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randomnonsensedragonage · 7 years ago

Text

Be Brave

Rora Surana & Adaia Tabris, backstory -- 1455 words

Rating: G

Summary: Young Rora makes a terrible mistake, and Adaia Tabris comes to her aid.

A/N: Slowly trying to fill in the gaps in Rora’s canon story, and this time felt compelled to tackle the incident that led to her being discovered by the Templars. Then Tabris’ mom showed up too, which is cool.

Rora ran, as fast as her small legs could carry her, down the streets of the Alienage. The smell of smoke tickled her nose and stung her eyes, already watering with unshed tears. She breathed hard and her stomach ached with terror. Hide, was her only thought. Have to, have to hide.

Men and women shouted behind her, calling for help, calling for buckets of water, perhaps calling after her, but Rora had no intention of stopping. Besides, who would chase after a girl of six when there was a fire to be put out?

Tears obscured her vision as she ducked down one of the Alienage’s many alleyways. Her favorite hiding spot, the space beneath the Tavister’s elevated house, was out of the question now. So instead she turned one corner, then another, until she came to the back wall of the Alienage.

There was a thick growth of shrubs here, taller than her by several feet. Without stopping she wedged herself through the leaves and branches, crawled until the tunnel widened out into a space large enough for someone her size to sit without being seen. Here, she sank to the ground, buried her face in her thin knees, and sobbed.

She’d really done it this time. She’d set fire to the Tavister’s home. Grandmother, no, everyone, would be furious with her.

Rora hadn’t meant to do it. At least, she hadn’t meant to set such a big fire. She’d been hiding under the house, as she often did, practicing the trick of lighting fire in her hand. If she focused very hard she could get a small flame to flicker for a moment on her palm. Still harder, and she could make it stay for two, three minutes.

Today, though, she must have focused too hard. The fire burst forth, just like it had that first time with Grandmother, and before she could stop it one of the stilts that held the cottage up was burning. She screamed, beat at the fire with her skirts, kicked dust at it, but nothing worked. The flame was too hot, spread too quickly. She fled.

Now, she cried even harder at the thought of what might happen to her. After the first fire, her grandmother had forbid her from ever making one again. What would Grandmother do when she realized Rora had disobeyed her? What about the other grown-ups? The Tavister family? She’d done a very, very bad thing. What if they locked her up and sent her away, like they had Maia Sirah’s uncle after he stole from the town stores? Renewed sobs burst from her throat, and she took big, gulping breaths to quiet herself.

Not a moment too soon. The instant she quieted she heard footsteps—many, heavy footsteps, and they were getting closer. She hugged her knees tighter and bit her lip, huge tears plopping down her cheeks and into the dust. Was everyone in the Alienage coming to get her?

As the walkers neared her hiding place she could hear voices, men’s voices, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She held herself very still as they stopped just outside her hiding place. Through the leaves, she could see the shadows shifting. They were pacing outside. They were looking for her. She listened hard, but she could still only hear snatches of what they said (“—still here?” “…couldn’t have gone far.” “Look over—").

She knew every person in the Alienage but these men didn’t sound like anyone she knew. Their accents were strange, like the humans she and her grandmother sometimes bartered with in the marketplace, and her imagination went wild with panic. Had she been so bad the humans were mad at her too?

Then another voice spoke, quieting the others. A woman’s voice. Rora couldn’t hear her words either, but the voice was fervent, soft and familiar. After a moment one of the men replied, loud enough to make out: “It’s worth a try.”

The footsteps shifted again, and a single set approached. Rora squinted her eyes. Through the leaves she could see the figure stop, then kneel close to where Rora hid.

“Rora? It’s Adaia. Are you in there?”

Rora looked out through the leaves. She had always liked Adaia, Melia Tabris’ mama. A lot of other grown-ups—including Grandmother—got impatient with Rora because she cried a lot, but not Adaia. She said: “Why don’t you tell me about it, Rora?” or “Why don’t you come draw pictures with me and Melia?” or “Come help me in the garden.” She patted Rora’s head, even picked her up and held her sometimes. When Rora missed her own mama, Adaia was almost as good.

Rora stirred, shifted on her cramped knees. She was cold from hiding, and her belly had started to grumble with hunger. Maybe, if she spoke very, very quietly, those men wouldn’t hear. Just Adaia. Maybe Adaia would understand.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Adaia said. “Are you all right?”

Rora slowly nodded. Then, realizing Adaia wouldn’t be able to see, she answered: “Yes.”

She heard whispers—those men. Adaia turned and said something to them, and they quieted. Rora hugged her knees.

“Adaia, who’s there?” she said, voice small. “Am I in trouble?”

There was silence, then Adaia sighed. Heavy and sad.

“No,” she said. “No, you’re not in trouble.”

“But I—” she choked. “I hurt—”

“No, dear, no,” Adaia said quickly. “You didn’t hurt anyone.”

Rora swallowed a gulp of air. “I didn’t?”

“No,” said Adaia emphatically. Rora could almost see her, the way she would shake her head. “There was no one in that house, thank the Maker, and we put the fire out before it spread. You didn’t hurt anyone, darling.”

Some of the tightness in Rora’s chest loosened. She sat up straighter.

“So, nobody’s mad?”

Adaia was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

“I don’t know, Rora,” she said. “But… it’s going to be all right. I promise.”

This statement didn’t exactly reassure Rora, and some of the tightness in her chest returned. Even more so when one of the men spoke again.

“…taking too long,” she heard him say, and then Adaia turned and spoke to him sharply. Rora squinted again, tried to listen as carefully as she could, but she couldn’t hear or see much of anything.

“Adaia?” she said.

The woman shifted again.

“Listen, Rora,” she said. “Just… I need you to come out here. Now.”

Rora bit her lip, which was starting to quiver again.

“Rora.” Adaia’s voice wasn’t angry, but insistent, like when she called Melia back from a road with carts on it. Rora swallowed.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“I know.” Adaia’s voice was kind, so kind. “But I need you to be brave. Can you be my brave girl, just for a little bit?”

Rora felt like her whole body might start shaking. She didn’t want to go back out into the light, to face people who might be mad or yell at her. She wanted to hide forever and ever and ever. But even more than that, she didn’t want to disappoint Adaia.

Without another word, she crawled forward and pushed her way out through the leaves, through the branches, squirmed into Adaia’s waiting arms.

The woman hugged her close and Rora buried her face in her shoulder. Then Adaia pushed her back gently and looked into her face. Her expression was more serious than Rora had ever seen it.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now, can you keep being brave?”

Rora nodded. Adaia brushed a loose strand of hair behind Rora’s ear, a gentle gesture, and then she took Rora’s hand and they both stood up, turned.

Rora’s eyes widened. Behind them were the humans she’d heard. Four human men, but like none she’d ever seen before. They were so tall, dressed in armor that sparkled white. Two wore helmets that obscured their faces. Rora gripped Adaia’s hand tighter. The woman squeezed her hand back, and then addressed the men.

“It’s done,” she said. Her voice was clear, an edge of anger, like when she spoke to the shouting humans who sometimes tried to enter the Alienage. One of the men nodded.

“Let’s be off, then,” he said. His voice was less scary than Rora would have expected. She almost liked it.

The man who’d spoken turned, and the others followed. Adaia followed after them, leading Rora. She looked up into Adaia’s face, confused, searching for an answer, but the woman’s expression was hard, no emotion but a small line between her brows. Rora turned her eyes forward, bewildered, but glad for the warmth of Adaia’s hand. She tried very, very hard to be brave.

#dragon age fanfiction #surana #adaia tabris #mage origin #backstory #rora surana #my writing

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meginatree · 8 years ago

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Hi my name is Meg and i waste so much time making boards for dragon age ocs help me Part 1; The Heroes of Ferelden:

[Champions / Inquistors]

#dragon age #dragon age origins #hero of ferelden #aesthetics

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lottiesnotebook · 22 days ago

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happy first thedasweekend!!! i love it when ppl have anora ships, so i gotta go with Melia Surana/Anora and the It's All About The Yearning prompt of: "sometimes, i just need the world to be beautiful. i know how dark and ugly it can be but i just want to see something good and focus only on it for a few minutes," i hope it's a fun one! uwu -broodwoof

Happy first Thedas Weekend (and also Femslash February)! Thank you so much for the prompt, I love Anora Mac Tir with all my heart and I think that the happiest ending for her is where she gets a girlfriend/wife. So please enjoy my morally ambiguous girlies who haven't yet met in my playthrough!

Anora Mac Tir/Melia Surana, yearning, angst, potentially regrettable pre-battle hookups

@broodwoof | @thedasweekend

shining like it never did before

"Are you afraid?"

Melia does not expect the question that breaks the silence of the war room. She had almost forgotten that she was not alone, but of course she is not - Anora Mac Tir circles the model of Denerim as she does, both of them seeking gaps in the carefully-planned defences, the spot where the darkspawn will break through. One mistake, they both know, and the city will fall. One mistake, and everything is lost. The weight of the future sits heavy on their shoulders. It is no wonder neither of them can sleep.

She should probably lie. They're allies, for now, but Loghain's blood still stains Melia’s hands, and one day, they will be enemies again.

But it is midnight now, and tomorrow they will fight the final battle for the world, and she may never have another chance to speak this truth:

"Of course I'm afraid." It chills her blood, puts a tremble in her hands, pulls her from her bed tonight of all nights, when she needs her sleep the most.

"You never look it, somehow." Anora circles the table, drawing close to her by slow paces. Melia does not move, but sways, slightly, towards her, like a tapestry caught in a breeze. "You're such a dainty thing, but out there you look fearless."

"That's because I'm scared of everything," she admits, and there's almost a thrill to that, because she's never admitted that aloud before, not even to Alistair. "The darkspawn, the war, the stretch of the sky…" You, she adds, silently. Anora Mac Tir scares her in ways she has no words for. "The world is a strange and frightening place, after a lifetime spent in Kinloch Hold."

She almost flinches back when she feels Anora's soft hands wrap around her own. "How do you bear it? This is a dark, fearful world, and I- I am so afraid, Melia."

She can feel her fear reverberating through the delicate bones of her soft, pale hands, through her breath that catches in her throat, through her eyes, their pupils wide and dark as a frightened rabbit's. She cannot pull away, not now. She has never had such cruelty in her nature.

"I find the beautiful parts," she says. "I- I know how dark and ugly it can be but- sometimes I see something good, and for a few minutes, that's all I focus on. I let the beautiful parts become the whole world."

As she speaks, Anora's hands slip tentatively up her wrists, her arms, her shoulders, until she cracdes Melia's face between her fingers, until she tilts her head up so that their eyes meet.

"Like this?" Anora breathes, and Melia feels heat flood her cheeks.

"Like this," she echoes, and lets Anora Mac Tir become the whole world, until morning and battle find them.

#dragon age #fic #broodwolf #anora mac tir #anora dragon age #anora x warden #warden surana #melia surana

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lottiesnotebook · 8 days ago

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hello lottie, and happy thedasweekend! uwu thinking about your roleswap au this week! how about Melia Surana in veilguard with: Romance - Do you think they would find love among their new companions? If not, why not? -broodwoof

Ooh thank you for the prompt! Melia Surana, my Disney Princess Bloodmage, would absolutely find love wherever she goes, and I hope this demonstrates why...

Melia Surana/Davrin, pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, some truly terrible pick-up lines

@broodwoof | @thedasweekend

say my name and every colour illuminates

All Melia’s earliest memories are shaded in blues and greys — the colours of sky and stone reflected in the ever-shifting waters of Lake Calenhad, which stretched to the thin, grey line of the shore on the horizon. When the Wardens had come for her, the open stretch of the sky had been a fearful thing, without the protective walls of the tower to hold her safe within them. As much as she’d longed for freedom from Templars and guards and fear, and she’d longed for it enough to drink in the Blight without flinching, at times, she’d missed the only home she’d known so terribly it came close to sickening her.

It helped, a little, that Weisshaupt was at least a little like Kinloch Hold — white rather than blue, snow rather than water, and the village houses clustered around the fortress’s base like children clinging to a Chantry Sister’s skirts. Arlathan, though, Arlathan is like nothing she’s seen before - greens and golds, butterflies of violet and glowing turquoise, rainbows of light shimmering in the air, caught by ancient magics still half-holding. It’s like something from a legend, but no story she’s ever heard can match the beauty of this place.

Davrin laughs at her, the first time they take Assan out together, and she buries her nose in a flower just to revel in its scent, its colour. Weisshaupt is devoid of such lovely things, or at least, it had seemed to be. Perhaps, if Davrin had ever crossed her path there, she might have formed a different opinion of the Warden stronghold.

“Your parents named you well,” he teases, and when she blinks at him, confused, he clarifies: “Melia. It’s Elvhen for ‘bee’.”

Melia wrinkles her nose, realises too late that it’s covered in pollen, and sneezes, drawing an alarmed squawk from Assan, who bounds to her side to assure himself that the flower hasn’t suddenly bitten her. His concern is reasonable — the flowers of Arlathan do not love Melia quite as much as she loves them, and once or twice she’s had to use a healing potion in place of an antidote to some rare poison or toxin in their petals, but she’s getting better now at telling the deadly from the safe. Or, as better as anyone can get, in a place where things change as quickly as Arlathan.

“Neve said it meant ‘honey’, in Tevine,” she tells him, and he shrugs, but he’s still smiling at her, in a way that makes her cheeks heat like she’s some blushing virgin rather than a mage long-Harrowed and a blooded Warden too. Neither the Circle nor Weisshaupt are exactly bastions of chastity and virtue, either, but-

It’s just that Davrin, with his bright smile, his shining shield and armour, and Assan at his side, looks so exactly like a hero should look that she can’t help herself — when she looks at him, she imagines how those strong, capable hands might feel on her waist, or tangled in her hair. When he sees her struggling for a book or an artifact in the library, he lifts her as if she weighs nothing at all, his hands always well-placed, always respectful, never taking liberties, and sometimes it almost makes her want to scream, because if he wanted to take a few more liberties-

“Maybe it’s a loan word.” That smile should be illegal too, while she’s thinking about the reasons Davrin has become as much a hindrance as a help to her concentration. “It means- bringer of sweetness, I think?”

“You- you think I’m sweet?” Another woman, Neve, perhaps, would manage to make that sound sultry, flirtation, an invitation to more. From Melia, it’s more of an awkward squeak, but Davrin doesn’t seem to mind. He plucks a second flower, instead, and tucks it into her curly hair, just behind her ear. His fingers brush the sensitive point, and she gasps, just a little, and almost wants to die from the embarrassment. There would be worse ways to die, though, than from Davrin touching her.

“I don’t know,” he says, and his voice is sweet as honey and dark as deep water, “I think I’d need to taste you to make that judgement, wouldn’t I?”

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #davrin dragon age #davrin x rook #rook thorne #sort of?#melia surana #fic

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lottiesnotebook · 23 days ago

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Hi!!! Happy Friday <3 I'd like to present a bouquet of flowers for Melia from the Flowers & Prompts?? I'm thinking camellia, and/or kingcup, and maybe also marigold?

Oh if anyone deserves flowers, it's probably Melia, who Goes Through It despite The Kick Inside not even really being her story! Also I love the flower prompt post so much! Here we have:

Kingcup- youth, innocence, dawn Camellia- my destiny is in your hands Marigold- grief

For the world's babiest bloodmage!

This is probably going to be my last prompt of the night, so have a scene that probably exists somewhere in the same universe as my (our?) monstrous creation that definitely won't appear in the final product, due to neither of our narrators being there to see it...

Alistair Theirin/Melia Surana, angst, breakups, yearning

@miladydewintcr | @dadrunkwriting

playing games like kids playing kingscup

The first time he sees Melia Surana, she looks almost divine to him - her dark curls forming a halo around a narrow, pensive face that is dominated by her heavy-lidded dark eyes. She looks, he thinks, like a young saint, or a girl at the start of a story - the kind of innocence seldom found outside Circle towers, the kind he envies and yearns for in equal measure. Then she curls her fingers into a fist, and he feels his muscles seize and twitch, and knows what she is, and that she must die.

Luna sees that strange look of innocence, too, and whether out of naivety or softheartedness, she spares her. Alistair rails against it, of course, but the terrible thing is this: she isn't wrong. For all that she is a blood mage, there is an awful innocence to Melia Surana - the way she looks up at the sky, wide-eyed and wondering, the way she kicks off her slippers to wriggle her toes in the grass and laugh, the way she plucks roadside flowers and braids them into clumsy garlands as they walk, as though even in idleness she cannot help but add beauty to the world. The way she turns ashen and curls into herself when she sees her first real bloodshed outside the tower, as if she thought the world a place beyond such horrors.

“A blood mage who faints at the sight of a little blood, it’s stupid, right?" she says, shoving her hair back behind her ears, "But I was never much of a blood mage, and- and I never saw anything die before, Alistair! Not even a chicken!”

Of course she had not, he realises, in that moment. The Circle is a world unto itself, where death is omnipresent but tidied away from the mages' view. How could she not be innocent, when the evils of the world - even of the blood magic she so clumsily practiced - have always been hidden from her lest they give her ideas? He isn't a templar, isn't even a knight, but there must still be something chivalrous remaining within him, because in that moment, he'd give anything to preserve such innocence in her, such light, like the newborn sun, not yet dimmed by the day's cruelty.

He cannot, of course. No shield he could bear would protect her from everything. By the time they reach Denerim and the Landsmeet is called and Eamon names him the heir to a brother he never knew and a father he never wanted, he cannot call her innocent any more, but she is still lovely, still within his reach.

The night she slips from it, they are sat on the floor by the hearth in the room they have shared since their arrival, her head against his knee, and he toys with her hair and remembers the flowers he'd braided into it, when they walked in the woods of Brecelian, and summer still hung in the air.

"How could they ask me to marry Anora Mac Tir?" he murmurs, more to himself that to her.

Melia swallows, and says, small and soft: "It makes sense, Alistair."

His hand stills. "Don't say that, Mel. You know I'd be a terrible king."

She sits up, then, takes her face in her small hands, riven with mage-scars but still so soft. "I know no such thing," she says, almost primly, and if this moment were anything less than heartbreaking, he'd kiss her nose and tell her she sounds like Wynne, but he cannot, does not. "You're a good man, Alistair. A great man, I think, and most kings aren't either. And Anora... She's a good politician, I think, but nothing I've seen makes me trust her to be a good queen. You would keep her in line, I think."

"Mel, you can't be suggesting-"

"I have to, Alistair!" Her voice comes out ragged and miserable, and the tears welling up in those lovely dark eyes are the only reason he isn't weeping himself. "You know what Eamon said. We'll all have to make sacrifices to see this through, and-"

"Not this, though! Not us!"

"You're the only thing I have that I could give up," she says, softly, "but that isn't why."

"Why then?" he demands, grasping her wrists in his hands. He is almost shaking with anger and heartbreak and betrayal, that she would- that she can't- that of all the people who have abandoned him, his first love would be among them, his Melia, his summer-sweet blood mage with flowers in her hair. "You can't seriously think that Ferelden needs-"

"I think," she says, solemn as a saint, despite the tears overspilling, "that Ferelden needs a king who knows mages are people, not weapons. A king who knows what it's like to be poor and hungry and hunted. A king who-" Her fingers trace back from his cheeks to his ears, the scarred, ragged edges they never speak of, "a king who might have been one of my people, in another life. Do you understand what you could change? What you could do?"

"Do you understand what you're asking of me?" he begs, but he already knows. Do you understand that I could refuse anyone but you?

"The world asks terrible things of all of us," she replies, and he thinks of Eamon still grey from grief and poison, of Duncan unburied in Ostagar, of their friend Luna and the child she carries. "I wish it didn't have to be you."

She kisses him then, chaste and tender, and he wants to cling to her like a child, wants to say my destiny is in your hands, but all he has to give her is grief for what they might have had, and a love that is crumbling like summer flowers in winter's wind.

#dragon age #fic #asks #miladydewintcr #dragon age origins #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x surana #warden surana #melia surana

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lottiesnotebook · 23 days ago

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Hiiiiii 👋 happy DADWC

For Surana/Anora from the F+tM list: my body was bruised and set alight

- asexualtabris 💜

Ooh more Melia/Anora? Truly Femslash February is a Blessed Month. These two have such a wild dynamic in my heart, I love them so much. Also sorry-not-sorry, this turned out unhinged and angsty and I love it.

Anora Mac Tir/Melia Surana, angst, whump, choking, yearning, toxic girlies

@asexualtabris | @dadrunkwriting

only if for a night

The knock at the door comes just as Melia is ready to sink into the steaming waters of the bath. All she wants in the world is to scrub Loghain Mac Tir's blood from her skin, to soak the bruises she will not allow Wynne to heal, not yet. She should carry the marks of what she's done on her skin a little longer. She wants nothing less than to see Anora Mac Tir slip through the door, but this is her palace, and Melia supposes that if the queen wishes to slit her throat in her bath, nobody has the right to gainsay her.

Anora does not draw a knife, though, or threaten her. She pauses, her back pressed to the door, blinking.

"Do you have no other clothing?"

It is not the question she anticipates, from a woman who's father she killed mere hours ago, and she cannot look at her. She cannot look at silk-soft, lovely Anora, with her pale hair and dark eyes and soft hands, while her father's blood still stains her hands.

"This is all I was permitted to take with me when I left the Circle, Your Majesty," she admits. "You should- I do not wish you to see me like this."

She'd thought- she'd hoped, after their time cooped up in Eamon's estate, they might be something like friends. She would not like to think of Alistair- Alistair who'd once, so briefly been hers- wedding anyone she could not at least call a friend, and Anora had been- Anora Mac Tir was like a princess in a storybook, lovely and fierce and with a streak of ruthlessness Melia almost envied.

Even now, killing did not come easy to her, and she had never killed anyone she could have shown mercy to before. She would never forget how Loghain had looked through her to his daughter, as she'd struck his head from his shoulders. She could not remember her own father, but even so, something about his expression had haunted her. She did not want to see its counterpart in his daughter's eyes, the ghost of a love she had never known, and killed anyway.

She does not want to hear her next words: "Unacceptable," she says, brusquely. "I will have some clean things sent for you."

"You should not concern yourself with-"

"I am your Queen, am I not? It is not for you to tell me what I should concern myself with." She hears her move closer, slippered feet padding across the rug, but she does not lift her gaze from the floorboards, even as her feet appear in her field of vision. They are such dainty feet, she thinks, tucked into embroidered slippers that have never touched dirt since they were made. She used to wear such slippers, when she was a girl in a tower. When she was still innocent.

"Will you not look at me, Melia Surana?" Her voice is soft, and that frightens her most of all.

"Are you ordering me to?"

"Perhaps I am." She hooks a finger beneath Melia's chin, forces her to meet her eyes. "You killed my father, after I begged you to show mercy."

She swallows. "I did." Grief has reddened Anora's eyes, blotched her cheeks, but done nothing to change her wondrous, terrible beauty. "I- could not spare him."

"It did not look like that to me. When a man is on his knees before you-"

"Not a man," she interrupts. "Your father. If I killed him, there were a thousand crimes that I could have called it justice for: the slavers he sent to the Alienage, the spy he sent to poison Arl Eamon, the assassins he sent to cut my throat, for the crime of surviving Ostagar. If I spared him..."

"If you spared him?"

She wants nothing more than to look away. She cannot look away. "If I spared him, my queen, it would have only been for the love I bear you."

She does not mean to say it, does not know, till she says it, that it is true, and the look it brings into Anora's eyes sickens and shames her.

Her soft, pale hand slips from Melia's jaw to grip her throat, though she cannot press down quite hard enough to choke her. "Do not lie to me."

"I am not lying," she says, "Ask Zevran Arainai, or the Antivan Crows. The contract is not complete, after all. You would be within your rights to ask for your money's worth. I would not stop you."

"Not about that." There is something burning in the pits of her dark eyes, something Melia cannot name. "You do not love me."

"Who could not love you, Anora Mac Tir?"

Her hand tightens, an almost-bruising pressure, and Melia realises that the burning thing reflected in Anora's gaze is herself. There are far worse ways to burn.

#dragon age #fic #asks #asexualtabris #melia surana #warden surana #dragon age origins #anora mac tir #anora x warden #happy femslash february!

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lottiesnotebook · 1 month ago

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5, 9, 17!

For the Warden ask game, I am assuming? (If it was for a different one, tell me and I'll do this over again, lol.)

(Previously asked: 18)

I'm going to answer for both Seluna Tabris and Melia Surana bc in my heart the girlies are suffering the Horrors together. <3

5. What are their thoughts on Duncan? How did they feel about his actions during the Joining?

Luna is suspicious of Duncan when he shows up at her wedding, and tips over into outright hatred when he sends two untrained boys to rescue her from Vaughn and then refuses to recruit the only one who survives along with her. She's completely horrified by the Joining ritual and feels a little like he killed Ser Jory rather than letting him run to force her into it, robbing her of her only opportunity to actually resist becoming a Warden. The only reason she isn't delighted he's dead after Ostagar is because, despite her hatred of him, she does have a soft spot for Alistair, and can't quite bring herself to revel while he's grieving.

Melia admires Duncan when he shows up at the Tower, though she's too shy to really talk to him beyond stuttering until after her recruitment, at which point she becomes a little suspicious as to why he'd pick her. Conversely, after the Joining, it all starts to make sense to her - a choice of death or loss of free will is very familiar to her, having grown up in the Circle, so she pretty much accepts it unquestioningly and just appreciates the fact that she's alive and not Tranquil.

9. If the Warden was trapped in a nightmare, what would it be like?

For Luna, the nightmare is pretty obvious given her Origin - she's in the Kendalls villa again. She cannot escape. She cannot save her friends. No matter how much blood she wades through, no matter how deep her despair or burning her rage, she cannot undo what was done there, and she cannot save anyone, even herself.

For Melia... I feel like her nightmare would be being back in the Circle tower, but Tranquil and helpless, stuck behind a glass wall in her own mind as she obeys orders and continues to go through the Horrors that (in my heart at least) made her originally tempted to turn to blood magic. She no longer has any autonomy left to her, even over her own emotions. She can no longer even feel hate or disgust or unhappiness at what has been done to her.

17. What was the Warden's reaction to seeing Bryce/Shianni/Tamlen/Leske/Jowan/Trian in the Temple of Sacred Ashes?

Seeing Shianni helps Luna realise that she feels less guilty about not saving her cousin than about not being there to support her and care for her in the aftermath of her trauma. It's what changes her attitude from 'I can never go home' to 'I'll get home by any means necessary, so I can make amends for not being there when my family needed me most'. It also lets her forgive herself for not changing the past.

Seeing Jowan, on the other hand, reminds Melia that she mostly got where she is today through the good luck of Duncan choosing her as a recruit. Without that luck, she could very easily see herself in Jowan's shoes, less from malice than from desperation. The experience definitely steels her to become worthy of her good fortune, and to do her part to save others from becoming desperate enough to make those terrible choices.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #ask game #warden surana #warden tabris #da origins #luna tabris #melia surana #bunnygoats #asks

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lottiesnotebook · 1 month ago

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happy friday!! got in origins feels recently, so how about Melia Surana/Anora (or another origins pairing of your choice) with "You are too beautiful for me." *starts crying* from the drunk dialogue list?

Happy Friday! This was the perfect prompt for me, because you know I am always in my Origins Feels, and just because these two girlies have not yet met (in my game or my fics) that will not stop me from making them kiss. Also if Anora Mac Tir has no fans then I am deceased, I think she's such a delicious character and I wish we'd seen more of her.

@heylavellan | @dadrunkwriting

Anora Mac Tir/Melia Surana, Alistair Theirin/Melia Surana, yearning, repression, infidelity, post-Origins

in the land of plenty

Anora Mac Tir has been the perfect Ferelden lady ever since she can remember. Her mother was nothing if not exacting, and Anora understood why - their family, for all their grand titles, for all the king's love for her father, was newly ennobled, one generation removed from farmers. A lady who could trace her family line back to King Calenhad himself might be permitted a little rambunctiousness, a little less than perfect grace, but Anora? She'd seen, too many times, her mother scorned at parties as a country bumpkin with little social grace to explain her miraculous marriage. She'd seen, too many times, her mother turn to drink to numb the shame of her exclusion, or the pain of her father's absence. She still does not know which was the root cause. A lady does not ask such things.

But the point remains - Anora Mac Tir is the perfect lady, the perfect queen, and the perfect queen does not get messily drunk at her own coronation. Her second coronation, more correctly, which would be reason enough to drink - she and Cailan might have been better friends than lovers, but she still had not expected to lose him so quickly, so suddenly. So shortly, too, after her mother's death from a summer fever. It has been a year of losses for Anora Mac Tir - her mother, her husband, her father, and now, finally, her dignity, forced to share a crown and a throne with a man who cares little for either and even less for her.

Forced to share a husband with a mage-girl barely out of her teens, too. Anora is well aware that she still has her youth, her beauty, her many charms, but none of them make an impression on her surly youth of a husband, and in truth, she can see why: Melia Surana's quiet, composed features - heavy-lidded eyes, a thin line of a mouth - bloom like a flower whenever Alistair smiles at her. It is probably intoxicating, to be looked at with such adoration. Her husband certainly looks intoxicated by it.

She's not jealous over him, exactly. Their marriage is a tenuous political arrangement at best, held together by a Warden's will - Surana's will - and Arl Eamon's ire, and besides, she barely knows the boy, or the girl, for that matter. It is a strange, knife's-twist envy, that makes her look upon Melia Surana's sweetly-blooming features and feel bitterness that she has never made anyone's features bloom from dullness to captivating beauty as Alistair can Melia, even now that she's signed him over in marriage to Anora, to act as her keeper lest she follow in her father's footsteps.

She is jealous, too, that the girl can drink away her own sorrows - pink-cheeked on honeywine, surrounded by sympathetic companions - when they are utterly of her own making. Anora has no sympathetic companions - her ladies-in-waiting fear her now, after the purge that followed her father's betrayal. None of them want to be sent home in disgrace, though she suspects half of them look at her golden-haired husband and think they could handle him better than she could. They're likely correct, too - he can barely bring himself to look at her as they make their toasts, as they clap politely at the presentation of gifts and music and masques arranged by courtiers eager for normalcy to return to the palace. She doesn't want him to look at her, exactly, but- she wants someone to look at her with the wide-eyed adoration with which Melia looks at him. Nobody has ever looked at her that way. Nobody would dare.

As the feast continues, and the hall becomes filled with noise and revelry from everyone but the royal couple, Anora takes advantage of the distraction to slip out into the gardens, which, thankfully, were mostly-untouched by the darkspawn's assault. If she loves anything at all as much as she loves Ferelden (her crown, her duty, her truest love), it would be these gardens, lush and green and growing, arranged according to her designs, tended to sometimes by her own hand, a microcosm of what she could make of her home, if people would cease to interfere in her plans.

Even now, blue with frost and barely budding with spring, she loves these gardens, but despite the chill in the air, she does not have them to herself. She can hear, distantly, the sound of someone sobbing, and it pulls on some strand of duty in her heart - this is the heart of her kingdom, and any sorrows here are hers to amend. She follows the sound along meandering paths and through woven arches of rose and ivy, until she comes to the fountain at the garden's heart, a perfect pool of captured moonlight, the weeping girl a shadow at its edge- no, not a girl, she corrects herself. A Warden. The Warden.

She coughs, delicately, and Melia Surana leaps to her feet, sweeping an awkward curtsey in her robes. "Your majesty-" she begins, but Anora flicks her fingers, dismissing her false modesty.

"I find I lack the will to keep up such pretence between us, Enchanter Surana," she says, with a dignified coldness that does not quite reach her eyes. "We both know I owe my continued grip on power to your good will alone. I am not so foolish as to believe that forcing you to bow and scrape to me is a good way to retain it."

"Right, of- of course, my lady." She scrubs her sleeve across her eyes, sniffles again, and looks so terribly young that Anora cannot place her in the space where she knows the Warden, her judge, her rival ought to sit. She's just a girl, fragile as a flower in formal robes that almost seem to swallow her, that are even now slipping from her narrow shoulders to reveal the delicate shapes of her collarbones, the shadow between her breasts. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't," Anora lies, and doesn't know why she is lying. Interesting. She takes a seat on the fountain's rim, pats it to indicate the girl should return to her seat. "I disturbed you, I suspect."

"It's your garden- your palace," she corrects herself. "Really, it was kind of you to even invite me."

"My husband would have it no other way," she replies, and Melia flinches, just a little, which should feel good, and does not. My husband. The unspoken bulwark that lies between them. But if she plays her cards right, makes an ally of the girl rather than an enemy… It is not what she wanted, but life has seldom handed Anora what she wanted. "Nor would I. All Ferelden remains in your debt, myself included."

"Debt. Yes," she echoes, her hands twisting the skirt of her robes in her lap. Another sniffle, then: "I'm sorry, you weren't meant to see this. You were the last person who- who-"

Her coronation gown is a huge, heavy monstrosity that she hopes never to wear again, but it does contain a pocket for a handkerchief, which she retrieves and uses to dab away the girl's tears brusquely.

"I think I can intuit the awkwardness," she says, drily, which draws something close to a laugh from the girl - a wet, miserable chuckle. "I married your lover under your orders, after all."

"I wouldn't have forced you," she says, quickly, as if she does not know full well all the things Anora would to uphold her crown, to keep Ferelden safe within her hands. Nobody has ever needed to force her to do such things. She's always had a head for sums - she can total her equations and realise the outcome before anyone has to tell her what she must do.

"Of course," she says, dropping the handkerchief into her still-twisting hands. "You would merely have found a particularly comfortable convent to stash me in, is that it?"

A convent would not have been the worst option, come to think of it. The company of other women she could come to trust, a community to serve, a life of dignity if not splendour… It was not what she wanted. How often did she allow herself to think of what she wanted? Why did the sight of Melia Surana's golden skin, the scattered constellation of birthmarks, make her think the kind of thoughts she folds away like her mother's old dresses - fine things too fragile to be touched by the light of the sun.

"You're still the ruler of Gwaren," Melia says, "I don't think I'd get away with that."

She risks a glance up at Anora, and she finds herself once again captured in those deep brown eyes, rich and dark as Antivan coffee, so heavy-lidded that to be caught in her gaze when she opens them wide is to feel like the centre of the world for a stolen moment. It is no surprise, perhaps, that Alistair finds her so fascinating.

"You could get away with much, Melia Surana," she says, voice pitched low. "You are Ferelden's hero, beloved of her king-"

Melia shakes her head. "Don't say such things-"

"I am not blind, or a fool. I know what I see when you look at him, and when he looks at you."

"We broke it off," she said, quickly. "I- your highness, my lady-"

"Ah." She presses her lips into a tight line, does not know the name for the unsettled feeling this sparks in her stomach. "I take it you did not care to be a king's mistress rather than his wife?"

"No, I-" She swallows, and Anora finds her gaze drawn to the long line of her throat as it works to pull out something she cannot quite bring herself to say. "I have too much respect for- both of you to come in between you now."

"This isn't a love match, Melia," she reminds her. "This is politics. If Alistair desires you-" If. As if his desire is not as naked as his every other emotion, compared to this puzzlebox of a girl. Anora still does not know why she was crying.

"If he desires me?" Melia snaps, and it's the first real heat that comes into her voice. "Sure, he thinks he desires me. He thought he loved me, till I told him to do what was best for Ferelden, but now he's married to you, and you're-"

"His brother's widow? His enemy's daughter? The last woman he would have chosen?"

"Beautiful!" Melia snaps, and there is a scarlet flush in her cheeks now, darkening them to bronze on gold, and Anora wants- she wants to stay captured in the dark of Melia's eyes to drown in them. "You're too beautiful for him. You're- you're too beautiful for me!"

And for some reason that Anora cannot name but understands completely, this sends her into a fresh flood of tears. She takes back her handkerchief, makes an attempt to dab at her cheeks, but instead Melia launches herself into Anora's arms, buries her face against the crook of her neck, and- and it's been so long since anyone has truly touched her like that. Since before Cailan left to play soldier, perhaps - they were always each other's best friend, each other's only equal.

She never felt like this with Cailan in her arms, though, breathless and close to shuddering with a desire that she can't- she shouldn't-

Anora Mac Tir has been the perfect lady her whole life, but there is nothing ladylike about the way she feels when Melia Surana looks up at her with that flower-sweet face, that expression of soft adoration blooming across it. Even if it's secondhand, even if it's not truly meant for her. There is nothing ladylike about the way she lowers her head to kiss Melia Surana full on the mouth, the way her hands slide her robe from her shoulders and quest across the skin of her back, tracing constellations from freckles and scars. There is nothing ladylike in the strength, the power she feels as the Hero of Ferelden climbs into her lap and kisses her like she's the last of the air in the world, and she never wants to let her go

#fic #dragon age origins #dao #asks #kirblord #heylavellen #anora mac tir #warden surana #warden surana x anora

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lottiesnotebook · 2 months ago

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send me a prompt! - Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle Edition

Trying to get better at shorter fics/one-shots/standalones! Feel free to send me poems/songs/lyrics as prompts or pick something from the linked lists.

21/02/2025: Really feeling AUs of all kinds this week, so if you have protagonist swap, alternate universes, or canon divergence ideas you'd like me to put characters in Situations for! Reblogged quite a few examples under #writing prompts if you would like further inspiration...

Ideally send me a prompt and a character or pairing, but I'll have a go at anything - any platonic or romantic pairing for any game (though I'm still midway through my first run at Veilguard)

Some of my favourite relationships (which I will happily write as OT3+s for the romances) and characters include:

Origins

Characters (in any configuration):

Morrigan, Zevran, Sten, Shale, Alistair, Wynne, Jowan, Anders, Justice, Sigrun, Velanna, Tabris family

Relationships:

Dragon Age II

Characters:

Anders, Justice, Isabela, Aveline, Varric, Fenris, Orana, Karl Thekla, Hawke Family

Relationships:

Dragon Age Inquisition

Characters:

Cassandra, Vivienne, Cole, Sera, Leliana, Varric, Solas, Sera, Dagna, Lace Harding

Relationships

Dragon Age Veilguard

Characters:

Bellara, Neve, Davrin, Lucanis, Spite

Relationships:

* Character borrowed from my wife, @adainesjacket

**Child OC - I love to write kidfic/found family fic

Potential Prompts (also feel free to send dialogue options, song lyrics, or poems!)

Regency Inspired Prompts

Western Prompts

What If...

Alternate Universes

Three Word Prompts

Halsey

Florence + The Machine

Hozier

Poetry

Religious Motifs

Language of Flowers

Eerie prompts

OC guide under the cut!

Origins

Luna Tabris

Rogue (Ranger/Bard), Hero of Ferelden and world's most reluctant Grey Warden. Friends with pretty much everyone, Alistair’s surrogate big sister in particular. Romanced Zevran and Morrigan. She would have been perfectly happy to get married and never leave the alienage until she got Double Kidnapped, at which point the Blight is the only thing stopping her dismantling Ferelden's political system like a kea dismantles a car. Chaotically bisexual cis woman

Reluctant heroine of The Kick Inside

Songs include: Laughing With A Mouth Of Blood, by St Vincent | Salad by Blondshell | The Calling, by The Amazing Devil

Melia Surana

Less reluctant Grey Warden, baby blood mage with the personality of a particularly sheltered Disney princess. Friends with Wynne and Leliana, romanced Alistair, Morrigan’s reluctant protegee. She is Trying Her Best at all times. Bisexual, possibly non-binary but doesn't have time to think about it

Songs include: Ribs, by the Crane Wives | When The Chips Are Down, from Hadestown | Cardigan, by Taylor Swift

DA2

Rhiannon Hawke

A blue/purple bi disaster rogue who should have been at the club or possibly a popstar, but is instead experiencing The Horrors. Romanced Anders, Justice, and Isabela, her closest friends are Bethany and Varric, Aveline is her long-suffering older sister figure. Bisexual cis woman.

Reluctant heroine of Merry Solstice (Please Don't Call)

Songs include: This Is Me Trying, by Taylor Swift | I Never Loved You, by Halsey | Television, by Natalia Kills

Inquisition

Rheyah Adaar

Tal-Vashoth Spirit Mage born into the Kirkwall Qunari enclave (it was rough). Trying Her Best because if she ever stops trying her best she is pretty sure someone is going to kill her. Truly the Herald nobody wanted, and usually not even the Inquisitor in my head. Potential romances in my head include Cassandra, Cole, and Vivienne (or Iron Bull if you like them toxic and weird). Friends with Dorian, Solas, Sera, and Varric despite the high chance he killed some of her parents. Best friends with @adainesjacket's Seong Trevelyan, who is the Inquisitor to her Herald. Non-binary but in a Qunari Genderweird way

Songs include: You’re On Your Own Kid, by Taylor Swift | My Silver Lining, by First Aid Kit | Before the Eyes of Storytelling Girls, by Anais Mitchell

Veilguard (incomplete)

Cara 'Rook' Hawke-Laidir

The Justhanders Oops Baby, a nepo-baby Lord of Fortune mage, and all around the Worst Possible Protagonist. Is only called Rook bc she begged Varric not to call her Princess at work. So far she is friends with everyone, flirting with Lucanis, Davrin, Bellara, and Neve, and had a childhood crush on Lace Harding when she was 12. She was born during DA2 so knows literally everyone, which only makes her worse. I do not expect anyone to care about her but I think she is fun.

Songs include: Primadonna, by MARINA | Daddy's Girl, by Natalia Kills | Mermaids, by Florence + the Machine

#fic #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #writing prompts #da drunk writing circle

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october-rosehip · 6 years ago

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OC Information

Oh look a quiz thing from when I was super busy with art show stuff. Maybe I should get caught up on memes, huh? Tagged 400 years ago by @mocha-writes, sorry! I’m not going to tag anybody but if you like quiz things, have at! I’ll do this for other OCs if I was tagged more than once... wading through my notifications.

Name: Macsen Surana

Age: 18-19 during the blight year

Race/Ethnicity: Dalish Elf

Gender: Cis man

Pronouns: He/him (But he wouldn't be fussed if you got it wrong.)

Sexuality: Gay

Special Abilities: Magic: electricity and entropy focus. Shapeshifting. Arcane Warrior. Terrible Spirit Healer. (Dammit, he tries.)

–> Associations

Colour(s): Green, blue, purple, brown.

Animal(s): Halla, squirrel, mabari (and all elves are cats)

Themes/Words: “Can I get you a ladder...” He got in trouble for swearing in the circle and never quite stopped nerfing his language unless extremely agitated and saying things like “holy cats!”

Season: Winter

–> Background + Family

Birthplace: Middle o nowhere, Brecilian.

Titles and Jobs: In order: “Trouble”. Circle apprentice. Assistant to the Formari, Beatrice. Circle mage. Grey Warden. Warden Commander. Arl of Amaranthine (“Alistair this is... not going to go well.”) Chancellor. (“SERIOUSLY?! I'm glad I brought my own poison expert with me. We're both going to need one.”) Rebel Crow.

Family: Mother: Melia Surana (deceased). Father: Erwan Surana (estranged.) Grandfather: Reynard. Grandmother: Tesni (formerly of clan Surana.) Adopted siblings: Jowan, Silvana, Alistair. Found cousin of sorts: Nisha. (”Look, she was my girlfriend for a while so she can't be my sister, but she's family anyway.”) Husband: Zevran.

–> Personality + Morals

Personality Traits: wary, anxious, kind, affectionate, covetous, hedonistic, stubborn, loyal.

Fears: loss, tranquility, imprisonment, loneliness.

Liked Traits in Others: honesty, generosity, friendliness.

Disliked Traits in Others: zealotry, cruelty, bigotry.

–> Interests + Favourites

Favourite Foods: anything spicy, citrus fruits, pumpkin soup, creamy alcoholic drinks- lactose intolerance be damned.

Favourite Weather: He likes both warm, sunny days and also chilly rainstorms that encourage cuddling.

Favourite Animals: Hallas, hares, neat insects.

Hobbies/interests: tinkering, languages, singing, running around as an animal, healing and medicine even though he sucks at it. Also sleeping. That probably counts as a hobby- once he ever had time to do it.

–> Other Relationships

Current Romantic Partner (if any): Zevran

Closest Friends: Oghren, Morrigan, Anders (though that was a slow start- they hated eachother in school) and those already listed under “family”.

#meme thing #Macsen Surana #yeah he had a girlfriend once it happens #Honestly he likes all animals #And a lot of people

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october-rosehip · 7 years ago

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OC Questions Meme

I was tagged in by @madamsnark and will do this for Macsen.

GENERAL Name: Macsen Surana Alias(es): Hero of Ferelden, “Trouble” (Macsen interrupts) “Hey, that's A) private and B) ancient history.” Gender: Male Age: 18 in origins Date of birth: Autumn of 9:12 Dragon Place of birth: Middle of nowhere, Ferelden Spoken languages: Elvhen, Tevene, Common, Nevarran, “enough Orlesian not to embarrass myself” eventual Antivan. (Macsen grabs the pen out of my hands.) “Why don't I just answer these? Yes, I'm over-educated. I don't even know why they write magic books in Tevene in the first place. They don't even still speak it in Tevinter.” Sexual orientation: Gay Occupation: Grey Warden, King's Chancellor... (Macsen ducks back in) “Look, we could be here all day with this. I'm a doer of random things, all right? If the King of Ferelden, the Maestro of the Rebel Crows, or the Mage's collective need me to do something, I will do it. The First Warden can shove it, though.”

APPEARANCE Eye colour: “Blue” Hair colour: “Silvie Amell insisted on calling it 'brunette' which I'm pretty sure is just Orlesian for 'brown'.” Height: “Grrr. Are you trying to rub it in? I'm short, all right?” Scars: “Yes? Several.” Burns: “They healed all right but sometime I'll have to tell you about the time we went searching for a werewolf-tree-spirit-person in the Brecilian forest. I think we all caught fire at least four times each.” Overweight: “No.” Underweight: “Sometimes? It's not easy getting enough to eat during a civil war when you're wanted by the 'crown', the land is under a blight and all the farmers have run away.”

FAVOURITE Colour: “Green.” Hair colour: (Smiles wistfully) “Blonde” Eye colour: “It seems like nobody ever writes poetry about brown eyes but you really could.” Music genre: “Is city-elf-jam-session a genre?” Movie genre: “Is that like a play? I haven't seen very many. I like a happy ending, though.” Tv show: “A... what now?” Food: “Fruit. All of it, really. And anything spicy.” Drink: “Posset if it's cold or I'm tired. Oh, those are out of fashion where you’re from? Well it’s sort of a hot, boozy custard. Sweet wine otherwise.” Book: “Uhm. I like books a lot. I'm not sure I could pick one. I like histories and myths and adventures. Now if you want a good laugh, go ask Jowan that and see how much he blushes and if he's feeling honest, today. He’d like that Third...Archive... thing? you all seem to enjoy.”

HAVE THEY Passed university: “Does passing Circle apprenticeship count?” Had sex: “Yes.” Had sex in public: “Define... public? You can't really get away from people that much in either the circle or a campsite. If you mean in a tavern or something then no.” Gotten pregnant: (Laughs.) Kissed a boy: “Yes.” Kissed a girl: “Once.” Gotten tattoos: “Yes.” Gotten piercings: “Just my ears.” Had a broken heart: “...yes.” Been in love: “Yes.” Stayed up for more than 24 hours: “Yes.”

ARE THEY A virgin: “No.” A cuddler: “Yes, to an extreme degree and I'm not sorry.” A kisser: “Kissing is good.” Scared easily: “Um. Well what's important is I did the things anyway, right?” Jealous easily: “No.” Trustworthy: “I hope so.” Dominant: “Not originally, but I got there.” Submissive: “For fun or if self-preservation demands it.” In love: (gives tiny smile and fiddles with earring) “Yes.” Single: “No.”

RANDOM QUESTIONS Have they harmed themselves: “No. Look, as a mage that's just asking for the Chantry to call out the big dogs, you know?” Thought of suicide: “No point. Everybody else is always trying to kill me.” Attempted suicide: “No.” Wanted to kill someone: “Yes. Sometimes I even didn't.” Drove a car: “Like a carriage? No. I learned to ride both horses and halla, though.” Have/had a job: “Several. My first was as assistant to Beatrice, the Tranquil smith. Fine so it was technically a punishment for fighting, at first. But it worked out.” Have any fears: (Crosses arms) “I'm not going to tell you that.”

FAMILY sibling(s): “Probably. I'm told my father remarried, but I haven't met them.” parents: “Melia and Erwan Surana.” children: “I'm only likely to ever father the one, myself, but there's one thing the world is never short on and that's orphaned elves. Here, I drew them! I will show you my sketches...” (You really shouldn't have asked that. You now hear about the antics of assorted children for a half hour.) pets: “Is Fang a pet? I'm not sure Fang is a pet. Rain is definitely not a pet. I keep having furry people around, whom I would not care to imply are merely pets. I'd keep rabbits if I had more time for them.”

I would like to tag in @starlanellfic, @panterry, and @thesecondsealwrites, and anybody else with long, unwieldy projects who’d like to show off their characters. No obligation of course, especially since I picked busy people.

#surana #Macsen surana #meme thing #OC

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