#my tabris deserved better

[tenojan-in-tevinter]

Davrin's "we know what we sign up for" when talking about the wardens and the calling is fucking wild to me. Try telling that the the hero of fereldon, sir. Had their joining during the blight and was told NOTHING of the side effects and had to learn everything from the only other surviving JUNIOR warden at the time. And from simply experiencing them. "We know what we sign up for" my ass.

[fade-and-loathing-in-thedas]

Okay I'm obsessing over my Orlesian Warden, Marc, adopting all my other protags lmao He would so be like these little shits need some structure and unconditional love, and obviously he's the guy for the job.

“Tabris, for fucks sake stop picking fights with every human we see."

"Andraste's flaming asscheeks Hawke, you collected another one. Leave the damn bisexuals to deal with their own shit."

"Lavellan I swear to the Maker I'm going crack that damned egg if you don't. You deserve better."

"No! Maker damnit, no, De Riva. You can't fight actual fucking Gods.”

And yes, he would totally fight Viago for the role of surrogate dad of De Riva.

[m3rricat]

I feel like I've lost my writing groove pretty bad, but I'm determined to dip my toe back in today especially after a kind commenter reminded me of one of my favorite bits I wrote which shows one of the major things I want to do with this fic; namely, have the support go both ways, and not just have Wyll be Astarion's rescuer/therapist. From Chapter 16 of Advocatus Ardens:

As the haggling between Tabris and Serla began, Astarion stuffed his selected items back in the pillowcase and started off down one of the aisles. The place was deceptively large, with every odd and end you could think of (and plenty more you couldn’t imagine) sitting on rickety, tall shelves. Wyll followed in his wake. There were only a couple of other customers wandering, but still he and Astarion kept their voices low, pointing out both the fantastic and the astoundingly mundane, laughing at their own stupid jokes as they wandered. Something about it. It hit Wyll at just the right angle, without warning. Things were feeling so ordinary. He had a case. He had just had brunch, of all things. And now he was poking around some weird hole-in-the-wall shop with a friend just because. Just for fun. Like he had done so many weekend mornings back home. Wyll turned away slowly, hoping it didn’t show on his face. That everything was catching up to him all at once now that things has just started to steady. Now that he had a moment to let himself think back on everything. Everything that he’d lost. “Wyll, what the hells is—” Astarion stopped. Wyll saw him out of the corner of his eye, halted mid-gesture toward something high on the shelf. “Darling. Are you alright?” Wyll squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Took a deep breath. “Sorry, I—this is just so. Normal. It makes me think too much about…” Wyll swallowed his next words against the lump that rose in his throat. But the tears were coming. It was a lost cause. He stood like an idiot as they gathered at the corners of his eyes. Astarion tried to smile, shakily. “Well. Can’t hardly blame you, dearest. I’ve been freed. More or less. But this… this is rather a downgrade for you.” His smile strained. “Normalcy like this must sting.”  “I’ll get over it. I promise,” Wyll said hurriedly. “It’s not that it’s not… nice. I just wish we could do these things without a sword hanging over our necks. I wish you could have that.” Astarion tried to settle his expression, but his voice wavered. “One of these days you really have to stop flipping everything to make it about someone else. I hereby give you permission to throw a raging tantrum. Just for you.” Wyll barked a laugh. Then it all caught him again, dragging him down into the crushing depths of memory. “Sorry,” he whispered, as he tried to school himself back into shape. Astarion stepped forward. His hand alighted on Wyll’s upper arm like a songbird. Then his grip firmed. Steadying. “Don’t you dare be sorry,” he whispered, sharp with feeling. Then he added, softer, “It’s only fair, you know. I had my own breakdown last night.” That tugged another short laugh out of Wyll. Astarion smiled. Then put on a mock-serious tone. “But it’s an even trade, understand? One breakdown for me, then one for you.” Wyll’s voice cracked slightly. “Understood.” Astarion's hand squeezed, then dropped. Wyll’s arm moved slightly, trying to follow the loss of touch. “I need to apologize,” Astarion said suddenly. “I’ve been rather… shocking toward you. And you’re the last one that deserves it.” “Don’t. I get it, what you’ve gone through—” “Can you not get it, for once?” Astarion cut in, frustration and warmth tangled. “Maybe I—maybe I don’t want that to be acceptable, for me. I was trying to harden myself toward you, to protect myself. But I don’t actually want that.” He looked up at Wyll from under dark lashes, those astonishing eyes pleading. “You’re so good to me, always. Maybe I want to get better. Be better. To you.”

[babe-a-yaga]

My impressions, having finished re-reading the Stolen Throne for the first time in like, 12-13years or so:

-Spoilers -

1) Katriel is bad and badly written. She's a sexy cardboard cutout without a personality that exists as a plot device rather than a person. And it stands out harshly against an otherwise well-written and interesting cast of characters. She sucks and her scenes are a slog to get through.

2) Gosh, I remember why I liked Loghain so much. I tend to always recruit him, but my most recent origins playthrough was a really prickly (traumatized, teenage) Tabris who was hard to like and did what needed to be done even if they weren't choices that'd earn her friends. She loathed Loghain but Loghain gained approval with her really quick. Having reread now, *I* see a lot of parallels to Loghain in that warden that I hadn't intended at the time, but am tickled with the expanded headcanon now. Loghain is so much better understood for having read this book.

3. Rowan deserved so much better.

4.The Theirin bloodline/bloodline of Calenhad sure is strong in the Himbo gene, hey

[vodkacheesefries]

If you saw this when I posted it the other night before I decided to clean it up a little and deleted it, no u didn't

Continuing to try and fight off the art block with a fast, sketchy comic. Once again featuring my Dragon Age PCs, but in some sort of modern AU setting using a TikTok audio. (I didn't wanna draw armor or fantasy clothes lmao) From left to right - Tabris, Hawke, Lavellan.

Info dump below the cut for fun~

By Veilguard, Tabris would be around 42, Hawke would be 46/47, which would make Emrys like. 28. (Math is hard so if I'm wrong whatever lmao) Hence him being "4."

Emrys Lavellan wasn't my first inquisitor and was actually my then current inquisitor's little brother. I think he was originally 16. He's still the little brother, but he's now 18. Inquisition is not my favorite game, and I don't usually care for teenage protagonists these days, but in order to make the game more fun in my head I really love the idea of a Dalish teenager leading the inquisition in a moderately chaotic manor.

Back home in his clan, Emrys helped with the hunting but much preferred the art of making bows and arrows and was actively working in an apprenticeship with the clan's Fletcher.

Emrys is young so he likely wouldn't have romanced anyone anyway, but he is also aromantic and asexual so he isn't interested anyway.

His best friends in the Inquisition are Varric, Blackwall, and Dorian.

Minerva (Minnie) Hawke romanced Isabela, andis a red/purple personality. Unless you're Merrill. Then it's green answers only because Merrill doesn't deserve anything less and she can't bring herself to be snarky or mean. (She reminds her of Bethany a little.)

She also incorporates pieces of Isabela's clothes into her wardrobe, including her earrings, her scarfs, and her shoes. Basically the Dragon Age version of the 'boyfriend hoodie.'

She named her mabari Ares.

Tabris wears the earring Zev gave them and treats it kind of like a wedding ring, but I don't think either of them are really that concerned with making it legally "official."

Tabris uses he/they pronouns and slowly started transitioning during the tail end of the blight. He was obviously a little preoccupied with other things, but he started going solely by his last name and cut his hair with Leliana's help.

He named his mabari Barkspawn at Alistair's suggestion.

And I swear to God he better still be alive or have found a cure, Bioware--

[spainkitty]

okay i need the deets about your surana-lavellan i am so intrigued 👀🙏 -merrybandofmurders

@merrybandofmurderers

I'll have you know, I am OBSESSED with my Surana-Lavellan. I am OVERJOYED to tell you, every single one of my lurking followers, and the whole world all about her. 🥰🤩😍 Welcome to my Very Long Post to justify having Surana as my Lavellan!!

Okay! It starts with: I didn't put enough memory on the MS side of my Mac laptop 😅

I played DAO with my Cousland, went on to play DA2, but I went back and started my Surana file for funsies and Tabris as well. Just because I love building characters and I wanted to experience the other Origins. I fell IMMEDIATELY in love with my Surana. I played her with high Willpower, a bit of a bully and an arrogant one at that, who'd drunk the Chantry Kool-aid and was going to slowly, as she ventured out into the world, realize the Kool-aid was gross, and she and all mages deserve better. However, before I even finished the first few Main Quests (I think I did Broken Circle and Orzammar), I finished my DA2 playthru and my friend helped me set up for DAI.

This is where the lack of memory on my laptop comes in. I had to delete my Origins file to make room on my laptop for DAI. I didn't want to close down the entire partition and re-allot the memory so I just deleted everything but DAI. I was so sad and upset, I remade my Lanil Surana as Lanil Lavellan and added an entire amnesia-ridden backstory for her 🤣 Her personality and character growth was going to be along the same lines, and her appearance, of course. And then I set sail on DAI~

Basically: During Origins, someone *coughCullencough* helped her escape during Uldred’s Uprising and she couldn't get back. She barely escaped through a tunnel in the storage rooms full of giant spiders (a little bg for her DAI phobia 😉) and wandered around poisoned and pissed off with vague plans to go back home anyway when the Sabrae Clan picked her up. She ended up leaving with them instead to the Free Marches, but after everything with Uldred, didn't trust Merrill enough to stay. The blood magic and the demon on Sundermount scared her, especially since she's still a little Kool-aid drinker at heart at this time. Marethari eventually sent Lanil off to the Lavellan Clan and Lanil became a Second. Mainly because she was highly educated and a Healer with spells she could teach that they would never have heard of. Her becoming First was out of sheer moxie. She refuses to let anyone tell her she can't do something and she'd always been rather ambitious, aiming and being groomed for First Enchanter most of her life.

Along the way she does actually grow and change. She starts to care a lot more about elves and Elvhen, becomes fascinated by this history that was denied her during her Chantry-filled life, and throws herself into the culture with wide eyes. It's about more than being powerful, it's about wanting to use that power to make things better, to protect the People that have welcomed her and her magic and made her feel like she finally had a family. (Dregs of this inform who she is as an Inquisitor.)

Then, the Conclave. She's sent because she's Chantry-educated and knows the lay of the land well. She's FROM there; she has studied the geography and knows the politics. She can blend in better than any of them. When she and the Divine are blown into the Fade, though, the Nightmare doesn't just take her memories of that night and Corypheus, it took ALL of them. She had nearly nothing left and doesn't even know her own name for most of her story. She's just Lavellan, because Leliana found her belongings and the only personal information included was the Clan name: Lavellan. Dorian (I think? It might have been Sera) eventually dubs her "Lane" and she responds to it automatically. She doesn't get her memories back until after Into the Abyss, of course, which I played AFTER Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts, and after her relationship Cullen was already pretty deep and "locked in".

I had a lot of fun with writing her and Cullen's first meeting and then after she figures out who she really is 🤣 Cullen definitely gaslit himself into thinking he's crazy for noticing how similar they looked/acted. Since she was much older, heavily scarred, and had vallaslin (and amnesia, so even her personality was affected in a way), he told himself he was being stupid, how could Surana be a Dalish elf now? She's probably dead and his one truly rebellious act was for nothing. Lavellan just looks *a lot* like her. Don't be so racist, Rutherford! Surprise! It's really her! 🤣🤣🤣 (tbf, they did only know each other for a year, and even then, it wasn't like they knew each other well)

She starts off DAI ruthless and stubborn as hell, aggressively doing the Right Thing and taking everyone along with her. She consolidated as much power as she could, and does everything possible to make the world better for mages and elves, but she's not exactly wise or clever and makes some truly upsetting mistakes. Learning to rely on others, to be vulnerable, and to care more about the small, important details rather than the Big Picture is how she grows. Although she never quite shakes her knee-jerk aggressive and stubborn-jackass personality, she does soften slightly and learn empathy. The Iron Bull's betrayal much later shakes her down to her core, and it's the main reason why she chooses to save and forgive Solas instead of kill him in the end. She doesn't want to let down and lose another close friend like she did the Iron Bull.

[transgirlfiend]

Went back to compare with the references! Adam - Yay! so cutes! Lilith - I fucked up the top of the cross she's crucified on and the angle of the lance of longinus stabbing her should be rotated 90 degrees, but Lilith Herself is pretty much accurate. I just don't think I executed the drawing very well, something about her is fucked up to me. Sachiel - Happy with this one! all I'm missing here are the thin thigh plates, very tiny "bones" around the face, and one dot per shoulder, which while i feel kind of sounds like a lot written down, makes very little difference in the image itself (to me). Shamshel - Wonky posture, shoulders are too low, and so is the ribcage thingy. While I don't think I got anything exactly wrong, my Shamshel plushie has definitely distorted my memory of the show's proportions/appearance. Ramiel - :) She's unforgettable! Gaghiel - Sheesh it turns out i barely remembered what this one looked like, I got the head shape right, but the little mask face isn't supposed to be outlined, and pretty much everything else is completely off. oh well, it's a fish, I drew a fish. Probably registers as 'close enough' though. Is it my least favorite angel? Maybe. Sorry Gaghiel. Israfel - It's not too far off, but I didn't remember that it had feet and it's missing the bigger pair of "ribs". I also drew it's "armor" incorrectly, neglecting the 'plating' on the legs, and the semi-circle cut outs above the head and at the crotch area respectively. Sandalphon - I was pretty confident this one was close at the time, turns out- not so much. Majorly forgetting that the design of what i thought was the tail was actually supposed to be two arms(!!) and also neglecting the iconic eye spots! Apologies Sandalphon, you deserved better. Matarael - Center eye on the bottom maybe a little too big, circular 'eyes' on the side should have been upside down triangles, and it has flat feet instead of points. However I am willing to consider these 'small details' and say that this is another one I'm proud of! Sahaquiel - Only giving it three fingers per side instead of 5 jumps out as an obvious miss when presented with the reference, also I fucked up the eyelashes somewhat severely, but it's still pretty recognizable I think. Ireul - Is it kind of cheating to just draw the infected magi display? maybe, but it's not like Ireul actually looks like *anything*. Leliel - What can I say? I know what Leliel looks like. Bardiel - I am not good at drawing the evas, and didn't just want to draw a terrible rendition of unit 03, and the fucked up entry plug all covered in strings is one of the only shots we get of the angel's actual "body". I think this one I think is "close enough" for resemblance to the shot, but my version has the entry plug extended a bit too far and it is also coming out of just like, a football shape with no additional details. Zeruel - I was like 100% sure while doing this that Zeruel's body was not all black, but couldn't visualize what the patterning actually was. The head is a little too low (and too big), and is missing the mask outlining that I drew on gaghiel for some reason. Also no back triangles. Arael - Kind of? It's close-ish but the silhouette/shape is undeniably off compared to the real thing unfortunately. Armisael - This one would be very hard to fuck up I think lol. Kaworu/Tabris - So no head?

Angels drawn quickly from memory

[hurl-a-can]

OC Questions for your Warden: 💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

Not really. He loves books, but while the cheaper ones were not entirely unaffordable for the Tabris family, they still were something of a luxury - so most of the books he’d read had been borrowed. He spends the Blight year on the road, so he can’t exactly afford to keep all the books he finds. He does read them if he can - but then he either sells them the first chance he gets, or, if the book is old and valuable, he leaves it either with the Dalish or in the nearest Chantry or with Genitivi or at Kinloch - or anywhere else he thinks that particular book would be appreciated and taken care of.The only book he keeps is his copy of Benedictions.Well... He does collect flowers, actually. Presses them between the pages of the said copy of Benedictions or his journal. He prefers poppies, but you’d find other kinds as well. He usually picks and keeps them as mementoes of people and places.Before the battle of Denerim, he leaves the Benedictions in his brother Darrian’s backpack (hello @dickeybbqpit) - and the journal in Zevran’s. So that’s where his little collection goes. :-)

[trvelyans-archive]

aaaaaaaand on my fic-posting roll for the night, here’s my part of an art trade for the lovely and darling @free-the-mages who has been FAR too kind considering it’s taken me almost a month and a half to write this for her, but kaitlyn! i hope you like it nevertheless. you’re the absolute best and i hope i did alistair and lark good for you <3

---

“Ah. I see, now – our trick to wiping out all the darkspawn is baiting the archdemon to attack us in the middle of nowhere! Very tempting. Though, I might add, not a very good idea when you really think about it.”

Lark looks over her shoulder. Alistair is leaning against a tree, a curious and almost concerned expression on his face, clothed in nothing more than a cotton tunic and linen pants. His sleepwear. She doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there. The bowl of soup he’s holding must be growing cold.

He holds it almost like an offering, and she forces herself not to take it.

Then, she holds herself back from telling him to fuck off, since that would do no good for either of them, and looks away from him instead. “Thanks,” she grumbles, “but that’s not what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing, then?”

There’s an awkward pause before she gives a heavy sigh. “Just thinking,” she answers, thumbing the peeling label of her bottle. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Alistair tells her, finally giving in and trudging through the mud in the clearing towards her. “You can take care of yourself, even against a horde of Darkspawn. I know that for a fact. I was just going to tell you it looks like it’s going to storm tonight, so you might want to… Not sit there.”

She looks down at the boulder she’s sitting on. Her legs dangle over the edge and skim the surface of the river beneath, and she blinks at him. “Why not?”

“Just… doesn’t seem like a very good idea.” But he doesn’t make any move to turn back to camp. After a moment of hesitation, in fact, he motions for her to move over and make room for him.

She tucks her feet under her bum and follows his wordless instructions, crossing an arm over her chest and clutching her bottle close to her chest with the other.

Lark isn’t particularly drunk, but she’s not particularly sober, either. She knows because she feels his knee bump up against hers and it’s like an electric shock. She’s not annoyed like she might’ve been if it had happened earlier; she doesn’t ask him to move or get off the boulder entirely. Instead she grits her teeth and tells herself to calm down. It’s just a knee, for Andraste’s sake.

But that’s not the point.

Their relationship has been rocky since Lothering, and yet she likes him anyway. Despite their bickering, despite their differences, she likes him. And she hates it. She doesn’t want to like him! He’s taller than she is, he’s a human, and…

And he’s funny. He makes her laugh even though his jokes are stupid. And, even though they aren’t on the best of terms, he came to see her anyway, even though he had to walk through ankle-deep mud just to join her on her stinking rock.

Maker. If Shianni could see Lark now, she’d be the laughingstock of the family.

“So.” Alistair’s looking at her. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

She’s glad she’s not more drunk or else she’d probably tell him. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just… the… Blight. And stuff.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “Well, I’m not surprised. It’s… a lot to think about.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They fall silent. An awkward amount of time passes, and it’s not until the third poke that she realizes that he’s trying to get her attention again.

“Are you… sure there’s nothing else?” he asks. “Just because… Well, normally you’d be telling me to leave you alone, or you’d be making fun of my hair – though I did work especially hard on it this morning so, in any case, thank you for not doing that – but you’re not doing either of those things, really. You’re just… sitting there.”

She nods. “Yeah, I am,” she replies. 

His nose scrunches up in annoyance.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not!”

“Really?” He plucks the bottle of wine out of her hand and holds it away from her, pretending to examine it with great interest. “You know, Oghren drinks this stuff. Are you sure you can handle it? You’re a lot smaller than he is.”

“Alistair –“

“So… I really don’t think you should be –“

“Alistair, give it back.”

He squints at her for a few moments, deciding what to do next, and then he thrusts the bowl of soup into her arms and offers her a smile. “Drink this, instead,” he tells her. “Or eat it, I suppose. Whatever.”

He’s worried about her. Or something. She doesn’t know why. He’s never given her this much attention before. She grits her teeth and takes the metal spoon begrudgingly in between her thumb and her forefinger, stirring slowly, agonizingly slowly, just to appease him. Alistair is still watching her.

What does he want?

In the distance, thunder rumbles. It sounds like a warning. She swallows a spoonful of soup – it’s lukewarm and lumpy - and forces herself not to spit it out.

“What do you want?” she asks after the wipes her mouth clean on the back of her hand and puts her spoon in the bowl again. “You can’t just be worried about me.”

Alistair’s eyebrows gather together. “That’s not – Y-yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”  

At that, he looks almost angry. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t be worried about,” he tells her, “and I’m worried about –“

“The Blight.” She jumps down from the rock and walks over to where he leaned the bottle up against the boulder, picking it up and tossing it between her hands. “That’s what this is about, right? You think I’m slacking off?”

Alistair stammers for a moment before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say it like that…”

“This hasn’t been a very good experience for me either, you know!” She takes a drink, beginning to pace back and forth dangerously close to the bank of the river. “I mean… I didn’t want to get married, but then the elf who was going to be my husband got murdered by some fucking shems, and then I wind up in Ostagar, where the Grey Wardens are all wiped out, and Duncan dies, and I’m sacked with taking care of you –“

She catches herself before she continues, but Alistair’s already rolling his eyes. “Oh, well, I’m sorry it’s been so hard on you. Would things be easier if I started feeding you your dinner and washing your clothes for you? Maybe I can carry you around the country on my back, too?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Her bottle is empty, but she drinks – or pretend to drinks from it – anyway. “What I meant is that it’d be nice if you didn’t question everything I do! It’s hard to be in charge, Alistair! Do you wanna do it, instead?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he rises, arms falling from where they were crossed over his chest to swing by his sides, gaze averted elsewhere.

“That’s what I thought,” Lark murmured. “Now, you can take your soup and your… well-wishing, or curiosity, or whatever you want to call it and go back to camp, okay?”

It almost works. He almost leaves.

But, before he takes that first step, he doesn’t.

Alistair is too kind. It’s the kind of kindness that feels like a punch in the gut. He’d never leave if he knew she was hurting. He’d never leave if he thought she was drunk. (She isn’t. Tipsy, maybe, but not drunk.)

Or, maybe... he’d just never leave at all.

“I’m not doing that,” he says evenly. “I’m going to stay here, a-and make sure you’re alright, and there’s you can do to stop me. Except… well, a few things, I suppose. I guess if you wanted to twist my arm -”

“Go back to camp,” Lark insists. “Alistair, go.”

She puts a hand on his chest and tries to push him away from her. He just places both of his hands over top of hers, staring at her in defiance.

A groan of protest rises in her throat. “Alistair…”

“You may want me to go, but I’m not going to,” he tells her. “I’m going to stay here until you come back with me.”

“Why?”

“Because!” It comes out as more of a bark than he intended, and he immediately shrinks away. “Because, I…” He blinks rapidly, stammering as he searches for the right words, holding tightly onto her hand. “Because…” And then, after a long stretch of silence, he gives a sigh of defeat, dropping his arms to his sides. “Because… look, Lark, you’re the only person I have left, alright? And I don’t want to… I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you, okay?”

He’s breathing heavily. He’s on the verge of panting. She is, too, and she hasn’t spoken for a few long, awkward seconds.

“What does that mean?” she asks breathlessly.

And, to her horror, he laughs. He doesn’t yell at her or scold her or stalk away. He just laughs, and stammers, and then gives a lackluster shrug. “I don’t know, if I’m being completely honest,” he says. “It’s just that… sometimes you get on my nerves, and sometimes I can’t be around you… but sometimes you’re the only person.”

She stares at him, her face blank.

“And…” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I like you.”

“You what?”

Her tone sounds more disgusted than she meant for it to and she hurries to continue before he even has time to react. “I mean… I just… you hate me, Alistair.”

He balks at her. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Well…”

She never wanted him to hate her, but she thought he did, and she thought that was what she had wanted this entire time because it made her feelings for him easier to deal with and easier to ignore since she thought nothing would come of them. But now… he likes her. Just like that.

And she likes that, too.

“I’ve never hated you, Lark,” Alistair almost reassures her, reaching out to grab her shoulder before stopping himself and giving her a quizzical look that makes her heart leap into her throat. “Do you… erm… do you hate me?”

The fact that he readies himself for her to say ‘no’ makes her sad. And angry at herself for making him feel that way.

But she doesn’t answer right away, anyway, because she should just say ‘yes’. It’d hurt him, but it’d make things easier for both of them in the long run – he must know that as well as she does. If he didn’t, he’d have confessed his feelings for her sooner. After all, things between them would never be easy – they’d bicker as much as they do now and then they’d have to crawl back to each other at the end of the day to apologize instead of getting a good night’s sleep, which they need when they’re trying to save Ferelden from the archdemon. And yet…

“No,” she says, her voice crackling. “No, I don’t hate you, Alistair. I like you, too.”

“Really?” he squeaks before clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest protectively. “I mean… really? It’s not just the a-alcohol talking or something?”

Lark gives him a shake of her head. “No,” she says. “It’s not.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

And that’s all he says.

The clearing falls into an awkward silence. Lark shifts back and forth on her feet, waiting for one of them – even herself, if that’s what it comes to – to make a move.

And Alistair does. Kind of. And then he stops.

“You’re sure you’re not –“

“Alistair!”

“Ijustwanttomakesure!” he exclaims. “I’m not going to kiss you while you’re drunk, Lark! What kind of man do you take me for?”

The corners of her mouth quirk upwards into a smirk. “You were gonna kiss me?” she asks.

His cheeks turn red instantly. “I… Yes, I was, but if you don’t want to, then that’s –“

She kisses him before he can finish.

He doesn’t react, at first. She opens her eyes just to see what he’s doing and his look like they’re pointing in two different directions in shock. And then, finally, he seems to relax – his eyes flutter shut and his arms snake around her waist, his grip on her strong and unwavering, unflinching, and she smiles against his mouth, pushing him backwards until he’s sitting on the edge of the rock.

She’s just climbed into his lap when Alistair pulls away, blushing furiously.

“That was, um… really nice,” he says, pulling a hand away to rub the back of his neck. “But we probably shouldn’t –“

She cuts him off again, delighting in the way he kisses her back without question. It takes knocking the bowl of now-cold soup over and sending it spilling down the side of the rock for either of them to consider stopping their romantic engagement.

Alistair’s lying flat on his back with his legs dangling over the edge of the boulder, and when he tries to sit up, Lark just holds him down with a playful smirk.

“We should get back to camp,” he whispers, looking up at her with rounded eyes.

“We should,” she agrees, then adds, “doesn’t mean we have to, though.”

And then he rolls his eyes, moving his hands from around her waist to her wrists, trying to wriggle free of her hold on him as she tilts her face upwards to nip at his earlobe. “You must be even drunker than I thought,” he comments as her hand comes up to flatten against the other side of his face. “You know, you could do with a little bit of self control, or I’m going to start thinking that you don’t have any standards.”

But he’s smiling, and he’s gorgeous, and Lark can’t find it in herself to wring out what little self-control she has.

“Lark, I’m serious,” he says with a laugh. “We should… get back to…”

She’s relentless in her attack of the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, and relentless also in the way she grinds herself against him in minute little strokes. He sighs, gliding a hand up her arm to cup the back of her neck. “You’re… very good at that,” he murmurs.

“At what?” she asks, feigning stupidity as she draws away and smiling as he sucks in a sharp breath at the loss of contact.

“At… at…”

“At using my mouth?”

Something dark glimmers in his eye before he clears his throat and glances away, cheeks burning.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she tells him, cocking her eyebrows playfully. “Do you want me to walk you through it?”

She’s biting her lip so hard she think she might make herself bleed and then feels the blood drain from her face when he shakes himself to attention and meets her eyes. “No, no,” he says matter-of-factly, making her heart sink deep into her stomach. “I’ve liked this, Lark, I have – I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t. but… I want this to be special. Don’t you? Not on some… rock in the middle of the woods.”

It’s a fair point, but her first instinct is to disagree before she shakes the thought from her head. “You’re right, I guess,” she says eventually, untangling herself from on top of him and climbing down from the rock, kicking a smaller one nestled against it and sending it skittering through the grass until it lands in the stream with a startling plunk. “And I guess we should return to camp, too.”

“Ah, yes.” Alistair hops down from the rock after her, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Wouldn’t want Wynne to worry about us or anything, or suspect what nefarious things we were getting up to.”

“Nefarious. Is that what you’d call kissing?” Lark brushes past him to grab her bowl and frowns as she feels the gritty liquid smear over her thumb, not even thinking about it as she licks it off and meets his eyes. “I wonder what you’d call sex.”

Alistair isn’t drinking anything, and he still chokes, coughing and coughing until he’s even redder in the face than he was before. “Can we not talk about that, please?” he asks then at her alarmed glance, eyes trained on the ground and hands shoved deep in his pockets. “It’s… I’m a very weak man, Lark, and I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”

Lark stops in her tracks, then, thinking.

Regret is a strong word. She has never felt like she’s regretted very many things. She believes in herself – she’s always had to – and she believes in what she believes. She’s never really had room for regret.

But she might regret this.

Alistair is funny, and gentle, and he has a heart of gold that could fetch a ridiculous amount of sovereigns in an Orlesian market. Sometimes he snorts when he laughs, and one time he even snorted whilst in the middle of choking down some of Wynne’s stew – it was really funny, actually, the thought bringing a smile to Lark’s lips. He brings a smile to her lips. He has for a while now.

And he can’t.

She’s not like him. She’s loud and drinks too much and has too many throwing knives. She curses Andraste under her breath and acts out against the Chantry in ways that border on heresy. And she really, really, really likes him.

And… she can’t. She’ll ruin him. She’s already ruined so many things.

He decided to start off towards the camp in the time that she was thinking, and when he stops and turns around to beckon her closer, his expression hardens into a frown.

“What is it?”

She looks at him and shakes her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing, nothing,” she chirps. “Let’s just get back to camp.”

The urge to hold his hand is probably stronger than the Archdemon is, and she resists it anyway.

That’s good, at least, she tries to convince herself.

---

Their camp is steeped in a haze of mist and gentle rain the next morning, and Lark frowns when she awakes, trying her best to ignore the stray hairs sticking straight up from her scalp. Alistair’s face breaks out into a grin as he sees her, walking quickly towards her, holding a bowl of soup – probably filled with leftovers from the night before and somehow even colder than it was then – in his hands.

“Good morning,” he says in a low, throaty voice, handing the bowl towards her and grinning wider as she takes it. “How did you sleep? Was there a certain Grey Warden in your dreams?”

She looks at him blankly. “I didn’t sleep well,” she comments. “And my head hurts.”

“Oh.” Alistair’s eyebrows gather together. “Well, I mean, you did drink a whole bottle of some Dragon-Heart-Burn-Break-Your-Face thing last night that I think is probably worthy of making Oghren feel ill. Did you… Do you feel sick?”

She swallows the lump growing in her throat. “I don’t even remember that much of last night, honestly,” she says even though it breaks her heart and makes her face burn to see his own fall. “And, anyway,” she continues, holding the bowl back out to him so far that she’s practically pushed it up against his chest, keeping a very obvious distance between them, “we should get a move on and make some headway before, well, this gets worse.”

She knows the sound she makes as she walks away is twigs being crunched beneath her boot, but she feels like, for just one second, that it might be the sound of Alistair’s heart breaking.

[bumblewarden]

For Novhen's sake, i hope someone steps in cause Astala's a biter XD He's squirmy and willing to throw sand in her face, but i don't think that'll be enough to win this one XDDD

I think during the lead up to Broken Circle, either after or in the later parts of NotB sounds best. You're right that it would get in the way of their post-Fade thoughts if we waited til after the Circle. I don't know if it would make sense for Adaia to be aware enough of the waking world to directly intervene in their conflict, but she can at least give them some kind words based on what she remembers of a growing gap between them from the period before her death. She'll steer them in the right direction for peace both internally and with each other as best she can

And it might actually work better as far as the narrative rhyming goes because after Adaia leaves this time, it'll show how much they've grown since then if they're able to just sit in thought together or have a mature conversation about it now without any fighting

Novhen definitely has his Thoughts and Opinions about religion, but after UoSA, if Astala needs someone to talk at about her internal conflicts, he can promise to keep a lid on his own thoughts for a bit. He may not feel the same way, but he at least understands why she feels that way and knows she needs someone to talk to. (And also the confirmation of Shartan as a historical figure is fascinating to him. He's got thoughts rolling around in that brain of his about Andraste in the secular, historical context. Not a good time for him to be postulating on that tho)

Post-Denerim, Novhen will really appreciate her giving him Fang. He might even laugh with her at the "some extra protection from Fen'Harel might come in handy". She's not wrong! And Solas does not deserve Novhen at all lbr

But also Oof on the topic of the Deep Roads. I was originally thinking of Novhen overextending himself with trying to keep constantly, consciously aware of all darkspawn in a large radius for the duration of the whole Deep Roads mission. I've seen a lot of people estimate around two months for the total travel time in the Deep Roads which will not be easy on our little guys at all

But then i thought about the broodmothers. Specifically, i thought about how that's got to be the most traumatic and visceral to encounter for female Tabris and Aeducan specifically. Both of whom are on this expedition. Oops

Also, we are trying So Hard to find a way for Novhen and Ilanlas to be friends, but it feels almost like trying to make the like poles of two different magnets touch 😔😔😔 These two...

At least with NotB, he'll be in a more familiar territory again. (Ilanlas, i mean. That could not be further from the truth for Novhen. Poor city boy keeps getting thrust into woodland adventures against his will 😔 - encounters with the Dalish optional.) That might help him start to feel his old self again

(And if i have it my way, there'll be only one type of stoned Shianni will be getting in this AU 🍃😎 sorrysorrysorry)

And if we're settled on Novhen taking the initial WC position, it sounds like he'll probably be leading the fight to defend the City of Amaranthine! He'll be a little nervous about leaving Astala to defend the keep alone without him in case there's an attack there as well (">.>), but he trusts her. Besides, like hell is he shutting the gates and leaving the citizenry to die once he finds out! He's seen enough of that behavior in the alienage from shems with a grudge, and he refuses to inflict that on anyone else. He's sure she'll understand

I assume Astala's leading the defense of the Vigil as its arlessa? The battle at the keep probably wears on for quite a while, and marching to and from where the Mother is hiding will take some time as well. Hopefully, the siege will be ending about the same time that he gets back, so she's not forced to wait and wonder about her brother's survival for overly long again (Although i recall the darkspawn fleeing Denerim as soon as the archdemon fell, so maybe it'd be a similar case here, and there'd be a few days of waiting. He has got to quit this habit lmao)

Also! If Novhen was Warden-Commander before Ilanlas, that adds a fun twist to him traveling with Morrigan to Skyhold as Renan. Does Ilanlas go to Skyhold for any amount of time following HLTA? If so, that would be one hell of a reunion XD Hell for Novhen mostly, i'd imagine. He did Ilanlas dirty dumping all those negotiations and paperwork on him XD If not, that's fine. He has plenty of room for shenanigans with Alistair, Blackwall, and Leliana. Cullen might recognize him too, but if he tries to address "Renan" as the Warden, he's going to get the "So you think all elves look the same?" card pulled on him

Novhen is going to be really dragging his feet about going into the Chantry in Lothering, so it's possible that they don't head directly there. But if/when they go to the tavern after meeting Sten, they have that run in with Loghain's men. Novhen will take a little bit to warm up to Leliana after that, but she's clearly competent, and they don't have much right to be picky. After that encounter though, i think he'll be sufficiently convinced to go to the Chantry to get it over with if nothing else. Or at least make Astala and whoever else handle the Chantry chats while he speaks to this peasant lady over here who needs help with some traps to defend against the darkspawn. No, he's not avoiding anything. He feels normally about the Chantry

But also, the numbers rolling across Novhen and Astala's eyes when the Mother names her suggested tithe XD Like, Your Reverence, do they look like they are made of money? Because i assure you they are not

Your point about 0HP = Loss of Consciousness makes sense. Novhen's pretty likely to not be wearing a helmet during Rescue the Queen since he's not in one of the guard disguises. He'll either be dressed as a servant to stay near Astala (most likely scenario; no helmet) or in light rogue's armor trailing behind the group (leather helmet). Even then, a helmet is more of a protection against skull fractures than brain injuries. He might just have to take a few blows to the head today :( Whichever guard will probably stop kicking once he's down on account of all the witnesses, but the damage will already be done

From that short description, maybe it's for the best your Edmund's not included this time round for the sake of our Tabrises' own sanities XD On top of everything actually in the game (which is nothing to sneeze at!), they're already busy coping with their relationship to each other and their religions and also Pavle (who isn't particularly snobby or anything. he's just by their standards a really weird guy)

Also also, just a few vague Radka thoughts for this AU that popped into my mind while writing to close out:

Khêd and Radka walking down the streets of the surface when someone talks big to him about collecting on his bounty. She leans over and a glimpse of her old self comes through as she asks if he would like her to remove the problem for him

I also get the feeling that she would take an immediate liking to Ilanlas whether he likes it or not. She loves her crabby bastards XD

And she'll think Astala is alright. You have to respect an assertive woman. But then once she sees her fight for the first time? The approval starts skyrocketing

Twins AU (Round 2)

Since our original post exchange got a tad bit long, @bumblerhizal I’m starting a new one here ^^ First, a few things on the doodles: I’m still cackling XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD Especially about Amell (Pavle) going all “woe is me! 😩😩😩” over the dirt on his favorite robe while these two Alienage kids with probably multiple patches and mends on their clothes just look at each other like “can you believe this guy” XD XD XD XD XD XD XD It’s sooooooooo good and I am now imagining Pavle coming face to face with Sigrun’s particular brand of cheerful dead inside XD XD XD The official Grey Warden merch is amazing and our guys are great models. I really want that on a shirt now (and I could, now that I think of it. Ooooooh it’s tempting). I love Valendrian’s grey hair counter. The expression is on point XD XD XD The Plum of Peace should be a Feastday gift. And it’s very good to see reference for Radka, Pavle and Mr Andras (Who looks so kind!!!!!) Mousevhen is absolutely adorable. I want to give him all the pickled beets in the world

Keep reading

[enby-hawke]

Does anyone think that the Fade’s dream trap for the warden was a little pitiful. Like how much more powerful could it be if we got distinct backgrounds.

Cousland sitting together with their family dinner alive and well. Hearing their voices again. Not wanting to end the dream because it hurts too much to face the truth.

Mahariel back with their clan, Tamlen alive and well. Maybe they are at the beginning of courting if you went that route. Maybe the eluvian brought great power to their clan.

Aeducan’s father alive and well. Or maybe they turned the tables and Bhelen and are now the ruling monarch. Returning to the comfort of their noble life. Maybe they finally pursue their relationship with Gorim.

Tabris might be happily married by now. Or maybe they are just surrounded by Shianni and their father and they both understand that they don’t want marriage but everyone is safe and no one has been hurt by shem hands.

Amell/Surana might have passed their Harrowing and become an honored Enchanter in the Circle. Or if your mage was more of a rebel like mine they might be fleeing with Jowan and Lily. They might have found that farm and started tasting what it was like to have a normal happy life.

Brosca I think would have become the Carta boss they were meant to be. Leske would be by their side and Rica would be happy and safe. Maybe their mother would finally recover and get better, treat them with kindness and care for the first time in their life. When Brosca passes the street the nobles drop their eyes in fear of angering them. They finally have the respect they deserve.

Idk I just think of how cool it would have been if they had incorporated the origins into the dreams. I think it would have been so much harder for my warden to break out of the dream, for delicious angst reasons.

[bumblerhizal-art]

hidden

(Set shortly after Novhen and Morrigan's post-Inquisition reunion. Possible Inquisition spoilers re: the old god baby. CW: Discussions of memory loss)

[70 One Word Prompts]

Someone was watching him. Novhen felt the eyes boring into the back of his neck plain as anything. The Vigil's gardens were small and simple. He was on their edge and, by all appearances, alone, save for his mabari resting at his feet. All that was behind him was a single waist-high hedgerow and the roofed corridor that led back into the keep's interior. Just enough shadow for someone to conceal themself.

His hand tightened around his cane, but his muscles burned too much from old wounds to let him rise from the bench.

Novhen leaned forward as best he could and pet Griffon for a chance to get a good look at the hound, but he was placid, yawning even. It was doubtful that he wouldn't have noticed an unfamiliar scent. Whoever it was couldn't have been a threat, but the unwelcome feeling wouldn't go away. If they were going to watch him, Novhen at least deserved to know who it was.

"Griff," he whispered into his ear, "do you think you could fish out whoever's spying back there?"

Griffon smushed his snout against Novhen's jaw and hopped up. He ran around the bench and over the hedges behind it. He stood tall and barked with his tail wagging vigorously.

Novhen turned in time to see a child fall backwards out of the shrubs. The child held his arms defensively in front of himself. His face was the spitting image of Morrigan's. 

"Griffon, stand down," Novhen commanded.

Griffon barked affirmatively. He toddled back to Novhen’s feet and laid down to passively watch events unfold. He had done his part. Kieran lowered his arms and stared at anything but his father.

Novhen looked at him apologetically. "Hope he didn't give you too much of a fright, kid."

Kieran twiddled his fingers anxiously, "Hello, Father. I'm sorry for hiding."

Novhen's chest sank. The poor boy clearly didn't trust him. Not that he could blame him. They'd only just met. Until last month, he had been nothing but an absence for years, worse than a stranger. He had no right to expect any better.

He tried to smile, "There's no need to apologize for that. You don't have to be so formal with me either, you know. You can just call me Da."

"Right… Da," Kieran said.

A silence fell between them. Kieran looked at his feet. Novhen kicked himself. He was lucky the boy acknowledged him as family at all. He shouldn’t try to force that familiarity so soon. He would have to earn it, but this could be a perfect time to work towards that goal.

Novhen said, "Kieran, why don't you come sit with me while I wait for my strength to come back? There's still space for another."

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. As he turned the corner around the nearest gap in the hedges, he kept his eyes fixed on Griffon. Novhen followed his line of sight.

"Don't worry yourself about him," he said. "He's a smart dog. Wouldn't hurt a hair on your head."

Griffon huffed as though any other possibility would have been completely absurd.

Kieran sat down slowly. He now stared off into the distance, refusing to look either Novhen or Griffon in the eye. 

Novhen leaned back. Birdsongs filled every inch of the air at this hour. The thought flitted through his head that Kieran could have snuck up on him by shapeshifting into a bird or some other innocuous animal. He was all but guaranteed to develop magic someday, and Morrigan would certainly be a willing teacher. It was only a matter of whether or not he already had. Or, Novhen mused, maybe he used more traditional means of sneaking around, like a Tabris.

The boy sat stiffly next to him.

"Something on your mind?" Novhen asked.

Kieran hesitated to answer. "I remember you with a sword. I haven't seen you with a sword here though."

"Don’t know where you would’ve gotten that image of me from. I'm not really a swordsman. I don't think I've even touched one since…"

Right. The archdemon. Of course he would remember that.

Novhen cleared his throat. "I guess that doesn't matter. I only used a sword that one time."

Kieran looked down at his hands and said quietly, "He said that you killed him, but he wasn't mad."

A pause.

"How much do you remember of that day?" Novhen asked delicately. 

"Not much anymore."

"That might be for the best. I can't imagine those being pleasant memories for you to hold," he said softly, "but hey, that gives us something in common, doesn't it?"

Kieran looked at him quizzically, "What? But how would you forget? You were there."

"Ah, so I was," he answered, "but as it went, I also hit my head something awful right after and was still recovering from the last time I got knocked down that fight. I only know I'm the one who killed the archdemon because everyone else spent the next six months screaming in my ear about it nonstop."

He said, "The story I heard was much more heroic than that."

"I bet it would be. The truth makes for a lousy story, and your storyteller had dignity to protect."

"Can you tell me the truth then?" Kieran asked.

"Would if I could, kid, but like I said, I got slapped around a few too many times to remember much of anything," Novhen shrugged. "I guess if you want to know about any earlier part of that battle? Or is there any other story? I know a few good ones."

Kieran furrowed his eyebrows for several seconds before he responded, "How did you become a Grey Warden? Whenever I asked Mother, she would say she didn't know."

From the ground, Griffon raised an ear.

Novhen drummed his fingers against his cane's handle, "Yeah, I suppose I never told her much of that one. It's not my favorite to tell, but for you, I'll let it slide this once. Listen close because I can't promise you'll hear it again."

Novhen cleared his voice for the show. This would be a lot of details to smudge.

[naomifj97]

Vigil's Keep

“—Oriana…

—It’s Commander now, Your Majesty.”

Or: After the attack on Vigil’s Keep, Alistair and Oriana reunite for the first time since the slaying of the Archdemon.

Hi again! So, this keeps the storyline stablished in previous fics, Newbie, A lamppost in winter and Wild. In this I STRONGLY start headcanoning because...well, you'll see 😉.

Anyway, one shot under cut, around 1k-2k words, not very long, featuring Alistair x the Warden, yearning and angst. Also, Oriana does not like templars and it shows.

Enjoy!

Oriana Tabris is exhausted.

She knows she’s out of shape; she hasn’t fought in months, and the armor is significantly tighter than it was before. The metal plats nail her flesh in an uncomfortably way around the abdomen that has yet to return to its former shape, around the breasts that now are fuller; the boots feel heavy and the gauntlets are making her hands sweaty. She has not had a proper night of sleep in weeks. The cramps in her lower back are getting worse. Every time she turns around, she’s sure she’s hearing him cry for her. Part of her wonders why she has not sent Loghain to do this; the world knows the bastard has earnt the privilege of doing all the tasks she is not up to for the rest of their lives. He would have deserved it.

But yet, there she is.

When she extracts the sword from that talking darkspawn, (The Withered, had he called himself?), Seneschal Varel lets out a high-pitched sigh of relief.

—I owe you my life, Commander. Thank the Maker, you have arrived.

Oriana almost rolls her eyes. “Me. Not the Maker. Me” she wants to say. But she’s tired, and uncomfortable, and she misses Kieran like one would miss a severed limb, so, instead, she asks about the attack. He does not answer; before he can, the far-away sound of horses and the tingling of armors makes itself audible in the middle of the pouring rain.

—It seems we have more company. Hopefully, they’re most hospitable than our previous guests —he says, gaze stuck in the gates of the Keep, those she has ran over like a raging, declining demon just half an hour ago.

Oriana takes a look in his eyes’ direction and the punch in the gut is so hard she almost gets out of air.

Even in the distance, those colors are unmistakable.

The colors that had been Cailan’s.

The colors that now are his.

At her side, Oghren lets out a snort.

—Spank me, this is gonna be interesting…

She just ignores him.

“Please be Anora, please be Anora, please be Anora” she begs to a Maker she’s sure doesn’t listen, as they wait for the Royal party to reach the gates.

But no. Of course not.

He walks in, fast pacing, shining golden armor in his body and gesture of worry in his frown, flanked by a female Templar and followed by dozens of soldiers armed to the teeth. Drops of rain hit his rebel dark blond hair, his tan skin, his long bright eyelashes; his eyes wander over the whole place with a focused look she knows so well it hurts.

They haven’t seen each other since the slaying of the Archdemon, since she left Denerim with no intentions of becoming his secret to keep. The last time they spoke, she swore she wouldn’t make of him an oath to worship.

—King Alistair!

Beside her, Mhairi kneels. Oriana doesn’t; she’s sure she won’t get up if she does. She might just lie there in the mud, letting it swallow her while the tiredness lures her to sleep. That sounds so much better than face King Alistair.

King Alistair and his bloody warm smile, his damned relief when he sees they’re all unharmed. When he sees her.

Alistair knows her body. As good as she herself does. So Oriana prays he doesn’t notice her hips are wider, her breasts fuller, her stance a bit different from an exhaustion so unlike any other she has suffered in her life. Two weeks ago, she was birthing his son. If she has her way, however, he’ll never get to know that.

—It looks I arrived a bit late. Too bad. I was looking forward to the whole darkspawn-killing thing —he jokes, and it’s like the taint is burning in her veins again. Then, he looks at her. His eyes soften, the laugh in his mouth disappears. The longing is undeniable when her name escapes from his lips, like a prayer, like an oath—: Oriana…

She forgot how to pray a long time ago.

—It’s Commander now, Your Majesty.

Her words are as sharp as her sword, as cold as the steel she used to slay that Archdemon and seal their destiny. Alistair thinks he probably deserves it, her coldness and disdain, but still hurts like she had run her very same sword over his chest. The pain in his eyes is evident to everyone, and he doesn’t even bother concealing it.

He doesn’t notice the changes in her body; the armor does a great job hiding those. He does notice that she seems tired. No, not tired: drained. The most exhausted he has ever seen her, and, because he has seen her in some of the darkest moments of her life, the worry floods over him as the first tide of the disaster. Yet, Alistair can’t help but notice she is as beautiful as the day he lost her.

He wants to ask. He wants to know where she’s been those past six months, how she’s doing, what has happened. He wants to ask her so many things he’d be talking until sunrise. Instead, he just chooses one:

—Are you hurt?

She wants to tell him to stop. She wants to tell him he can’t be that same caring idiot she fell so hard in love with because that’s not what they are anymore. They can’t be. Because she can’t endure being reminded of how much she still loves him.

—We’re fine.

—I wanted to come, give the Wardens a formal welcome. Then news about this arrived at court and… I was not expecting… I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner —he fidgets with his fingers, like he always does when he’s nervous, and the familiarity gives Oriana a sudden urge to cry. Bloody hormones, she thinks, when she finds herself wondering if Kieran will inherit that from him. He expects her to interrupt him, to bark at him a grumpy “We’ve got this under control” or something like that, but she says nothing. So, instead, he clears his throat and asks—: So…what’s the situation?

Oriana peeks a glance to Seneschal Varel, who immediately explains what has happened. He says the Orlesian wardens are either dead or missing, and, out of habit, Oriana and Alistair exchange a look. She hates that there’s still an evident complicity between them; he is so relieved that he could sing.

They have been taken by the darkspawn, and they both know what that means. Without a Blight, however, it’s strange that the darkspawn are acting like that, and once again Oriana fears for what that means.

He says it’s a relief that the Hero of Ferelden is there and alive, and Oriana wants to punch him because she hates that bloody title, because she never wanted to be a leader much less a hero and she shouldn’t be alive to begin with. But she refrains those thoughts because now she can’t afford them. Now, Kieran needs her. And the sooner she is done with all that shit, the sooner Alistair is back in court, the sooner she can return to her son. So she answers with a blunt “The Hero of Ferelden will handle this” that chills Alistair’s spine, because no one better than him knows how far the Hero of Ferelden can go to carry on with her duty.

—I…can help. I can stay and help.

Her faces clenches with anger; a soft glimmer of betrayal reignites in her eyes. If he had wanted to stay, he could have sent Eamon to hell when he had the chance.

—Ferelden needs its King working to rebuild it, not running around fighting darkspawn!

He tries not to be hurt by her rejection.

—You don’t have to do this alone.

—Hey! And what am I? Chopped nug livers?

Oriana has never loved Oghren’s big, lousy, ill-timed mouth as much as she does in that moment. The banter that follows between the dwarf and the mage, Anders, convinces her that those two must be her new recruits. And that idea only grows stronger when the Templar at Alistair’s side steps in to arrest the mage. Oriana then remembers why she hates Templars so much: they treat mages as well as the nobility treat her people in the Alienage.

—Apostate or not, this man has done nothing but saving a lot of lives here, this night, my lady —she interrupts, with that dangerous glimmer in her eyes that makes Alistair warm inside.

—He’s a murderer! —the Templar protests, and then Anders protests, and Oriana is too tired for all this shit.

—Last time I checked, this place was under Wardens’ protection and responsibility, and so is this man!

Alistair had almost forgotten how much he enjoys Oriana angering Templars. The woman is fuming.

—The Chantry’s authority-!

—The Chantry’s authority means nothing to me. I have a right and I’m going to use it —Oriana replies, and, suddenly, she is no longer Oriana, but the Commander of the Grey the Blight has turned her into.

The woman Alistair forced her to become, he reminds himself with a bitter thought.

When she pronounces the words that placed the last nail in their coffin months ago, she does not hesitate:

—I hereby conscript this man for the Grey Wardens.

He replies immediately:

—I will allow it.

His eyes do not leave hers as he speaks and Oriana wants to yell at him, hit him, scream at him, because he doesn’t have a right to look at her like that anymore. He knows too, but, Maker, he can’t help it. He tries to remember he has a wife, that he’s supposed to love another woman, that he’s made vows. But every inch of him is yearning for Oriana, yelling at him that he made a terrible mistake that night after the Landsmeet, that day he took Anora’s hand and swore to honor her as his wife while his heart still belonged to another and his mind was covered in thoughts of her. He had hoped the need would eventually diminish, but those six months have only made it more urgent, more consuming, more powerful.

He clears his throat.

—I see you have everything under control, Commander. But I still would like to stay, see if I can be of help. At least this night.

“I want to stay. I need to talk to you”, he’s saying.

She doesn’t care. She’s tired, she misses her baby, and she misses him. She still loves him as much as the day they conceived Kieran.

But she really doesn’t care.

She has an order to rebuild.

—Do as you please. The Seneschal can fill you in anything you precise. I have some matters that require my attention.

And, with that, she walks away once again.

Alistair wants to follow, wants to tell her to wait, wants to run after her and beg for her forgiveness. But, once again, he does nothing.

A/N: So, one day I saw a comment in a video of Alistair breaking up with a non-human noble Warden after becoming King that said "Wouldn't be funny if the warden was actually pregnant at the moment" and I took it as a challenge. I know the chances of two Grey Wardens conceiving are slim, but, you know, there's always magic (headcanons, I mean headcanons). Diverting from the possibilities the game offers and making up impossible ones is part of the fun after all!

So, yes, in this Alistair became King because Eamon manipulated him to do it. And married Anora because Eamon said it was the only way to avoid civil war, since he supported Alistair and Oriana supported Anora. I hate Eamon and it shows. Meanwhile, and unknown to any of them, even herself, Oriana became pregnant before the Landsmeet. So yes, in this headcanon of mine, Kieran is the Warden's child (Flemeth was five steps ahead any of them and performed the ritual on Oriana just in case), she survived the Archdemon thanks to him. Kieran is an Old God Baby and Morrigan is "cool auntie Morrigan" in this headcanon. Alistair and Oriana do end up together eventually, I swear. They just need to reach Inquisition for that.

Fun fact: this was the first Alistair x Oriana I wrote.

Fun fact 2: Yesterday was my first day on invisible orthodontic treatment and the pain is killing me. Send strength 😭.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!

[miladysatsuki]

ok my post about talking about 3.0+1.0 kawoshin & kaworus development got a few likes so I’m going to ramble under the cut about mostly kawoshin & kaworu but actually about all of the pilots & the whole movie.

SPOILER WARNING FOR EVANGELION 3.0+1.0 also out of context spoilers for pmmm in the second to last paragraph I’m just comparing the two

So, first of all I’m going to say some general movie thoughts: I liked the movie, I know there are some polarizing opinions. I agree that Asuka and Mari both deserved more development and attention. However Asukas “confession” at the EoE mirrored scene really did not feel romantic to me like it felt very much just accepting that like no I do actually care about you Shinji despite always pushing you away I do want well for you and always have, but I didn’t know how to deal with that truth and my own pain at the same time. Asuka is not tsundere, she does not have romantic feelings for Shinji and never has. I will die on this hill. She may have wanted him to want her to validate herself but, thats a different can of worms.

Mari and Shinji running off together at the end, OBVIOUSLY the implication is they’re together but I feel like they intentionally left it a bit ambiguous for people who didn’t need/want to see Shinji in a romantic relationship. Like they easily could have shown her pregnant or kissing him or something and that would have been very blatant. I think the fact that she is the one who came up to him at the end instead of Asuka Rei or Kaworu is mostly fan service with a dash of letting the other three have room to be their own people separate of Shinji. Rei and Kaworu have never been their own person without their entire worlds revolving around Shinji and I think the visual of the two of them talking together at the end but still on the other side of the train station was a good way of showing like they are still relevant to Shinjis life but they get to explore their own worlds too. Obviously same goes for Asuka because she is the other side of the same coin with Shinji, she deserves to be her own person too. I also like to pretend after running off the train platform together they go to the other side & meet up with the others :)

ANYWAYS MORE ABOUT KAWORU SPECIFICALLY

I think its really interesting that almost every popular fan theory about him got confirmed in this new movie, even ones that had barely any basis in previous movies, and that they also dismissed the main popular homophobic opinion of “he was just using Shinji”. He truly wanted Shinji to be happy, because he wanted that to be enough to make himself happy. & I genuinely think he was aware and fully willing to keep living the loop for Shinji infinitely but Shinji recognizing the loop existing and acknowledging all that Kaworu had done for him already was also extremely releasing. Probably freed him from something he didn’t even know was trapping him at all. Kaji and Kaworus father/son moment was really sweet as well considering Kaworu is his own parents and has never known any kind of family.

I also have read some online takes that Rei and Kaworu are meant to be “together” at the end? but I really dont think standing next to one another constitutes a romantic relationship LOL. They’re definitely still/always siblings in my book. I also would like to think all the pilots kept their memories from the rebuild timeline, Kaworu keeping them from every timeline & Shinji having a blurry understanding of the existence of multiple timelines but not every detail.

I wonder if this implies Kaworu and Rei are fully human, I’m not sure how that works. Maybe he still is Tabris but angels pose no threat without evas anymore so he can just live amongst them like anyone else.

I also wanted to say like PMMM is another one of my dearest animes and something about Shinji pulling the Goddoka card to rewrite the universe without evas (without witches) but Yui facing the burden for him is so sweet. I can’t see it going any better way. Unit 01 obviously was taking as much damage for Shinji all along and her being able to be his final release from that pain is just, I don’t know how it could do any other way. I also don’t think I could handle it if it was exactly the same as PMMM and no one remembered Shinji. Shinji my beautiful baby boy who represents hope for humanity?? Completely forgotten?? thats too much even for me 😩 also this is a side note: I am absolutely in no way a Gendo apologist but I really appreciated him getting his loose ends tied off too, for Shinjis sake mostly. I don’t think Evangelion could have ended without Shinji gaining understanding for his father. Shinji understanding his father is another important aspect of Shinji representing humanity. It probably also allowed him to heal a little from Kaworu being “just like my father” like yeah, we all are, a little bit he’s also just a guy just like you. Gendo is the absolute tail-end of the spectrum of losing your hope and your humanity. The visual of Shinji using the lance of hope and Gendo using despair is obvi a very classic anime trope but I still liked it. Gendo losing Yui and letting it destroy him and Shinji losing Kaworu but using that to move forward and grow and keep Kaworu alive in spirit (also in real life but he didn’t know that at that point obvi). Chefs kiss.

anyways Shinji and Kaworu get a house together and live happily ever after :) idk I haven’t thought much about how they would live on post movie but I feel like the whole group would all be good friends + Toji and fam + Kensuke too of course. I could do a whole nother post about Toji and Kensuke 😫 I have so many feelings for evangelion lmk if u wanna hear LOL

[psalacanthea]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks @kirkwalls-dumbest for the tag!  Usually I like to post funny bits, but this is an angsty bit from my modern au DA2 fic.  tw for discussion of sexual assault.

...

Shianni sat down on the edge of the roof with a sigh, gaze fixed out across the skyline of Kirkwall.  Picking up one of the beers next to her hip, black-painted nails bracing against the metal, she offered it over to Liana.  When she took it with a smile, Shianni returned a tense, strained one and picked up the other can.  It was cheap, awful Ferelden light beer, but Lia had noticed that seemed to be a common libation of Derry and his family.  

When she’d asked Darian why the Tabris family drank it despite being able to afford better, he’d just say ‘it tastes like home’.

She understood that.

Sunset washed over them, made the city look less dirty, less worn-down and tumultuous.  But under the obscuring wash of reds and golds and lengthening blue shadows of oncoming night were dark and dismal things.  But also beautiful and precious things that needed to be protected.  This poor city, so loved.

So broken.

“Thank you for not asking if I’m all right, Mahariel.”

“You don’t have to be,” Lia assured her quietly, cracking open the beer.  “It’s what I always tell Zevran when he tries to smile too much.  It’s important sometimes to not be all right.  And what they’re doing, invading your privacy like this…it’s not something you should be all right about.”

“I don’t know what to do.  And- and we’ve got people who can handle things like this,”  Shianni stopped, took a deep breath, and shook her head.  “Our manager says we could make this go away, but…”

The sentence died, the rest exhaled in a sigh.

“But?”  Lia asked quietly.

Shianni lifted her beer blindly to take a sip, and then glanced down at the still-closed can.  She grimaced, chagrined, and thumbed it open with a hiss.  “But we’d have to lay low.  Leave Kirkwall.  Ignore what’s happening here to the mages, the refugees.  And you know how Derry feels about that.”

“I must say, as his girlfriend, I feel confident in telling you that it is very much not about him.  What do you want?”

Shianni stared fixedly at the horizon, but she could see her lashes fluttering, blinking rapidly.  Lifting a hand, she dashed it across her eyes, smearing eyeliner.  Her jaw tightened.  “I don’t want to listen to people telling me how strong I am.  I don’t want to be an inspiration for what happened to me on the worst day of my life.  I don’t want to be the ‘brave little girl who was raped’.”

The last word was full of old venom, but it was a tired hurt these days, not a jagged one.

Liana nodded slowly, glancing down at her beer.  She took a long sip, crisp and cold and not tasting like much of anything.  It was quiet for a few moments, but she knew Shianni wasn’t looking for platitudes.  She needed an ear.

There were enough empty sentiments being lobbed at her right now.

“I’m not like Darian.  I want to move on from things, not make them…make them part of my-”  Shianni gestured vaguely, and wiped her eye again.  Staring at the black-smeared back of her hand, she muttered a quiet ‘fuck’ and lifted a hand to blindly fix her eyeliner.

“Part of his legend?” Lia guessed quietly.  “I understand that.”

“You would,”  Shianni agreed simply, a quiet acknowledgement of their shared history.  “But he just took it all.  All the guilt, all the blame, he took it right off of mine and Soris’ shoulders and let them pin all the crimes on him, and we just got off bloody fucking free.  I don’t know.  Do I deserve this for letting him go on the run to save me?”

Liana glanced down at her beer, watching the light paint the rim of the cheap aluminum gold.  It was difficult to know what to say.  She had been assaulted, but never violated in the same way, and so she could not claim to understand.  But she did know what it felt like to blame yourself for someone else paying the price for what you thought was your fault.  Perhaps passing on Zevran’s words would help her believe, to lighten her own burden.  

“None of what has or did happen was your crime.”

Shianni turned her head, stare penetrating and yet oddly vulnerable, in a way she so rarely was.  “Darian didn’t kill Kendalls.  He shot the others, and then handed me the gun.  I shot him.  Three times.  His face was-”  she stopped, looked away, her voice trembling with tension in and pain- “and Derry took the fall for me.  He suffered, so no one would have to know what happened to me.”

The confession was unexpected, but perhaps not as much as Shianni thought it would be.  It made sense.  Darian wouldn’t have known what to do, how to fix it…but he knew how to help other people take back their power.

It made sense.

But Lia wasn’t sure what Shianni was looking for from her.  Absolution, maybe?  Someone to blame her?  It was a complicated situation, especially with whoever was trying to bring up the Kendalls murder all over again for no other reason, it seemed, than to hurt.  Someone was luring the bottom feeders who now demanded that Shianni speak about what had happened to her, to confirm or deny her own trauma.

Lia couldn’t understand.

Why did she have to suffer publicly to be deserving of their sympathy?

[spainkitty]

DAO has really helped me be more inspired to do creative stuff. I'm actually really disappointed by the idea that later games don't have the Origin stories! But since I'm here, I just really wanna brag about my girls.

Aleandria Cousland is my main storyline. I finished her story all the way through Witch Hunt (though I haven't done the GoA yet). She's a baby, just 19 when her world falls apart, and full of optimism and faith and love. She grew up with a silver spoon and she knows it, so she tries, with every choice and judgement she has to make, to pay that privilege forward. She is the epitome of Lawful Good, with just a little bit of veering off the path of annoying righteousness thanks to her grey-moralled biffies. She and Alistair fall in stupid goofy love, obviously, and he trains her to use Templar abilities (she becomes better at it than him🤣). In the end, she becomes Queen of Ferelden alongside her devoted King. She chooses to ally with the Architect, and, while she doesn't quite regret it, she is uneasy with her choice for the next decade. (Then, Witch Hunt made me sob because she spent all that time and effort just to find her friend, to tell her she trusts her and loves her, and Morrigan doesn't have to do this alone! But Morrigan leaves anyway and I fell down sobbing at Morrigan's last look over her shoulder. Spending the time to get up Morrigan's approval as high as possible in DAO was so so worth it for the scenes with Morrigan calling Aleandria her friend and sounding like she was about to cry)

Lanil Surana is my elf mage and she is also Babey. She's aroace spec and her story is unfinished. Thus far: She's been in the Circle so long she doesn't remember anything else, and honestly doesn't care. Why do people keep asking about her elf heritage?? It means nothing to her. She's a mage. She's not exactly smart, but she's bright and strong-willed and confident to the point of arrogance. She is talented at magic, very rarely struggles, and all she cares about is more magic. And (what leads her into trouble) wanting her friends to be happy. Jowan wants to be a farmer and get married and give up his magic? Gross, but okay. She'll help if it'll make him happy. Ofc he's not a blood mage, he wouldn't lie to HER. She knows her friend, there's no way he could hide something like that--oh. oh no. She's still unsure of how she feels about being a Warden; a part of her remains in the Circle, where she feels like she will always belong, even if it meant being made Tranquil for what she truly believes is her own mistake. Going out into the world, seeing something bigger than herself, will hopefully help her learn empathy and perspective. There is more to the world than the Circle, and not all apostates are evil or deserve punishment. Morrigan especially is a good influence on her. Going back to the Circle to save it was the most heartwrenching and terrifying experience of her life and she struggles between her trauma and her growth when it comes to blood magic and freedom. (Extra: everything with Cullen still lingers in the back of her mind. WtFUCK was that?? What was he... talking about? Did he love her or something? No way. Maybe?) In the future, maybe she'll even find a connection to a heritage she's never bothered to care about.

Danae Tabris is a city elf. And she's ANGRY. Her whole life has been about being made smaller, quieter, and scraping by for survival. She is pragmatic and cold to strangers (esp humans), but not unnecessarily cruel. When the Arl's son ruins her wedding day, a day she only half-begrudgingly accepted for her single father's sake, despite having zero interest in her would-be-husband (or any man), Danae's anger is unstoppable. Saving the young elf women around her, protecting them from the monsters masked in human skin, gives her, for a moment, power. True Power over her fate that leads to beheading the Arl's son while still dressed in her wedding finery. Being killed for it feels more like a reward than a punishment, there is true pride in her when she steps forward, it was worth it to save the other elves and end the life of even one oppressor. But then Duncan offers her a life in the Grey Wardens. While she can't truly trust him, she latches onto the idea of more power, the ability to be stronger, faster, and FREE. That freedom and power is all that matters to her, at first. Could Leliana be the one that shows her that she can forgive the world for letting her down? And that humans can, in the end, be good and true and... worth loving? She can not only save a few young elves, she can save the entire country and love wholeheartedly, unreservedly. She will be capable of wielding power, yes, but also capable of Greatness. (Though, she'll never be comfortable with the idea of being a "Hero" and definitely disappears so people will please forget her face.)