#iron bull should have an Orlesian accent if anything

[tanadrin]

other than the orlesians being french and the antivans being vaguely Iberian (kind of?), i do think it’s funny how bioware is super inconsistent with accents. you get a mix of all sorts of english and american accents in the ferelden/free marches/other regional characters, even though ferelden is the only one with a straight british-type aesthetic (though really, if anything, it’s a welsh one, at least in terms of the names; maybe with a bit of irish thrown in). linguistically tevinter sometimes plays with latin (more rarely greek) nominative aesthetics, but that means that the modern tevinter accent should, if anything, be italian. and god that would be amazing if they had the balls to run with it. venatori magisters monologuing about how their empire will rise again, all talking like mario and making big hand gestures.

[shadowheartoffaith]

Her hands curl over the headboard, her head falling back against the pillows as a low moan tears its way from her throat. Cullen’s head is buried between her legs, his hands wrapped gently around her thighs, keeping her spread open for him as his tongue passes over her folds in a way that has her swearing she is going to die from pleasure. 

She had woken to his fingers trailing featherlight down the bare skin of her side, the room still warm from the fire and the down of the lavish blankets draped over the bed. The entirety of Chateau Desjardins is stunning and decadently over-the-top with its marble floors and foreign art lining the walls. Elodie had been enraptured despite her exhaustion the night before when they had arrived. Though she is now accustomed to long haul treks through Thedas with Inquisitor Trevelyan and his party, five days of traveling on horseback had left her tired and a bit sore. 

They had arrived late in the evening, the Inquisitor and his Inner Circle and Advisors being led to the formal dining room for a warm meal and then shown to their rooms throughout the winding estate. The soldiers had made camp on the grounds and Leliana’s agents had gone on ahead to Halamshiral to find places to smuggle Inquisition troops into the Winter Palace during Empress Celene’s peace talks.

The evening had been long with talk of dress code and etiquette and protocol. The list of nobles in attendance had been chattered about between Vivienne and Josephine and Leliana. Vivienne had even arranged for gilded carriages to take them to the palace and mercilessly questioned the Inquisitor about the famed Council of Heralds for the majority of the meal, leaving Elodie’s head spinning with the intricacies of the Game. 

Her head spins for another reason now. Her back arches off of the mattress and Cullen’s hands slip higher to pin her hips down. Light dances behind her eyelids, his name escaping her in a sigh and he slows his ministrations but does not stop. Her fingers dig into his curls, urging him closer.

A sharp rap at the door has her eyes flying open. 

She bites down on another moan. A leftover habit from their days in the Circle; she fears being caught. She tugs at Cullen’s hair and he chuckles against her, his nose bumping against her clit. She hisses out a breath at the sensation. 

“They’ll leave,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

Another sharp knock sounds before a heavily Orlesian-accented voice informs them that breakfast is being served in the dining room. A heartbeat later her ears twitch at the sound of footsteps receding down the hall. 

“We should go,” she grouses. 

Cullen hums against her, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses up her bare leg. “Do you wish for me to stop?”

His voice is so low, so roughened with lust. She trembles at the thick edge of his Fereldan accent as it creeps into his voice. He lifts his head to look at her. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes are nearly black and she watches as he licks his lips clean of her. 

Her toes curl.

“No,” she breathes and he is back to the pressing task of making her see stars. 

He strokes her leg as he circles a particularly sensitive spot with his wicked tongue and a cry catches in her throat. All of her nerve endings are alight with fire and she feels her muscles coiling tighter and tighter before she falls limp and boneless against the mattress. Another soft kiss is pressed to her hip and then Cullen is hovering over her, those amber eyes tender and amused. “Good morning,” he murmurs, bringing his mouth down to hers.

She cannot speak, she can hardly move, but she returns his kiss. 

An even sharper knock at the door has Cullen growling down into her throat in frustration. He pulls away to call “What?” over his shoulder. 

“If you two are quite finished,” comes Josephine’s haughty voice, “There are preparations to begin! We have much to do!”

Elodie lets out a quiet laugh and Cullen grumbles something about privacy. 

“It is time to greet the day, Commander!” Josephine sing-songs from outside before she proceeds down the hall to break down another door. 

Elodie traces her fingertips from Cullen’s jaw up and over the shell of his ear. He leans into her touch, his stormy expression softening. “Duty calls,” she murmurs. 

He drops his head down to nuzzle at her neck. “I had no idea this party was going to take up so much of our time. Or become an all day event.”

“From what I’ve gathered Orlesian parties are some sort of national pastime.” She strokes the back of his head soothingly. “I may be even less excited than you are,” she admits. “But this is important. And once it’s over we can do this again.”

“I will be holding you to that,” he informs her, his breath warm against her skin. 

She grins.

“Dorian Pavus! Open this door!” comes Josephine’s shout from down the hall.

Elodie shakes her head. “I hope they locked that door or Josephine is about to get an eye full.”

Cullen peers up at her questioningly.

“If you’d ever been camping with Dorian and Bull, you’d understand. Apparently qunari have very lax views on public decency.”

His cheeks flush at her implication. “Have you...have you ever seen-?”

“A time or two, yes.” She tries not to think too long on the few times she had been sitting at the cook fire and Iron Bull had come wandering from his shared tent without a stitch on him, Dorian shouting from inside.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen grumbles, mortified, and pulls himself out of bed. 

She watches him gather up his clothing from the floor and splash water on his face. Something about watching him prepare for the day has always left her somewhat speechless. It is such a domestic and commonplace thing but it is also something so horribly intimate. She had never dared dream that a day would come when she would be the first to see him in the morning. His golden hair curled and bed-tousled before he tames it into submission, his amber eyes soft and still slightly glazed. 

He is lacing up his breeches when he glances back at her, still lounging in bed. He follows her gaze and can’t seem to help glancing down at himself self consciously. “What is it?”

Another smile spreads her lips and she shakes her head. “Nothing, vhen’an. I just cannot seem to move my legs yet, is all. You were very...thorough.”

His ears burn scarlet and he coughs to clear his throat. 

“For Maker’s sake! This is not a circus,” cries Josephine. “Find yourself a decent pair of trousers!”

The day is a flurry of orders and reports and dresses and shoes. 

The Inner Circle flits through the chateau as they prepare, sharing jokes and jabs in passing. Servants come through with trays of figs and roasted nuts and glasses of sparkling wine. 

Elodie is sat in front of a vanity mirror while one of the household servant’s carefully tends to her hair. Her long red tresses are carefully pulled atop her head in a coronet, a few loose strands curled into tight tendrils that frame her face. She has had no one to tend to her hair since Ormaline left the Circle. 

The girl is young, her brow furrowed in concentration as she threads diamond crusted combs into Elodie’s hair. She bobs her head with a satisfied smile which Elodie watches in the mirror’s reflection. “What do you think, my lady?”

“It is very beautiful, thank you,” Elodie tells her.

The girl’s smile widens. “What color is your gown, my lady?”

Vivienne glides into the parlor with Josephine and Cassandra trailing behind her. “You look marvelous, darling!” she praises, motioning with a hand. Two more servants enter, holding aloft the heavy dress boxes from Val Royeaux. Vivienne leaves them to arrange the gowns and comes up to Elodie’s side, studying her. 

“Madame de Fer?”

Vivienne purses her lips before turning to the servant girl. “Her face has such fine angles, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course,” the girl says instantly. 

“I think some rouge along her cheekbones will do well to accentuate that. And perhaps some coal for her eyes, yes?” Vivienne recommends and Elodie feels as if she has become one with the furniture. She has never worn cosmetics on her face. Has only worn a gown two other times in her life. 

She feels frighteningly out of her depth and cannot help but wonder what Cullen will think when he sees her dressed up like some sort of showy bird. 

“Now, now, darling,” tuts Vivienne. “Do not frown! You will thank me.”

Vivienne had been present at all of Elodie’s dress fittings in Val Royeaux, offering her opinion on fabrics and colors she felt would suit Elodie’s skin and hair and eyes. Things that had been entirely lost on the healer. 

She takes a steadying breath and allows the girl to do as Vivienne has instructed, keeping her eyes downcast throughout the process of brightening her cheeks and lining her eyes and coloring her lips. 

There is rustling behind her as Cassandra and Josephine ready themselves. 

Vivienne is humming in approval behind Elodie. “Stunning, dear.”

“You will draw many eyes this evening, my lady,” the servant adds in agreement.

Elodie dares a glance at her reflection and her lips part in surprise. Her grey eyes sparkle like starlight, a thin line of coal smudge beneath to make them even brighter. Her lips are full and pouty and the color of flower petals. And the light rouge sweeping high up on her cheekbones makes her face appear even sharper, a bit more exotic. 

“Fashion is a type of magic as well, my dear,” Vivienne informs her, her tone as gentle as Elodie as ever heard her. “I daresay our dear Commander will be unable to keep his eyes off of you tonight.”

That thought sits warmly in her belly. She wishes this were the sort of party where that sort of thing could be afforded. Where Cullen could simply look his fill and perhaps ask her to dance, sweep her away from the crowd and kiss her soundly. But she knows that these peace talks cannot fail and that Cullen cannot be distracted. Not by her, not by anything. 

The Enchanter excuses herself to dress and Josephine takes up her place when the servant girl moves to retrieve Elodie’s gown. The ambassador is a vision in a soft dandelion yellow, her dark hair swept up into an elaborate updo of curls finished with shimmering ribbon. Long satin gloves cover her arms up to the elbow. 

Cassandra is in a pair of fitted trousers of black velvet, a purple doublet with the Inquisition’s insignia finishing off the look. The Seeker’s boots are polished to perfection and the entire ensemble fits her so perfectly that Elodie smiles. 

“You both look amazing,” she says earnestly. “Masen is not going to know what to do with himself,” she adds to Josephine.

The ambassador waves away the compliment, clearly flustered. “Oh, you flatter me much too much. He will have so much else to occupy his time this evening, I doubt he will even notice.”

Elodie doubts that very much and Cassandra says as much.

“Here we are, my lady.” The servant girl holds up Elodie’s dress and she rises from her seat and stares back at the emerald skirts of her ballgown. 

Now or never, she thinks to herself. She is suddenly nervous she will step on her trailing skirts and rip them. Or that she will trip in front of the nobility. Or-

The heavy fabric pools on the floor and she steps into the puddle of green tulle and satin. She holds out her arms to slip them through the thin cap sleeves that rest below her shoulders. The neckline ends just above her cleavage and the bodice is a masterpiece of embroidered leaves and flowers and the back dips into an elegant V baring her shoulder blades and the first few notches of the bar of her spine. She sucks in a breath as the servant girl laces up the corseting before stepping away to admire her work.

Elodie resists the urge to bite at her lip to avoid smudging the paint there. She sways in an anxious half-twirl, looking to Josephine and Cassandra for validation. “Well?” she asks nervously, bunching her hands in her skirts. “How is it?”

“Madame de Fer is correct,” Josephine says, eyes sparkling. “Cullen will not be able to keep his eyes off you. That is certain.”

“Perhaps it will be enough to distract him from how much he detests these affairs,” Cassandra laughs.

“Pardon me, ladies!” Dorian sing-songs as he strides into the room. “Ah!” He makes a beeline for the vanity, snatching up the stick of coal that had been used to line Elodie’s eyes before repeating the process on himself with practiced efficiency. He catches sight of her in the mirror and spins around. “Elodie?”

She laughs nervously, dipping her head.

The servant softly excuses herself, collecting the dress box and departing. 

Josephine smooths down her skirts before announcing she is off to see to the rest of the party, her concern seeming to center around Sera. Cassandra offers Elodie a nod and follows the ambassador out. 

“Is it so bad that you did not even recognize me?” Elodie teases Dorian once they are alone. 

“You must be joking,” he scoffs, drawing closer. “You are positively stunning.” He takes her hand and leads her into a twirl. “The color suits you. You will draw the eyes of the entire court.”

Elodie rolls her eyes. “Ah, yes. A rabbit in a ballgown. Simply magnificent.”

Dorian waves off her words. “We will look quite the menagerie, I am certain. You will be in good company with a Tevinter Altus, a Qunari spy and whatever Cole happens to be. And that’s not to mention Varric and his fan club and Blackwall’s beard. You just worry about wearing that dress as brilliantly as you are now.”

“Elodie, are you-Maker’s breath.”

She and Dorian turn to see Cullen standing in the doorway, obviously gobsmacked with his mouth hanging open. He stares at her, eyes roving from the diamond combs in her hair down to the embroidery of her bodice, trailing the length of her skirts. He blinks.

“Do you feel better about it now?” Dorian teases her. “I believe our Commander’s reaction says it all.”

“You look...that gown...it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful,” Cullen manages to stammer out. 

He paces into the parlor, his fitted coat a deep grey with the adornments afforded to his military position shining against the fabric.  

Dorian smirks. “It does look rather good, doesn’t it?” He gives her another once over, a 

mischievous glint in his eyes. “I do, however, think it would look even better on Cullen’s floor.”

Cullen pauses his advance, seeming to choke on his tongue. “Are you...are you flirting with her for me?”

Dorian shrugs. “I supposed I would get your evening off to as decent a start as your morning.” He holds up a hand before Cullen or Elodie can argue. “This house may be exquisite but the walls are not that thick.” He offers them a salacious wink before sauntering from the room.

Cullen watches him go, at a loss for words. 

“You look very handsome, vhen’an,” Elodie whispers. 

And he does. His coat hugs him perfectly, his trousers well pressed and flattering. And, of course, his boots are as immaculate as Cassandra’s. Thankfully his collar is high enough to hide the love bite she had left him with the night before. 

Cullen turns back to her, holding out a hand.

She takes it, their fingers lacing together as he draws her closer. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on,” he whispers reverently. His lips press to the side of her jaw, lingering. 

She trails her fingers over the Inquisition insignia emblazoned on the breast of his coat. “Cullen, I-”

“Come now, everyone!” Josephine calls from the vestibule. “We must be on our way! Has anyone seen Cole?”

Cullen offers Elodie a wry smile. “Duty calls,” he murmurs her earlier words back to her. “Shall we?”  

She takes his arm, feeling as if this is all some sort of fever dream and she will wake alone in her bed in Kinloch Hold. She tightens her grip and draws herself up to her full height as Cullen leads her from the parlor and into the vestibule where the others are already waiting.

[herald-divine-hell]

The prompt "Kissing your lover when they ask you why you've been avoiding them, not realizing it's because you're jealous that they've been hanging out with [a potential love interest]" for Katherine and Amayian? ✨

Amayian felt his stomach turned, tumbled, and churned, as if he was thrown in a violent, rapid river which swiftly ran out into a whirlwind at sea. But he kept it back, pushed hard against it as much as he could. He was the Lord Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste - something like this should not had bother him so; and yet, it did.

He could see the concern in the blue-green of Katherine's eyes, a shimmering of light burnishing it softly like sun-flame spilling upon the surface of a sea, wavering to one color and than the next; an eternal dance of blues and greens and golds. She had planted herself in front of him, barring his pass through the door which led out to Josephine's office. Hands planted on her hips, besides the concern, her face was cold and sharp enough to be carved from mountain-stone. Lips were drawn into a tight line, her scar becoming more wicked, more harsh, at the act. Her pale golden-silver hair shimmered like molten moon and starlight, glimmering as if gems were strewn about it. His fingers itched to untangle them from her braid, to rake his fingers through them softly.

"I will not have you ignoring and invading me as if I had the Taint, my lord." Her Orlesian accent was thicker, filled with brimming fire and heat, lashing like bolts of lightning, and within her eyes the fire rose as if it was a rearing lioness, a wall of flame. "You will tell me what is wrong."

In truth, Amayian held no doubts that he could easily lift her and place her to the side. He was half-tempted to. That would get a blush on her cheeks, he thought with, a bubble of amusement and affection whispering in his heart. He only said, "It is nothing to be worried over, Katherine." His voice came out colder than he would liked; and he had been doing so well. But emotions always confused him, tumbled him up so much so that whenever he thought he had a grasp on it, it shattered in his hand and he had to reforge it once more. The cold harshness of it froze away any amusement which came from the previous thought, his blood running cold, icy fingers seizing his heart in a hard, chilling grip. Softer this time, he murmured, "It's nothing, I promise you."

It did not deter her, and once more she raised the question, marching forward until she was close enough that he could see the top of her sun-lit head. The pale light twined silver, like a crown of moonlight and sunlight, but the fierceness of her eyes smouldered a greater fire than the forges of the sun, and far more intense. Heat touched his cheeks, a brief spark of warmth that swiftly spread until it seemed to drip down his neck and across his shoulders. She waited there, beneath his nose, arms crossed over her chest. She seemed as perfectly still as stone, and no doubt he would had an easier time moving the Frostbacks than convincing her otherwise.

Swallowing, he said, “It’s foolish.” And it was. Being so wrapped up in such silly worries was unfitting and could nearly get one of them hurt. And not telling her is hurting her as much, a wisp of a voice called out, distant and faint. Glancing away, unable to meet her stare, sudden shamed held him in a tight hold, and he wished for the ice wall that once armored him against such things. It almost had been simpler, back than, when emotions seemed as distant as the sun and hollow like a cavern. Now they bundled together, shattering walls, shadowy and unknown, a whipping storm which threw him about. And yet...and yet...at moments, light would stream through, as clear and brilliant as silver glass and as sweet as water in an oasis. Light always streamed through, shattered the storm a little, whenever Katherine was near.

He did not remembered when he lifted her up, nor remembered his lips on hers; but he felt her fingers stroking through his hair, her legs wrap around his waist, and her soft lips, scarred as they were, melting against him. They found a movement, twining heart and soul in an embrace Amayian did not wish to loose. The storm waned into a drizzled, the dark clouds withering and coiling in thin streams, as great and wide rails of sunlight filled his limbs and minds, roused his heart in massive leaps and beats.

When they pulled away, Katherine’s cheeks were inflamed with scarlet roses. The blue was darkened, swallowing the green like a sapphire-blue flame glimmering within an emerald gem, a widening hole of light within the darkness of the storm. A smile touched her lips, fond and sweet. It took more energy not to kiss her again. The effort was strong.

He pressed his forehead against her, and she leaned into the touch as eagerly, as softly. “You deserve better, mon amour.” Amayian lifted his head and laid a kiss to her forehead, erupting giggles from his little Seeker. That brought a smile to his own lips, against the warm skin of her head. Her fingers did not cease stroking the nape of his neck, or halting another in twirling a dark curl.

She captured his lips into another kiss as he pulled away, one more lighter and gentler then before. Against them, he felt her hum. “No, I do not think so. I could tell you were worried - no doubt from my recent actions with the Iron Bull, I presume?”

Heat dug deeper into his skin, and he pressed his face against the nape of her hair, in hopes of hiding it as much as to feel her against him. “Yes,” he mumbled against her skin.

Her words were soft whispers in his ears, fond and holding no hints of malice or irritation. His heart nearly burst at them. “Oh, Amayian, I did not mean anything behind it. You hold my heart, just as the mountains hold up the sky. You are my world. I never meant to hurt you.” He was pulled away from her neck, and another kiss was laid upon his lips. “Now these words to be true. I do love you.”

Wetness slicked his cheeks, and he felt her fingers swept them away and her lips scattering them with soft kisses. But he stopped her, drawing her close for another kiss, feeling his tears on her lips, and gently sweeping his tongue over her bottom lip to be rid of them. He murmured in between how she was his stars within an never-ending darkness, of how much he adored her, and of how much he was thankful for her.

And as the blue skies melted to orange and violets, as the stars were lit by the coming of the night in shines of silver and white and gold, and as the sun dwelt its fiery crown beneath the horizon for rest, Amayian knew he was home.

[kylan-writes]

Reunion

Post Trespasser Nan Lavellan/Iron Bull fic I posted for Dragon Age Day but forgot to share here! Enjoy <3

A little more than a year had passed since the Inquisition disbanded. Since then Nan had spent her time either running on rooftops with Sera or communicating with Leliana, Cassandra, and Harding. They’d kept their group close knit and tight. Only her closest companions from before and Leliana’s most trusted agents remained in contact, the lot of them scattered to the wind and throwing away any chance of Solas’ agents learning the details of their plans to find him. Nan felt fortunate to have such trustworthy folks around her, and even more fortunate that she still had her closest friends available. 

Nan kept her hood drawn as she stepped through the crowd, her body shrouded by the wool cloak she wore while snow dusted the little city. Winters had never been so bad before. She’d handled them well in the Free Marches with Lavellan, but she was adjusting to living on her own in Orlais now. Sera had her own little apartment not far away, the two of them checking up on each other. Nan had mostly adapted to living with only one hand, though some things weren’t as easy as others. She'd mastered getting dressed on her own, which to her was a major victory.

She glanced past the material of her hood and smiled when she saw her little home. An apartment within an old tavern. There were several fireplaces in the pub to keep it warm and comfortable enough to lure in customers even in the worst of winter. The heat sank into the rest of the building, warming the stone and even managing to keep her home on the third level in a state of comfort. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd had it enchanted.

Nan shivered as she stepped inside, the warmth almost immediately stripping away the cold. She let her hood fall off her head, revealing her pointed ears and the deep purple tribute to Ghilan’nain on her forehead. Travelers stared at her strangely, a combination of confusion and prejudice, while the locals who knew her paid her no mind. Nan stood by the fireplace for a few moments, warming herself up and enjoying the heat on her face. She smiled to herself and winked at the staring humans so that they’d turn away as she strolled over to the bar. She sat at a stool and smiled at the burly Rivani human behind the counter, his scruffy beard carefully combed and his hair neatly trimmed. Nan had become close enough friends with him to learn that his elven wife was the one who took care of his hair for him. The two were an adorable couple and had taken a liking to Nan since she’d started living in their building.

“Good to see you again, Lady Tarshan,” he said in a thick Orlesian accent, the use of Nan’s family name making her smile. Lavellan was inaccurate, her clan’s name, and too well known now. Tarshan took her back to who she was before. It was a little thing that helped her to shake off the lingering title of Inquisitor. “Your usual?”

“You know me so well, Hodges,” Nan said with a smile, dropping some coin on the counter. He gathered it in his hand, knowing already that she’d given him more than enough for her evening’s drinks and dinner. Nan sighed contently as she settled into her environment, watching Hodges as he brought over a stein of ale and a bowl of bean and vegetable soup that had been made for the evening’s guests. And spiced to perfection, thanks to some favors for Red Jenny.

He set down her food with a kind smile. “Here you go,  chérie.” 

“Thank you,  lethallin,” she said in turn, bringing her bowl to her lips and sipping at the hot broth. She let out a happy hum, her muscles relaxing. “Delicious as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Hodges said, a smirk playing with his mouth. 

Nan laughed lightly. “Does that mean you’ve not heard any good gossip?” 

Hodges sucked on his teeth. “Now, Nan. I never said that.”

She beamed up at him. “What have you got for me tonight?” 

His dark eyes glanced about them to make sure no one else was paying mind to their conversation, then he leaned against the counter and lowered his gravely voice. “There’s not been much news since the frost stopped bringing travelers, but I’ll tell you what I’ve heard. For starters, the local nobles are getting worried with all the vanishing elves. Wondering where they’ll find such cheap labor now.”

Nan sneered at this. “Bastards,” she cursed as she took a long swig of her drink. 

“That’s not all,” he said. Nan looked up at him  with her copper eyes, staring and waiting for him to go on. “It’s getting worse in the North.”

Her brows furrowed. “How do you know?” 

Hodges glanced around subtly again. “Nevarran nobles visiting associates in Val Royeaux talking their own rumors. Since Tevinter’s had to focus all of their energy on the Qunari, the Magisterium’s getting unstable.”

Nan frowned at this, her hand moving to fidget with the silver locket that dangled from the velvet choker she always wore. The little communication crystal she’d gotten to speak with Dorian resided inside, unused for nearly a week. She’d have to check up on him again when she got the chance. “Anything else?”

“Doubt anything else I mention will be of use to you, my lady,” he said. “You’re the one with connections across Thedas.”

“Unofficial connections,” she reminded him.

“Unofficial or not, you’ve got friends in high places,” Hodges said, acting as though he were cleaning up the counter. 

“The friends in lower places count for more than you could ever know,  lethallin,” she told him with a smile. “How is your family?”

The smile that stretched across her friend’s face warmed her heart. “My daughter, Juliana. She’s working for a tailor now, learning to make dresses for noble women. You should have seen her when she told Emilia and me the news, her smile so bright.”

Nan smiled at him. She’d met Juliana before, the girl an older teenager now, old enough for vallaslin if she was Dalish. Hodges had his wife and workers to help him tend his tavern, leaving their daughter mostly free to choose her own path. He’d been quite adamant in that she never feel forced to do anything, the stigma towards elf-blooded children unfortunately working against her. “That’s wonderful news! You’ll have to give her my congratulations when you see her next.”

He nodded at this. “I’ll be sure to do that, I’m sure that she’ll appreciate it.”

The two spoke for a while longer as Nan ate her soup and drank her ale, only stopping when new guests came through the door. Nan let Hodges tend to them while she sat and listened. Much could be learned of the city’s mood by paying attention to the little things. Orlais made it easier, with all the nobles wearing their extravagant masks that told you exactly who they were. In Ferelden she’d had to learn to notice the little things that distinguished nobles from the common folk. It made it more interesting, in her opinion, to be surrounded by people in practical clothing and to try and tell them apart. Sera had trained her in a smaller city on the coast, not far from Denerim. 

Nan preferred places like her tavern that were filled with people just trying to get by. People like Hodges that were as Orlesian as the rest of them but lacking quite as many masks. It made her wonder what the next city would bring. They stayed long enough to make Friends, then moved on to the next town or city.

“Forgot to mention,” Hodges said, returning to her briefly. Her large copper eyes looked up at him curiously. “Heard word of a mercenary company doing work for a noble outside the city. An odd bunch, led by a qunari.”

Her eyes went wide at this, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of her dragon's tooth sitting on her chest. “You’re certain?”

“Of course not, everything I say is rumor,” he reminded her, turning to gather coin from another patron. He gave her a knowing smile, however. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if this one were true.”

She continued to frown at him, her brows pinched in the middle as someone sat down roughly to the right of her, a shield hitting the counter. Nan nearly jumped in her seat and stared at the sight of Krem waving Hodges over. 

"Fenedhis!” she swore, still startled. “Krem, what are you doing here!?”

Her friend smiled at her as Hodges stepped over to them. “Trying to get warm,” he brushed off with a shiver, dusting some snow from his sleeve. “Snow’s getting worse out there, we might get stuck in the city until it melts.”

“I-I…” Nan could just stare, her mouth hanging open, as she started looking around for the rest of the Chargers. She spotted most of them sitting at a table, not saying much until they noticed Nan looking over. Rocky waved at her enthusiastically and Skinner gave her a rare smile. “I don’t understand.”

“Round of drinks for that table over there,” the young soldier said, gesturing to his friends across the room with one hand and holding out some coin in the other. 

Hodges smiled at this, nodding to Nan before going to get the drinks. The still confused elf closed her eyes and pinched the flat bridge of her nose, breathing deeply to try and make sense of her situation. As blatantly conspicuous as the Chargers usually were, they were damned good at sneaking past her when they wanted to. This wasn’t the first time that they’d done this, the lot of them having surprised her while in Denerim months ago.

“You'll be the death of me,” she mumbled, rubbing at her temples as she slumped against the countertop. 

“No one’s dying as long as I'm around,” the ever familiar voice of her mate said from her left. Nan's eyes grew wide and her head snapped up to see the Iron Bull sitting beside her with his axe leaning against the bar counter beside him.

Nan caught herself before she tried using the hand that wasn't there, twisting around in her seat so she could smack at his thigh properly. “You ass! Why didn't you let me know you were going to be in the city!?” 

“Because it's more fun to surprise you,” he justified, grinning at her. 

She huffed, her eyes narrowed a bit in a glare before she broke into a smile and grabbed the front of his own wool and leather coat, pulling him down so she could kiss him. He chuckled and kissed her back tenderly, both caring little about who might see them. Nan hugged him as tight as she could, the Bull wrapping his arms around her protectively in return. It had been a few months since they had last been reunited.

“I've missed you so much,  ma vhenan,” she said into his chest, smiling at the sight of his matching dragon's tooth resting on top of his coat. 

“I’ve missed you too, Kadan,” he said softly, his words sweet as he gave her a final squeeze before letting go, back to business. “Any word from Red?”

Nan shook her head as she sat back down, facing the open space. She brushed a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear and sighed. “Nothing yet. I'm not even sure where she is anymore, the last letter came in ages ago.”

“You worried?” 

“About Leliana?” She raised an amused brow. “Are you joking? She's the last one people should be worried about.”

Bull chuckled. “Fair enough. How's it going with Sera and Dagna?”

“I miss real fighting,” Nan admitted somberly. “I've been working with this new contraption Dagna made up for me, a little crossbow that fits on my stump. I'm grateful for it, it helps me keep up with Sera fine, but it's not the same.”

“Carrying around a sword and shield might make you more conspicuous,” he reminded her, stealing some of her drink. 

“The tattoos do it enough for me, I bet,” she said, brushing some of her matting hair away from her face. It had been neglected and needed to be combed.

“Tattoos, ears, the missing arm,” Bull listed, smirking as he watched Nan’s frustration grow. “If you were taller you’d stick out more than me.”

“And yet somehow you can sneak your boys into a crowded pub without my noticing.”

He grinned at her. “We’re professionals, remember?”

“Your professionals are going to drink my landlord out of ale,” she said, Hodges and Krem walking past with the steins. The Chargers all let out hearty cheers, their presence in the pub almost overpowering now.

“Krem’ll leave a good tip for him.” 

Nan sighed heavily but looked on the table fondly. The Chargers were important to her in a way she'd not anticipated. They had changed her life, become almost like family. There had been many an evening when Nan wondered if she should try to run with the mercenaries. It might give her a chance to renew her skills as a warrior instead of this sneaky at-a-distance shit. 

But she had work to do. Red Jenny's Friends were her only way of getting half-decent information while in the South as such a small and unofficial group. Especially while Cassandra had her own work to do with the Seekers. Leliana was invaluable, as she'd retained a number of trusted contacts and spies. A couple of her elves had been keeping an eye on whatever Dalish clans they came across for any leaving that might lead to Solas. There were more in Orlais than Fereldan, surprisingly. Though perhaps not as surprising given the still recent Blight. 

Fereldan was a strange one. Leliana's close friendship with King Alistair and Queen Melody was a boon to their cause, even if nothing would ever be made public. Despite the complications that had ultimately contributed to the dissolution of the Inquisition, Melody had been supportive when their situation was elaborated on. The Queen had a quest of her own, but it seemed she had Alistair's trust enough that he promised to pass along useful information, should either come across any. So far, there had been nothing but that promise. 

Bull noticed that Nan had fallen into a thought spiral and placed his hand at the small of her back, gently, to bring her attention back. She looked back and up, smiling at him, patting his knee.

"Do you ever wonder how we ended up where we are?" she asked softly, staring at the many patrons and the bard in the corner doing coin tricks while the crackling fire warmed the night. "Try to string together a series of events so that they might make sense."

He paused, and Nan fully expected him to say no. It would have made sense for him to say no to her thinking out loud. But instead he said, "Sometimes."

"Have you ever tried to pick out that one moment when your life changed irreversibly? That happenstance that marked that there was no turning back?"

He frowned at her, trying to meet her eyes. "What's brought this on, Nan?"

She took to chewing on her lower lip for a moment, worrying it between her teeth before deciding, "A bit of malcontent."

"Your arm?" he guessed cautiously.

"More general than a singular cause," she sighed and bowed her head, her left arm moving slightly before she switched to her right to push back her hair on her head. She was still getting used to it. "Dammit, sorry. Getting like this isn't helpful to anyone."

He rested his arm along the counter behind her. Nan leaned into it easily and relaxed somewhat as he looked at her fondly. 

"It was when I met Krem," Bull said.

"What?"

"When everything changed," he elaborated. Nan nodded her understanding and shifted to face him properly, but still leaning into him. "Lost my eye protecting this scrappy kid I didn't know and gave him a job. A Tevinter kid, no less. He and the others didn’t make life easy."

"You wouldn't change that for anything," Nan said assuredly.

"I would have," he said, in that tone of voice that sounded so matter-of-fact certain. The tone that Nan envied for the confidence it exuded, even when saying such things. "If the Qun demanded it, but they don't. Not anymore."

Nan gave his knee a squeeze and smiled at him briefly before grabbing her drink and taking a few swallows. Across the room the Chargers were enjoying themselves, joyful noise filling the air. 

“I had a conversation with my older brother, Mahanon, before I left to go to the Conclave with our envoy,” she said, still watching them as she held her stein in her hand. “I was still unhappy with the idea of leaving Lavellan to go south. I was convinced that the Keeper was trying to sabotage my role with the halla, as though because I wasn’t born to the clan it made me unworthy. I wanted so badly to be mad at her, but Mahanon pulled me aside and we took a walk. He told me, Deshanna wouldn’t have chosen me to go if she didn’t trust me. That, once I got home I would see how proud she was of me.”

“But you never went home,” Bull finished for her. 

“Nope,” she said, her voice a bit strained around that one word. She palmed at her face and pinched the space between her eyes. “Dammit… Sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he said, moving his hand to her shoulder. 

“No, I do. I…” Nan held her tongue for a moment and caught his eye, his expression confused and expectant. She breathed out a heavy sigh and pulled herself together, finding some of that old Inquisitor Confidence as her hand closed around her piece of the dragon tooth. “I’m considering going North. To the Marches.”

The Bull was taken slightly aback by this. “You…” 

“The ruins of Arlathan are on the Northern side of the continent, between Antiva and Tevinter," she cut off, her mood shifting from melancholia to determination mixed with guilt. “I think we’ve exhausted our reach here in the South, but Varric’s in Kirkwall and my family is still in Wycome. And Sera has at least a few Jennies in Starkhaven. Once we’ve made a foothold in the Free Marches, Josie is in Antiva and Dorian’s going to try to help where he can in Tevinter...” 

“You’ve already planned all of this out?” 

Nan fidgeted with her locket but kept her posture rigid. “It’s not so much planned out, as it is conceptualized. But I'm feeling stagnant here. If we were going to catch a lead we'd have caught it by now."

"I get it," he nodded, listening carefully. 

Her fingers moved from the locket to the tooth, holding it tight. "I'm getting restless. I can't stay here. There's too much at stake, and I'm not about to let this damn arm keep me from fixing my mistakes myself."

Bull reached out and brushed some of her hair from her face, pulling his fingers carefully through some of the knots. Nan leaned her cheek into his palm, placing her hand over his and turning to kiss his skin. "You're not alone in this," he assured her. 

"I know," she said, smiling up at him and catching his eye. "I've many friends and I'm fortunate to have them. Even if going North means being further from you."

He smirked as he took her drink again. "Is that what you think?"

Nan frowned, looking between the table with his boys and him. "The Chargers work in Orlais, it's been that way since we met. I won’t ask you to follow me, I’m not even planning to ask Sera and Dagna to come.”

Bull’s expression shifted slightly as he swallowed, brow raising. “You’re actually planning to go North by yourself?”

“I am.”

The Iron Bull looked her over, determination on her face and in her posture. His gaze lingered a little long on her missing arm. There was no getting around the fact that she had been completely changed because of it. He knew that Nan hated asking for help with mundanities because it made her feel weak, even though she needed it. And he knew that she was seeking redemption for something beyond her control. 

“I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t,” he began. Nan held her tongue long enough for him to speak. “But you need someone watching your back. And I’m not just saying this because of your arm, I’m saying this because you’re going after a god.”

“He’s still Solas,” she argued. “Whatever else he is doesn’t change that we were friends and that I know him.”

“He has an army and more agents than we could ever prepare for alone.” Nan sucked on her teeth and pursed her lips. “You disbanded the Inquisition so you would be able to trust the people working for you. If you’re going North, the Chargers will follow you."

"Bull, I don't have money to pay your men anymore," Nan sighed, frustration building. "I can't afford your fee."

"For fucks sake, Nan," he swore, his head bowing in exasperation but lacking irritation as he set the drink down. She stared at him, large elven eyes looking up with confusion. "The Marches have just as much work as Orlais, we're only South because I was assigned to be in the South. I can go wherever I want now, and Krem can take charge if I need him to." He put both his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze and spoke softly. "I will follow you for as long as you need me. Once you set up with a partner, I'll rejoin my boys again to do what I can for you out there." 

Nan scanned his face, catching his meaning. "You mean spying for me? Bull, I…"

"I'm not asking permission," he cut off. "You're dead set on doing this, and you're my Kadan. That's my choice, and I'm choosing to support you."

She stammered a bit, still unused to loving and being loved and the implications of that even though they'd been declaring each other theirs for a few years. It had a weight that was altogether comforting but still managed to be somewhat alien. "You're sure about this?" she finally affirmed. 

"I am," he assured her. "If you're taking on the end of the world, you're going to need someone on the front lines."

Nan got up to throw her arm around his neck, standing on her toes while he leaned down to hold her in turn. "Thank you so much,  ma vhenan."

He smiled against her neck and kissed the space behind her ear. "Anything for you.”

She hugged him tighter and felt for a moment as though she might cry out of relief and gratitude. Nan pulled away enough to see his face before he started to pull through her hair again, releasing some tangles. “It’s a mess, I know.”

Bull smiled and shook his head before meeting her gaze. He lowered his voice for only her and leaned in to her ear, “Let me take care of you.”

Nan’s face warmed at the suggestion and a part of her ached to say no at the implication that she needed help. But he’d always been too good at his job. “Won’t you, please?” she said, just enough begging to be playful. 

He chuckled and put a hand to the small of her back, gently guiding her towards the stairs. “Lead the way.”

[bigfan-fanfic]

OC Details - DA OC Canon Posse + MGITs

From @3n-vee‘s “Extremely Detailed OC Ask Meme”

For Tash Adaar, Owain Bonneville, Henry Lucas, Cal and Ava Hawke, Morgan Walker, Aster Amell, Katie Cousland, and Reyn Caron

I started with Tash, then decided to only do the fun ones and add more characters. *shrugs*

The Basics

1. Age, Birthday, Star Sign (Tash only)

12-13 at the beginning of Inquisition, 15 at the end of Trespasser. Born 18 Guardian, 9:28 Dragon. Sign: Fervenial

3. Orientation and Relationship Status

Tash is a child, but when he is older, he will find he is gay. I kind of ship him with Kieran so that everyone is one big happy familly (Aster is cousins with the Hawkes, Cal adopted Tash, who eventually marries Kieran, son of Morrigan and Morgan.)

Owain is also a gay man who I have not yet settled on a canon relationship for. but whom I ship quite hard with @herald-divine-hell‘s OC Amayian Trevelyan

Henry is a panromantic asexual man whose relationship status I have not decided yet. Perhaps Cole.

Cal is a bisexual man married to Varric. 

Ava is a straight woman married to Sebastian but also in a polyamorous relationship with Fenris. 

Morgan is a biromantic and demisexual man in a committed relationship with Morrigan. Although I also ship him with @herald-divine-hell‘s OC Alexandra.

Aster is a homoromantic graysexual man married to Alistair. 

Katie is a bisexual woman and single. 

Reyn is a demiromantic bisexual man who I might decide to put in a relationship. 

6. Headcanon VA  (Tash only)

Unknown - although Tash does have a Marcher accent, slightly less thick than Blackwall’s. 

7. Occupation (Tash only)

Former Lord Inquisitor, Lord of Ylenn Basin, and Heir to the Viscount of Kirkwall - also Knight-Enchanter?

12. Own any pets?

Tash has a pet fennec fox named Harold. 

Ava and Cal have a mabari pet named Socks. 

Aster has a mabari hound that originally belonged to the late Elissa Cousland that he named Barksy, although to anyone besides Alistair or Aster, he must be referred to as Ser Barksy or Lord Barksy.

13. Have any kids?

Morgan, of course, has Kieran with Morrigan. He wouldn’t mind more if she was up for it. 

Cal has officially adopted Tash with Varric as of Trespasser. 

Ava and Sebastian are trying for an heir to the throne, although she may already be pregnant by Fenris. None of the others have children.

Owain, Aster, and Katie will want children eventually. It’s more complicated for Alistair and Aster since the Ferelden throne passes by blood. Aster wouldn’t mind taking care of Alistair’s child by a surrogate should circumstances prevent adoption.

Reyn doesn’t think children will happen for him, as a Warden, but should a child be born, he will love and care for them above all else.

Henry is undecided on children. As is Tash.

15. Can they sing? Can they dance?

Tash loves to dance and sing. He’s an average singer, but was trained well in court dancing, and enjoys making appearances at balls and events. 

Aster is more clumsy than a drunken druffalo, and is terrible at dancing, but he’s a surprisingly good singer, who would sing many duets with Leliana back during Origins. 

Cal and Ava only sing when drunk, although Ava learns to dance well. 

Owain both dances and sings like a trained bard. 

Reyn and Katie never sing, but both are passable dancers. 

Morgan likes singing to Morrigan and Kieran, and dancing with his wife (and occasionally with Zevran or Leliana), but isn’t comfortable with very many others. 

Henry can’t dance very well, and can only really sing in a crowd, but does both on his own anyway.

18. Have any special keepsakes?

Tash keeps a pair of specialized horn cushions Josephine had commissioned for him at Skyhold and finds them wonderful to sleep in. He also adores the handcrafted chess set he whittled with Blackwall. 

Owain will keep anything given to him or made for him by his lover, wearing it if possible or at least keeping it nearby. 

Henry has his phone, with all the memories it brings. It has long since lost its charge, but he keeps it close anyway as a reminder. 

Morgan has the ring given to him by Morrigan, as well as a smooth river stone that Kieran inscribed with the same rune Morgan has tattooed on his bicep. 

Aster still has the rose Alistair gave him, enchanted to never lose it’s beauty. It reminds him of his husband’s sweet nature. He also has a small figurine of a Circle mage that an older apprentice in Kinloch (Anders) made for him when he was very sad one day.

Katie has her charm bracelet from before she came to Thedas which acts like a talisman for her to know that she really did come from another world. 

Reyn has a scarf made for him by a stable boy he loved before leaving his family estate for the Academie des Chevaliers and a Dalish wedding ring given to him by an elven bride who he spared before going into exile and joining the Wardens.

Interests

19. Hobbies (Tash only)

Singing, dancing, writing, doing paperwork, chess, listening, dog care, designing fashion and furniture for the Inquisition, collecting Orlesian masks, and attending Orlesian theatre.

21. Fave food(s) and drink(s)

For some reason, Tash loves the notoriously awful-tasting Orlesian pastry known as the “Exquisite Misery.” It serves as an inadvertent power move in Orlesian circles, but his absolute favorite food is fresh-baked bread (reminds him of his home). Tash also enjoys hot cocoa ever since the Iron Bull shared some of his supply.

As a rule, Aster likes sharing Orlesian charcuterie with Alistair as a picnic in their chambers or the courtyard when they can get away from affairs of state. He’s also partial to fruit juices.

Morgan, Henry, and Katie all wish pizza was a thing in Thedas. There is a dish similar to it in Antiva, but nothing quite resembling it. Katie has gotten the closest to having actual pizza, being a noblewoman with cooks she can instruct. Morgan has inadvertently addicted Morrigan to coffee when he found out how to make it using magic. Henry likes water, but it’s hard to find a stable source of clean drinking water in Thedas. Katie adores tea.

The Wardens don’t often have fine food, and Reyn misses petit fours. He enjoys his personal Warden liquor mixture - Commander’s Concoction.

For Fun

37. Do they have any phobias?

Tash is a timid person in general, and is afraid of miscellaneous things from spiders to dolls with buttons for eyes. But no real debilitating phobias. 

Cal, Ava, Aster, and Henry all fear spiders.

Owain hates heights.

Nugs freak Katie out.

Morgan and Reyn feel fear, but have no phobias.

43. What pokemon would your character be (if they’re already a pokemon/gijinka tell us what they are, and how that’s affected them)?

Tash Owain Henry Cal Ava Aster Morgan Katie Reyn

44. What’s their pokemon team? Try to pick all 6.

Tash Owain Henry Cal Ava Aster Morgan Katie Reyn

45. Theme song (and a playlist if you’ve got it!)

Tash: “Shake it Off” by Taylor Swift or “It’s a Good Day” by Kay Starr

Owain: “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + The Machine and for romance: “All You Need Is Love” by the Beatles

Henry: “No Rain” by Blind Melon or “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding

Cal: “Dream On” by Aerosmith and for romance: “I Can’t Help Myself” by the Four Tops

Ava: “Royals” by Lorde and for romance: “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” by Taylor Swift

Aster: “Can You Tell Me How To Get to Sesame Street?” (2000) and for romance: “Love on Top” by Beyonce

Morgan: “People Are Strange” by The Doors and for romance: “Beauty and the Beast” by Angela Lansbury

Katie: “I Love It” by Icona Pop feat. Charlie XCX

Reyn: “The Wanderer” by Dion

46. If this character was in a musical, what would their motif be (what kind of instruments do you hear, what’s the tempo, ect).

Tash: Simple peppy flute that gradually becomes joined by other instruments to form a full-sounding orchestra with complex melodies. 

Owain: Slow, sad piano that is joined by violin and becomes strong and anthemic. 

Henry: Plucked cello strings. Inquisitive.

Cal: Brass section, room for improvisation. Bright and joyful.

Ava: Oboe and Bassoon, deep and reflective. 

Aster: Fiddles and flute, playing simple fast-paced dance music.

Morgan: Orchestration accompanied by electric guitar - shouldn’t work together but it does here.

Katie: Sharp woodwinds and guitar. Very formal, almost like wedding dance music.

Reyn: Acoustic guitar trio. Perhaps Spanish guitar. Contemplative and sexy.

The Deep Lore™

49. What are some themes tied to your character’s story?

Tash, Aster, Henry, Katie- Loss of Innocence

Owain, Ava - Self-Acceptance

Cal, Reyn - Mutual Pining/Unrequited Love 

Morgan - Found Family, Parenthood

[mojavehearts]

Who Am I

Cole x Reader

Chapter 2 - Flashbacks

Candle light, I can sense it and I am at peace, body warm and comfortable in a bed that smells like me, that is dented where I lay in a shape I had moulded, but a soft smell radiated off my left side, it smelt like old leathers and...Vanilla and crushed elfroot?, I felt truly at peace unlike when I was in the white room or in the darkness I am somewhere that feels familiar to my body but my mind is still wounded, somehow. Still aware of myself yet I know not much else, my name, my childhood, the taste of mothers cooking. All things I could remember yet I didn’t know the people around me as my eyes open they look at me with hope, glistening eyes of worry and even pity.

It came back to me, my name who I was. But that was all, for me I feel as if it would have been better if I did not. The guilt of forgetting was clenching around my heart, numbing my body in it’s angry grasp. I feel guilty for not knowing them, it hits me hard coiling in my stomach, they knew me but yet I could not even recall their names.

That boy from before shrouded in my deep sleep. His scent, he was not there with the other people that watched me, my heart knew that he should be yet I knew nothing of him, not even a name, the ache of my heart was the only thing that told me, it had not betrayed me like my mind had.

“Who is he?” I say hoarsely, voice thick and grainy from the dehydration “who is who?” The strong woman from before says in worry and confusion, I frown. Of course if I didn’t know, these people who seem to care for me greatly would not either.

“I am... Y/N who are all of you?” I must keep my manners even if I could not remember a thing from when I was on my way to Haven they all turn to whoever is beside them, all showing different signs of realisation and sadness.

“I had wished amnesia wouldn’t have been the case,I was mistaken and I am sorry, I will check with the clerics, see to it that I can help” the strong woman says, she blames herself I can see it in her eyes dark and red, lack of sleep, her under eye area purplish and veiny.

With that said she walks away without telling me her name I look down at my hands and move my fingers slowly, turning my hands around to get back circulation then staring in wonderment at the small green glow in one of my palms “We know who you are, if anything we could tell you who you are better at this moment in time inquisitor, I guess recoup is in order yes?” Inquisitor? Is that what they called me?, what did it mean to be an ‘inquisitor’ I turn towards the voice, a woman, finely dressed and decorated her hair secured neatly, warm toned skin that seemed to be kissed by the sun. “I am your ambassador Josephine, if you have more questions after I have you read up on what I have complied since the conclave come to me or Leliana, I have great belief that you will regain your memory” she had to be Orlesian by her accent, that’s right I was at the conclave was I not, she writes on some parchment before bowing her head slightly and heading out the door after leaving some papers atop my bedside table.

“And I, would be Leliana, I am your spy master, I too have things that require the need for you to turn your attention to, all other things that had required your attention before hand will be put on hold, if there is anything you need come to me” I turn again to the other side of the room, hooded, shrouded in purples, she seemed very genuine for her job purpose, her hair reflected red in the dim candlelight, I frown and look down at my legs, guilt punching me harder with each forgotten friend “thank you” I say, softer this time, she throws me a quick smile, dropping papers beside Josephine’s before taking her leave.

“We should cut this short huh? Our friend has a lot to do, I’m Varric your roguishly handsome rogue the woman who left before is Cassandra, I guess you can tell she blames herself for your state right now but she’ll come around and talk to you, I wouldn’t worry to much” my head turns back up to meet the eyes of a dwarf and then to meet his chest hair I raise my eyebrow slightly at the choice of style he laughs softly, noticing my line of vision. “Even when you can’t remember a thing you still poke fun at me, glad to know you’re still you” he speaks to me with great respect and care we must have been good friends, I smile at this.

“I am The Iron Bull boss, but Iron Bull or just Bull, is fine too. I am in charge of the chargers a fine group” even during his introduction he speaks of his men?, he seems very dedicated and proud of them “we did so many awesome things together, like that time in the Western Approach with that dragon! Aw man! It was sick!” The rest of my forgotten friends either sigh, chuckle or roll their eyes, I slayed a dragon? Oh my.

“I am Cullen, I command the soldiers who fight for our cause.” He ends it there, fidgeting the whole time he spoke, his hair was so neatly done he definitely took a lot of time into it. He didn’t seem sure of himself “that’s all you have to say to her curly?, after all that worrying about her day and night?” Varric intercepted “that is not true I worried a perfectly decent amount!” The commander begins rambles in embarrassment and walks out still talking as someone else begins to speak.

“I am Solas, I believe you will need to come to me also on questions you may have about everything once you read Josephine and Lelianna’s documents” an elf, he definitely wasn’t Dalish but didn’t appear to be a city elf either, his voice was smooth and he was very well spoken,judging from the way he carried himself, he was intelligent and he knew it, I nod slowly smiling slightly. The guilt was becoming to much to bare but I needed to be kind, I could not throw a fit, no, not whilst these people who care for me a great deal have to go through me not remembering them.

“My dear, I am so sorry this has happened to you, I am Madam Vivienne de Fer, grand enchanter, or of course just Vivienne to you sweetheart, mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain” this woman was gorgeous, and she knew it too, soft dark skin that almost glistened like specs of the moon had touched the surface. Someone snorts loudly “way to introduce yourself, innit? You sound so funny “I am madam snufflefart and I lay with a married man who can’t get it up” it was the girl from before I fell asleep again, she smiles widely at me as if waiting for me to say something as well, but frowns after my confused silence looking down awkwardly at her feet “I- ugh I hate this, I’m Sera yeah? I help the little guys get the big guys, but not you, you’re good people quizzy” she looked slightly distressed by how things were, I smile sadly eyes beginning to glaze over.

“All this sap, I am not in a good position to be crying infront of everyone so I will, infact, be taking my leave after this, I am Dorian, your fabulously intelligent mage with impeccable style and grace, thank you” the man named Dorian quickly scurries off after talking so surely of himself, it must be hard for him to talk about how he feels. I couldn’t see much of him by the way he walked out but I could tell he had dark hair and dark skin, as if he was caramelised, oh caramel, I’m hungry now that I think of it.

A rough cough sounds from the other side of where Dorian had stepped out of the room, calling for attention. I turn and I’m met with a man who reminded me of a bear, well, a bear that was less hostile than those I usually encountered,his eyes stood out the most, piercing blue standing out against dark brown long hair and a thick beard, he seems slightly older than the rest, maybe he has just lived harder days, his eyes showed pain but also relief in them as he spoke, he seemed to be calculating what to say without seeming as if he was thinking to hard “I am Blackwall, I serve the Wardens and I also serve you, like Sera said you are good people, I am sure your current state will not change that” he was very sincere with his words, he means what he says fully even if he had to think it through.

“Someone is missing” I say suddenly out of nowhere, my words escaped my mouth before my mind could stop them, how would I know this? I could not even remember these people let alone another. “What do you mean Y/N” Varric says, confusion upon his heavy brow “I feel...I’m sorry, I- never mind it must have just been a dream” I sigh and run my hands along my sheets, I pause for a moment and look back to the people who had remained in the room, the Elven man, no, Solas looks away from me, as if refusing to meet my gaze. Did he know something, could he help me? before I can manage to get any words out I am interrupted by someone running into my room, a solider “all of you, you need to come see this, it looks like we have problem” the woman says, everyone exchanges glances and starts walking out at a fast pace Varric turns to me and smiles “you should come too might remember something, are you well enough to walk” I blink slowly and nod, slowly raising to sit up and then swinging my legs off the edge of the bed to stand swiftly, I follow my friends out the door studying as much as I could along the way to try and ensure a quick recovery, maybe I could remember. But I was quick to remember to ask why I have forgotten once the time was right.

We are outside, my eyes turn to the sky, what was that? It seemed green, angry it teared the sky and twisted around the clouds. Looking at it I remembered the emerald portal in my dreams but my thoughts were short lived as a woman began to speak with a solider holding the body of an unconscious man, his hat was too big to see his face I squint slowly, a weird feeling in my chest“I found this young man unconscious in the gardens he appeared out of nowhere! No one can tell me who he was so I asked to speak with the inquisitor personally” she was worried for this young man “I am sorry but the inquisitor is...She... is a bit under the weather right now” the strong woman, Cassandra says suddenly to her having come from another direction as us “Someone here must know who he is” the woman frowns deeply, harsh wrinkles from her eyebrows crease her face in worry, I look around my group to see if anyone had, my eyes shifting to how Solas was shifting his weight between his two feet.

“He needs medical attention why did you not take him to the healers?” Cassandra’s swiftly says, she was cautious of him “that is the thing they said there was nothing wrong with him, but he is unconscious, they said they couldn’t do anything for him, that I should instead find out who he is” the woman was visibly upset now, shaken “I have a son myself this boy, he reminds me of him, please if you can help him” I frown and my feet begin taking me towards them “inqui-“ Cassandra starts to interject but Varric puts an arm infront of her, body language telling her to hold on “I will try” I speak those words with hesitation I was not sure if I could do anything much I must try something the solider holding him slowly puts him down and I slowly sink to my knees, raising the boys hat, I look to his face my body seems to shudder harshly and my arms begin to convulse my head aches and I raise my hands to it hissing and the crying out in pain “inquisitor!” Cassandra yells out before my body falls onto his and everything goes black yet again.

Here I was again, slowly opening my eyes to the white nothingness, feeling the prickling burn of the light yet this time I didn’t feel so alone, I feel it a presence behind me, I turn around speedily yet I see no one, I turn back and gasp softly, a dark purple ethereal figure floated slightly in front of me she smiles

“You must be Y/N” her voice was like a dream like it was not real,it made me feel like I was underwater “who are you?” My voice mirrored hers coming out like vibrations “names do not matter here, what matters are memories, ones you need to find, I am sorry my child while I am here to guide you I can not make the trials that you will face here any less troublesome” she begins to float off beckoning me to follow, she waves her hand slowly over a spot on the white nothingness another emerald portal appearing “my child, you must face these dangers if you wish to become whole again, remember what you must do, and who you are now, I am sure you will return I have faith in you” the portal almost sang to me, filling me with the warmth of a song sang by a loving mother “I will return” is all I say still under a trance from the soft hymns.

I let the portal take hold of me entirely, entering it feeling my body feel weightless but also like a statue, stuck in place.

What was that, loud thumping trembling the ground beneath me, I try to balance myself as rocks fall out of nowhere harshly onto the ground below me, I hear war cries, escaping soldiers throats like if they had swallowed rocks, the rocks now coming out of them as they became ill, but no. All they did was fight, it was the Templar’s fighting against blighted versions of themselves, former bodies of their own. As I begin to start running towards them I see, myself, there with Cassandra, Solas and Varric by my side as we fought running towards the tower I follow quickly behind racing towards myself my legs becoming heavier with each sprint closer running up the stairs, a strange man stands there, he looked...sick, not Ill but sick like his mind had been twisted to pieces until he could no longer think like himself, he was darkness. He grabs the me I see and I try to scream but nothing comes out I reach out to myself and then.

Black, cold, the feeling of nothing, damp but also dry, my body was stuck in place begging for water but begging for a towel I refused to open my eyes, not yet.

Not yet.

I take a deep breath, opening my eyes slowly, suddenly flashes of memories hold my body, frigid, convulsing slightly, Templar’s fighting, flashbacks, a voice of evil and then, the boy from before fighting beside me against something big and scary. An envy demon? , why did an envy demon want me, what happened to me. What is wrong with the Templar’s?, I knew this boy, who was he.

I must remember.

The flashbacks stop my body slowly fading from wherever I was when I woke again, I was still where I was, slumped over the boy from before, time must work differently where I was not even a second had past, Cassandra softly touches my shoulder, I turn suddenly “I’m okay” I reassure her staring down at the boy

“I know him” was all I could say, standing slowly and turning to her “you couldn’t possibly, none of us know this man, unless you knew him from before the conclave there is no way” I frown at her words, I saw him there “he fought with us, the envy demon” I explain, surely she would remember now “we fought alone inquisitor...” she was worried about me now, more than before, was I crazy “I’m sure we know him, even if we do not we need to take care of him” was all I said before lifting him myself, struggling slightly until Cassandra offered a hesitant hand.

I will find out who he is, and why my heart beats heavily in my chest.

[enby-hawke]

Camp Nano excerpt-7/21/19

The door opened with a bang and Hawke jerked awake sprawling onto his knees, his hand going for the knife under his pillow. His heart was still pounding in his ears when he saw Josephine wild-eyed followed by several servants. She was dressed in a rich blue dress with golden trim and sleeves. Her sleek  black hair was in an elaborate bun framed with a braid.  

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you and you’re still asleep?” she cried, her brown eyes flashing with panic. “ The ceremony starts in 10 minutes!” 

He fell face forward back into his goose-feathered pillow, leaving the knife and settled back into his memory foam mattress. Lazily he pulled the heavy cotton blankets that he kicked off back over him. “I’m skipping it,” he yawned.

“Oh no you aren’t,” Josephine grabbed his hand and started pulling him out of bed, snapping at the servants. Before he could argue his clothes were being stripped off and his hair was being fussed and he was strapped into white-steel ceremonial armor with the symbol of a red flaming sword being stabbed through a Chantry eye.

“What the- Stop, wait-” The servants were merciless, scrubbing his face, jerking him, pulling his hair.

“I knew I should have assigned someone to look out for you,” Josephine said as she typed something into her tablet. “Forgive for me saying this, Herald, but you’re absolutely hopeless.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on? What’s with this fancy get-up? Why is it so important I be there? It’s just a stupid ceremony, I’ll find out who the Inquisitor is later.”

Josephine blinked, surprised and even the servants stopped to exchange shocked glances. “Did no one tell you?”

Tell him what? Hawke was just becoming aware of the murmur of voices overlapping outside. Still half-dressed, he followed the sound to his balcony where he saw an ocean of faces, mercenaries, Inquisition soldiers, Tal-Vashoth, Dalish, pilgrims and normal citizens. Some were carrying signs like, “Bless the Herald and may the Herald bless us,” and “Our Champion and Inquisitor.” He could even see a reporter talking to the cameraman, talking at the head of the crowd. Leliana was above them all on the staircase,  where a podium with a microphone was standing at front. She was dressed in something that almost looked similar to Chantry robes, but instead of a skirt she had black slacks with expensive red heels that popped against the stone. Beside her Cullen in Templar armor stood at attention carrying a rather large greatsword that he held flat in his hands as if to present it. 

“Oh no,” Hawke thought.

“The Herald,” he heard someone shout, and the crowd began to buzz as they caught sight of Hawke. Immediately people began to bring out their cellphones and cameras started flashing. The reporter caught sight of Hawke and pointed where the cameraman turned, trying to film him.

Hawke fled, his heart pounding louder than before and he turned to see Josephine and the servants eying him warily.

“Why did no one run this by me?” Hawke cried.

“We thought it was obvious,” Josephine replied approaching him. She put a reassuring hand on his arm though he could not feel it through the steel plating. “I’ve already taken the liberty of writing your speech so all you have to do is read it. Just smile. Be your confident self and you’ll be fine.”

Hawke seriously doubted that, but he didn’t have time to argue because they were already strapping on his heavy breastplate and marching him outside of his room to the audience that was waiting.

“Josephine,” his voice was high and tight, his white-steel boots dragging down the stairs. “For Maker’s sake don’t put me in front of a camera. Things always go wrong when I go in front of a camera.”

 Josephine kept a firm arm around Hawke escorting him. “Everyone gets nervous. Just remember to smile.” 

When they opened the door to the throne room, Cassandra was standing in similar armor but her shoulder pads weren’t as pointy and she didn’t have a ridiculous red cape that made Hawke feel like he was a cheesy superhero. 

“Seeker,” he said clearing his throat.

“Good,” she said shortly taking Hawke’s other side. “Leliana is almost done with her speech.”

They walked past the throne and started marching Hawke to the giant wooden doors already open and he could see Leliana addressing the crowd.  

“I thought you said I was dangerous and incompetent,” Hawke said. “Now you’re just handing me some Chantry title?”

“We will still advise you, just like before,” Josephine nodded, patting Hawke on the shoulder.

“And have you not already been leading the Inquisition?” Cassandra said, with a small wry smile. “I may not always agree with your decisions, but they let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are Corypheus’ rival because of what you did and we know it. All of us.”

Leliana glanced into Skyhold and smiled when she saw Hawke approaching.  She gestured to the open doors and with her sweet orlesian accent, “It is my great honor to represent a man who needs little introduction. He has faced down the magister who brought the Blight and lived. He will lead us to victory as our Inquisitor, Lucky Hawke!”

The crowd roared in approval, deafening applause echoing through the mountain. Hawke was frozen by the sound. He would prefer to be ran through by the Arishok again. Or venture back into the Deep Roads. Hell, he’d take being buried by the avalanche. 

Hawke stayed frozen, visibly shaking and so Josephine gently, but firmly escorted him to the podium before slinking back beside Leliana, like she was meant to be there. The applause quieted into silence but Hawke just stared at the sea of people and they all stared back. He could make out Varric in the front row with the rest of his Inquisition friends-Blackwall, Sera, Solas, Iron Bull, Dorian, Cole. Maker, even Madame de Fer was there, though Hawke doubted she was there in support. 

Varric game him a cheesy grin and a thumbs up which Sera and Iron Bull followed. Camera’s flashed, and Hawke kept seeing spots as he was blinded.

“Uh…” he tried to jump start his brain. 

“The speech,” Josephine whispered.

Hawke just noticed that there were cards in his hands with neat cursive scrawled across it, but Hawke could only make out a few words. When did she put these in his hand? Why wasn’t this typed out? He didn’t know how to read cursive.

Hawke remembered Josephine’s advice to smile so he did, trying not to look terrified as he tried to decipher the speech. The crowd was getting restless, shifting in the uncomfortable silence. Hawke didn’t know what to do. 

“Wow this is a super duper honor,” he began and immediately he could hear Josephine sighing in frustration. He flipped through the cards trying to decipher anything trying to get some cues. “ But uh…I…uh…I guess I should thank some people…Varric of course. You’re still my best friend and I don’t think I’d have made it this far without you.” He made a mock fist bump which Varric returned. “Ambassador Montilyet, thanks for arranging such an event. It…uh…I really don’t have the words…”

He looked around trying to come up with the rest of his speech, his thoughts escaping him before they could fully form. He found himself going silent again, his panic rising as he thought he would run off stage.

Leliana cleared her throat, trying to hurry Hawke along but his throat was closing up.

“Say something,” he thought. “Anything.”

“I don’t want the job,” he blurted out. Not that. 

The crowd gasped in unison, and cameras started flashing more and beyond the buzzing crowd, Sera’s machine gun giggle echoed through the air. 

Immediately Cassandra jerked Hawke by the shoulder. “You said it was your duty to defeat Corypheus.”

“And I definitely will. On board. 100 percent. But why me? Why not literally anyone else?” Hawke shrugged sheepishly. He knew he should shut up, that this was already going terribly wrong, but his mouth wouldn’t stop running.

“You have the Maker’s blessing! You’re the Herald of Andraste!” 

“Debatedly.”

Leliana tried to come between them. “Perhaps we should move this discussion to a more private location.”

“What for? So you can get all shadowy and intimidate me into the job?” 

“Hawke-” Leliana said warningly.

“I’ll help defeat Corypheus, seal rifts, drag me to the ass end of Thedas, but for fuck’s sake don’t make me into some kind of glorified Chantry puppet.”

A sickening thud cracked through the air as Cassandra’s gauntleted fist smashed into Hawke’s face, soundly knocking him unconscious. 

Above the sound of the shocked silence, Varric started clapping, alone. “Our Inquisitor, everyone.”

———————————————————————————————————–

“This was supposed to be our shining moment,” Josephine paced around the war table, her suit jacket now off to reveal a lacy white shirt underneath. She was wringing her yellow handkerchief.

Leliana leaned against the war table, looking amused as she followed Josephine with her eyes. “I’ve already confiscated all camera footage of the event. No one will see it.”

“But people have eyes, Leliana.  Dear Maker, I even invited the Thedas Times for an exclusive. Can you imagine the headline?”

[sorshania]

A question of Style

I totally blaming @bearly-tolerable​ for this. >3

**Set after the events of DAI but before Trespasser. Abelas and Lothuial are staying in Skyhold as the Inquisitor’s personal guests, until Leliana asks for Lothuial’s help to deal with some difficult dignitaries. 

Check at the end for the translation**

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

Josephine stormed through the main hall of Skyhold, heading straight for the Inquisitor’s private quarters and paying little to no attention to the people jumping out of her path. The usually poised woman was furious, her eyes flaming as she muttered under her breath while clutching at her writing pad. “Inquisitor! This needs to stop!” she said, her voice ringing and her accent a little bit thicker due to her irritation, as she came up the stairs. Nysal and Leliana looked up at her, clearly surprised to see the Ambassador so… ruffled.

“My Lady Lavellan,” Josephine started, after catching her breath, and walked toward the desk, “I can deal with Sera’s lack of clean clothes, and I can deal with Cole’s strangeness. And I understand Serah Abelas and Lady Lothuial are staying here as your personal honored guests… But. This. Has to stop.” she repeated as she stopped in front of the Inquisitor.

“Josephine, slow down. I am not sure I follow you, what exactly has to stop? Has there been another incident?” Nysal asked, looking a bit worried. The last incident had been a little bloody after all. Not to mention all the feathers had to be cleaned off the roof.

“No, thanks the Maker. But, as of late, Lady Lothuial has been interrupting very delicate talks with difficult ambassadors and dignitaries.”

Nysal frowned and glanced at Leliana but the spymaster’s face remained inscrutable as she watched Josephine. The Inquisitor put her elbows on her desk and leaned forward, pressing her lips against her thumbs as she looked up at the Ambassador. “I find it difficult to believe.” she said after a time. “They both made it very clear they didn’t want to be a part of any of the current political games.”

“Yes, I am aware of that but…” Josephine stopped, searching for words.

“…But?” Nysal prompted, more and more worried. It wasn’t like the Ambassador to get so nervous.

“It started innocently enough.” Josephine said instead. “She could come to my office for a question about a package she would have received, while I was with the Fereldan dignitary. And she would only be wearing a robe.”

Nysal looked sharply at Leliana, who was concealing a small grin, and raised an eyebrow. Leliana just shook her head, her attention fully on Josephine. The Inquisitor looked back at the Ambassador, who was so incensed, she had not noticed the exchange between the two women.

“I’m guessing there is more to that.” Nysal said instead.

“Yes. Lady Lothuial has kept interrupting the meetings, each time wearing more and more revealing Orlesian lingerie, please don’t ask me how she got a hold of these, I have NO idea. It got to the point she asked the dignitary for his opinion. As he “clearly was a man of taste”.” Josephine said, quoting the elf. “I was afraid he would have an heart attack or worse!”

“And?”

“And… Nothing. Bann Vigard graciously said he was too overwhelmed to make a judgment and asked to be excused. He handed his resignation this morning, saying his nephew would take over.”

“Excellent.” Leliana commented softly.

“’Excellent’?” Josephine whirled toward the spymaster. “What exactly do you mean by “excellent”?”

“Bann Vigard was being difficult. He was also using both the Dalish clans and the city elves living on his bannorn, to portray himself as a defender of the elves so he could easily gain an audience with the Inquisitor, although there are numerous rumors he left the elves fend for themselves during the Blight. He had proven quite slippery however, and nothing could be proven.”

“…So you have asked Lady Lothuial to help have him resigned.” Josephine stated, quickly catching on. She had worked with Leliana before. She glanced at her writing pad and started jotting down some notes. “His nephew should prove to be more agreeable. He is at least more aware of the land, its peculiarities and its impact on the elves’ daily lives…” she mused out loud.

“And at the very least, his interests for Lady Lavellan will be more genuine than his uncle’s.” Leliana completed for her. “Meanwhile, Lady Lothuial gets to keep the garments. I believe she was very happy about this.”

Josephine simply nodded, writing down some more notes. “Do you think she would agree if I provided more names?”

“I’m positive she wouldn’t mind but you should ask her just in case. I will also need a copy of the list. I doubt I missed anyone but let’s make sure.”

“Of course.”

“Erm…. I’d like to know what is happening.” Nysal pipped in, looking at her spymaster and her ambassador in turn. The two women glanced at each other, before trying to answer at the same time.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea…”

“My Lady, you have to understand…”

“Enough.” The word was soft spoken but still firm enough to silence both Leliana and Josephine. “I want to know what’s going on.” Nysal said.

Josephine wetted her lips, her pen poised in the air while Leliana frowned slightly.

“I think it’s best if you stay out of it for the moment. For neutrality’s sake.” The spymaster said at last, cutting Nysal’s objections short.

****

Abelas looked down at his list, reading it over one more time. Besides him, Varric was busy jotting down notes for his next book. The Sentinel wasn’t sure if it was for a new book or the sequel for the one Cassandra had lent him. He hoped it would be. He wasn’t quite pressuring the dwarf for it, but it was close. Abelas really wanted to know how the Guard Captain would get out of the current mess and restore her good name.

“You should get the silk one. She likes silk even if Canneroc doesn’t exist anymore.” Cole said, appearing beside them. “His fingers brushing against her skin, soft, before holding her close, as if she would disappear again. A caress. Making sure she’s still real.”

Abelas blinked. It had been a while since he interacted with spirits.

“The color is good.” Cole continued. “It’s your favorite. She wants you to be happy. Just like you want her to be.”

“Thank you for the suggestions, Kid.” Varric said, grinning, while Abelas wondered if he could die from embarrassment. “Do you want me to ask Nightingale to see if she could get you a catalog, Golden?”

“Shut up Durgen’len.”

“I like to help.” Cole said simply.

****

Even the Iron Bull started to make some suggestions. Few things escaped the ex Ben-Hassrath agent after all.

“No offense, Boss, but that frilly lace thing won’t cut it with these ones.” He said, one day, standing in front of the Inquisitor’s desk, while Lothuial was plowing through some big Tevinter History book Dorian claimed was moderately accurate. “I heard they are most peculiar and have seen everything and anything. They won’t bat an eyelash even if the design is pretty nice.”

“Bull, what the hell are you talking about?” Nysal asked absently, her nose deep in the latest report from Crestwood.  No matter how much she tried to keep her desk clean, and empty, new documents, requests and the likes kept getting piled on top. She idly wondered if she could ask Dorian to resurrect Corypheus or if they could find some new evil mastermind to fight. She could use the distraction.

“The two new envoys from Nevarra. I don’t know if you talked with Cassandra yet but you should know they are members of her family. Now, I don’t want you two to get too excited but I have an idea.”

There was a rustling sound, like a cloak being dropped, followed by Lothuial’s sharp yell. Surprised, Nysal looked up to see the other elf hiding her face in the thick book she had been reading. She glanced at the Iron Bull. And stared.

The Qunari was wearing a strange array of ropes, looped through small silver hoops, that was snaked around the Bull’s body. Her eyes followed down, admiring the strange knotted art, until…

“Fen’Harel’s Dick, Bull! What the…” Nysal quickly used the report she was holding to hide her flaming face. He was wearing nothing else but those strangely knotted ropes.

“You like it? I had it specially made in Qundalon. I’m sure they’ll accept to do a custom work for you, Lothuial, since you’re considerably smaller than me. If not, I think I can reproduce the design. You see, if you pull this…”

“Bull, stop! Please… Get… Put that cloak back on. I’m sure Josephine will be able to handle the Nevarran envoys herself.” Nysal said, still shielded by the report. Creators, she wished she could be back in the field, closing rifts.

****

Abelas grunted, waking up to the feeling a hand patting down his stomach.

What the…

The hand slid lower, grabbing him firmly.

OH!

He turned around, toward Lothuial lying behind him and froze.

She was asleep. A small frown marring her lips, as if she was trying to figure something out. He managed to catch some of the words she mumbled in her sleep.

“L'acd lunnald... L'acd iha puhha knuccain…”

“D'yc byc à d’ehxieédan.”

She suddenly patted him on his cheek.“I love you…” she mumbled before turning around.

Now, Abelas was quite confused. “Vhenan?” he asked, but only her snores answered him.

****

The strange antics continued for a few more weeks. No one knew when Lothuial would show up or who would be the intended target. It quickly involved more and more members of the Inner Circle into it while the Inquisitor to maintain as much as a straight face as she could. Even Sera took an interest, hanging in the Main Hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the baffled nobles.

“Did you really ask the Duchesse of Baujac to actually touch whatever you were wearing? I never saw a noble scramble out of Josephine’s office so fast.” Nysal asked the dark-skinned elf sitting in front of the fire place, one evening, in the Inquisitor’s private quarters.

“A bit crude, I’ll admit, but very effective.” Lothuial grumpily touched her nose. “Ugh… I’ll never be warm again.” She complained, wrapping the fur blanket tighter around her. “I wonder if I should suggest fur lingerie to Leliana, unless her evil plans involve me freezing my butt off while terrorizing her enemies.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as calling them enemies.” Nysal said. “And I am not sure fur would be a good idea for… private garments… Just think of the chaffing... down there…”

“Hm… I was thinking more of a one-piece thing. Full body suit. With a bear headpiece. I would stand in a corner, not moving, until one those peacocks comes too close or says something stupid.”

“Compared to what you had been wearing earlier, it would be a vast improvement, my dear.”

Both elves turned around to see Vivienne standing at the top of the stairs. “Who ever designed these clearly had no idea of what they were doing. No sense of style or even shape. A figure like yours should be shown with pride, not buried under a ton of shapeless lace. Would you care for a suggestion, my dear?” the Enchanter said, stepping forward.

Lothuial and Nysal glanced at each other. “Lady Vivienne, I shall proudly whatever you wish to put me into as long as I can keep warm.” Lothuial said.

“Most excellent.” Vivienne purred. “Come and see me tomorrow. I shall introduce you to my personal seamstress. I am sure we can work something out.”

Nysal wisely kept her mouth shut and her nose in the report in front of her. One shopping to Orlais with the Iron Lady had been enough, thank you very much.

****

Abelas headed toward the room he shared with Lothuial. Usually, it was the night he spent with Varric, playing Wicked Grace and trading stories instead of money. Unless the Commander was present. He had been on his way to the Herald’s Rest when he spotted the runner with a very specific package, that bore the logo of the shop where he had sent his orders. Varric was most understanding. “I think you should head back upstairs, Golden. I doubt you’ll be able to focus much anyway.”

He knocked on the door. “It’s me.”

“… Come in.”

Lothuial was wearing what was in the package. Of course, it had her name on it but… He took a deep breath and slowly closed the door behind him. “You like it?” he asked.

“I do. The color is very pretty.”

“Very.”

“How did you know I liked silk?” she asked, slowly walking toward him.

“A… friend mentioned it.”

“Did he? A very observant friend you have then…” she said as she started toying with the hem of his shirt.

“Hm… You seemed to have had a very interesting month, helping Josephine and all.” He said, gently dragging his fingers up her sides.

“I did, but I told her this morning that I was done. So, this,” she said as she put her arms around his neck, “is for your eyes only.”

“I am flattered.” Abelas lowered his head to brush his lips against her cheek. “Maybe I should try it too… Running around half naked to scare the nobles seems to be… fun.”

“Hmmmm… If you do, you should speak with the Iron Bull. I heard he has some fascinating ideas.” She said against the corners of his mouth.

Abelas simply chuckled and ran down his hands to grab her butt, and firmly pressed her against his body. “Maybe I will…”

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

“L'acd lunnald... L'acd iha puhha knuccain…” - “It’s okay.... It’s a good size...”

“D'yc byc à d’ehxieédan.” - “Nothing to worry about...”

[onesparrow]

Could you please do Ari/masc!Cullen with "Are you cold?"

The last rays of daylight are vanishing behind the mountains as Cullen makes his way to Ariadne’s quarters. He had meant to head over earlier, but had gotten lost in his seemingly never-ending paperwork. It felt as if each time he finished a pile of it, a courier would come by with another stack of reports that needed reading. He had brought one of those piles with him, balancing precariously in his arms, and he was careful not to drop anything as he made his way up the stairs. He had to hesitate at the top of the stairs, realising that he didn’t have any hands free to knock on the door. It took some careful balancing before he was able to free a hand to knock on the door, and after hearing Ari’s response it took some more careful manoeuvring to get the door open until he was able to back into the room and nudge the door shut behind him.

When Cullen turns he’s expecting to see her sitting at her desk or on the sofa, but instead Ari is sitting in a nest of blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace, papers in haphazard piles in front of her. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders, and has appeared to have dragged every blanket in the room to her spot in front of the fire.

“Are you cold?” He asks by way of greeting. Ari looks up from her papers and gives him an exasperated look.

“Obviously. Aren’t you, without all that armour and fur?” She responds, giving him a once over. “You should join me, just to be safe.”

Cullen chuckles, toeing off his boots before settling down next to her. He drops a kiss to the top of her head, and Ari hums happily, scooting closer.

“Oh, I see how it is. You just want to steal my body heat.” He teases.

“Of course I am. You’re so hot, I had to at least try.”

“…that was a terrible line.”

“I know,” Ari groans, pushing some of the curls that have escaped from her braid out of her face. “I regretted it as soon as I said it. All of these reports are mind numbing. I’ve been reading them for hours and I’ve hardly made a dent in them.”

“I know the feeling,” Cullen gestures at the tower of paperwork he brought in. “I have three more piles like that on my desk.”

“That’s it, I’m requesting we have people to do our paperwork for us at the next war table meeting.” Ari announces. “At least to sort through and summarise some of it. The only thing I’ve gained from reading this fifteen page long description of what kind of grain some Ferelden lord has is a headache.”

“Sounds like you need a break,” Cullen glances at the door. “I could have someone bring us up some tea?”

“Or you could grab the hot chocolate mix and the kettle off my bookshelf,” Ari suggests. Cullen’s face lights up, and he shakes the blanket off his shoulders to grab the necessary supplies, returning with two mugs and a kettle, hanging the latter over the fireplace.

They sit in easy silence as they wait for the chocolate to melt, and Ari makes a content noise when Cullen hands her the warm mug, wrapping both hands around it and holding it up to her face. He settles down next to her with his own, and sees the anchor flicker out of the corner of his eye at the same time as the mug Ari is holding stops steaming. He frowns, and gently takes her hand. It’s cool to the touch, despite it having held a hot mug moments before.

“Has it been bothering you again today?” He asks quietly, and she nods.

“It’s just colder than normal today, but doesn’t hurt any more than it usually does,” she says quietly, and twines her fingers with his. “This helps though.”

“I’m glad,” Cullen replies, pulling her closer. They drink their hot chocolate while staring silently into the fire, and he’s secretly thankful that the lyrium withdrawal makes him run a low fever at all times, if only so he can return some of the warmth that the anchor steals from her. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Ari pulling a large document off the top of his pile of papers.

“See, you get the fun stuff! This is just Bull describing our last dragon fight for fourteen pages,” Ari laughs as she flips through it. “…this is almost worse than the romance novels Cassandra likes so much.”  

“I just finished reading Dorian’s report on the battle before I came up here,” Cullen grumbled. “It was twenty odd pages long and probably not much better, considering he spent half of it describing how his robes reflected the dragon fire and the other half describing Bull’s muscles.”

“How about you skip Bull’s account and read Cassandra’s account instead. I’ll even read it for you,” Ari suggested, pulling the next document off the pile. She schools her face into a serious expression and sits up straighter.

“Together the Inquisitor, the Iron Bull, Dorian Pavus, and I successfully slayed the dragon. They fought well.” Ariadne reads in a surprisingly accurate Nevarran accent before switching back to her own. “I think that about covers it, no need to read Bull’s.”

“Maybe we should get Cassandra to write all of our summaries…” Cullen muses, dropping both documents off to the side.

“I don’t think she’d like that suggestion much,” Ari says, pulling a document from her own pile and frowning at it. “An Orlesian hat maker is offering us their services. Why would we need hats?!”

“It would make Cole very happy, I’m sure. And maybe they could make you one to keep your head warm?” He teased, smoothing her hair back.

“I doubt they’d be able to make one that would fit over both my hair and my ears, so I’m afraid we’ll have to turn them down.”

“Hmm, it’d be a shame to keep them covered anyways,” Cullen replies, kissing the side of her head. Ari smirks, and tosses the paper to one of the many piles in front of her.

“Oh, would it really?” She asks, leaning back on her free hand, the motion making her braid fall over her shoulder. She’s backlit by the fire, the warm light makes her hair glow as red as the coals. “Care to tell elaborate?”

Cullen glances at the clock, and the pile of papers that still surrounds them. “One more hour of paperwork, and then I’ll elaborate all you like.” Ari raises an eyebrow at him, considering, before sitting back up.

“Alright. One more hour, and then we can have a long discussion about all the things that would be a shame to keep covered,” She grins at him, snatching a document at random. “I definitely have a few contributions I’d like to make to that list.”

He smirks back at her. “To work, then.”

[amarmeme]

A Trick of the Rain, CH 4

Now with 100% more terrible screenshots!

Pairings: Female Lavellan x Michel de Chevin, Eventual Cullen Rutherford x Lysette Rating: Mature Chapters summary: Michel meets some of the young recruits at the Herald’s Rest and aims to win Cullen over to his side. Read on AO3

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | 

MICHEL 

Has time away from duty addled his senses? Michel orders wine at the Herald’s Rest, thumbing a knick in the countertop absentmindedly while he waits. He itches to use his new sword, to move his feet. Never has his life been so mundane. As Champion his skills were constantly tested, be it by the blade or the cutting edge of wit. He misses the game and the honor-demanded duels, a sword in hand and the steady reprimand of the Acadamie’s instructors in mind. His thorough training had been grueling and strict, cold and more difficult than anything he’d experienced before, but it taught him honor. It gave him purpose. Skyhold drives him mad. There is nothing to do but pace the courtyard in wait and perhaps his mind has gone soft from it. Earlier he asked the Inquisitor after her tears, as if there was anything he could do to stop them. Desperation to be useful, that is all it was. Any honorable man would have inquired.

The wine arrives, a thick, dark red from Alyons. Surprised the dwarf actually had it in stock, he tips the man extra, as he always does. The bartender says nothing and swipes the extra money in his apron, as he always does. Both dip their heads slightly, as if loathe to attract attention to their ritual but still needing to see it done. Michel appreciates the wine before drinking, inhaling the rich scent of black licorice and faint leather. He turns away from the bar to find the minstrel back at her post near the fire. She tucks her hair back behind her ears before plucking another tune from her lute. It is the song about Celene. Of course it is. Michel can’t go a day without a reminder of that failure. He keeps the disappointment and regret locked away. Across the room, the woman’s soft, cascading lilt caresses the words of the song.

Empress of fire, In the reign of the lion, Eclipsed in the eye of The empire of we Orlesians.

The minstrel hails from the north, near Ghislain if he’d been pressed to make a claim. Closing his eyes for a moment, Michel can imagine himself back in a Val Royeux tavern, the enamored bard as expert of a player of the game as the majesty she fawns over in verse. A favorite played just for the crowd, she’d scan while she sang for faces of discontent, mark them for later. A large guffaw and a waterfall of coins falling to the floor reminds him he’s not in Val Royeux any longer. His eyes crack open in annoyance, the moment shattered.  At a table near the door soldiers play vignt-et-un, a female dwarf and two Fereldeners. The men slap the table in disbelief as she collects the final pieces of her prize from the floor. The auburn-haired dwarf comes back up and strokes the pot, giggling as she picks up a coin and smooths it between fingers.

Michel takes a seat at the nearest table, adjusting the silverite sword at his side. After the last was destroyed in the paths of the Eluvians, he’d not expected to find such fine craftsmanship outside of the city. Harritt had done the job, though the man shook his head at the request, apparently fed up with the newly discovered metals he was forced to manipulate. The dwarf Dagna had cooed, begging Michel to add a few enchantments. Now his sword could be coated in flame while granting him a slight boost of stamina. It was a matter of practice to not turn his nose at any battle advantage, as long as it didn’t betray his honor. All that was left was finding a way to test the new blade. He’d left the confines of Skyhold that morning to find an opportunity, but was only granted empty terrain and mysterious rain.

A rowdy group of soldiers enter the tavern. They cheer at their comrades then pile up at the counter behind Michel, bartering over the price of ale. Michel snorts soundlessly, recognizing the youth in their voices. For himself, he’s never bartered before in his life. No, it was either stealing or wanting for nothing. He continues to exist in a privileged state of effortless gain even as a disgraced Champion. A part of him recognizes that he should feel some guilt for being able to simply march into the Inquisition with shattered credentials and call for a finer sword than he had before. He washes the thought away with another sip of wine.

“That seat taken?” A soldier with a mess of brown curls and a crooked nose gestures to the opposite chair, sloshing foam over the edge of his mug.

Michel raises a hand, inviting him to sit. The soldier’s companions join him, the fourth pulling up a backwards chair besides Michel. They are young, perhaps no more than twenty. Michel studies them with interest. The first one has had his nose broken a few times – most likely the result of large fists, but maybe even a quick pommel jabbed to the face. The other three are scar-less, unseasoned. They all seem to be from Ferelden, with thicker jaws and wide shoulders. The man to his right in the backwards seat eyes Michel’s waist, admiring the shiny hilt there.

“Delvin,” says the first man. He offers up a hand to shake and Michel takes it without pause.

“Michel,” he answers.

Another one jumps into the introductions, his hair cropped close to the scalp. He is named Borris, the third is Frederik. They remind him of his early days at the Academie, still green and impressionable. Michel turns expectantly to his neighbor who hasn’t moved his eyes from the spot they held before. The young man takes another swig of his ale, almost missing his mouth as he gapes.

“Is that a silverite sword?”  

“It is,” Michel says. He sets his glass down and unhooks the sword belt. “I take you’d care to see.”

“Can I?”

Michel scoots back from the table to free his blade. All the lads all lean in, eyes widening with the woosh of the sword being pulled from its scabbard. This show is something his instructors would have been adamantly against, but it is harmless. There is no danger of his weapon being turned on him in this tavern in this keep. The silver-blue blade gleams in the candlelight and Michel offers it over.

“Here —,” he says, holding it for the young man to safely grab. “I didn’t catch your name.”

The the young man puts aside his ale and wipes his hands on his trousers. “Chibbs,” he says. His companions snicker. “Short for Chibbons.” He shrugs and takes the offered sword.

“Never held one of these before,” Chibbons remarks. He holds it aloft, eyes traveling the length of the blade. It is turned out to the side, examined again. In time, all four soldiers inspect Harritt’s work before Michel has it again.

“There’s a fire rune embedded in the pommel here,” Michel demonstrates. “But that is best left for a less flammable room.”

“I bet you show it to all the mademoiselles,” Delvin jokes. His fake Orlesian accent is terrible.  Michel laughs, putting the sword away.

“They care little for that kind of sword, believe me. The cut of your coat, perhaps. A silverite weapon is hardly a rarity.” He smiles to himself. While a few of the tavern maids were impressed by his sword, thinking him a purse worth catching, that’s not the sort of woman the young man was hoping to hear about. “Ah, and don’t forget about your mask. It better be finer than silverite.”

“Orlesian women are finicky,” Delvin says. “The ladies from my village see me in this uniform and I’ve got to watch my tongue before I get swept up and dumped in front of the Chantry altar, new bride in hand and a dozen riled up like a pack of mabari in the back.”

“Oh piss off,” Borris swears. “They’d laugh at you just as they did before ya left. ‘Cept now you’ve got a bloody hat to cover up that fucking hair.”

Everybody laughs. Delvin’s cheeks are red, though he laughs just as hard as his friend. They return to their drinks in companionable silence, but it doesn’t last long. Michel enjoys listening to them swap tales of embarrassing encounters with the women from their villages. After a few stories they begin to describe some of their conquests with what is assuredly exaggeration. Frederik slept with a Chantry sister, Borris boffed his cousin’s wife, before they met of course. Michel declines the offer to join in, citing his honor as a Chevalier. They turn away from their ribald stories after that, a little bit chastened by Michel’s objection on the matter of principle. He orders them another round though, and the men talk about the women in Skyhold, albeit with more respect than before.

“That scout over there – Harding? She’s a fine little thing,” Borris says over a gulp of ale. The three other soldiers all agree. Harding still sits with her companions from before, all the winnings long since put away and cards stacked to the side. “She’s ‘round here a lot. Stolen most of our coin too.”

Michel chuckles. “She was clearing those men out of their living when I got here.”

“Doesn’t pay any of us any mind,” says Chibbs. “That or the city elf that lives upstairs. Maryden’s got a song about her even.”

He could choke on his drink in surprise at the observation. Sera’s not interested in what Chibbs has to offer. That was plain enough when Michel had met her a few weeks ago, swearing and giving the bearded Grey Warden a hard time over an unspecific lady. “Yea, well there’s more elves here tonight than I’ve seen in my life,” Delvin says. At least three elven women hang around the tavern, two of which are part of the Iron Bull’s Chargers. Chibbs has no luck with them either. “You remember Charter?” He whistles sharply. “Too bad she’s at Caer Bronach.”

“She’d stab your hand before you could even try it,” Frederik points out. “But there are a lot of elves here. Think that’s because of the Inquisitor?”

“She’s a fine little thing too,” Borris says. “Don’t mind following her around.” Michel clears his throat. “What? Just saying.” The soldier gives him a wide grin.

Michel skirts over the comment about the Inquisitor. He can’t help picture her lithe form bent over the edge of the bridge though. “Many likely saw it a better alternative to the slums – or the alienages if they’re not from Orlais. It’s a much better life for them,” he says. Then adds, “I hear.”

“What about the Dalish?” Frederik points out Dalish herself. “Didn’t think we’d see any of them around humans by choice.”

“I don’t think there’s more of ‘em, besides the Inquisitor,” says Borris.

“Nah, she don’t have one of those weird tattoos,” Chibbs says. “Can’t be Dalish then, right?”

“She had it before. The blowing sand must of wiped your head clean out,” says Borris. He turns to Michel. “Chibbs just got back from the Western Asshole, and he’s forgotten everything.”

A figure appears over Chibbs’ shoulder. “Apparently including his manners.” It is Scout Harding, a little smirk on her freckled face. She sets a hand on the back of the soldier’s chair and he stiffens, too worried to look back. “Her face, her business.” She smiles broadly and blushes a little at Michel. She makes a sweet attempt at a curtsey. “Ser Michel.”

“Well met,” he replies.

Harding stares down the boys at the table once more for effect, then paces off to the bar. The soldiers watch her walk away. Delvin punches Chibbs in the arm, and the rest haze him for looking so shocked over Scout Harding breathing down the back of his neck.

Michel can’t but help smile into his drink. Young men are foolish, but these sort are harmless. They too search for the same things he does: honest work and an opportunity to do right for their homelands. The difference is he had it all once before. They’re on the cusp of something great and don’t even know it yet. Michel cannot claim the same for himself. Ever since pledging his sword to the Inquisition, he’s been aimless, waiting for someone to give him a role. That is not the kind of man he is or has ever been. It is far past time for waiting. Fortune rewards those who strike and his aim has yet to fail him.

He spends the rest of the evening with the young soldiers, regaling them with stories of his accomplishments once they realize who he is. Or was. Soon he’ll be on track with a few more glories to add to the list. Michel just needs a champion of his own first.

The Commander’s office is a mess, books piled in disordered stacks on the desk and on the floor, papers covering every square inch of wood. Cullen doesn’t appear to notice Michel standing in the door, head bowed over a report, quill in hand.

The two have met before, briefly. Not enough time to reach a rapport, but Michel hopes to change that to his advantage. If anyone can help him find a way to be useful, it lies in the Inquisition’s young commander. He believes the ex-templar to be no older than himself. They are both men of accomplishment – raised from nothing and into roles of great authority and trust before reaching the age of thirty. Though, the commander is the only one who can claim that particular distinction outright. Michel does not wish to share his heritage again. There are already too many who know it now.

“Excuse me, commander.” Michel waits at the threshold before stepping into the man’s office. Cullen looks up, exhaustion apparent around his eyes. He doesn’t act it though, rather perks up and waves Michel inside.

“Come. I’ve been meaning to speak with you. I – um, don’t have a chair to offer you.” The man rubs the back of his neck, a tick if Michel had to guess.

“Please, there’s no need. I don’t mean to take up your time. I know you to be busy.”

Michel raises his palm to stay the commander from rising. Cullen sinks down, then nods his head in agreement. Though it is plain enough for even the blind to see it, Michel has hit the mark. The commander has too much to do and not enough hours to do it. It is best to be brief and to the point.

“I’ve come to enquire if you’ve need of a strong arm and an honest heart. I pledged myself to the Inquisition without any expectation, but to be honest have done little more than wear a path in your courtyard. I could have spoken to the Inquisitor of this the day before, but it wasn’t a favorable moment. Besides, I don’t flatter myself her concern.”

A quick reaction crosses the commander’s face at the mention of the Inquisitor. A regret maybe. Michel is surprised – to his knowledge the Inquisitor had been enamoured with the elven apostate for some time, but perhaps not long enough for the commander to be over it.

“Yes, she has been occupied with a great deal of… change as of late. You were right to come to me.” Cullen considers Michel for a moment. “It is true you bested Grand Duke Gaspard in single combat?”

Michel smiles. “In truth it was a fairer match than I have heard it recounted. Honor forbade me to give the final strike.”

“Were you to have made it,” Cullen smirks. “Then we may have avoided the Winter Palace altogether.”

He can’t help but laugh. Courtly intrigue is not for the faint of heart. Though the commander has determination in abundance, Michel cannot picture him in the midst of pampered decadence.

“My apologies, commander.” he says with a grin.

Cullen shakes his head jovially, then jots a note on the corner of a report. “I would speak to the Inquisitor of this, but I could use a man like you as a leader. I don’t doubt she’d agree. You made an impression on a few of my soldiers already. Scout Harding said as much. I’ve also heard a few rumblings about silverite weapons this morning. I assume you’re the one to thank for giving ideas.”

Michel grips the hilt at his hip and bows his head. Undoubtedly the gossip is the work of the young men he’d met the night before. “Ah, apologies for that too. They’re a good bunch of men your recruits. You have done well by taking them on. They spoke highly of your operations here. I’d be honored to be a part of it.”

The commander is far less tired than he seemed before, thinking of his troops. It is a point of pride that Michel cannot disagree with. Cullen has done well with the mismatched array of mages, templars and youths like Delvin and his friends. Michel is not sure he could have done the same.   “I’ll let you know of anything else that comes my way.”

Cullen stands up and they shake hands. Michel gives a final nod of appreciation before slipping out of the commander’s office. He feels much better than before, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It appears his future now lies with the Inquisitor’s conscious. As an Orlesian Chevalier and apparent noble, he knows he is at a disadvantage with her. With a pang of regret, he thinks of the last Dalish elves he met. He hopes he’s at least made a good impression with the Inquisitor so far. If she knew the real reason why their paths crossed outside of Sahrnia, about what Imshael did to clan Virnehn and Michel’s part in it, he very much doubts there would be room for him in the Inquisition at all.

Blessed Andraste – she never need know.

It is a Michel chapter at last! The story is about to pick up quickly now and I’m so excited for the next few chapters. :)

Reblogs and likes appreciated for my ramblings. More about the Orlesian Chevalier and the Dalish elf to come. 

[calamity-writes]

Milliara As Companion v2

The original Milliara as a Companion was written before I had her personality fully fleshed out, so I'm blatantly taking @shyquisitor���'s questions and updating Milliara's Companion Meme to fit her.

Image of Milliara as a space-elf in Entropic Horizons, art by @@picchar​ the Mohawk is canon to all Milliara versions though, just in varying lengths

Milliara's basic background

Born in Halamshiral's alienage to a city elf mother and a dalish father, Milliara grew up learning elven lore and language from her father while dreaming of something more than the dirt and day to day horrors of the alienage. Her mother taught her how to fight with knives, arguing that a bow (as her father preferred) was awkward in the tight alleyways of the ancient city. Sickness claimed her father when Milliara was ten, and Milliara didn't handle it well. She grew even more rebellious, sneaking out late at night into the city proper to spy on the goings on of humans.

It was one of those nights, when she was seventeen that she spotted the Chevaliers, fresh out of their final tests of training, heading towards the Alienage to 'sharpen' their blades on elven blood. She ran home, warning anyone she could find, but it wasn't enough. When Milliara saw her mother fall, she snapped and attacked the chevalier whose sword was still stuck in her mother's back.

Killing him, she slashed the face of another before a Chevalier's shield stunned her. Instead of dying, this man took her back to his home, promising to teach her to read and write and keep her safe if she agreed to spy for him. And so, she began a long and devoted relationship with Frederic, training and acting as a Bard within the Orlesian court. This lasted until she found out she was pregnant. Fearing reprisals against his unborn child from their enemies, Frederic sent Milliara and their son (Nils) off to live in isolation in the Emprise du Lion in a comfortable estate. With guards. To keep them safe.

The relationship was strained, at best, after that. And when Milliara realised their son had magic, she knew she couldn't stay any longer. Living in confinement was hard enough for her, but her son? in a circle? She packed lightly, escaping with her young son into the Emprise and leaving bloodied bodies in a wake behind her. With nowhere else to go, she sought out her father's clan in the Free Marches. Luckily for her, her only surviving cousin (Fiwoyn) was already part of the clan and argued fiercely for the inclusion of Milliara and Nils.

They agreed to take her son (now 6 years old) in as Second to the Keeper (her grandmother) if Milliara worked for them and took on vallaslin to mark her forever as Dalish. She was to spy on the mage Templar war. She did, only things didn't go as planned when the Conclave to which she was headed exploded, killing off the Divine and the majority of religious leaders in Southern Thedas.

1. If not for the Conclave, what would drive your character to join the Inquisition?

If Fiowyn is the Inquisitor: Milliara can't let Fi be the inquisitor without being at her side. Fiowyn is sweet. Fiowyn is naïve. Fiowyn would be eaten alive. So she sets aside her own wishes to hide and acts as Fiowyn's Left hand, aiding Leliana in running the Inquisition's spy network. 

Otherwise:  Before Nils, Milliara had very little to live for. Now, though, she has a mage son and if you think she's going to let some Tevinter asshole ruin the world before her son can enjoy it after all she's been through, OH BOY are you wrong. She has the experience to help, and the connection to Leliana to reach out and become an agent or a companion to the Inquisitor.

2. How would they meet the Inquisitor?

If Fiowyn is the Inquisitor: Well. At the clan when Millie first arrived with Nils. They actually look sort of alike aside from Fiowyn's red hair, while Milliara's is silver. Their eyes are both lilac, though Milliara's are a shade darker than her cousin's.

If Millie is an agent: Milliara would show up as a quest to 'recruit an old rival' from Leliana at Haven's War Table, located in the Hinterlands. Leliana would warn the Inquisitor/Herald to be careful of the elf's temper, but that they could trust Millie to be solidly on the Inquisition's side.

3. What would some of their cutscenes look like?

Meeting her at Calenhad's Foothold: A cutscene triggers upon arrival at the ruins of the tower at Calenhad's Foothold where a Templar falls to the ground (and his death) in front of the party. When the herald looks up to the battlements on the tower, there's no one there. Milliara then coughs from the base of the tower, leaning against the stones with her arms crossed. She pushes off the wall, and walks over to them, looking at them closely through narrowed eyes before she introduces herself. If the Inquisitor is Dalish, she'll greet them in elven and comment on how she's glad to see so many pointed ears in the party. (If sera's in the party, expect her to grumble about 'elfyness') otherwise she'll speak in a very fain Orlesian accent.

Arriving at skyhold: Milliara's in the Aerie with Leliana, reading over reports. She looks up and stands to greet the inquisitor, letting Leliana introduce her as an agent and former rival to the Nightingale from Orlais that will be serving the Inquisition in exchange for safety for her and her son. (Nils can be seen petting a nug under Leliana's desk).

bonus: Milliara is an option to teach the Assassin subclass if the Inquisitor is a Rogue.

4. What would their romance route look like? Would they be romancable?

Millie is biromantic demisexual. That means you've gotta work to get to know her, because unlike her cousin, Millie's not interested in one night stands. She's got her son to worry about and the whole saving the world thing. She's romanceable by all male characters and elven or human female characters.

If romanced: Milliara's hesitant at first. She has no problem flirting, but after the Inquisitor kisses her, she'll back away and apologize. She clarifies that she's not interested in a fling, and the Inquisitor has a chance to end things there on good terms ("i understand, i'm sorry" +approval) or pursue things further ("Neither am I." +Greatly approves) which will trigger Milliara kissing the inquisitor back. It's not until later that you will 'lock into' the relationship. Ending the relationship after saying you want something serious but before you lock in, will trigger disapproval and a line of dialogue saying she'd thought you were better than that, but she should have known better. Expect her to be cold until you win back approval as a friend.

To lock into a relationship, her personal quest needs to be completed, at which point Milliara will ask if it bothers the Inquisitor that she has a son and that she's got such a checkered past. The Inquisitor can say 'yes' and end the relationship or choose to lock into the relationship and tell her that they want her as she is. Son, past and all.

If a relationship is pursued, you will unlock her personal quest which is to handle her former lover who threatens to hold back Orlesian support for the Inquisition unless his son is returned to him. You have three choices, although one is only unlocked if you have the Nobility Knowledge Perk.

Give Nils to Frederic to ensure Orlesian Support for the Inquisition.

This results in a substantial bonus of gold and troops for the Inquisition, but ends the Relationship with Milliara. This triggers a cutscene where a troop of Chevaliers arrive at Skyhold, One steps off and Nils runs over to him, leaving Milliara standing back by the grand Hall.

She turns to the Inquisitor and doesn't speak until the Inquisitor chooses from the dialogue wheel.

If the Inquisitor apologizes: "Don't. Don't pretend like you're sorry. Don't think I don't know you'd trade me just as fast if it meant another few swords at your disposal."

If the Inquisitor says it was for the best: "Best for you? Sure. I don't' know why I thought you'd be any different than He was. When this is over, don't look for me." (Milliara will then be shown to have joined Fen'Harel's Agents) 

If the Inquisitor says that she was a bad mother, Milliara spits on them and walks away without saying anything. She will stay with the Inquisition until Corypheus is defeated, but remain mute until then. Trespasser shows her to have joined Fen'Harel's Agents.

Nils stays with Milliara and the Inquisition.

War table operations become available that describe unrest among the Orlesian allies (if after Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts). If before Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, then the Inquisitor faces an additional Court Approval drop upon beginning the event.

The War table operations culminate in capturing Frederic. The Inquisitor can Judge him to...

Be executed (Iron Bull and Sera Approve, Milliara and Solas slightly approve. Dorian, Cole, Cassandra, disapprove. Vivienne GREATLY disapproves.)

Exile from Orlais. Milliara greatly approves.

Serve the Inquisition. Milliara disapproves, but upon speaking with her next she admits that Nils should know who his father was.

Milliara thanks the Inquisitor, showing a deep relief and vulnerability that she hasn't yet so far and the player can 'lock in' to a relationship at this point.  

With Nobility Knowledge Perk: The Inquisitor challenges Frederic to a duel over the fate of Nils.

Frederic is a Warrior with Champion Subclass who fights with a sword and shield in Orlesian Chevalier armor.

Inquisitor Defeats Frederic: Frederic accepts his loss but begs the Inquisitor to let him join the Inquisition so he can be near his son.

If the Inquisitor accepts, he becomes an agent of the Inquisition (Forces).

If the Inquisitor Declines, he hangs his head but sadly accepts. He asks only that his son be told who his father was and that he still loves him deeply.

Frederic defeats the Inquisitor.

Nils runs over to greet his father who scoops him up and holds onto him tightly.

Frederic looks over at where the Inquisitor and Milliara stand, and proclaims the Inquisitor fought with honour and that He would like to serve the Inquisition, graciously allowing Milliara to still see her son... and offers to resume their previous relationship.

The Inquisitor now has a chance to lock into a relationship with Milliara or end it. If they choose to end the relationship, she walks quietly over to Frederic and her son and disapproves. She says she will be Nils's mother, but nothing more to Frederic, who agrees. Frederic is acquired as an agent.

5. If they romanced someone as Inquisitor, would they still fall for that person as a companion? How would that play out? How would they react to that person being romanced by the “new” Inquisitor?

As inquisitor they romance Solas, because at first blush he appears to be everything Fred never was. Thoughtful, gentle, elven, studious. Unfortunately Milliara is canonly attracted to the wrong kind of men. Solas is no different.

As a companion, Milliara would still be seen as close with Solas in game, asking questions about the Fade, the nature of magic and ancient elves in an effort to understand the world that they're fighting for/against and the world her son will be living in. She'll ask Solas to tutor her son, and often ask to sit in on lessons, curious to learn the theory. This is why if her approval is low enough, Milliara will leave at the end of the main game and join Fen'harel as an agent of his.

Dialogue prompts:

About a Solas romance:

Inquisitor: "You and our Apostate seem to be spending a lot of time together."

Milliara: "Of course I do, he's tutoring my son."

Inquisitor: "No problem. I just didn't realise tutoring included private lessons after dark. At camp."

Milliara: "...yes... well... Theres... Ass."

Inquisitor: "Are you blushing?"

Milliara: "No. Yes.  Ugh. Don't tell Josie. She'll never let me live it down."

If the Inquisitor is Romancing Solas:

Milliara: "Does he make you happy?"

Inquisitor: "he does. And I make him so too, I think."

Milliara: "Good. That's... good."

Inquisitor: "Is something wrong? "

Milliara: "Besides a hole in the sky and darkspawn magister? No. Everything's peachy. Be kind to each other."

Inquisitor: "Thank you."

if low approval: "Because if you hurt him, they'll never find you."

if high approval: "You deserve to be happy."

6. Write some of their party banter.

this will be a separate post because it's so long x.x

7. What would be on their tombstone in the fade (what is their greatest fear)?

Fearlings: Mabari

Tombstone: Was a Terrible Mother.

[ continued in a second post that I'll add when I've finished it....]

[the-rainbow-robot]

Dragon Age Companions, Part 1

I recently read a post (originally from Weresquirrel, sorry I don't know how to tag), about the criticisms characters from the Bioware fandom face. So I guess I'm just feeling the need to lay out my feelings for the characters, after so long of playing (I'm only doing dragon age here, I loved all the Mass Effect characters so much I don't really need to explain it further) Vivienne: In my first playthrough of Inquisition, I LOVED Viv. Aside from her fabulous nature, I was glad to see a black woman in a position of power, who is both elegant and demanding of your respect. I still to this day respect her a great deal, but I now agree with Sera, she's a bitch. I respect her achievements, she has accomplished more in her life than I probably ever will, but her schemes and manipulations make her difficult for me to trust and make me question her motivations. When you first meet her, she uses your presence to publicly shame a rival, which at first I thought was awesome but now I think was quite rude. But she also showed that, under her Orlesian Noble veneer, she is a deeply caring person, as can be seen if you give her the snowy wyvern heart. I lover her as a character, she is interesting and has fantastic depth, but as a person I just don't know if I could trust her. Sera: My brother still hates her, and initially I thought she was annoying but I trusted bioware enough to give her a chance. And boy was I glad! She may be a bit naive as less well-educated than our other friends, but she is intuitive and clever. When I learned about her past, I wanted to build a pillow fort and share cookies with her in it to make her feel better, but I guess the roof will suffice. Her wit and humor helps make the Inquisition's leadership more approachable and human to the commoners and soldiers that make up the body of the organization. And while I wish she was more open-minded, she is right; a lot of the stuff that happened in Inquisition is fuckin wierd. The Iron Bull: Personally, my view of him is a bit colored. I love big burly, lumberjack like males and he was a cookie I couldn't wait to eat. I find his humor raunchy and his manners lacking (not as much as Cassandra, close the damned door people!), but he was genuinely sweet at times during the romance. I wish he wasn't such a womanizer, but if he said that barmaid was a man instead, I would have cheered him on so I guess double standards can go both ways. My first play of Trespasser he was Qun-loyal, and I had to stop the game for a bit to cry (Alicia Key's song, "No One" coming on exactly then did NOT HELP FUCK ME), so I vowed to save the Chargers in every future playthrough. Krem: I can't remember his full name but I felt so embarrassed when I found out they were trans. I thought, at first, "great, it's that dumb Eowyn cliché, she dressed like a man so she could fight" thing but no. Krem really was trans and I felt stupid for not even considering that. Otherwise, Krem is my fave I wish we could chat more!! Varric: I guess I should have mentioned the lying thing with Iron Bull too, but I don't think either of them is untrustworthy. They both admit that they lie a lot, but I honestly don't believe that they ever lie to you, at least not on anything big, or at least something you wouldn't understand (obvi, lying about Hawke was pretty big). Varric is practically the embodiment of what I want my video-game self to be; witty, charming, devilishly handsome, imaginitive, and quite capable and smart. He isn't as intellectual as others, but that doesn't mean shit to me here. I love him, from one fellow little brother to another. Cassandra: OMFG DID YOU SEE THOSE EMBOSSED HEARTS ON HER ARMOR SHE IS SO PRECIOUS!!!!! I honest to god hated Cassandra in DA2, for kidnapping Varric. But she is just so god damned awesome! She's strong, capable, determined, inquisitive, has an awesome scar, and holds little back. And with an accent like that, how could she NOT be a hopeless romantic? She's literally perfect, I just wiSH SHE DIDNT INTERUPT BULL AND ME though to be fair, she didn't start it, she just... was the most blunt about it. OF COURSE ITS MORE THAN JUST A FLING HAVE YOU LOOKED AT THE MAN?! Josephine: jesus christ I feel like a fangirl just thinking about her. She is so cute and silly and innocent, but then she just turns around and steels the pot at Wicked Grace and is the calmest person I've ever seen considering she JUSt learned an organization of assassins is gunning for her. She is perfect as a diplomat, and I would be proud to call her a friend. Solas: he makes me angry. At first, and I guess even still, I find him intriguing. The fade interests me a great deal, and Solas has so much cool info about it! And then I saw how racist he was. And hypocritical. And genocidal. Honestly, Solas, I thought you were better than this! I am very disappointed in you, bad boy! Blackwall: I wish he was gay, he is sooo adorbs! I think he is incredibly courageous, and while I try to follow a Retributive philosophy regarding justice, I think his guilt was enough punishment And he is genuinely a good man now. Dorian: totally fab. He is very sarcastic, which I love, but I do think Dorian legit has some kind of anger issue. He doesn't get angry often, but when he does he says very hurtful things that he later regrets, and sometimes I worry whether he might actually mean them. That is understandable, your dad trying to make you straight by using blood magic is fucked up. But he's a bit of a spoiled brat, and while he jokes about it I think he still doesn't quite get it. But his goals of wanting to bring change to the Imperium are noble, and I think I could call him a friend. Romancing him is on my to-do list. Cole: Since Cole is a spirit, things get a bit wierd about him. I definitely love his character, I always go the more human route because the spirit route is just too... idk, it just feels wrong. Lile he's actually less compassionate than before. But I think he has a good heart and thats what counts

[enby-hawke]

The door opened with a bang and Hawke jerked awake sprawling onto his knees, his hand going for the knife under his pillow. His heart was still pounding in his ears when he saw Josephine wild-eyed followed by several servants. She was dressed in a rich blue dress with golden trim and sleeves. Her sleek black hair was in an elaborate bun framed with a braid.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you and you’re still asleep?” she cried, her brown eyes flashing with panic. “ The ceremony starts in 10 minutes!”

He fell face forward back into his goose-feathered pillow, leaving the knife and settled back into his memory foam mattress. Lazily he pulled the heavy cotton blankets that he kicked off back over him. “I’m skipping it,” he yawned.

“Oh no you aren’t,” Josephine grabbed his hand and started pulling him out of bed, snapping at the servants. Before he could argue his clothes were being stripped off and his curly hair was pulled and corralled in an effort to make him look neater. They slipped leather over his head, his shouts being muffled, and he was promptly strapped into white-steel ceremonial armor with the symbol of a red flaming sword being stabbed through a Chantry eye.

“What the- Stop, wait-” The servants were merciless, scrubbing his face before slathering foundation on his skin. The servants hands were firm, precise, and quick to correct Hawke's wriggling.

“I knew I should have assigned someone to look out for you,” Josephine said as she typed something into her tablet. “Forgive for me saying this, Herald, but you’re absolutely hopeless.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on? What’s with this fancy get-up? Why is it so important I be there? It’s just a stupid ceremony. I’ll find out who the Inquisitor is later.”

Josephine blinked, surprised and even the servants stopped to exchange shocked glances. “Did no one tell you?”

Tell him what? Hawke was just becoming aware of the murmur of voices overlapping outside. Still half-dressed, he followed the sound to his balcony where he saw an ocean of faces spilling all the way onto the bridge and into the valley. There were mercenaries, Inquisition soldiers, Tal-Vashoth, Dalish, pilgrims, and Chantry folk all clustered together, their voices overlapping and echoing into the mountain. Some were carrying signs like, “Bless the Herald and may the Herald bless us,” and “Our Champion and Inquisitor.” He could even see a reporter talking to his cameraman at the head of the crowd. Leliana was above them all on the staircase, where a podium with a microphone was standing at front. She was dressed in something that almost looked similar to Chantry robes, but instead of a skirt she had black slacks with expensive red heels that popped against the stone. Beside her Cullen in Templar armor stood at attention carrying a rather large greatsword that he held flat in his hands as if to present it.

“Oh no,” Hawke thought.

“The Herald,” he heard someone shout, and the crowd began to buzz as they caught sight of Hawke. Immediately people began to bring out their cellphones and cameras started flashing. The reporter caught sight of Hawke and pointed where the cameraman turned, trying to film him.

Hawke fled, his heart pounding louder than before and he turned to see Josephine and the servants eying him warily.

“Why did no one run this by me?” Hawke cried.

“We thought it was obvious,” Josephine replied approaching him. She put a reassuring hand on his arm though he could not feel it through the steel plating. “I’ve already taken the liberty of writing your speech so all you have to do is read it. Just smile. Be your confident self and you’ll be fine.”

Hawke seriously doubted that, but he didn’t have time to argue because they were already strapping on his heavy breastplate and marching him outside of his room to the audience that was waiting.

“Josephine,” his voice was high and tight, his white-steel boots dragging down the stairs. “For Maker’s sake don’t put me in front of a camera. Things always go wrong when I go in front of a camera.”

Josephine kept a firm arm around Hawke escorting him. “Everyone gets nervous. Just remember to smile.”

When they opened the door to the throne room, Cassandra was standing in similar armor but her shoulder pads weren’t as pointy and she didn’t have a ridiculous red cape that made Hawke feel like he was a cheesy superhero.

“Seeker,” he said clearing his throat.

“Good,” she said shortly taking Hawke’s other side. “Leliana is almost done with her speech.”

They walked past the throne and started marching Hawke to the giant wooden doors already open and he could see Leliana addressing the crowd.

“I thought you said I was dangerous and incompetent,” Hawke said. “Now you’re just handing me some Chantry title?”

“We will still advise you, just like before,” Josephine nodded, patting Hawke on the shoulder.

“And have you not already been leading the Inquisition?” Cassandra said, with a small wry smile. “I may not always agree with your decisions, but they let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are Corypheus’ rival because of what you did and we know it. All of us.”

Leliana glanced into Skyhold and smiled when she saw Hawke approaching. She gestured to the open doors and with her sweet orlesian accent, “It is my great honor to represent a man who needs little introduction. He has faced down the magister who brought the Blight and lived. In this new glorious age, he will lead us to victory as our Inquisitor, Lucky Hawke!”

The crowd roared in approval, deafening applause echoing through the mountain. Hawke was frozen by the sound. He would prefer to be ran through by the Arishok again. Or venture back into the Deep Roads. Hell, he’d take being buried by the avalanche.

Hawke had become a statue save for the visible shaking. Josephine gently, but firmly escorted him to the podium before slinking back beside Leliana, like she was meant to be there. The applause quieted into silence but Hawke just stared at the sea of people and they all stared back. He could make out Varric in the front row with the rest of his Inquisition friends-Blackwall, Sera, Solas, Iron Bull, Dorian, Cole. Maker, even Madame de Fer was there, though Hawke doubted she was there to support him.

Varric game him a cheesy grin and a thumbs up which Sera and Iron Bull followed. Camera’s flashed, and Hawke kept seeing spots as he was blinded.

“Uh…” he tried to jump start his brain.

“The speech,” Josephine whispered.

Hawke just noticed that there were cards in his hands with neat cursive scrawled across it, but Hawke could only make out a few words. When did she put these in his hand? Why wasn’t this typed out? He didn’t know how to read cursive.

Hawke remembered Josephine’s advice to smile so he did, trying not to look terrified as he tried to decipher the speech. The crowd was getting restless, shifting in the uncomfortable silence. Hawke didn’t know what to do.

“Wow this is a super duper honor,” he began and immediately he could hear Josephine sighing in frustration. He flipped through the cards trying to decipher anything that might give him a clue what to say. “ But uh…I…uh…I guess I should thank some people…Varric of course. You’re still my best friend and I don’t think I’d have made it this far without you.” He made a mock fist bump which Varric returned. “Ambassador Montilyet, thanks for arranging such an event. It…uh…I really don’t have the words…”

He looked around, the crowd swirling and he realized he was dizzy. He steadied himself on the podium and for a moment he thought he might faint in front of everyone. Then what would the headline be? He needed to come up with the rest of his speech, but his thoughts escaped him before they could fully form. He found himself going silent again, his panic rising and he thought he would run off stage.

Leliana cleared her throat, trying to hurry Hawke along but his throat was closing up.

“Say something,” he thought. “Anything.”

“I don’t want the job,” he blurted out. Not that.

The crowd gasped in unison, and cameras started flashing more and beyond the buzzing crowd, Sera’s machine gun giggle echoed through the air.

Immediately Cassandra jerked Hawke by the shoulder. “You said it was your duty to defeat Corypheus.”

“And I definitely will. On board. 100 percent. But why me? Why not literally anyone else?” Hawke shrugged sheepishly. He knew he should shut up, that this was already going terribly wrong, but his mouth wouldn’t stop running.

“You have the Maker’s blessing! You’re the Herald of Andraste!”

“Debatedly.”

Leliana tried to come between them. “Perhaps we should move this discussion to a more private location.”

“What for? So you can get all shadowy and intimidate me into the job?”

“Hawke-” Leliana said warningly.

“I’ll help defeat Corypheus, seal rifts, drag me to the ass end of Thedas, but for fuck’s sake don’t make me into some kind of glorified Chantry puppet.”

A sickening thud cracked through the air as Cassandra’s gauntleted fist smashed into Hawke’s face, soundly knocking him unconscious. He crumpled to the floor with a thud, his nose and mouth bleeding. "Oooo" hissed a chorus of people and cameras flashed like strobe lights.

Above the sound of the buzzing crowd, Varric started clapping, alone. “Our Inquisitor, everyone.”