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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year ago

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House of Chains

Part VI

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.4k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

P.S. Finally, the long-awaited twist!

_________

At first, Daemon's face betrays nothing as if he hadn't heard you. You think he might consider it a joke as anyone else probably would: you don't look like a lunatic, asking to be burnt by a dragon. Hell, you went as far as travel to Dragonstone, to the lair of your worst enemy, for this, somehow evading soldiers and Rhaenyra's supporters on your way. Daemon surely thinks there is some catch.

"So dramatic," he muses, making an imperative sign with his hand to make Caraxes quiet, the dragon restless behind his back, eager to have you between its teeth. "There are enough dragons in the Red Keep. Why mine?"

You feel yourself trembling, droplets of sweat sliding down your back from fear and pressure. No, no, you can't. You must stay firm, or it'll all go to Hell. Daemon should believe your lies.

"I am pregnant with Aemond's child," you declare, loud, the sound multiplying and echoing deep in the cavern, and Daemon's face finally changes, eyebrows raising. "He forced himself on me. His payment for all I've done for him and his brother, I suppose. And I better die in flames than work for him again."

Luce whimpers softly against you, a bit of blood staining his grey collar.

Before Daemon can ask you questions and ruin your story, you continue, "Why should you care? Because you don't want me alive. You know I'm not truly a Hightower, don't you?"

There's a recognition in his eyes, and Daemon bows his head mockingly as you draw a deep breath, griping the blade harder so it won't escape your sweaty palms.

"I am behind the murder of the White Worm and most of her spies," you smile, baring your teeth at him like an animal. "I killed Ser Harrold Westerling when I found out he supported Rhaenyra's claim, and many others who thought they could fake their promises to King Aegon II. I've been spying, torturing, and killing your wife's friends in the Red Keep for more than 2 years. But Hightower betrayed me, and I'd rather die than give birth to Aemond's child."

The more you talk, the more Daemon's face twists in cold fury, his hand clenching a torch like it was a sword. Does he believe you? It is, perhaps, difficult to trust a word of a woman who looked too young and too feeble to do any of those things, but you have arrived to the Dragonstone undetected and even took Lucerys hostage despite the castle being full of guards, lords, and servants. It isn't a coincidence, and Daemon has always been too suspicious of you, a girl appearing out of nowhere and serving the Queen with too much vigor.

The anger and a thousand of other emotions in his eyes give you some hope.

"Burn me, Daemon Targaryen." You exclaim loudly, trying to make him act, your hand trembling. "Send my charred remains to Aemond as a gift. I'm sure it is a fair price for the sins I've committed."

"Why going such a long way?" The man suddenly asks, and you freeze, afraid you won't answer his question. "You could have jumped from the balcony and killed yourself instantly."

You lick your lips nervously. "I could, and Aemond would grieve me. But when he knows I prefer to go to his greatest enemy and have my body burnt rather than marry him, he'll be enraged."

Finally, you see a ghost of a smile on the Rouge Prince's lips. Yes, this is violent, resentful enough, a good reason for him to believe you. Mysaria's murderer wouldn't want to die like a faint lady-in-waiting. She'd want revenge. She'd want her betrayer to hate, not mourn her.

Daemon makes a move with his hand, and Caraxes crawls closer. There isn't much for him to lose.

"Let the boy go, and I'll burn you," he simply says, and you are ready to burst from the surge of adrenaline, your heart beating wildly.

He said yes. Daemon said yes, and you'll be going home.

"But please, burn me for long!" You almost cried out, too excited to keep calm and almost releasing your grip on the boy. "Burn me till there are only bones left."

Lucerys weeps in your grasp, but you don't hear him. You don't even feel the handle of the dagger in your own hand, eyes on Daemon as he smirks, recognizing a fellow monster he thinks you are, a daring creature dressed in white cloaks's robes and armor that don't even fit you. It is impossible to not recognize a woman in men's clothes, and yet no one asked questions when you boarded the ship. No one saw anything suspicious when you landed. No one demanded an explanation why a woman was marching in the Dragonstone castle among the Kingsguard. No one saw you kidnapping Rhaenyra's son.

Perhaps it is true you murdered Misariya and her spies. He knew somebody did. You are sure he thought of Larys, the slippery bastard, but tracking down so many spies in such a short time seemed very unlikely for him without someone's intervention.

Someone who could point at the right people as if by magic.

Truly, you are a creature he would never understand, but Daemon is not a fool. Leaving a dark horse like you alive is too much of a luxury when you are conveniently asking for death right in front of him.

The man nods, and you gigle like a madwoman.

"I'll let Lucerys go on the count of three," you announce, and Caraxes steps closer, his monstrous, clawed feet leaving giant imprints on the ground, and you feel the earth tremble a little. "Shoot the flames then."

It's a horrifying feeling, but you are electrified, every part of your body filled with magic you saved for the last incantation. You are going home. You will be back to the Tower, free to join your teacher and family. No more gloomy stone castles with their ice-cold chambers and pesky kings. No more swords, heavy armor, pretentious dresses, and silly jewels. No more spying and murder.

No more Hightowers and Targaryens.

"I'm sorry, kid," you whisper to the boy before you start counting. "One. Two."

Luce stills against you, color drained from his face.

"Three."

You drop your dagger, and he dashes to the side, holding his neck as if it bleeds profusely, but you don't look at him. Your eyes are on Caraxes and how it unclenches its massive jaw, fire building up inside its throat like in a forge of a blacksmith. It should be enough. Caraxes is not a young dragon, and his strength might rival Vhagar's. It will be enough.

When it unleashes its flames, the words of the incantation are ready on your tongue, and you feel the glow filling you up like hot air fills a giant balloon. It's working. Caraxes' fire is enough.

You chant, and you chant, and you chant until the world starts spinning around you, and the cave, the dragon, and the men finally blend into the great nothing.

________

Subtle wind plays with your hair.

You stand in the midst of the dead gardens of Babylon, surrounded by hollow grey trees that had dried up a thousand years before you were born. Their crooked forms don't scare you: you are far too familiar with the view, wandering here after each of your trips to the other worlds. On the contrary, if anything, it is comforting.

You have arrived safely back to the world of the Tower. You can even see it from here, its tall, proud form making you tranquil and nostalgic.

Unbelievable. You are home.

You have to wipe away the tears with your dirty hands before you can take a step towards it. You've made it. Soon, you'll be sitting on the red and yellow pillows in the great hall, listening to your teacher berating you for such a dangerous journey, eating barley soop and garlic bread, and wearing a long embroidered tunic and your many necklaces and rings. You will never see Westeros again. You won't even step out of the Tower before you feel whole again, pulling your old self back piece by piece before you remember nothing of the stupid, cruel world you have been a prisoner for two long years.

You are free to do as you like.

But when you make a step towards the Tower, you hear someone's sigh behind your back. And when you turn your head, you see a man dressed in black leather who sits on the trunk of a fallen tree.

__________

Aemond Targaryen stares back at you, a crooked smile spread over his face.

Part VII

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond #hotd #house of the dragon #the house of the dragon #ewan nation #yandere

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milesmentis · 7 months ago

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I SAID 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

Bring Jowan Back For DA4 Challenge 2k22

#jowan #my emotional support blood mage #da4 non news

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checkoutmybookshelf · 2 years ago

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Welcome to Emelan

My (super subjective and objectively non-empirical) experience has been that Tamora Pierce's Tortall Universe is where most of her fans begin, and it seems to be her more popular universe. Heck, I started in Tortall. But as I read more, and found more of Pierce's books, I found the Circle Universe, and I gotta say, for all my love and nostalgia for the Tortall Universe, I think my heart lives in Emelan with Sandry, Briar, Daja, and Tris. I certainly tried to balance my Rosethorn half with my Lark tendencies and my extremely Niko academic oeuvre when I was teaching, and I love that the Circle Universe gets away from more traditional medieval europe settings. Let's talk The Circle of Magic Quartet.

Sandry's Book introduces the world, the magic system, and our four protagonists. Sandreline Fa Toren is almost royalty in two countries and has exactly zero compunction about hopping back and forth between "just Sandy" and "Lady Sandreline" as the occasion calls for it. We love her, and honestly she's perfect. Joining Sandry at Discipline Cottage in Winding Circle Temple are former street rat Briar Moss, neglected and rejected merchant daughter Trisana Chandler, and orphaned and exiled Trader Daja Kisubo.

This book brings the four together and they learn that they are ambient mages--mages who manipulate the power inherent in the world rather than mages who use power inherent in themselves (academic mages). The magic system in the Circle Universe is objectively my favorite, because it is so detailed and so nuanced and so tied to craftsmanship. It's something I've never seen done better than it is here. And because our four protagonists are incredible, they also manage to spin their powers together, making them exponentially stronger together than they could have imagined being individually--which is just a stunnign thematic tie-in. A+ no notes.

Tris's Book explores Tris's past, her magic, and the choices she has to make to keep her terrifyingly powerful weather magic under control despite her deep emotional wounds and temper. Tris is honestly one of my two favorite characters in this series because this girl just has SO MANY feelings and she has to literally learn to take herself in hand to not accidentally hurt or kill anyone. It also explores Tris's relationships to her blood and found families, and Pierce makes no bones about how sometimes family can be irredeemably toxic, and that it's ok to choose the found family that loves and supports you. Honestly Tris needs a hug, but good luck getting through the lightning to give it to her.

This book also really deepens the relationships between each protagonist and their teachers. I love how much time Pierce spends in all of her books focusing on student-teacher relationships, and the ones here, in a literal educational setting (non-traditional though it is), are top tier. This continues to be expanded in later books, but Niko and Tris's relationship really cements here and I love them as a student and teacher.

Also, there are pirates in this book. That's pretty cool.

Daja's Book takes reader and protagonists beyond the walls of Winding Circle and expands the world at the end of a difficult, dry summer that was poised for a firey fall and a possible starving winter. The Duke of Emelan is touring the outer estates to assess who needs what help and what he can do.

Meanwhile, the book explores Trader culture and Daja's relationship to it. This is done so spectacularly that I am loath to give any spoilers, but suffice it to say that not only does this book explore the downsides of exclusionary cultural practices, it also explores the complex emotions of being excluded and both knowing it's wrong but desperately missing being included. Disability is also handled spectacularly in this book, and I love it for that.

While Daja is exploring her own culture from the outside, Sandry, Briar, and Tris are dealing with the aftermath of spinning their powers together in Sandry's Book. This is very much a subplot, but it works beautifully to expand the worldbuilding and magic system.

Briar's Book sees everyone return to Emelan proper, and this book hits DIFFERENT after 2020. Winding Circle must deal with a mysterious plague, and honestly after Covid, I can't actually read this book without sobbing. It's damn good, and Briar and Rosethorn are just the absolute peak student-teacher relationship. This book also really highlights Briar and Tris's relationship, which will continue to grow and develop throuhgout the Circle Universe books.

I absolutely recommend these books. Tamora Pierce is technically YA, but the protagonists are between 10 and 12 in these books, so they might feel more middle-grade than YA at times, but that truly does not diminish any of the very human themes and challenges.

These books also have absolutely stunningly performed and edited full-cast audiobooks, and I cannot recommend those enough either. I now read these books in the voice actors' voices, and that just makes the whole experience more magical.

#tamora pierce #circle universe #emelan #sandry's book #tris's book #daja's book #briar's book #briar moss #daja kisubo #trisana chandler #sandrilene fa toren #circle of magic #ya fiction #ya fantasy #books & libraries #books and reading #books and novels #book recommendations #books

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ofandrastes · 14 days ago

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@softersinned said;

[APPROVAL + Elliott] She looks up at the sound of the door opening. He has made a point of keeping some distance between them, and she understands (she does!) until she doesn't, anymore. And she misses him—gods, she misses him, so sharply it feels like an open wound. That he's arrived now is no surprise, and Astoria sets her pen down to meet Hawke's eyes, expression calm, hands steady. There is some piece of her that's almost eager for the fight. Even a fight is better than this—dancing around one another as if afraid that the fragile peace between them will shatter, and in doing so, leave one another damaged beyond repair. "Sit." She gestures at the weathered wooden chair across from her at her table. The little cabin where she's taken up residence reminds her of the flat in Lowtown. She tries not to think about the first time he sat at her table there. "You don't like my decision to seek out the Templars. Tell me. I want to hear what you have to think."

He's seeing red.

Which, historically, wouldn't be an unusual state for Hawke to find himself. Anger is an emotion that he knows well, one that's both anchored him and sabotaged him, one that's been etched into his very flesh and bones from the moment he was told he had to shield himself, to hide his magic -- one of the few things that made him alive, whole. It's always been there, gnawing at him. Shaping him. A constant companion through every loss, each death a chisel carving away pieces of him until there was hardly anything left. Malcolm, Bethany, Carver, Leandra-- all another crack in his fragile foundation. Over time, those fractures deepened, splitting him apart until he became merely fragments held together by the sheer will and weight of his rage.

Time alone has tempered that anger -- dulled its sharpest edges, though it hasn’t fully healed the wounds that fuel it, the thrumming of ire in his bones still ever-present, but he's grown tired. The years spent on the run, the relentless weight of loneliness bordering on torturous, have given him something unexpected: clarity. Hawke will never truly find inner peace, no, but at some point, the endless war he’s waged against himself--against his pain, his regrets, his anger--had become exhausting.

But this -- Astoria's decision to ally with the Templars -- it brings out an ire in him that he's unable to temper.

He's kept his distance until now, apart from their initial reunion. Even as he confronts her here, he can still feel the ghost of that embrace now--the warmth of her against him, the shudder of her breath as though simply knowing he was alive was enough. But was it just that? Or was it something more? Hawke doesn’t dare let himself wonder.

And he can't -- not with the way his blood boils as her words meet his ears. A calloused hand grips the back of the chair, fingers curling around the wood with enough force to strain it. "I'd rather stand." Hawke retorts, jaw set. Her calmness almost unsettles him -- is this truly the same woman he'd come to know all those years ago? Surely, it can’t be. Not with how readily she seems to have discarded everything that she -- everything that they -- stood for.

"To say that I don't like your decision is a gross understatement," he continues, voice thick with anger as the wood crackles beneath his hand. "You're condemning all of those rebel mages to death --" Condemning him to death, even, considering word of his magic was revealed after the explosion at the Chantry, "you do understand that, don't you? By allying with the Templars, you’re not just aligning the Inquisition with them--you’re supporting the very scum who’d see us all in chains. Or Tranquil. Or worse." Surely, he doesn't have to explain this to her; she knows this.

"Has power made you forget yourself? Or are you fully aware of the implications of your actions, but are choosing to ignore them? The Herald of Andraste --" he spits the title with palpable disdain. "Please. It's a fucking farce." His scoff is cruel, hollow, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"I remember a time when you'd laughed at the absurdity of the Chantry, at their hypocrisy -- when sacrilege wasn't wasn't an offence, but a hobby." Hawke can't help but think back to those late evenings -- few, yet memorable -- when the two of them had sinned over and over again at the very altar of Andraste herself. A shameless act of blasphemy, a quiet mockery of the faith that sought to control them.

"All of this, it's --" he lets go of the chair, arms crossing instead over his chest with a huff, "I more than dislike your decision. I loathe it."

HAWKE GREATLY DISAPPROVES.

#verse; dragon age.#muse; elliott hawke.#pairing; softersinned.#( GEORGE IS GETTIN UPSET )

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officialleehadan · 3 months ago

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Alternative Uses

hello darlings! Prompt month continues! Hopefully I'll be able to get the stories out a little faster in the coming weeks. Today's story was brought to you by Six! Darling, thank you so much for your support!

Prompt: Blood Fire

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Keeli never knew that Morzan could heal.

Generally, healing was the domain of light-path mages. The realm of those who were capable of magic other than destruction. Keeli couldn’t do it. She had thought healing as a dark-path mage was impossible.

Except Morzan wasn’t just a dark-path mage, he was a blood-mage, and apparently that came with more than just his preferred flavor of ghoulish murder.

His temper, however, remained as fiery as ever.

“If you move, I will take your leg off at the knee and leave you to bleed out,” he snarled to the man he was attempting to save. The farmer caught the wrong end of an axe during the bandit attack. He was bleeding terribly when Keeli and Morzan reached him, but Morzan pulled his dark, bloody magic around his hands and got to work. “This is difficult enough as it is!”

Despite his harsh words, his hands were swift and as gentle as could be managed. The farmer’s blood wove around his fingers in ribbons until they flowed back into the man’s veins, and stayed there.

“Can you mend it?” Keeli asked, primarily serving as a source of power, although Morzan gathered plenty off the bandits they killed. He had stored the death energy away in a pocket full of crystals, ready for use later. He was probably gathering power off this man’s pain too. The power was there, whether or not he drew it from the air, after all. It didn’t harm the many any for Morzan to take the magic that naturally gathered around strong emotions. “His wound?”

“Not like a true healer could, but I can keep him from bleeding out, and I can close it up,” Morzan said, and focused hard on his work. Keeli slipped into his thoughts to see what he was doing, and watched intently. He pulled on her power and she fed it to him in a steady stream. “I can clot it. It won’t serve to heal the damage. If there wasn’t a true healer available, he would still be in danger.”

It was just as well that the man himself had passed out as Morzan worked, and also that the town did have not one but three healers, one of whom had a pair of apprentices as well. They were making the rounds of the wounded, but Keeli and Morzan were doing their best to help.

Morzan’s unexpected talent for saving lives, rather than taking them, seemed to surprise them both.

“I’ve mostly done this on myself,” Morzan explained when one of the healers reached them, traded thankful nods, and took his place to begin mending the worst of the damage. She probably wouldn’t heal it completely; there were still a lot of wounded who needed attention. The bandit attack caught too many people outside the walls, and the death toll was still mounting. “After… well. It works. That’s what matters. Blood doesn’t have to be used the way I usually use it.”

“It’s good to see a blood mage using the power for something useful, for once.”

It was the most senior of the healers. An aged man who leaned on his walking stick as if he hadn’t just used it to bash in he head of one of the bandits. He had a swing like an ogre. Keeli didn’t want to be on the wrong end of that stick.

“Most of us are fairly mad,” Morzan said wryly and joined the healer at the next patient, a woman who sported several nasty cuts on her arms. The reward for saving the lives of several young children. The healer brushed his fingers over her forehead and Keeli caught her and eased her to the ground as she fell asleep on the spot. Kinder than the alternative, given the healer was pulling out supplies to stitch the cuts. “If she doesn’t need magic, I can do that.”

“She needs both,” the healer said, and offered a hand to shake. “My name is Feverfew. You’re Morzan, yes? And Keeli? Heard the others call you by name.”

“You have us,” Keeli said. He pointed to hi satchel and she retrieved it for him. “How do we help?”

“You’re already helping by taking some of the load off us,” Feverfew told her briskly and got to work, cleaning the cuts. He passed a bottle to Morzan. “Coat all of them in that. Be generous. I have more.”

“As you say,” Morzan said and got to work. Keeli wondered at how obedient he was being, and jumped when he gave her a little mental snap for the thought. He also offered an explanation. (I respect healers. Always have. They’re the other side of my work as a blood mage. They gain power by helping as I do by killing.)

(Healers don’t gain power by healing,) Keeli pointed out, and moved to hold one of the cuts closed so Feverfew could stitch it closed with tiny, neat stitches. (We’re the only ones who gain power by spending it.)

(Are you so sure?) Morzan asked and tilted his head at Feverfew. (Look again. Properly.)

Keeli blinked at him, but let her magesight slip over her eyes as he instructed. In this, he was very much her superior and she was inclined to take any instruction he would offer.

At first, there was nothing but the glow of Feverfew’s magic, contained and cleverly-used not for healing, but for warding the wound against infection. It was a good use of power, and would have a longer lasting effect than simply closing the wounds right off.

Then she looked more closely, looked more carefully, and felt the shiver of wonder slide down her spine.

(Low magic,) she said to Morzan triumphantly. (I never saw it before because it’s not magic they’re using, it’s magic that is reacting to them, right)

(Right,) Morzan said. He sent her the tiniest curl of pride that she got it so quickly. (And it gives me an idea for how to deal with my Mistress. We can’t fight her. She’ll tear us apart. But her tower… how much do you know about rubies?)

+++

Blood Fire: (FULL COLLECTION)

Blood Mist

Flower Crown Dreams (Subscriber Only!)

Runes Written

Blood Fire

Red Salt Warning (Subscriber Only!)

Hunter Cry (Subscriber Only!)

Cool Water Bond

Runes Written Gold

Argument Array

Dreamless Sleep

Forget Our Yesterdays

At the Last Moment

Healing Touch

Unbound, Unbroken

Blood Runes (Subscriber Only)

Ink in Water

In Dreaming Promise (Subscriber Only)

Rupture

In Conflict

Heading Out (Subscriber Only)

Dream a Life

Unexpected Salvo (Subscriber Only)

Alternative Uses (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

#Writing #Lee Hadan #fantasy #scifi #spilled ink #writing prompts

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milesmentis · 2 years ago

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DeeDee what the fuck

do it.

What if I let Zevran tattoo lilies on Jowan’s chest over his heart, as a treat

#jowan #my emotional support blood mage

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 2 months ago

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Sol Magee

(For a little extra context about this character, go here.)

My very first fanego based off of Ash from GtLive

Since EldritchPlier has a human friend/ally/follower, it’s only fair that LeviathanPat gets a mortal companion, too. (After all, I created him—along with Caliban and my other EgoPats—because I wanted some characters to parallel some of Mark’s egos.) This means Sol gets some sick bragging rights due to being one of very few humans who can hang out with L.P. without the risk of death or insanity.

Her friendship with L.P. revolves around The Abnormal Orchard, a macabre museum built on the primary portion of L.P.’s territory on Earth. On top of showcases a collection of preserved specimens and oddities (many of which are the results of L.P.’s “experimenting hobby”), it also doubles as a horror/surreal art gallery (many of which come with some nasty old curses).

In fact, Sol actually came to the museum before they ever even met L.P.. She inherited the property a couple months after the former owner—a relative of hers—died under very strange circumstances. (That’s a story for another day, but let’s just say professional morticians were…a little shocked. Flabbergasted, you might say. Bamboozled, even.)

If you’ve read this story of mine, then you already know that L.P. was kept imprisoned in an underground cavern for at least a few millennia. However, despite all the distance between him and other living entities, he still had a strong psychological connection to his territory. So, of course, he can sense pretty much everything that goes on in/around The Abnormal Orchard. Meaning he sensed when Sol arrived. It didn’t take very long for her to hear his voice in her head while she moved into the private suite that was built close to the museum itself.

Now, irl Ash is nothing if not the personification of “Be Gay, Do Crime” and Sol here is no different. Much like Cruz, they have a disturbing knack for being casual when faced with the supernatural. Only, Sol has even more unconventional energy when it comes to their projects. Enough unconventional energy to have ended up genuinely impressing L.P. (Yeah, that's right! Sol is the type to go for LEATHER JACKETS instead of CLOAKS for rituals!)

Interactions between the two of them were symbiotic at first, but that still managed to grow into legit casual bonding (as casual as you can get with an outer monstrosity, that is). All the while, L.P. decided to teach Sol the ins and outs of occultism, whereas Sol put rituals/offerings together for him.

When L.P. finally managed to escape his prison, the first thing he did (after taunting the unfortunate characters who released him by accident) was travel to The Abnormal Orchard and officially meet Sol in person, who welcomed him with open arms and helped him make a proper lair in the building's attic.

In the way of a ceremonial tool, Sol has a trusty flint-striker knife! Yes, it's smaller than Cruz's gut-hook skinner knife. NO, YOU SHOULD NOT UNDERESTIMATE IT BECAUSE OF THAT. It's absorbed plenty of paranormal juju from all of Sol's shenanigans; it can cut much, much deeper (and therefore draw much more blood) than you'd think. Oh, and its striking half can produce both simple sparks and lashing flames. Just depends on circumstance. (Also, Sol would totally go out of her way to use rainbow flint for the striking. Because, again: "Be Gay, Do Crime...")

Macaroon ain't the only vaguely cat-shaped monstrosity out here! Enter Charcoal: Sol's questionable emotional/moral support, based off of irl Ash's very own Charlie! Where Macaroon was a gift from E.P. to Cruz, Charcoal was a stray alley cat that L.P. guided Sol to find and take in. One complex-yet-strangely-wholesome ritual later, she learned that some cats out there have apparently evolved from DRAGONS. (Hey, c'mon, I've gotta keep a fire-theme going.) Since Charcoal is allowed to roam The Abnormal Orchard at pretty much all hours, he has a glamor to wear around humans other than his owner. But when it comes to rituals, black fur pulls away to reveal a dark scaled, horned, fire-breathing, wyvern-esque wing and barbed-tail having lil' beastie.

Their ritual protection mask is heavily inspired by this one I just happened to find one evening. Of course, I don’t want to plagiarize, so I had to make a few tweaks to the design-concept in my head. For one thing, the eye-holes would come with a pair of small glass lenses; that way, the user can still see without risk of going blind or having their eyes turn into baby-heads or whatever. For another thing, rather than leather, the material would likely be painted porcelain or something similar—since irl Ash and Matt were both theater kids, I wanted to reference those classic masquerade costumes. And for a final thing, it comes with the outline of a mouth. Specifically speaking, a toothy mouth like the one of this other mask. Here’s the catch, though: Sol’s mask would have a combination of smile on the left side, and frown on the right side (again, to reference classic theater masks. Specifically Comedy and Tragedy).

@sammys-magical-au @inkbedou

#my fanegos #fanmade egos #sol magee #sol the semi-cultist #ash gtlive #ash egos #charcoal the cat-dragon #leviathanpat #matpat #egopats #matthew patrick #my writing #my stories #future stories #stanning the uncanny #(my au)

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milesmentis · 1 year ago

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It's always a good day to share the Jowan theme song :)

#liar #the arcadian wild #jowan dragon age #my emotional support blood mage #he is everything to me #Spotify

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soulcluster · 2 months ago

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some thoughts about Lucanis & Spite, with Veilguard + Tevinter Nights spoilers

I've been thinking lately about Lucanis and Spite and especially in comparison to Anders and Justice. I haven't seen all of his paths in the game yet, but a supported Lucanis is able to make peace with Spite and the two start to work together as one. They hardly face the same challenges as Anders and Justice did. I thought about this for awhile and I think partially it can be traced back to how the two men were trained.

Lucanis is obviously not a mage, but as a Crow he did undergo severe training. Tevinter Nights explains how his grandma beat him with her cane, that he can still feel the tingle of it on his back, and how she starved him for days when training him as a crow. he says in Veilgaurd that he resented her for it...but that he doesn't anymore.

To me, I think he just repressed all of his feelings on the matter out of survival. he could not escape the crows, he could not escape his family, but if he kept resenting how he had been raised then it wouldn't end well for him (this is my speculation/headcanon, I'm unsure yet if this is expanded on in some manner I haven't seen yet)

Spite was forced on him after a year of being locked away and tortured, and I think Lucanis only came out of that as well as he did because he'd already been subjected to something similar in his youth. And despite these circumstances, Spite and Lucanis don't seem to have the same dynamic/issues as Anders and Justice.

Pivoting to Anders, one of the Veilguard codexes talks about possession.

Anders isn't the first companion we've had with a spirit either. Wynne was possessed by a spirit of compassion and those two co-existed. Easier, I'm sure, since that emotion was much more benevolent, but I think it's also important to note that Wynne was older when it happened and much more confident in herself. Even when Anders accepted Justice, he was Justice and not Vengeance.

So to me one of the big key differences between Lucanis and Anders is that Anders received poor training from the Ferelden Circle, and though he grew to be proud of his magic and would fight for mage rights, he was still raised with that shame. That lack of foundational training made it easier for him to have a rift with Justice. However, if that was all, maybe things would've turned out OK. Probably the bigger factor to Anders was Kirkwall itself. It was a hotbed of blood magic, which weakened the Veil and made things unstable. Kirkwall was also pretty much a cursed location because of all the slaves and blood magic that had been there previously.

Lucanis has the benefit of both being a very disciplined man and also spending most of his time at the Lighthouse. It's said somewhere, probably one of the banters or convos around the place, that the Lighthouse protects them all from the worst of the Fade. It's a much more peaceful location compared to Kirkwall and Lucanis was not dealing with a very personal, long standing struggle for mage rights that would see him and those he loved dead if he didn't do something. They're in such vastly different circumstances with vastly different personalities and ways to approach their problems. Comparing them has been really interesting

When I write Lucanis I do plan to do a bit more with Spite, but right now I'm also still soaking up a lot of info. My first playthrough I saved Treviso and this time I plan to save Minrathous and I know Lucanis takes that hard so I'm eager to see how his personality shifts.

#hc: lucanis dellamorte #veilguard spoilers #it's a little funny to me that while emmrich is definitely my favorite romance #lucanis has wormed his way into my brain rather deep #I'm obsessed with this lil guy #edit: i did not proofread this and my thoughts are probably scrambled

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its-jaytothemee · 6 months ago

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Until I Met You - Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Familiar Faces

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 5,514

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav and the gang work to free up the tiefling prisoners from Moonrise. When they finally return to Last Light, someone new is there waiting. Part 27 of the slow burn fic. Tav and Halsin POVs.

Tags: Slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual love confessions, eventual smut, angst, implied past rape/non-con and abuse, graphic description of injuries, brief suicidal thoughts.

A/N: Bit of a longer chapter but it'll be worth it! So thankful for everyone who has continued reading and supporting <3

Tav wiped the sweat from her brow as she examined the small group of dead guards at their feet. The overwhelming odor of death and decay sat in a thick haze around them, stinging her eyes and nostrils.

Karlach had immediately started a fight with the guards at the bottom of the stairs when a scrying eye startled her and she slammed it into the nearest wall.

“What’s the point of having a safe word if you’re going to dash ahead of us anyway, darling?” Astarion scolded Karlach in a low whisper as he wiped his daggers clean on one of the cultist’s robes.

“Sorry, there’s just something about the way those scrying eyes feel when I throw them against the wall. I got excited.” She yanked her sword out of the chest of the mage she had killed.

Tav kept a wary eye on the doorway in front of them. If any other guards had heard their little kerfuffle, they were being remarkably quiet about it.

“Let’s move the bodies out of view and keep moving.”

They were able to stash the bodies in a side room before moving into the main prison area. Blood and gods only know what else clung to every inch of the place. With each step, her boots stuck to the ground ever so slightly, making a light popping noise each time she picked up her foot. She took note of the two guards patrolling the large chamber containing a row of prison cells with a large central tower overlooking the room.

And another scrying eye.

“Chk. I do not like these humming purple orbs that seem to be prevalent among this cult,” Lae’zel hissed behind her. “I can feel their gaze following me no matter where I turn.”

“We’ll need to take care of both of them before we can get any prisoners out,” Tav whispered, “otherwise they’ll cry for reinforcements and then we’ll be well and truly fucked.” To her side, she saw Karlach’s hands twitch.

“Not yet, Karlach. We need to find the prisoners first,” She kept her voice low as they approached the cells.

To Tav’s relief, one of the first cells they passed held a few familiar faces. Multiple tieflings sat in the cell, two of them were leaning on the bars at the front.

No Zevlor or Mol though.

As they continued her stroll through the dungeon, she spotted another cell, filled with gnomes. She started to approach them, but one of the True Souls stopped her.

“You! True Soul! These prisoners are for Disciple Balthazar’s attention only.” She glared at their small adventuring party.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a loyal assistant to him, isn’t it?” Tav snapped back. “He sent me back from the Thorm mausoleum to question these prisoners on his behalf. Shall I make the long trek all the way through the shadows to tell him why you stopped me from following his orders?”

“A-apologies, I wasn’t aware.” Tav’s sudden outburst seemed to startle the guard. “Please, carry on, and do pass on my apologies to Balthazar.” She gave a quick, nervous bow before hurrying away.

The True Soul continued her patrolling of the prison. Tav could feel the eyes of the prisoners on her as she studied the guard’s path, trying to make sure the mess from their previous encounter wasn’t discovered. Satisfied, she approached the cell holding the gnomes.

“I’m looking for someone named Wulbren,” Tav kept her voice soft, “is he still alive?”

“You bet your sorry ass I’m still alive, you cultist freak,” he shot back at her.

Tav smirked. “I’m not with the cult, someone named Barcus Wroot sent me to find you.”

“Barcus…” The suspicion in his eyes started to fade. “But you ordered that guard about as if you were the godsdamned Absolute herself. Why would a True Soul want to help us?”

“I’m not really a True Soul,” Tav looked around, keeping an eye out for the guards to return, “I’m here to get you–”

She was cut off by a guard returning.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his questioning eyes scanned their small group.

“I’ll handle this one.” Astarion took a few graceful strides up to the True Soul.

“Dreadfully sorry, these prisoners are being so stubborn. Nothing for you to worry yourself over, my brother under the Absolute.” He flashed a dazzling smile at the guard, Tav just groaned.

“Disciple Balthazar never gave orders for these prisoners to be questioned. They’re to be taken below once his research is completed.” He ignored Astarion’s reassurances with ease.

“Oh, fuck it,” Astarion rolled his eyes, “Karlach, darling?”

She perked up next to Tav, the temperature around them began to rise with the heat from her skin.

“I think this guard needs a healthy dose of whizbangs.”

“Fuck yes.” She grinned as she swung her sword up high over her head before bringing it down into the soft flesh where his neck met his shoulder. Just for good measure, Lae’zel drove her own sword into his abdomen.

He fell to the ground, the muscles on his face frozen in a look of shock. His blood seeped from the gaping wounds to add its crimson to the stained floor.

“And that’s how we handle that.” Karlach brushed her hands together and gave a proud nod.

An ear-piercing wail rang through the dungeon.

Tav whipped around to see the other scrying eye had joined them. The reverberation from its cries bounced off the walls and echoed throughout the rooms.

The other guard on patrol whipped around to face them.

“Shit…Karlach, now would be a good time to crush that scrying eye against the wall before it calls this whole fucking tower down,” Tav growled as she launched an arrow into the shoulder of the advancing guard.

“Right!” She made a frantic lunge at the purple orb, but it swerved away at the last second, sending Karlach tumbling to the ground.

Lae’zel started making arcing swipes at the guard as they closed in, catching them in the side and slicing through their armor. Astarion finished them off with a frighteningly quick stab of a dagger in their throat.

Yet another scrying eye let out a blood-curdling screech.

“Anytime you’d like to take care of those scrying eyes, Karlach, it would be most appreciated!” Shadowheart bellowed as a bolt of radiant energy flew right past it.

“How many of these fuckers do they have?!” Tav yelled as she fired an arrow at one of them. It bounced off the orb without even leaving a scratch.

Gale spun around to focus his attention on the closest one. A loud crack of thunder sounded in the room, leaving a small crater where he had cast the spell, and a pile of dust that used to be a scrying eye.

“C’mere you little shit!” Karlach snarled as she chased down the other one.

Just the one scrying eye left, so far so–

“What in the nine hells is going on out here?!”

The fighting came to a screeching halt at the newcomer’s voice.

Another True Soul came marching out from the tower that stood tall in the middle of the room. Her ornate robes and intimidating presence made Tav guess that this was the Warden of the prison.

Tav stood poised with an arrow on her bowstring, Karlach next to her palming a scrying eye, arm cocked back and ready to throw it against the nearest wall.

They shared a brief look with one another before Tav shook off the shock of the new addition and fired an arrow into the Warden’s leg. She recoiled with a groan but kept her balance.

With her movement, the rest of her friends resumed their attacks.

Karlach turned and hurled the scrying eye into the Warden’s chest. The orb cracked against her breastplate before landing on the ground in fragmented chunks.

Thank the gods those are gone.

Gale’s and Wyll’s hands came alive with magic. Lines of fire and pure force shot from their fingertips at their new opponent.

The Warden had recovered from their initial attacks and aimed her crossbow at Karlach. The bolt soared through the air to hit her bicep, causing her grip to falter on her sword.

Astarion had dashed ahead of them, evading multiple shots from her crossbow before reaching her side and driving a dagger into her shoulder. She stumbled, but once again recovered quickly.

Karlach scrambled to pick her weapon off the floor. Blood poured from the wound in her arm in pulsing streams as she ripped the arrow out. Tav stashed her bow and ran to her side.

“Cover us!” she yelled at the others as she started a quick healing spell. It was enough to stop the bleeding, but not enough to close the wound all the way.

Astarion continued dancing around the Warden, slicing at her limbs and dodging attacks as they came.

Lae’zel charged in behind him, making the most of his distraction. The Warden was only able to get one more shot off before the greatsword pierced her throat, causing her to fall to the ground with a gurgling gasp.

“Fucking hells…” one of the tieflings yelled from their cell.

“Shadowheart! I need your help,” Tav called out. She came running over to Karlach and took over the healing. Between the two of them, they were able to get her wound mended.

“Ah, look at this,” Astarion flashed a small key ring in his fingers, “the perfect ingredients for a jailbreak.”

Tav walked up to the tieflings’ cell to get a better look at the people being held there. She counted only four prisoners.

“It’s you! You were the one who saved us at the grove!” one of the tieflings shouted from the back of the cell.

“Do you know where the rest of your kin are?” she asked, craning her neck to see around the corners.

“We’re the only ones here, friend.” The tiefling that spoke up was Lia, if she remembered correctly. She had convinced her and her two brothers to stay in the grove after the goblin attack.

“You haven’t seen Zevlor? Or Mol?”

“Mol wasn’t with us, and Zevlor can suffer below in every layer of the hells for all I care,” Lia snapped back.

Okay, we don’t have time to learn what that was all about right now.

“What about Arabella’s parents?”

“Komira and Locke? They weren’t captured with us, I saw them running away,” another tiefling answered.

This is all that’s left?

Tav shook the grief away, forcing herself to focus back on the task at hand.

“Okay, now in the nine hells are we going to get everyone out of here?” she asked, out of breath.

“I might just have a little solution to that problem,” Wulbren shouted from his cell down the way. Tav jogged over to speak with him.

“I need tools before I can do anything. If we can break through this wall, I’m almost certain there’s a dock nearby that we can use to escape. Should we be fortunate enough to find a boat, that is.”

“We’ll look around, if they confiscated your belongings, I’m sure they’re here somewhere. Sit tight.”

Tav scoured the central tower, grabbing anything useful. Gale seemed particularly enamored with an amulet they found. She snatched a few of the maps and letters scattered about, hoping they could provide some additional information about the cult’s plans. Multiple weapons and backpacks had been stored in a large chest labeled ‘Evidence,’ she assumed they belonged to the prisoners.

Satisfied with their looting, she led her companions back out to the row of prison cells.

“I assume this is yours?” Tav held up a small, well-crafted hammer in front of the gnomes’ cell.

“I’ll be damned, your feet fly fast, friend. This should have us out of here in no time.” He snagged the weapon from her hands. “If my assessments are correct, and they always are, there should be a dock somewhere behind this prison.”

“I’ll grab the tieflings and we’ll get out of here,” Karlach offered as she ran off with the Warden’s keys.

Wulbren started hammering away at the crumbling wall at the back of the cell. After a few minutes, they had created a hole large enough for everyone to crawl through.

With all prisoners accounted for and no further reinforcements rushing in to intercept them, Tav waved the rest of her party to follow them through the wall. Wulbren had been correct, there was indeed a small, secluded dock. A single boat bobbed on the water with metal chains anchoring it to the dock’s posts. She helped the gnomes and tieflings get situated as the others watched their backs for any additional guards.

“My plan is to hide out on the water for now, unless you have another solution you’d like to share?” Wulbren asked, out of breath.

“You won’t last long out there among the shadows. We’ll come with you, we know a safe haven. A place called Last Light Inn.” Tav motioned for everyone to get on the boat as she broke the chains holding it to the dock.

Their sail across the lake would have been silent if not for the sound of oars slapping against the dark water. Luckily, it wasn’t long before the shining moon shield came into view.

Tav pulled their boat close to the dock of Last Light. As the tieflings and gnomes unloaded, an agitated Harper came running down to greet them.

“Have you gone mad?!” He yelled as he panted to catch his breath. “You can’t just show up here and start unloading strangers, there are protocols damn it!”

“These people need sanctuary. I’m sure you can still go through your precious protocols on the dock. At least give them the dignity of standing on solid ground to do so.” Tav whipped around to glare at him.

“Fine, but no one goes inside until they pass the test. We can’t chance another infected infiltrating our ranks.” He gave Tav an apologetic look. “Erm, present company excluded I suppose.”

“What test? What is he talking about?” Wulbren stormed up next to Tav. The grim, weary expressions around her shifted to panic.

“He just wants to make sure you’re not infected. It’s safe and painless, I promise.”

“Okay everyone, line up against the wall there, we’ll have this over in no time.” The Harper pulled out a jar with an illithid parasite and began his tests.

Tav and her companions made their way back up to the inn. Everyone else went to mingle and trade while she reported to Jaheira.

The High Harper sat at the same table where they had their conversation the day prior. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she poured over the maps and books sprawled over the table’s surface. A glass of wine sat to the side, her fingertips idly strumming along the base, another glass sat across from her.

“So, what did you decide to slip into my glass today?”

“Nothing but the finest swill I could scrounge up from the basement,” she shot back without looking up from her book.

Tav couldn’t fight back the smile her quip drew forth.

No wonder Tev liked her so much.

“We made it into Moonrise.” Tav sat down with a grunt, just now realizing how badly her legs ached. “Ketheric was there to greet us. A goblin threw a halberd into his chest, and he plucked it out like it was a splinter.” She took a large swig of the wine in front of her. It was a bold and dry red with a slight spice that warmed her entire chest.

“A gruesome sight, no?” Jaheira looked up at her. “What have you learned?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. But we were able to keep our True Soul identity intact while we were there, at least for now.”

“You are afraid you will have that cover no longer?”

“Well, we did just free all of their prisoners from the dungeon,” Tav admitted. “They’re being tested down at the docks.”

“How many witnessed this?”

“We left no witnesses, but there were tthree scrying eyes. We took care of those too, but we still have no clue who is monitoring them,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Good girl.” Jaheira smiled at her. “Is there anything you learned that could help us?”

“Ketheric is calling himself a ‘Chosen of the Absolute’ now.”

“Our paladin is not picky it would seem,” Jaheira scoffed. “Another True Soul in this Absolute army?”

“That’s the thing,” Tav drummed her fingers along the surface of the table, “he wasn’t infected with a tadpole.”

She thought back to her attempt to penetrate his mind like she had done so many times before on other members of the cult.

“Are you sure?” Jaheira seemed surprised by this revelation.

“Certain. I tried to influence his mind using mine but there was no response.”

“So, he’s aligned himself with mind flayers willingly, abandoning Shar in the process? What does he stand to gain from this?” Jaheira’s mind was visibly racing as she considered this new information. “Was there anything else?”

“We were asked to check on one of Thorm’s trusted advisors. Apparently, they lost contact with him after they went to retrieve something from the mausoleum on his behalf.” Tav swung her bag around to grab the items she nabbed from the dungeon. “Also, we stole a few invasion maps and letters that I figured could be useful.” She added them to the small stack in front of Jaheira.

“I see you have not forgotten your training, little ranger. The tiefling prisoners have been released, and this advisor seems like a promising lead, the best one we have had in some time.” She paused to take a sip of her wine. “So why do you look so downtrodden?”

Tav pursed her lips. “There was still no sign of Zevlor or Mol, Arabella’s parents are still missing. We learned nothing of Duke Ravengard. And we still don’t know the source of Ketheric’s invulnerability.”

Jaheira looked around the inn, checking to see if anyone was within earshot.

“Tav’ahria, do not do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“Do not take on the weight of guilt that does not belong to you. We Harpers have more than enough to go around, those of us with longer lives have even more so.”

“I’m not a Harper anymore, Jaheira.”

She smirked. “If you say so.”

A commotion off to her side stopped her from responding. The Flaming Fists that had stayed behind when Counselor Florrick left for Baldur’s Gate were gathered in a nearby room.

“What’s happening over there?” She craned her neck to try and see past the small crowd.

“Supposedly they found someone out wandering in the shadows. They believe him to be one of their ranks.”

“Could this be another trick?” Tav’s mind wandered back to Marcus, the Fist that had attacked the inn on Ketheric’s orders.

“They tested him, he is not infected,” she assured her. “But he did seem rather nonsensical. Feel free to visit with him if you wish, you never know what could link back to this accursed cult.”

“Thank you, High Harper. We’ll keep you updated on our progress.” She took one more sip of her wine before standing up.

“You’ve done the people here a great service, Tav. Do not be so hard on yourself.” Jaheira’s words were more of a command than a suggestion.

“I’ll try.”

Tav wandered through the crowd, catching bits of information here and there.

“…lost his mind he has…”

“…Cullagh…Duke Eltan…”

Duke Eltan?

Grand Duke Eltan had been the duke and leader of the Flaming Fist while she still lived in Baldur’s Gate. But that was over one hundred years ago, he couldn’t still be alive.

As her mind began to race with questions, she tried to strain her ears to catch more of the conversations around her. At the edge of the room, a young man laid unconscious in a bed. He was singing.

“Mm, mm, Thaniel and me are…are climb, climbing up a tree.” His melodic mumbles were almost lost in the loud bustle of the room.

Did he say…Thaniel?

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Tav bellowed to stop the constant chatter around her. It at least seemed to startle everyone into silence, but she did receive some glares when they realized she wasn’t a ranking officer giving them orders.

She knelt next to the bed, listening intently to his song.

“Thaniel and me…climb, climb, climbing a tree.”

“Can you hear me? Did you say you know Thaniel?” Tav spoke in a low, hushed tone, not wanting to scare the man.

“We found him out in the shadows, just…wandering. Nothing survives out there for long, I don’t know how he made it here. We haven’t had any luck in waking him up.” Another Flaming Fist stood on the opposite side of the bed.

“I know that name he’s singing, Thaniel. I’ve heard it from a friend of mine.”

Halsin…

She snapped her attention back to the present. Regardless of her awkward encounter this morning, he would want to know that she had found something.

“You have? Do you think you could bring him here? Maybe he could help tell us what’s wrong,” the Fist asked, her voice hopeful.

Tav reached out to touch the man’s forehead. He had a thin layer of sweat and grime coating his skin, his dark, curly hair was a tangled mess. But there was an aura about him that she couldn’t quite place, something cold and dark. Whatever plagued him was no physical ailment.

Halsin seemed to think Thaniel had been imprisoned in the Shadowfell. If this man had met Thaniel, then he had likely been trapped there too.

“Yes, I’ll bring him back here. We’ll see what we can do to wake him up.” Tav stood up and looked the man over.

“Here, we found this on his person.” The Fist produced an envelope and handed it over to her.

“It looks like he was at the House of Healing.” She scanned the assignment letter in her hands, it was indeed signed by Grand Duke Eltan. The unconscious man’s name appeared to be Art Cullagh.

And it would seem he was here one hundred years ago when the shadows were unleashed.

“Tav! There you are.” Karlach came barreling through the room. “Some of the others already went back to camp. What’s all this?”

Tav couldn’t form the words. She could hardly believe it. She may have just found the solution to the shadows, to the curse.

“Come on, I’ll explain on the way. We need to get back to Halsin now.”

***

Halsin had begun to pace around the plot where he had set up his tent. Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion had returned an hour or so ago, but the others had not followed yet. Part of him worried that he had scared Tav off, that she was taking her time at Last Light to avoid him after this morning. Another bout of guilt ripped through him. In their short time together, he had come to cherish her company, her friendship.

What if she kept her distance from now on? What if she stopped seeking his company early in the morning before the others woke? What if he closed the door on them being something more in the future?

Another, much more bitter thought crossed his mind.

What if she no longer wants to help lift the curse?

He shook it away as quickly as it came. How could he even begin to think so little of her? She had proven her selflessness time and time again, she would not doom an entire land to eternal darkness over having her advances rejected.

As his pulse began to quicken with his rising anxiety, he heard voices approaching the camp. Tav jogged up to the campfire and started talking to the others who had returned earlier. Her hands gestured excitedly with a piece of parchment clutched in one of them. Astarion pointed back at Halsin and Tav’s head whipped around to where he paced in front of his tent.

The movement caused his breath to catch and his heart to skip a beat. Those pesky wisps of silver hair that had escaped her signature braid fluttered in the wind behind her like tiny ribbons as she trotted toward him. He fought the urge to open his arms to her, letting her run into them so he could hold her there for the rest of the night.

No, you’ve gotten her hopes high enough as is.

He waited patiently for her to approach him, his arms stiff at his sides as he forced his desires deep down once again.

“Halsin!” she yelled. She didn’t sound upset to his surprise – and relief.

“Hello, Tav.” He flexed his hands by his hips as they itched to rest on her arms.

She took a moment to catch her breath, bending over so she could rest her hands on her knees. Judging by the light gasping noises she was making, she had run all the way here from Last Light.

“Are you alright?” He started to reach out to her, but hesitated. “You’re absolutely covered in blood.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine, it’s not mine.” She stood back up as she waved a dismissive hand, blowing the runaway hairs out of her face. “I had to run back here to tell you…I found something.”

Tav held out the piece of crumpled parchment in her hands. It looked to be a letter of some kind.

“Who is Art Cullagh?” Halsin’s confusion must have been plain on his face as his eyes scanned it.

“He’s a Flaming Fist currently in a magical sleep at Last Light. They found him out wandering the shadows. Halsin…” She paused to take another deep breath. “He keeps singing a nonsensical song that mentions Thaniel.”

He snapped his attention back to her.

“What did you say?”

“He keeps muttering something about him in his sleep. He’s completely delirious, but he definitely said ‘Thaniel.’ I can’t say for sure, but I think he’s been trapped in the Shadowfell.”

Halsin stood with his mouth agape. She did it, she actually did it. Unable to help himself, he closed the gap between them and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You’re sure? You heard him say this yourself?”

“Yes.” She smiled up at him. “The other Flaming Fists are watching over him at Last Light.”

“Then I must speak with him.” Hope swelled within him. It took all his willpower not to give her a back-breaking hug.

“Nonsensical or not, he knows something. I need to leave at once, you should join me when you can.” He tried to turn and walk away, but Tav caught his arm.

“We’ll go with you. I’m as curious as you are to see what he has to say.”

“Surely you’re all exhausted after today.” Her offer caught him off guard, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t want her to accompany him.

“I’m sure we can catch our breath there for a bit if needed. Besides, I’m not letting you go wandering off in the shadows alone. We don’t need to take everyone, just a few so we can get there safely.”

“That’s…that’s very kind of you, thank you.”

“Of course. And um…” she started tugging on her braid, “about this morning…”

“Tav, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He felt the familiar stab of shame in his gut as he spoke.

“It’s okay, I uh, I just wanted to say that I hope I didn’t ruin our friendship. I’ve come to enjoy your company a great deal, and I’d hate to think I did something to damage it.” She cleared her throat as she finished speaking. The faintest hint of tears shone in the corners of her eyes.

“Of course not.” His hands made their way back to grip her shoulders. “I already consider you a very dear friend and as long as you’ll have me, I’ll remain that friend to you as well.”

She nodded as she let out a long sigh.

“Let me gather some of my things, then we can leave. Oak Father willing, we could see these shadows banished soon, my friend.” He squeezed her shoulders before letting his hands drop to his side again.

When he looked up at the others, Karlach stood with her arms crossed, glaring at him. He assumed she knew of their conversation that morning.

Tav waited outside of his tent for him before leading him back to the others. Gale, Astarion, and Karlach agreed to accompany them back to Last Light. He felt a bit silly traveling such a short distance with a convoy, but it obviously made Tav feel better, so he wouldn’t complain.

“Ready?” She turned to face him with a smile.

“After you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder but heard a small huff from Karlach.

His first lead in one hundred years. Not just a distant echo or whisper, but a living witness. Someone else who had met Thaniel.

He recited the ritual in his mind once more. The words he had kept close to his heart for decades. They caused him to bristle with anticipation as they started the short walk to Last Light Inn. A grin came over his face as he followed Tav out of camp.

Her ivory braid swayed from side to side as she set a brisk pace in front of him. The mesmerizing movement calmed his anxiety and reminded him how close he was to seeing Thaniel again, how close he was to fulfilling his promise.

How close he was to being free from his duty.

***

During their short time among the shadow curse, Tav and her companions had already become accustomed to tense walks in the dark woods. She would have thought by now that they would be used to wraiths and shadows jumping out of every corner, but it still caught them off guard more often than not.

“I do appreciate the escort, my friend, but it really was unnecessary. It’s quite a short walk and I know these woods well, even in this darkness.” Halsin was walking next to her, the two of them just a few steps in front of their other companions.

“Oh, please. How would you react if I said I was going for a walk, alone, in the woods while we’re here?” She rolled her eyes.

“Fair enough. I would highly advise against such an action,” he chuckled and bumped his shoulder into hers.

Right on cue, Tav heard a rustling in the bushes ahead of them. She drew her bow, signaling everyone else to stop.

Here we go again.

Crouched low, she started creeping forward. Once she was close enough, she realized that it was just a light breeze blowing through the leaves. She let out a relieved sigh as she stood back up. Little tendrils of shadow swirled around her ankles, taunting her.

“You seem a little tense, Tav. Is everything okay?” Halsin stepped up behind her.

“Of course. This whole place just sets my nerves on–” She was cut off midsentence by several shadows and shadow cursed corpses approaching their position from behind.

“Fucking hells! Can we not go on one godsdamned walk without these unnatural fucks bothering us?!” she yelled as she fired an arrow through one of the shadows.

“Remind me why we left our cleric in camp again? We could use a bit of radiant light right about now,” Astarion snarled as he barely dodged a swipe from the massive wraith that had appeared.

“Because we thought we were just going for a pleasant stroll through the woods!” Tav conjured a large circle of thorny vines on the ground, trying to deter the shadows from advancing.

“It’s never that simple though, is it darling?” Astarion drove a dagger into the neck of one of the animated corpses.

Halsin had wild shaped into a bear and was taking furious swipes with his paws between the enemies. As the corpses made their way through the vines, she saw that it was another group of cursed Harpers. Seeing so many of them constantly reminded her of–

Her thoughts were interrupted when one of the Harpers grabbed hold of her arm. She spun around and yanked it away. Once free, she kicked the corpse’s legs, knocking it to the ground. Tav grabbed her sword from her belt and moved to drive it into the Harper’s chest. But as soon as she saw the face, she froze.

The eyes were twisted beyond recognition, a mix of churning necrotic energy and shadows. His skin was a sickly color, the face cracked and lined with dark magic, warped by a century in darkness. But the hair…the hair may have been matted and dirty, but the unmistakable white curls fell in a familiar pattern over his face.

“Tev’aron?” she whispered.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 halsin #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #halsin fanfic #we're getting into even more angsty territory here friends #I think I may have settled on oakflower for their ship name though

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heylittleriotact · 2 months ago

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@chaezaru is my favourite enabler and asked what Amina’s bond is like with her other companions.

Contains spoilers through the end of act 2 so putting it under the cut:

Harding: Grief isn’t an emotion exclusive to people dying - Lace is running the gamut, grieving the person she was before her new powers, grieving the injustices her people were subjected to, and grieving the person that she thought Solas was. That’s enough to really mess someone up if they don’t have a solid support system, so Amina takes extra care to make sure Lace is included and looked after. She spends a lot of time in the greenhouse, asking her to teach her how to grow things. It turns out this is good for both of them: Amina isn’t accustomed to the practice of cultivating new life and finds it very rewarding, and Harding gets to feel like she has some control over *something* in the damn world for a few minutes.

Bellara: She carries a lot of guilt that manifests in self-doubt and over-caution. She’s afraid to fail because she’s haunted by the consequences of past failures. Amina relates to this more than she’d care to admit, and doesn’t really feel equipped to help Bellara with her feelings when she’s still struggling with her own guilt. She knows she should encourage her to grow past it, but wouldn’t that make her a hypocrite if she’s still caught up on her own regrets? She does enjoy spending time with her though - the two of them start writing a smutty romance together, trading a thick leather bound notebook back and forth every few days. Anyone who inquires about this activity is met with feigned obliviousness.

Neve: It’s a professional relationship through and through. Amina is still very much figuring out that outside of Nevarra, being mortalitasi is either a conversation starter or a conversation ender: there’s no in between. More often than not when she alludes to her work when talking to Neve because it’s really all she knows outside of her own name, it’s a conversation ender. Amina is low key jealous that the wisps of the lighthouse prefer to converge in Neve’s office. That doesn’t stop her from finding ridiculous excuses to visit the mage just to spend time with the wisps.

Davrin: Sometimes Amina wonders if Reda and Gortan experienced similar frustrations with her as Davrin seems to experience either Assan. Granted, she was a person and not a griffin, and Reda and Gortan specifically volunteered to raise her when she was found in the Necropolis as an infant. But still. Raising a child that isn’t your blood is different than raising one that is - no denying that. She likes spending time with the warden and Assan, and while she thinks Davrin is indeed a knight in shining armor straight out of a fairytale, she’s rather disillusioned with the fact that he seems committed to the idea that his existence is meaningless if it doesn’t end in a heroic death.

Lucanis: Amina catches Lucanis off guard by how completely unbothered she appears to be about Spite. She was more taken aback by how much he spends on coffee in a month than the fact that he’s inhabited by a spirit. She sees how other people treat him and act around him because of it and feels bad for both Lucanis and Spite: none of this was either of their faults. So she just treats Lucanis like she would anyone else, and any appearance by Spite is met with patience and kindness that surprises the spirit too. Most mornings at the Lighthouse start with Amina and Lucanis sitting at the dining table in complete silence as they drink their coffee. Lucanis tried to strike up a morning conversation once, but was met with a series of one word answers and distant “mhmmm’s” until he realized that Amina was either unwilling or incapable of conversing before she found the bottom of that first cup after waking.

Taash: Amina doesn’t seem to unnerve Taash quite as much as Emmrich does, but she doesn’t understand why. Sure she’s not a mage and she doesn’t do *exactly* the same work that Emmrich does, but she converses with spirits, bathes, embalms, and dresses the deceased, repairs undead, and leads funeral services just like anyone else in Watch is expected to do. If anything Amina thinks Taash should be MORE creeped out by Amina because of how casually and optimistically she talks about her own eventual death. Maybe it’s Emmrich’s moustache? Either way, she tries to find common ground with them that is unrelated to anything death-ish. They work out a lot. Amina is determined to out-plank Taash one of these days. Amina really dislikes Taash’s Mom. Having been envious of other children that grew up knowing their parents, Shathann’s relationship with Taash diminishes Amina’s idealized view of what parents should be like - what hers would be like if she had them. She struggles to understand why a parent who has put so much effort and sacrifice into raising their child would treat them with such coldness when they’re clearly trying to live up to unattainable expectations.

Emmrich: Amina is so incredibly smitten with him. He makes her feel seen and valued in a way that no one aside from her adoptive family has, and she considers herself incredibly lucky to have found him. She’s never had more engaging and fascinating discussions with another person, and though they have very, very different perspectives surrounding death and mortality, the contrast compliments their relationship. Amina is comforted by the idea of mortality and the natural cycle of life and death: the order and guarantee of an End, but having Emmrich in her life gives her pause and reason to take better care of herself and approach battles more cautiously instead of throwing herself into them like the armour-clad Reaper that she is. She’s very understanding of Emmrich’s thanatophobia, however: it’s an incredibly common affliction, and the fact that he’s a scholarly necromancer who happens to be terrified of his own mortality doesn’t diminish his accomplishments or make him a fraud, and it doesn’t change the fact that he is an amazingly kind, compassionate person to everyone he comes into contact with - alive or dead. Sometimes he has nightmares about dying. She makes him chamomile and lavender tea and writes gentle love notes on his back with her fingertip till he falls back asleep.

Bonus - Solas: From their first meeting in her dreams, she felt there was something different about him, but dreams can be misleading and mercurial, so she didn’t put much stock into it at first. Once it was revealed that Solas was a spirit that manifested physically, Amina’s entire perception around their interactions changed: what was Solas if not another lost spirit in need of assistance? Sure, she’d never encountered a spirit of his magnitude, age, and power before, but… the fundamental approach to handling him couldn’t possibly be that different, right?

#dragon age #v writes #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age spoilers #veilguard spoilers #veilguard #da:tv spoilers #dragon age the veilgaurd spoilers #companion headcanons #amina ingellvar

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