send me a fandom!
Oh boy, this is going to be spicy.
It’s also very Anders-negative, so apologies up front.
The character(s) I first fell in love with:
I’m actually not sure which was the FIRST, but it’s a tie between Morrigan and Alistair. I saw fanart of them going around at the time Origins first released, and that’s what got me to try the game!
Alistair was a breath of fresh air, because at the time, I was used to warrior men in games being all Edgy and Rough, and he was the total opposite and a sweetheart.
And Morrigan was just instantly my goth wife, and had Claudia Black as a VA, so I was sold immediately.
Both still hold a special place for me!
The character(s) I never expected to love as much as I do now:
Loghain is the main one. He does a lot of truly reprehensible shit in the first game. But once I sat down and read the prequel novels about young Loghain, plus saw what he’s like if you recruit him, he grew on me A LOT and now he’s a top fave.
Nathaniel I expected to hate as soon as I saw his name + who his father was, but then the expansion came out and I ended up loving that dude almost immediately. I really wish he was around more after Awakening, and also really wish he’d been a romance option, especially for a Cousland haha.
Merrill is a weird one because she was totally uninteresting to me in DA:O, so when they announced her as a companion in DA2 I was like, “Ehhhh.” Then they punked me by making her adorable and sweet and now I love her.
Plus a bunch of side-characters like The Architect? I liked him a bunch in the novel + Awakening – although I found his Plan in the novel much more appealing. But as the years have gone by, I keep surprising myself at just HOW disappointed I am he’s never appeared again haha.
The character(s) everyone else loves that I don’t:
There’s a few, and all of them will get me yelled at, but here we go.
First: Isabela. This one’s a bit complicated, but it really just boils down to her attitude towards how you play your character. I actively dislike characters who are super sexual – regardless of gender. But Isabela in particular bothers me because she’s constantly pushing her lewdness and sexual humor on you, and when you try to discourage it, she admonishes you with, “Well, you’re no fun.” Her whole character is just… like that for me. Super pushy, overly lewd, gets uppity when you don’t have the same ~liberated~ opinions she does, and this is all played up in the writing like she’s this Empowered Woman the player absolutely must love, especially if they’re playing a male character lol. I hate her for the same reasons a lot of people hate Liara in Mass Effect, but with the addition of pushy lewd jokey characters always rubbing me the wrong way.
Second: Iron Bull. I’ve written a lot about why he makes me more uncomfortable than any fictional character I’ve ever encountered, and I just outright hate him, he makes my skin crawl. If you want details, feel free to DM me, I don’t really want to rant about it again publicly.
Third: Anders. Again, I’ve written a lot about him before, but. I hated him in Awakening, for a lot of the same reasons I hate Isabela in DA2. But the changes they made to him in DA2 are just kinda :/. While I absolutely agree with him about Mage Rights, the level of preachiness they added to him drove me nuts, and the fact that you’re painted as a Bad Guy if you don’t like him blowing up the chantry. And from a purely OOC standpoint: He’s become a figurehead for all the aggressive Discourse people in the fandom, and if I see someone list Anders in their sidebar bio, I know pre-emptively that their blog is going to be full of 6 page long essays of meta about how everything is Problematic, and no thanks.
To a lesser extent, I’m also not fond of Zevran. But in his case, it’s not anything major like the others, I’m just tired of Bioware’s habit of making the bisexual characters overly lewd sex-focused rogues/deviants.
The character(s) I love that everyone else hates:
Loghain, lol.
But also Sebastian Vael? There’s so much about him that I find genuinely fascinating, especially regarding his backstory, and his struggles between his feelings of responsibility to his family vs his dedication to the Chantry and bettering himself. He’s such a dear character to me, and such a pivotal part of any playthrough, I’m always blown away when I remember he’s a DLC character and many people don’t have him.
HOWEVER Anders being the fandom darling means that people tend to unfairly shit on Sebastian for reacting poorly to the Chantry explosion. People also like to label him as a poster child of a White Straight Church Boy, while refusing to acknowledge he’s… not straight, and not exactly a church boy either lol.
Also Vivienne, but I think that one’s really self-explanatory. I love her, and she gives a really needed perspective on the Circle, since most of the mage companions previously were apostates. But of course, she gets written off as a Chantry apologist, and an uppity bitch, when people would def love her for the same traits if she was not black lol.
The character(s) I used to love but don’t any longer:
Justice. And by extension, Anders. A lot of people like to rant about how Justice ruined Anders, but I always saw it the other way around.Justice was my favorite character in Awakening. The whole concept around him, that he was a Fade spirit who took human form and was experiencing life for the first time was SO fascinating. I felt like there was so much to explore there with his character.
Buuuut then they had him merge with Anders. With the narrative being that he WAS a spirit of Justice, but the moment he connected with Anders, it corrupted his entire spirit into something he wasn’t anymore. So essentially, the character I used to love no longer exists, thanks to Anders. And it reminds me of that phrase recently, about how the destination is so terrible you can no longer enjoy the journey? I can’t even appreciate Justice in Awakening anymore, knowing what happens to him.
To a lesser extent, Corypheus. He was SO COOL and the premise of him was AMAZING when he first appeared in the DA2 DLC, but then Inquisition had to go and turn him into a weird shallow mustache twirl villain.
The character(s) I would totally smooch:
None? Idk I don’t really have the Smooch Fictional Character gene.
The character(s) I’d want to be like:
MAEVARIS TILANI. May I one day finally have the confidence in my identity that she does, and also marry a sweet bear man who adores me.
The character(s) I’d slap:
Too many to list, really. Probably Anders.
The pairing(s) that I love:
THERE’S SO MANY. And most of them are with the PC, because I generally don’t ship NPCs together. But my top 3 are:
M!Hawke / Fenris is my ultimate OTP in the Dragon Age series, by a long-shot. Not even sure where to start on how much I love it, but two damaged guys leaning on each other to work through their respective loneliness and trauma is MY JAM. And lmao I love silver-sideburned Hawke chillin in retirement somewhere but being a supportive husband while Fenris goes off hunting the Bad Guys, it’s great.
Solas / Lavellan is a close second, with the caveat that I increasingly prefer it with a male Lavellan. Having the Inquisitor in love with Solas just changes the entire tone of the game for me, for the better, and him actually being the villain trying to end the world while in love with this normie elf is just (chef kiss). Too bad I’m burned out by how overly spammed it is.
Dorian / Inquisitor is in third, I will just always be fond of how it’s a story of the Inquisitor helping Dorian be happy with who he is, escape an abusive family, and realize that he’s allowed to be loved. Good shit good shit.
Some others:
Warden / Morrigan is probably my favorite Origins ship, and that only intensified with the way she talks about the Warden in Inquisition, esp if they’re Kieran’s other parent. What a cute goth family, regardless of the Warden’s gender, cause you can pry Bi Morrigan from my cold dead fingers.
Cassandra / Inquisitor might have a lot of Romance Cliches, but I adore it – although, similar others, I increasingly prefer it with a female Inquisitor. I actively dislike the weird no-homo rejection with her, and come on, a lady Inquisitor being her Knight In Shining Armor is just good storytelling.
Cullen / Inquisitor, for a lot of the same reasons as Cassandra. I love me a cliche romance, but I’m also fond of the narrative w/ him of someone he loves helping him heal through the lyrium withdrawals and take time to rest.
Josephine / F!Inquisitor is just adorable all around, and wholesome, and great.
Varric / Hawke COME ON HOW WAS THIS NOT AN OPTION.
On the rarepair end:
Sebastian / Hawke doesn’t seem like it would be a rarepair – you’d think everyone who loves Cullen/Inquisitor would love this one too. I do! But alas. That said, I’m also pretty aggro about this one with a male Hawke because SEBASTIAN IS CANON BI. WHY WAS HIS ROMANCE STRAIGHT.
Maric / Loghain is a rarepair I will take with me to my grave LOL. Never forget the scene where Maric thought Loghain was leaving, and bolted across the camp with almost no clothes on to beg Loghain to stay. Come on.
Nathaniel / Cousland is dear to me, and I love it so much more than Alistair / Cousland haha.
Greagoir / Wynne, I can’t believe this got validated in canon ahhhh.
The pairing(s) that I despise:
Again: THERE’S SO MANY.
Iron Bull / Dorian is my least fave by a longshot. Again, I have written about why I hate this pairing a great many times, but it’s awful and toxic and makes me deeply uncomfortable, and I could happily go the rest of my life without seeing anything about it ever again. Please keep poor Dorian away from that man. He deserves someone that doesn’t sexually harass him until he’s finally worn down into dubious consent (while drunk) and then outted to everyone about it.
Isabela / Fenris. Sorry, but it’s just bad writing that Fenris bails on Hawke because the physical intimacy triggered his PTSD and he needs space to process, but then will turn around and have a casual sex relationship with Isabela instead. Yikes.
Anders / Fenris. Aveline / Isabela. Alistair / Morrigan. All of the DA2 Hawke/companion rivalmances. I don’t enjoy “these two people hate and antagonize and want to kill each other… but they fuck” in any form.
Cullen / Amell. Yikes.
And basically ALL of the canon wlw pairings in this series suffer from the fact they have men writing them, and as a result they’re almost always some kind of abusive or racist, and skeeve me out. See: Celene / Briala, Leliana / Marjolaine, Branka / Hespith, etc. Please Bioware, I’m begging you to consult some actual queer women. It’s insane how badly they’re treated compared to how the canon mlm couples are written.
FINALLY, I recognize this will be the most unpopular of all, but. As much as I love M!Hawke/Fenris, I just honestly cannot stand seeing F!Hawke/Fenris. There are some pairings where I’m so attached to the m/m or f/f version, I cannot deal with the m/f version anymore, and that’s one of them. (The others are mainly non-Bioware.)
#LONG POST#REALLY LONG#SORRY#misc: text#misc: asks#misc: meme#series: dragon age#gen: bioware#utopianoverlord
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