#not to mention how the made so many things worse. like turning the mage/templar thing into a 'both sides were wrong' scenario

[ancientfalmer]

i feel pretty comfortable saying that dai shouldn't have been made. dao and da2 were enough, they weren’t perfect they both had problems ofc but they were good and enjoyable and had some pretty good writing despite their flaws. dai is fun to play in some aspects but in terms of story, character writing, and worldbuilding its so bad like comparing dao/da2 to dai is like hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby

[moontheoretist]

Something about the lost potential of the relationships between companions.

You know... always when I think about DA2 and how the story was written I mourn the fact that some of the characters that are our companions are never actually shown to put aside their differences in the end and become friends, a unit that supports each other, with rare examples of friendly banter in some cases (like Sebastian and Merrill). That there is always a divide inside the group on part of some specific companions, regardless of how we play the game and what we choose to do. The best example are Fenris and Anders, who if not forced to stay always at odds, could probably find a common ground. They were both oppressed, even if that oppression was not coming from the same source. They have so much in common that it is painful to watch them never actually notice or acknowledge that. It hurts even more when Anders says something bad about elves, considering that he should more than anybody else know how it feels to be oppressed by others and treated worse for something he has no control over, something he never chose to be born with or as. TBH same goes for Fenris who despite hating all the mages SHOULD be able to see the injustice and oppression that happens in the south, should be able to connect it to his own experience as a slave with time passing, even though at first he would not be able to see them as anything else than future Magisters that mistreated him and so many others, because he perceives them all as a threat.

Though, Anders’ racist remarks (the ones from Awakening, as well as his treatment of Merrill and Fenris in DA2 - some things he says are just... ouch, not cool) do not surprise me in the slightest. I know many people who are oppressed and then turn around and oppress people from their own community. I do not understand it. It is baffling to me, but I know it happens, so it doesn’t surprise me that someone can be oppressed for who they are and then turn around and still be racist. LGBTQ+ community knows that the best, how being oppressed for your gender or sexuality doesn’t automatically make you someone who cannot be racist or ableist or antisemitic. I wish we could not be bigoted towards other minority groups or micro groups in our own community. It would be great if we just stopped being hypocritical, stopped turning around and throwing shit that was thrown at us by our oppressors at another oppressed group. I can see merit in making characters flawed in this way. However, there is an idea in canon of the game that always will not make sense to me and will be inherently against Anders nature as a character, which I will never accept to be canon. Namely, him being happy if Hawke decided to give Fenris back to Danarius. He may not have personal experience with being a slave to a singular person like a cruel Magister, but he definitely has an experience of being enslaved to a whole ass institution, and it is not actually that far away from being treated as someone’s property. In his case he is just property of the Chantry, to be used as they see fit and to be discarded (killed or made tranquil) when they deem him too dangerous. I have the exact same issue with Sebastian who has this weird banter about giving Merrill and Anders to the Templars, as if it was not against his characterization (and the fact that he seemed friendly with Merrill). That just feels like forced division for the sake of it. Artificial wall to keep them separate.

Anyway, my point is that your companions can always CHANGE. That they don’t always have to be as they were planned to be at the beginning, because interactions between the characters is what makes them grow, just like people. If they are only allowed to do so. And they are not allowed to, even if they are portrayed as if they were friendly with some of the companions. It just never goes beyond that level of hinting that they are friendly, but actually not acknowledging it. Not to mention that they are outright forbidden from seeing a common ground with characters that are at odds even though they have many things in common that unite them if they only notice that they do not actually have opposite views, just different targets. Fenris would not give Anders or Merrill to the Templars, but he also does not seem to see the issue Anders speaks about from his point of view. He is not allowed to just as much as Anders is not allowed to see Fenris point of view despite being Darktown healer and supposedly knowing how bad elves are treated in the south as a foundation for him at least considering how much worse it must be in Tevinter.

It just boggles my mind how writers could create so many interesting characters for this game and never ever think about how they would interact with each other beyond some snippy banter that never seems to evolve beyond the initial ideas. It just feels as if they were eternally stuck in the vision that writers had for their relationship, regardless what happens, as if relationships were fixed in stone instead of something that ever changes. The same situation applies to Anders animosity towards Merrill, or the divide between Aveline and Isabela. They are just treated like monoliths that will always be the same and will never find a common ground, will never talk their differences through, not matter what Hawke does or what happens to them all. I understand Sebastian being left out, because he is a DLC exclusive companion, but I think that even for him there should be written a whole set of relationships with others that change and grow with the story regardless of his status (he is Fenris’ friend after all). Like for example he comments in Darktown “Why Chantry doesn’t help these people?” and I think that could be a GREAT foundation for him and Anders warming up to each other, because Anders IS A DARKTOWN HEALER, he is the only person that DOES HELP those people and knows how much Chantry has them in their asses. (This is most probably not enough to make him change his feelings about Elthina or his mind about the Resolutionists or turn his back to the Chantry, but it could be enough to make him think about the dissonance of what Chantry preaches versus what they actually do, and force him to place Anders in the context of the one who despite being on the run, despite being in danger, does everything in his power to help those people, while not asking anything in return). And it pains me that it never happens. That he and Anders, just as much as Fenris and Anders, are never truly allowed to get along over shared views just to keep them all as separate factions. It is such a wasted potential to show that characters are willing to talk to each other in banter, but never actually allow them to get to know one another and change through the course of the entire game, as if they were forever stuck in the simple archetype and role they were created for. And this is also the reason why I love Dragon Age fanfics. Because some of their authors actually put thoughts into all of those characters as living, breathing human beings instead of just fixed archetypes that will never change that devs didn’t need them to, and give them LIFE.

It makes no sense for them to always stay the same when we know that they DO spent time with each other outside missions, and not always with the presence of Hawke gluing them together, either. If they truly all hated each other, would they really play Diamondback at Fenris’ mansion? No. And the problem is that the game always TELLS us things that are important like this, but never actually SHOWS them. I am not even confident enough to say that DAO tried to do it while DA2 never did or failed to do so, because I do not remember most of that game, but I think that if the relationships changed between the companions I would remember that. If they did then it was, once again, never shown, just said. It is not enough.

Games are visual media. They NEED to show things.

[a-byronic-heroine]

Kly as an in-game companion

RECRUITMENT

• She can be found in the jail beneath the Chantry in a cell after the “Wrath of Heaven” quest and title card. The first conversation occurs when the Inquisitor finds her. They discuss her presence, how she got there and who she is. The Inquisitor can continually approach her for conversation.

• After “Champions of the Just”, Kly is very angry and pacing. She warns the Inquisitor of the consequences of this. If the Inquisitor is dismissive, Kly warns them of the consequences of their actions. If the Inquisitor investigates, they learn more of Kly’s backstory. If they agree or remain neutral, Kly warns them they’ve made enemies and to watch their back.

• After “In Hushed Whispers”, if approached in her cell, Kly asks about the future the Inquisitor saw, and offers her sincere gratitude as well as appearing pensive and uneasy. The Inquisitor has the option to investigate and learn more of Kly’s backstory.

• At Skyhold, she is a subject of a Judgement. The Inquisitor can to give her to the Chantry and Orlais in an act of diplomacy, make her an agent of the Inquisition and companion, or give her to the Templars as executing her in Skyhold itself is deemed too risky without a greater templar presence. If she isn’t recruited, a War Table mission becomes available saying she has escaped custody and fled. She joins Corypheus along with the Underground without the positive influence of the Inquisitor and becomes an enemy.

• Kly can be found in the infirmary area of Skyhold as a companion. Ambient NPCs will occasionally mention “the blood mage” healing them or curing ailments.

CONVERSATIONS

Hostile greetings:

“You again?”

“What now?”

“Do you ever leave?”

Hostile farewells:

“Yeah.”

“And a merry fuck off to you too.”

“Finally.”

Neutral greetings:

“Ah, Inquisitor.”

“Yes?”

“Are you here for healing?”

Neutral farewells:

“Good day, Inquisitor.”

“Farewell, Inquisitor.”

“So long.”

Warm greetings:

“Ah, hello.”

“It’s good to see you.”

“All is well, I trust?”

Warm farewells:

“I quite enjoy these talks.”

“Come see me again soon.”

“Be well, my friend.”

Romanced greetings:

“So forward.”

“Yes, dear?”

“You look particularly lovely today.”

Romanced farewells:

“I’ll meet you in your rooms later.”

“What? No goodbye kiss?”

“I already miss you.”

DECISIONS

• She greatly approves of helping Ferelden citizens, killing templars and siding with mages. If she goes to Ferelden, she’ll sometimes give little tidbits of information like the origin of the mabari, the Blight’s affect on the land, history, noble houses, etc.

• She greatly disapproves of conscripting the mages or siding with/aiding any Templar forces. She only disapproves of disbanding and conscripting Templars.

• She approves of talking with spirits and demons, including the demon Imshael, instead of just immediately attacking them. Though she greatly disagrees with any deals made with them.

• She cannot be taken as a companion to Val Royeaux, as she’s considered a terrorist. During “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts”, Kly can actually be found there, tough she is in disguise. If spoken to, she’ll say she’s there for “no reason” and cannot be spoken to again.

OPINIONS ON THE OTHER COMPANIONS

• She greatly disapproves of Vivienne’s recruitment. Anytime they’re in the same party, they’re particularly malicious with each other. She usually doesn’t even use her name when asked about her. She’ll call her Vivisection, Vasectomy or Venereal when asked about her. Kly will say “she was hot until she opened her mouth”.

• She distrusts Blackwall because “no one is that nice naturally” but otherwise gets along with him. She approves of his recruitment, and after his betrayal will disapprove of him becoming a warden. She is neutral towards romances with Blackwall. Pre-Ranier she’ll say “I guess it works. No pregnancy, limited number of years available for them to betray you. Quite the neat package”. Post-Rainer, she’ll say “It’s noble to forgive him for what he did. I only wish others could be as forgiving with me.”

• She approves of recruiting Dorian. She also approves of romances with Dorian. When they’re in the same party, they usually talk about how ridiculous they think Andrastianism is. If Dorian is romanced she’ll say it’s “nice not everyone hates mages”.

• She approves of recruiting Cole. She’s neutral to whether he becomes more or less spirit-like. She treats Cole a lot like a child when they’re in the same party, so she’s extremely gentle and patient with him even when he does “that mind thing I told you not to do”.

• She gets along well with Solas. If they’re in the same party, they’ll often discuss magical theory and what Solas has seen in the Fade. She approves of romances with Solas. If he romances the Inquisitor, she will mention it in party and say “I understand why you only like elf girls. I quite like them, myself. First crush I ever had was on a Dalish girl”.

• She disapproves of recruiting Iron Bull because he follows the Qun which is just as bad if not worse than the Chantry in her mind. If he becomes Tal Vashoth, she gets along well with him. If Bull romances the Inquisitor and he’s Tal Vashoth, Kly approves, mentioning the forgiveness thing she does with Blackwall’s romance post-Ranier. If Bull is still Ben Hasraath during a romance, Kly will warn the Inquisitor to watch their back. If they’re a mage, Kly will take them aside to try and dissuade them. In parties, Bull usually jokes about blood magic with her, claiming it will do fantastical things, and she’ll usually laugh and correct him.

• Kly dislikes Varric because he “asks too many questions” at first, though her relationship becomes more amicable the more they interact. His nickname for her is usually “paper cut”. In parties, he’ll ask her things like what she did in Kirkwall, where in Ferelden she’s from, etc. Kly will usually be truthful, but when he gets too close to an uncomfortable subject, she’ll just say “no, nope, not telling. New question!”.

• She’s neutral towards Sera, though Sera will disapprove of her recruitment. Sera’s relationship with Solas is similar to the one she has with Kly. Sera will tell Kly her magic is gross, Kly will offer her situations where it’s saved lives and Sera will blow her off, that kind of thing. Kly actually appreciates Sera’s pranks, even when played on her. She says they remind her of a simpler time though she never elaborates. Kly is neutral on romances with Sera. She’ll say “She’s certainly cute, but when she speaks, I can rarely keep up. It’s exhausting”.

• For obvious reasons Kly and Cassandra don’t get along. They often bicker about issues of religion and the Chantry when in the same party. Kly will bring up the times the Chantry uses blood magic or has committed mass murder and Cassandra will bring up blood mage crimes, even hinting at the one involving her family. Kly will take the Inquisitor aside if they’re a mage and pursue a relationship with Cassandra to try and dissuade them. She’ll usually remark “how does that work with that stick always up her arse?”.

OPINIONS ON ADVISORS

•Josephine reminds Kly of her mother in many ways, she’ll say as much. She’ll also say she find’s Josephine’s attempts at peaceful approaches to situations refreshing after all the war she’s seen. Kly will approve of a romance with her. She’ll say “I hope you’re ready for the most ridiculously lavish engagement parties you’ve ever seen”.

• In her opinion, Sister Nightingale has always had her fingers on the big moments in history. She’ll wonder aloud if that’s a good or a bad thing given these turns of events. If a Cousland was the Hero of Ferelden, Kly will remark on the relationship she had with her sibling whether it was friendly or romantic. If Leliana was killed in DA:O, Kly will not mention her.

•She’ll say she “knew of” Cullen at Kirkwall as he was rather notorious. If asked about Kinloch, she’ll say she has no idea if he was there during her tenure there. She will say he’s changed his tune, but she will still doubt his sincerity on the matter. If Cullen comes off lyrium, she’ll occasionally mention his blood feels like he’s not a Templar though she will not investigate the matter. If the Inquisitor is a mage, Kly will take them aside if they pursue a relationship with him and will try to dissuade them.

COMPANION QUESTS/CUTSCENES

• Kly’s first actual companion cutscene is at Skyhold. Just after her Judgement. She can be found doing blood magic to transfuse blood between soldiers. She is glaring at a very conspicuous Templar watching her. She asks if he’s a necessary precaution; the Inquisitor in some way reminds her she’s on thin ice. Kly says nothing would ever absolve her in the Maker’s or Chantry’s eyes before asking if the Inquisitor believes in the Chantry after what Corypheus said. 

• After “Here Lies the Abyss”, Kly asks the Inquisitor how they’re faring. She does a check up and talks about what she was doing during the last Blight and admits she’s sympathetic to the Wardens’ original intentions. If a Cousland was the Warden, Kly mentions it and her family can be further inquired about. A WT quest opens up with Fergus Cousland inquiring about rumors relating to his sister. The Inquisitor can send a missive being honest about her presence (Josephine) or they can lie to keep Kly’s presence secret (Leliana).

•After “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts”, the Inquisitor asks what Kly was doing in Orlais at the ball. Kly speaks vaguely about a job for someone. It’s implied this is the Mage Underground. There are no approval changes. A WT mission opens about a string of dead nobles and Chantry officials in Orlais. Leliana’s spies know it was Kly. Leliana mentions many of the assassinations were helpful. The Inquisitor can send money to the families and Chantry with anonymous donations (Josephine), can put allies in the positions that need to be filled (Leliana), or a detail can be assigned to keep an eye on Kly to see if she tries anything else (Cullen).

• Kly’s companion quest starts with Kly mentioning she received a missive from an acquaintance and asks the Inquisitor to come with her to Redcliffe. The cutscene goes to the docks where a Tranquil mage is waiting. Kly speaks with the Tranquil, asking if they remember her and “the pact”. The Tranquil will mention they had been waiting for her. Then she will kill the Tranquil. The Inquisitor will be stunned and ask why Kly killed them. Kly will explain that this was an agent for the Underground and they fought during the war together. She talks about the promise they made to kill each other if one ever became Tranquil. If the Inquisitor disapproves, Kly will tell them she trusted them with this but was wrong to do so and she will greatly disapprove. If the Inquisitor approves, Kly thanks them for their understanding and asks if they can help bury them.

• Back at Skyhold, Kly will barge into a meeting of the Inquisitor and their advisors saying they have a problem. Kly shows them a missive explaining that the Underground has allied secretly with Corypheus. She’s been given orders to murder the Inquisitor. Kly has decided the Underground is no longer the force for good it originally was. There is an option to remove her as a companion. If this is done, she just disappears somewhere in Ferelden. If the Inquisitor is supportive of Kly, a War Table mission for Leliana opens to purge the Inquisition of Underground loyalists with Kly’s help.

[msotherworldly]

Blame for Bethany

Title: Blame for Bethany

Fiction Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Warnings: Minor swearing, mention of death

Prompt: “I’m not saying I told you so...”

“I’m not saying I told you so...”

“That’s funny, because it sounds like you are.” I smirked. The clink of tankards surrounded us. There was a low hum of voices, and the smell of nug shit. It was home sweet home—at least for him. Face turned only half to the fireplace, he looked older.

I frowned. How old was Varric? Admittedly, I didn’t know much about dwarf aging. I’d always assumed they aged as quickly as humans or elves, but...

“Get it off your chest.” He sipped his drink, eyes sparkling.

“Another day.” I sank into a chair.

He shook his head. “It’s bad to pent shit up, Hawke. I knew a fella in the carta who got by weeping into his pillow every night. It had a nickname and everything. Of course, when the other carta men in his squad found out, they filled his back with knives.”

“Thanks, Varric.” I waved the waitress for a drink. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“That’s my specialty. But seriously, what’s eating you?”

“It’s just a conclusion I’ve had. We’ve survived the Deep Roads. I’ve made enough money that I barely have to work. And Mother seems happy. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“I think...I have to talk to her about this.”

“I’m going to say it again. If it’s bad, dump it on me. Your mother’s been through enough crap.”

“And deprive you of the chance of another ‘I told you so’ speech?”

Varric sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “We’re not talking about an ogre this time, Hawke. We’re talking about your mother. Maybe give her some time before you hit her with something heavy.”

“I’ve given her time!” I laughed. “Varric, I’ve had this thought since I started work with Athenril. I’ve been carrying it around for two years now.”

“Do you need a shrink? I can recommend a good one I know. He works in Darktown.”

“He’s not a healer, is he?”

Varric grinned. “No, but I know a healer there who I’ve also recommended to see the guy. To be fair, he did attend one session.”

“But?”

“But it’s probably better if you don’t mention you’re a mage.” Varric’s face darkened. “Since that lovely therapy session, Briggs has a paranoia of being lit on fire. That tends to happen when you try to do therapy on a Fade spirit.”

“Maker.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass, Varric, but...thanks for the tip. Why Darktown?”

“If you talk to a therapist in Hightown, they might gossip. Any therapist there will likely be a noble looking for extra cash or a fun time, and well, you know your neighbours better than anyone. All they care about are scandals and social clout. If it got out that Marion Hawke was having mommy issues, it would be the talk of Hightown for at least a month.”

“I don’t have mommy issues.” I rolled my eyes. “But I see your point.”

“I’m not saying you do. It’s what they would say.” He winked. “Trust me, Hawke. I have a good read on people.”

“And a vivid imagination.”

“Exactly! If I say something is going to go wrong, it will likely go even worse!”

“And here I am, taking advice from the guy who loosed Anders on a therapist. Do wonders never cease?”

Varric chuckled. “I know you don’t listen. Hell, do any of you? But be gentle with her, Hawke. She’s had a hard time.”

I was halfway to Lowtown before I remembered my new home. I kicked a stone, and turned around. Would I ever get used to this? Even after three weeks, it felt strange to walk into Hightown and think I belonged there. In my rough leather jacket and scuffed boots, I felt as much like a ruffian as I’d always been. When I drew the key from my pocket, I had the unnerving feeling I’d stolen it from someone—or, as was more often the case, killed someone for it.

Smells of flowers and greenery washed over me. Mom had filled the manor with potted plants. Three shattered pots in the corner gave evidence that Sandal had managed to destroy half of them just as fast. The dreamy eyed dwarf looked out over the balcony; was he planning to swing from the chandelier again?

I dropped my satchel at the foot of my bed. When I emerged from my room, I was clean and dressed in finery. I drifted down the stairs, frowning.

“Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?” Bodahn bowed. “Name it, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Just a bottle of wine, Bodahn, and a glass.”

“Right away, my lady.”

“It’s Marion.” I sighed as he ambled off. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

Mother sat by the fire, embroidery in her lap. Her wrists flashed with silver, and her hair was pulled into an intricate braid. To look at her, one wouldn’t have known at first glance that she had spent twenty years tilling earth or bathing a Mabari coated daily in mud. Still, I could see it—in the wrinkles around her eyes, and the whitening of her hair, I saw a harder life. Most of the nobles who were Mother’s age looked ten years younger.

“Mother.”

“Hello, dear.” She gazed into the flames. “Have you heard from your brother?”

“Mages and templars aren’t friends as a general rule.”

“He’s your brother.” She grimaced. “It’s just as well. He needed space. It could be a lucrative career for him.”

“Hunting people like me? That’s a ‘lucrative career’?”

“I’m sorry, Marion.” She glanced up, and smiled. “I’m just trying to make the best of things. He’s been discontent for a long time. If this brings him happiness, I’ll be grateful to the Order for that much.”

I pulled up a second chair. Bodahn left the wine on a small round table of polished wood. I filled my glass. The liquid was a deep red.

I studied the flames, seeing shapes, seeing houses, blackening ruins crumpling as darkspawn swarmed over them. Did Mother see the same thing, or was the fire a mere comfort?

“He might have joined the Order in Fereldan too.” I picked up a poker, and jabbed the logs. “After being kicked out of the army, that is.”

Mother chuckled. “I suppose it would have been a matter of time. Carver always did find trouble. I hope he’s settled down now.”

I frowned. “It would have been natural if...”

Mother glanced at me. “If what?”

If you had been strong enough to do what you should have.

I stood up, setting my glass down. My heart thrummed. I bit my lip.

Be gentle, Hawke. Varric’s voice was low and smooth in my head.

I wheeled to face her. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

“I’m sorry I said that, darling. I never meant it. Not really.”

“Even after you apologized the first time, I still believed it was. I played it over in my head. If I had gotten to the ogre sooner, I could have knocked it down. If I’d thought to throw fire, I could have distracted it. But I wasn’t the only one there. If it was my fault, it was Carver’s fault, Aveline’s. We were surrounded. Everyone was just trying to survive.” I shuddered. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

Mother reached for me.

“It was yours.”

Mother flinched as if I’d electrocuted her. Then she bowed her head. “You wish it had been me instead of her. If the ogre had grabbed me instead...”

“I don’t wish that.” I sat down. “But I was angry at you. When we were at Gamlen’s, what did you do? You stared into the fire and you didn’t move. You didn’t even take in washing to help us pay the rent. You didn’t try to sell fruit. You didn’t offer to stitch up clothes for a couple of coppers. You didn’t do anything! You left it to Carver and I. You’ve left it to us since Dad died.”

Mother’s eyes watered. She closed them. “After she died...after your father...each time, it was like another part of me, somewhere in my chest, had just been ripped away. I couldn’t even think. I was sad and angry, and I couldn’t see anything else. Then, when Carver left, I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But he didn’t leave, not truly.”

“I realized that.” She took a breath. “When I realized he was just going to be on his own, with a job he might enjoy, I even felt a little better. I know you tried with him...but he needed to find his own way.”

“I didn’t want you to take Bethany’s place, Mother.” I took her hand. “I was angry because you could have prevented it.”

She met my gaze.

“I never wanted to go to the Circle. I liked the feel of grass under my feet. I savoured looking up, and seeing the sky. I even enjoyed the constant reek of filthy Mabari.”

She chuckled.

“But sometimes I wondered about the Circle. I thought of all the books there I could be reading. And I thought of Bethany, on those winter days when we had less to eat, being able to have her fill. They get three meals a day at the Circle. There was one winter where I even considered sending her off myself. It was a chance at a richer life for her.”

“But not you?”

“Not as long as you needed looking after.” I shook my head. “It’s just...if you had sent us, she would still be alive right now. She was capable. She would have survived the Harrowing. She might have even attained a position, become a senior enchanter. She might have written books, had friends...been safe.”

Mom slumped over. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“We could have stayed together. If you had been well, if Carver was there, I might have gone with her. And if Carver had joined the Order, he would have been able to send decent money your way. He would have kept us together with letters and stories. When he wasn’t watching over his sisters, he could have visited you, seen you were alright.”

“And all three of you could have been safe.”

“I shouldn’t have said this to you. Keeping us free wasn’t the wrong decision. Not really. You couldn’t have known the Blight was coming. If it hadn’t, all of us would still be in Lothering now. Poorer, but alive.”

“I’ve thought too much of myself.”

“Mother.”

“No, I have. You’ve played it through your head, too. You’ve watched Bethany die over and over. When you look into the flames, do you see it like I do? The homes falling, burning, being swarmed?”

“It’s all I see.”

“I wish I could look after you now.”

“But you don’t have to anymore. We’re set for life.”

“There must be some way I could be useful.” Mother pursed her lips. Her eyes glinted. “I have old friends from my childhood here. Many of them have their own children. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with some of them? I know Sir Laurence is very handsome.”

I laughed. “No, Mother. Thank you. I’m sort of already...seeing someone.”

“A noble?” Her voice was critical.

“Not at all. I have too much of my mother in me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“He understands, Mother. If I married a noble, how could I be happy? I’d have to hide all the time. I’m so tired of hiding.”

“Is he...like your father?”

I nodded. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Her lips thinned into a severe line. She opened her mouth, and then she shook her head. She chuckled. “Well, it’s just as well I’m not like my mother. You can rest assured I won’t disown you. But be careful, darling. If you’re talking about who I think...well, he can be a bit wild.”

“You’re just upset he trailed that weird mud over the floor from Darktown.”

“Whatever it was, it had red stains!” Mother shuddered. “But it’s just as well. If you’re happy, I won’t get in the way.”

I stood up: I pulled her into a hug, folding her in. I was a head taller than she was. I stroked her hair. “I don’t mind looking after you, Mother. It gives me something to do.”

“Is Anders interested in children?”

Maker, I’ve said too much.

I blushed. “I...don’t know.”

“Well, grandchildren would give me something to do.” Mother drew away, beaming. “I could teach them how to curtsy, dance, sew, cook, sing!”

“After you were done teaching them not to light the house on fire.” I grimaced. “With their genes, it’s certain they’d all be mages. You could handle several apostate toddlers?”

“I handled two, didn’t I?” Mom puffed herself up. “I’ll figure it out.”

I bet.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, Marion.” She pulled me in for another hug and stroked my hair.

[crqstalite]

"Who did this to you?" + #7 please!!

more dragon age content from me? more likely than i thought.

i think i spoke on it previously in another ask, but reyna’s entire late game character is...kind of a terrible person? not super morally redeemable either. and not at all a fan of the templar order or meredith. like she has her reasons, but are they all justifiable? probably not.

f!handers. late act 3, dragon age II. not at all templar positive. mentions of injuries.

-

There were better ways to spend an evening. Like at home roughhousing with your mabari, or at the Hanged Man getting your coin stolen or stealing others coins. Waiting up for your mage partner was one of the less entertaining ones, but still viable. There was enough wine left in the cellar to make it more fun and knock her out sooner if anything.

That wasn’t the way she chose to spend the spring evening though. No, Reyna Hawke had better things to do. Morally better than getting wasted and mourning everything she’s lost? That was debatable. Her ankle probably shouldn’t have ever been twisted the way it was, no, decidedly no bone was supposed to click the way it was now. There’s a nice knot at the back of her head that’s throbbing like no tomorrow. A clean cut through her shoulder from a sword that was probably on a trajectory to end her then and there if she hadn’t moved in time. Three or four bruises down her spine from falling the wrong way, the wind still feels like it was knocked out of her.

She’s getting sloppy. Reyna hadn’t thought there’d be so many out and about tonight, Meredith’s grip was tightening on Kirkwall since she took power and she’d forgotten to stake out for long enough to make it look more like an accident rather than a pre-planned massacre.

Still, four of them soaked in their own blood this time. One on the way out to meet Andraste and his precious Maker. It was good hunting, just a night she’d need to reflect on in the next week or so.

Or whatever Aveline would have to say. Reflection was for those who had time and people. Not those who had a bone to pick with the current ruling class.

Her probably dislocated finger says otherwise.

Darktown is relatively empty this time of night, the occasional fire crackling along the wall as she continues on her way. No one who is out gives her a second look. These days when she dresses down, she can be mistaken for any other Kirkwaller. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothing. Without the straw yellow hair she’d been toting around for the last six years, she isn’t exactly a beacon anymore to people more than three meters away.

It helped that no one who may have seen her...theatrics, in the back alleys could identify her from their houses. It made her job a little easier.

The torch is still lit at the clinic. Good, that meant Anders was still here and that she wouldn’t have to ascend an absurd amount of stairs to get home.

The heavy door creaks when she pushes it open, alerting the blonde mage to her presence near immediately. Anders jolts from where he’d been sitting, grabbing for his staff, but relaxes once he realizes who it is. And then his brows furrow in concern not a moment later once he actually focuses on her.

The duality.

“Hawke-!”

“It does look bad, I’ll give you that.” Her voice is rougher than she’d expected, closing the door behind her and limping past him over to a chair. A hard landing leads her to groan, though she’s relieved by taking the weight off her ankle, “It...may or may not be as bad as it looks. You pick.”

Three billion thoughts are running through Anders’ head all at once after she says that, and it’s a feat she’d had yet to see. Cogs visibly turning in his head as he sputters trying to answer. She drops her cowl, rolling her jaw when his eyes widen to near dinner plates. Blue flickers on his face and she sighs, “Anders. I’m fine. Alive. Just a little banged up.”

“A little?” He asks, rushing over to her, “You’re bruised black and blue, and you want to say you’re a little banged up?”

She shrugs, then regretting the action as her shoulder clicks, “That is exactly what I’m saying, my dear Anders.”

“Your sarcasm will be the death of me, love.” He takes her head into his hands, tilting it up so that she’s looking directly at him. The real fear in his dark eyes hides nothing, and she wonders for a moment why while he tilts her head left to look at the largest bruise on her jaw. He’d been beside her for years in fight after fight, and he seems only now extremely concerned about mostly minor injuries?

This is probably the most worried she’s seen him since her duel with the Arishok. How odd. It makes her feel a little more loved.

“Who did this to you?” When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and dark. As if he’ll go out and fight them himself, which she doesn’t entirely doubt. That’d be something she’d love to see if she hadn’t already done it herself, and something that’d be great if it didn’t mean Justice was that much closer to snapping and taking control, “I will make them pay.”

Reyna puts a hand over his, raising an eyebrow. The notion is so sweet, yet it’s so misplaced, “That depends, do you want to light a dead body ablaze?”

He pauses, “What?”

“I’ve done it myself. Another bunch of Templars, a few too many this time, but I took care of it.” She smiles, “I got a little sloppy, let them get a few too many hits in. I felt bad they hadn’t been able to defend themselves before. Gave them an inch, they took a mile.”

Anders groans at her admission, and Reyna rolls her eyes. He’s frustrated, she can tell. Maybe because of the Templars, maybe because she’d gone out on her own. One of the two, she never really knew exactly what Anders was thinking at any given time, “Hawke, I thought we talked about this.”

“You’re right, we did. You’re doing what you do best here at the clinic, and I do what I do best when no one’s watching. That’s what I remember that conversation being about, Anders. That and you being insufferable.” She winces and bites down on her tongue, he’s already healing one of the bruises on her cheek. It’s that kind of warm that should be soothing, but is somehow also terribly annoying as her skin is pulled apart and stitched back together, “Think I ran into a few veterans this time. They had a few choice words for me, I had a few for them as well.”

“They’re going to notice the drop in patrols at some point. It isn’t as if this crusade of your’s is sustainable. What then?”

“It isn’t like I’m doing this every night. Just whenever I can get one or two away from the main patrol. At best, they think it’s bandits. As worst, they think it’s a boogeyman.” He starts undoing her top, and she shifts it off to allow him access to the gash down her arm, “It isn’t that bad. Meredith hasn’t even said anything about it yet. Those people are a copper a dozen.”

“The chance of you getting caught goes up by the day, Hawke.” He says quietly, cleaning the wound and placing his hand over it. It’s worse there, Reyna squeezes her eyes shut when it initially burns before giving way to mild throbbing. When she blinks back to looking at him, he wears a disapproving frown, “One of these days someone is going to make the connection. You’re one of the very few hightowners actively loathing the Templar order.”

“As if Elthina has not already seen your face?” She asks. He gives her a pointed look, one she mirrors, “There are more and more of them swarming the clinic during the daytime. Someone in the order knows you’re a mage, and I fear for the day they come and take you.”

“They will never take me.”

“Anders-”

“They will not. And that is final.” He states, his grip on her arm tightening ever so slightly, “They will not take me from you. I can handle them during the daytime, they do not suspect much. Current rumors are that I was sent by Andraste herself.”

“And during the night?” She asks, shifting her arm a bit to look at what he’s done so far. Reyna is still somewhat stunned every time she’s healed by him, the deep cuts leaving little more than just thin scars in their place where his magic touches her, “You don’t come home anymore, Anders.”

“There are nights where I can’t go back to the estate, there are people here who need me.” He answers, brushing his thumb over the scar once he’s done, “I wish I could. I would like nothing more than to.”

“Good for them.” She bites back, running a hand through her hair with her good arm when he pulls back, “I don’t feel safe leaving you here alone with them milling around like feral beasts. If I can’t prowl about the clinic, then I will do so on my own terms.”

“And if you die out there in those back alleys, I would never forgive myself for allowing you to do so, love.”

“You aren’t allowing me to do anything. I chose to because I feel slighted. I am not afraid of them, they are afraid of me. And they will stay that way if I have anything to say about it.”

Silence stretches between them. The unfortunate thing is that one is the unmovable object, the other an unstoppable force. He knows she’s right, thinning out their population only means they can’t be about as far as they usually are -- making it easier for Anders and others to go about their work easier.

She understands his concern, but she doesn’t understand what else she is supposed to do if not take matters into her own hands. She may not have a pretty staff or lightning at her fingertips, but her daggers were not for show.

Another press of his hand, this time against her shoulder. A quick breath before he shoves it back into place  and she bites back a shout, “I only say this out of concern. This isn’t your fight, Hawke.”

“As long as you are by my side, it will always be my fight. And until you are no longer in danger of being taken from me, I will not quit.” She feels as if she is staring into his soul the way his eyes seem so open to her right then and there, “I mean it, Anders. Whatever you need from me, whatever you want from me, I am willing to make that sacrifice.”

Warmth spreads against her shoulder, “I fear you will not say the same thing when the time comes, love.”

“I am not a liar, Anders. They took my sister, they will not take you.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek, “I admire your resolve, Hawke, I have never met a woman like you before.”

“I am aware. I am quite unique.”

His chuckle is dry, and a bit sad, “You are. Whatever comes, let yourself know that I love you more than anything in this desolate world.”

That same declaration echoes in her head for the years that come afterwards.

[dragonagecompanions]

How would the companions react to finding out the inquisitor’s family abused them? Bonus points if they’re a Trevelyan and it comes to light during that war table quest or similar Inquisition business.

Abuse mentions, so read at your own comfort. 

Cassandra: As a Seeker -and someone who has devoted her life in one way or another to the art of both peace keeping and war- Cassandra Pentaghast is not a stranger to the cruelties people can inflict on each other. Her own parents chose ambition and the allure of power before family, and it was only their youth and the affection of their uncle and  paterfamilias that spared both of their children the punishment for treason. Home is not always safe, and the farther up the social ladder one climbs the truer that becomes. Abuse- be it physical, emotional or even sexual- is an open secret among far too many ‘noble’ houses.

Hearing that it affected the Trevelyan’s does not surprise Cassandra. This does not stay either her anger or her blade. When it comes to light just how bad their childhood was, the Right Hand of the Divine is more than willing to work with both Cullen and Leliana to make sure the family never hurts the Inquisitor again.

Solas: Cruelty is an evil unbound by time. He’d always known it, but there is still a shadow is disappointment when it is brought to light so suddenly here. The Inquisitor has fought for them all, bearing the pain of a magic never meant for mortals and the burden of saving their entire world on too young shoulders with a grace that defies their age. Knowing that they have done so despite efforts to break the foundation of their youth by those whom they should have been able to trust is...infuriating.

It doesn’t matter that the Heralds quest is noble but futile before his own plans, or that their abuse at the hands of family is another link in the chain of his justification. The Rift Mage may intend to destroy this world in due course, but for the moment he has sworn his aid to their leader. And if that means calling on aid from both sides of the veil to ensure that they are kept safe he will do it gladly.

He was not called Dread, after all, for nothing.

Varric: Skyhold’s current author is resident has a theory he’s been working on for awhile now, and it can be summed up very simply: heroes aren’t formed without a tragic backstory. The Warden is a good example, and thanks to yours truly Hawke’s own grief stricken tale is well known. So finding out that the current leader of the largest paramilitary group in Thedas comes from what could arguably be called a broken home isn’t terribly surprising. You have to understand suffering, after all, to want to stop it.

That doesn’t make him any less happy about it, and while on the surface it looks like he only fumes quietly and writes a lot of letters...well, in reality that’s what he does. As tempting as the daydream of taking Bianca to the cruel and deluded backwater nobles who thought that abusing a child to form them into the proper image is, the start reality is that it wouldn’t accomplish much. But the Trevelyans are Free Marchers, and when the last link of Bertrand’s sanity snapped- and ended a chain of abuse that Varric frankly would like to avoid talking about- he inherited a sizable amount of power with the Merchant Guild. It means his influence is slightly less hands on, but he can hit the nobility where it really hurts.

And if they are ever stupid enough to try and continue their abuse in Skyhold? Then it’s Bianca’s turn to....influence.

Sera: Even big people can feel like little people when they are little and the people who are supposed to protect them act like complete shiteheads. And even when you aren’t little, being scared can make you feel little, yeah? The Inquisitor’s the biggest person around, but inside their like one of her little people-- and Sera protects her own. Pranks are nice, and she prefers arrows to talking endlessly, but this is more serious.

Working with the other Jennies can be complicated, and its even worse that she can’t just sketch it out like her network. The Baker who is her contact in Ostwick has a stick up his arse and wants proper correspondance, so she sits down and writes out what se wants, and then takes it to Dorian and has him add some stupid noble shine. 

Her other people will handle their end. And if they ever decide to show up there and go after her Herald? Arrows.

Vivienne: Abuse in noble houses is not an unknown event to the Lady of Iron, but long before her rise to court and intrigue Vivienne saw far too much of it in the circles. Mage children were all to often a bane to families-- destined to go to a circle they could not add to the house hold and could spell trouble if the family was caught hiding them. This all too often brewed resentment, and by the time Templars came to collect the youngsters a life locked behind stone walls away from all they had known was often a mercy.

But whether their Trevelyan inquisitor is a mage or not is of no consequence. The child who was no doubt once a whipping post for a noble family- to beat into a desired shape no matter the consequence- is now on a meteoric rise. And Madame de Fer knows enough about politics to suspect that their Herald’s family will not stay absent for long. Knowing this story of their early life may not be a surprise, but that does not mean the Imperial Enchantress intends to allow the Trevelyans access to her charge. Let them try to approach, if they dare.

They have not yet seen abuse.

Blackwall: He has caused enough suffering to children in his life without intent that can never be atoned for, and that haunts the would be Warden. Callier and his family had suffered and died, and while he had not meant it to happen he would carry the burden all his life. But the idea of tormenting a child purposefully, and doing it for months or years? It infuriates him. Thom Rainier was only ever a soldier, and Blackwall offers little more political clout. He has no network to call on, no secret societies to help get a revenge well earned.

But he has a sword, and a shield, and a willingness to protect their leader. If the Trevelyans ever come sniffing around, they will live just long enough to regret it.

Dorian: It would be almost criminal to compare a childhood of distant affection and disappointment to that of consistent and methodical abuse, and the Scion of House Pavus would bristle at the very idea that he had suffered any sort of ‘abuse’ at the hands of Halward Pavus. No matter the truth of what had happened, Dorian would much rather discuss what to do about their leader’s current situation than ancient history, thank you ever so much.

And if his palms sweat and his heart races when Sera brings him the news, and he has to force his mind to work to make sure her letter is what she wants when all his mind is screaming for is a bottle of wine and a few moments alone with his staff and the people who had tormented the gentle leader who had taken in a Tevinter despite perhaps better judgement, well. That is no business but his own. He will not act on it, not yet. But should the occasion call for the resident evil ‘Vint to stand between their Herald and the ones who just might haunt their own dreams?

Vitae Benefaria.

The Iron Bull: He’d known, of course. He’d known long before the intelligence left in dead drops detailed the open secret in Ostwick, before his own people could confirm what his eye had already told him. Abuse among children is almost unnheard of among the Qun-- Tamassrans are made so because they are intended for that role, and those who would not thrive caring for children are not put in the position of caring for them. But it was all too common among the Viddathari, and as a Ben-Hassrath trained in the minute detail of behavior and its causes a personality shaped in part by childhood abuse was not a hard thing for him to see signs of.

Of all the companions however, the Iron Bull is likely the only one among the Inner Circle to approach their leader. The thirst for revenge is all well and good on a personal level, but killing or maiming or even simply frightening the family of their leader might not be the best thing for someone who has likely never had the chance to deal with their childhood. It is painfully common for such things to be a secret kept through out a whole life, but in order to know the best steps to take against the potential abuser it’s vital to know the extent of the abuse.

Its a painful conversation, and he certainly brings alcohol no matter the inquisitor’s age. But by the end of it they can both agree on the best plan going forward, and that is exactly what Bull needs. Killing, threatening or leaving them be, he can roll with it. Asit Ta-leb.

(But later, if he needs time to recite the Cantos, to remind himself that there is no struggle, the tide rises and falls for hours before the Blood lust and instinct of a reaver to protect one’s own fades....well. That’s no ones business but his own.)

Cole: It hurts, and it tangles with other hurts in a knot. Pulling one string pulls the other strings, and not all of them hurt, and it confuses him. Sometimes there are happy times around the bad times, and sometimes the happy times are the bad times, and there’s too much to untangle to heal the hurt. He wants to kill the ones who caused the bad times and the pain, but they are the same ones who caused the good times. He’s lost He wants to help. But helping can hurt. 

So he finds them a hat, because hats are good. And it helps.

-- Mod Fereldone

[enchanter-rhys]

There Beneath

Rhys has spent the larger part of the day wandering Skyhold. He can feel something pulling him, calling out to him, but he’s yet to figure out what exactly it is. It only drives his curiosity further, which in turn is making him a little afraid of what he might find. He’s not certain just how thin the veil is, here, not to mention whether or not that mark on the Inquisitor makes it more likely for demons to prowl.

He finally finds himself in the gardens, and feels that strange pull in full force. There’s got to be something here, but why doesn’t anyone around him seem disturbed or curious? He hasn’t seen any other mages wandering with such a look of curiosity or determination, so why him?

As he makes his way through the awkwardly placed potted herbs and trees until he was greeted with his answer. It's so much different from what he’d expected to find, though he had no idea what he’d thought he’d discover. His eyes widen, his mouth opening silently for a moment before he can find the words. Well, one word in particular.

“... Cole?”

The young man sits in soft grass and wild flowerbeds behind a tree, hidden from view of anyone in the main section of the gardens. He looks up from where he’d previously been weaving flowers together, his look of surprise mirroring the enchanter’s.

Rhys notices a few things about him that are strangely different. The first notable thing is the hat. It's an object he’d never seen the man wear before, though it seems rather fitting for one who was always so eager to hide from the world. He’s gained two new and deadly-looking daggers, and it seems he’s finally found clothing that isn’t merely a tattered tunic and dirt-caked trousers. He’s wearing proper casual clothing, if still a bit worn. The kind perfectly fitting for a man sitting among flowers.

“Cole, I— Does... Does anyone even know you’re here? This place could be dangerous, Cole, there are so many templars, why are you—”

“They know,” Cole gently sets the crown of delicate flowers beside him and stands, removing the hat obscuring his features. It’s strangely relieving for Rhys to see him without it, as if confirming that it's really him. “I... I’m here to help.”

Rhys watches as Cole chews his lip, searching for something to say, but he isn’t given the chance. Rhys pulls him into a hug so quickly that it makes him jolt. Thankfully, he returns the embrace. He grasps at Rhys’s robes, hiding his face in his shoulder.

“I thought you were dead, or you'd returned to the Fade, or... I don’t know. I can’t believe you’re really here! How did you even get here?” He finally lets go, holding Cole’s shoulders as if he’s afraid he might run or disappear. They lock eyes and Rhys can see pinpricks of tears.

“I thought... I thought you’d be angry with me, or you’d forget me— I thought it would be better if you both forgot me, I told the Inquisitor not to try and find you. But he did and you’re alive and I... I’m glad.”

Rhys swallows the lump in his throat, smiling wearily. “I had a feeling. I wasn’t certain, but some part of me knew it was you. Always trying to protect me when I didn’t need it, but this time I did,” His breath hitches for a moment. “And I’m so glad. I’m so glad they found us. But I’m still not certain how you came to be here, or how you convinced them to let you stay.” Rhys has met Vivienne. They had a curt conversation before Rhys promptly decided to avoid her. He can’t imagine she was thrilled to know someone like Cole is among them.

“There was a man. It wanted the power he wielded, waging war on the world and watching it burn. He was so hollow inside... He was angry the Inquisitor took his mages. I heard it in the templars, the red growing in their minds. I had to help. They didn’t know what I was, but he let me stay.” There’s relief in his tone as he explains. “E-everyone was frightened of me at first. Some still are... but I think I have friends now. They can... They can see me now.”

“They can see you? And you’re alright with this? How did you manage it?”

“It scared me, at first. I can’t make people forget, anymore...” He trails off, and Rhys feels like there might be more to it than that, but he resists the urge to pry. “There was a Cole in the White Spire. Broken and beaten and forgotten, begging for anyone to remember him. I reached out, then through, then found him... But I couldn’t help.”

Rhys blinks, a realization hitting him like a blow to the head. Cole isn’t finished, though. He’d hate to interrupt, especially if it means learning more about his friend. He has a feeling, a suspicion that he might finally understand what Cole is.

“Solas called me Compassion, but more. More fixed, fastened to what’s real. I won’t fade away anymore, and I won’t hurt anyone else. If I do, they’ll kill me. It’s better that way.”

“You won’t,” Rhys states adamantly, squeezing Cole’s shoulder. “The moment I told you what you were doing was wrong, I saw a change in your eyes... I could tell you already felt guilty for doing it, I just... Couldn’t help you. I’m so sorry, Cole.”

Cole, to his surprise, smiles. “No. You helped me. You broke it. The curse, crushing and collapsing what I am. I learned. I learned because of you, because of Evangeline, even because of...” The smile fades.

“Lambert,” Rhys frowns, releasing Cole from his grip. “He’s dead, now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

There’s worry in Rhys’s eyes when Cole’s features turn dark. Another suspicion weighs heavily in his heart, and he waits a moment for the inevitable while his friend considers his words.

“I know. I killed him...” He pulls back, holding his arms. “He was going to hurt the mages, he wanted to crush them, contain them, cut them out of the world like a disease.”

There it was. The weight of the man’s actions, the terror it brought down on the world. “Oh, Cole...”

“They said it was an assassin, a mage, someone from the tower. You knew it was me,” Cole locks eyes with him. Cold, piercing, worrying eyes. “It was wrong but right, relieving but wracking. I’m sorry— I made everything worse for you. I-I just wanted to help, I’m sorry...”

“No, Cole,” Rhys interjects, reaching out once more for his friend. “It was bound to happen at some point. The timing of all of it was what made everything worse. If the attack on Kirkwall hadn’t been so recent, breaking from the Chantry wouldn’t have been seen as such an act of war. The mages from the Spire who chose to fight... I’m sad to say that it was my doing. Maker, I didn’t think they’d take it that far.”

“But you’re alive. Alive and helping to heal it,” Cole smiles again, if only slightly, and moves to sit back down among the flowers. Rhys sighs and follows suit, looking around his little corner of quiet. “You didn’t make them kill people. You always want to help. I think that’s why you could see me.”

“Compassion.”

Cole nods, plucking a new flower from the ground to resume his weaving. Rhys slides a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, trying to let it all sink in. It almost feels like a dream when he thinks about it, but it's too real not to be. The scenery is just real enough, not instilled with that odd shimmer of the Fade. He’s wide awake.

Perhaps it’s time to change the subject...

“Are you happy here, Cole?”

“Yes. I can help here, and they help me learn. I... forget to do things real people do, sometimes, but I write them down and it helps.” He smiles again, deftly braiding intricate patterns of flowers between his fingers.

“What real people do..? I’m sorry, I’m still not quite sure how this is happening. You said you’re more... Tethered? To here, to this side of the Fade?”

“Oh- The Inquisitor and Varric,” He looks up from the flowers, his smile showing that slight gap between his teeth. Rhys had noticed it before, but now it feels so... Human. “They helped me find the templar who killed me— Who killed Cole. I was angry. I wanted to kill him back, but Varric said we needed to remember. So... We did. Now everyone can see me, they can remember me.”

“So, what you’re saying, is... You’re human now?”

“No? And yes,” He hums. “I’m just... More.”

This is a lot. This is a lot of new information that Rhys wasn’t prepared for. He rubs over his face and looks up at the sky. It’s so surreal, so strange to see his friend again... But, at the same time, it’s such a relief.

“Just more...” Rhys sighs, finally feeling lighter. “I think I can understand that.”

“I’m glad you found me,” Cole says, offering out the flowers to Rhys.

“I’m glad I found you, too.”

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting -- Chapter Six

Been sitting on this lovely commission from @strzygon-x​ of Delphine and Elazar, felt it fit perfectly with the chapter so I just had to share it.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: mentions of blood in this chapter (2 mentions, nothing graphic, just plot points) and some canon typical templar violence towards mages (just fair warning in case the dynamic is uncomfy)

Can also be read on AO3

[Masterlist] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

Chapter Six- Ghost

War room meetings tended to leave Delphine feeling significantly more downtrodden than she was beforehand. There did not seem to be much good news to go around these days. Reports of rifts continued to flow in along with rising tolls between the templars and the apostates in the valley and elsewhere. Elazar had returned from the Hinterlands with the Inquisition’s new horse master but his arrival was overshadowed by the introduction of one Warden Blackwall, who did not come bearing any helpful information. He was just as unaware to the status of the Grey Wardens as the rest of them. It was all rather disconcerting. Del could tell Elazar was struggling to remain optimistic as they departed the chapel. She hoped Varric wasn’t busy tonight, El was in serious need of a strong drink at the bar and some outlandish stories to keep his mind off this newfound responsibility for a bit.

“Excuse me!” The pair stopped rather abruptly, not at all expecting the soldier loitering at the doorway to address them. They both looked to the man, wide eyed. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

Del was surprised one of Leliana’s agents hadn’t spoken with him yet, normally they were on top of situations like these.

El titled his head to the side, taking a rather obvious curiosity in the man, “who are you?”

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra.”

The merc had quiet the name, definitely not Orlesian or Ferelden.

“We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

A mercenary company? Was the Inquisition looking to hire more muscle right now? Del couldn’t remember Cullen expressing a need for more troops in any of the recent meetings. Did the more the merrier apply in situations like these?

El beat Del to all the questions though, “why did your commander send us this information?”

“Iron Bull wants to work for Inquisition. He thinks you’re doing good work.”

That wasn’t exactly the answer the either of them had been expecting. El did look pleased though. Maybe this day wouldn’t be all bad.

“We’ll consider your offer.”

“I appreciate it. We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast and you can see us in action.”

.

As many questions as Delphine had on the situation, she had no real desire to go to the Storm Coast and find the answers. El didn’t give her much of a choice in the matter, informing the advisors of their departure promptly after speaking with Cremisius. She was going to have to find some way to get back at the elf because the whole trip had gone from bad to worse. It was one thing to be soaked to the bone from the constant rain, but now she was coated in Tevinter mercenary blood after their party had joined in with the attack on the Vints. El and Varric looked more than pleased with her displeasure.

“Fuck you.” Del spat at Elazar, “I’m never letting you drag me out to this Maker forsaken place again.”

El laughed at her as the Qunari merc captain approached with Cremisius.

“Krem! How’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead.”

The one-eyed Qunari grins, “that’s what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.” He turns to the pair, taking a quick moment to take in their sopping forms. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

El grinned back at the Qunari, “Iron Bull, I presume.”

“Yeah the horns usually give it away.”

Well, it was a rather apt name, considering.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

The mercenary lieutenant gives them a nod and a short smile in greeting, “good to see you again. Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already?” The Qunari looked out over the beach scattered with bodies with suspicion, “have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem rolls his eyes, much to El’s delight. “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Iron Bull barks out a laugh as Krem returns to directing the other mercenaries. El’s obviously amused at the odd comradery between the two; if he wasn’t sold on the Chargers before Del could assume he was now.

“So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Del quirked an eyebrow at that. They weren’t exactly rolling in it back at Haven.

“How much is this going to cost me exactly?”

Elazar had been slowly coming into his position – what that position was, neither of them exactly knew but- he was more confident of himself, in the war room and in the field, more willing to make decisions. Del was proud, El had always drawn people to him, their friends had looked to him when the rebellion grew, after all. Yet he never assumed he deserved to be the one making decisions. Ever humble in that regard, he argued with Del whenever she dared to say otherwise. Now the reluctance seemed to be slowly slipping away.

“It won’t cost you anything personally; unless you wanna buy drinks later.”

Oh, they definitely didn’t have enough coin for that.

“Your Ambassador- what’s her name- Josephine? We’d go through her and get payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.”

Iron Bull was sure of his company and their prowess.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

Del knew for a fact El had no idea what made a good mercenary company- neither of them did.

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m you’re man. Whatever it is- demons, dragons? The bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Delphine, like most folks in southern Thedas, knew next to nothing about the Qunari. What she did know was, she could safely assume was mostly propaganda and stupidly exaggerated rumors. She’d never heard of any groups within the Qunari, definitely not the Ben-Hassrath. The Qunari, the Qun, that wasn’t something she’d ever discussed with Elazar. It certainly wasn’t a topic that came up in the Circle. The wide-eyed look El gave her led her to believe the Dalish didn’t know much more than the rest of them. “We’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, we’re spies.”

He’s a spy and was just telling them? Why was he working as a mercenary in the south if he’s a spy? Wouldn’t he be more effective elsewhere? Del’s mind was swimming with the implications.

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

That sounded right up Leliana’s alley but was a spy a trustworthy source of information?

Elazar’s wide eyes were telltale enough of his own surprise. “You’re a Qunari spy, and you just… told us?”

Iron Bull shrugs, “whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So, whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

Was he though?

“You still could have hidden what you are.” It wasn’t like they would have known any better. She and Elazar had no idea the Ben-Hassrath even existed before today.

“From something called the Inquisition?” Iron Bull chuckles, “I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

“So…what would you send home in these reports of yours?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

Del wasn’t fond of the idea of any information making it back to the Qunari- especially anything about Elazar. If there was any kernel of truth to what she’d heard about how the Qunari treat their mages, she was terrified to think of what they’d do if they knew more about Elazar’s “condition.” Though if Iron Bull was telling the truth, and this kept an invasion at bay, wasn’t that a risk worth taking?

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?”

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much. But if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“She?”

“I did a little research.”

Del wondered what exactly qualified as a “little” research.

“Plus I’ve always had a weakness for red heads”

Elazar snickered, proving that even when faced with a Qunari spy he still had the humor of a teenage boy. If El was one thing he was at least consistent. A swift elbow to the gut from Del was enough to get the elf back on track.

“You would run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, Cassandra will eat you alive.”

That’s an understatement.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” The grin splitting across his face made Del believe him. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

Krem pouts as the Qunari’s voice cuts across the beach, “what about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Krem threw his arms up, though his frustration was more for show than anything, it seemed.

Elazar was going to be fond of this group for sure.

.

“How’s it going Krem de la crème?”

The merc lieutenant rolled his eyes, not even bothering to turn and greet the Qunari as he approached. “I’m so glad he has more people to hit with that joke now.”

“Are you telling me Tiny can’t come up with new material?” Varric scoffs, “I had higher hopes for him.”

Krem quirked an eyebrow, “Tiny?”

The hulking Qunari warrior was anything but small, seemed a rather backwards nickname.

“He’s already got a nickname?” El sounded rather insulted at the realization.

“Dwarf calling a Qunari tiny, that’s rich.” Iron Bull grumbles, single-eyed glare pointed at Varric.

“Some just come easier, Herald.” The author shrugs at El who is not satisfied with Varric’s obvious dodge.

“Nicknames, is that his thing?”

Del wasn’t sure. Varric was usually out traveling with Elazar so she hadn’t spoken with him nearly as much El. She had noticed the dwarf only referred to Cassandra as Seeker, but she figured it was a way of bothering her, considering Cassandra rolled her eyes nearly every time he did it.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Krem.”

“Oh, has the Herald not shared yours with you yet?” The shit eating grin plastered across Varric’s face leads Del to the conclusion she doesn’t want to know. Whatever names Varric and El were coming up with when she wasn’t around, she didn’t want to know.

“Del works just fine, I’ll stick with that.”

“That’s no fun.” Iron Bull chides, “lay it on us, dwarf.”

“Ghostie.”

“Ghostie?” Varric thought of her as a ghost? Or had she become sickeningly pale again without realizing it?

Iron Bull rubs his chin for a moment, his eye trained on Del. She fights the urge to fidget under his stare. “I see where you’re coming from with that.”

El snickers. Del has to restrain herself from zapping him.

“Right?” Varric puffs his chest out, “all in the details.”

“What details?”

“Well, you’re quiet, avoid attention. You’ve obviously mastered fading into the background, and best of all, I’ve seen you sneak up on and startle not just Seeker but Leliana too.”

“Those were on accident!” Leliana was the last person in Haven she would want to shock on purpose.

“Even better! Naturally as quiet as a ghost.”

This wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

If he’d already come up with one for her, Varric must have decided on Elazar’s by now. “So, what’s El’s then?”

“Apparently I’m not nickname worthy.” El pouts, putting on his best kicked puppy face.

“Oh, that’s borderline manipulative, Herald.” Varric chuckles, not at all fazed by the elf’s big doe eyes. “You just gotta wait for it to develop naturally. Some just take time.”

“No need to look glum, boss,” Iron Bull smacks Elazar in the back, nearly knocking him out of his seat, “embrace the air of mystery!”

Elazar? Mysterious? Delphine had never known Elazar as anything but straightforward, occasionally unwilling to talk about his emotions, yes, but never untruthful or purposefully shady.

Del rolled her eyes as the group descended into bickering. Despite being mercenaries Bull’s Chargers were all easy enough to get along with. Delphine could have never imagined they would be camping out, drinking and laughing with a merc band, yet here they sat, Elazar truly smiling and carrying on with hired blades.

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep worrying over him so much.”

For such a large warrior, Iron Bull managed to move rather quietly, sneaking up at Del’s side at the edge of the group.

“The life we’ve lived up till now made it a strong habit.” That and El’s sometimes flippant attitude towards authority.

“Constantly looking over your shoulder in the Circle.” Delphine hadn’t mentioned it, and El avoided the topic when possible, but Iron Bull had proved to be more than observant in the few days they’d traveled together.

They’d both been looking over their shoulders most of their lives, for varying reasons, and that shapes a child. “For both our sakes.”

Iron Bull nods, “especially for the sake of the rebel.”

There was no way he’s just a spy.

“He’s always had a penchant for trouble.”

“And you’re the one to get him out of it.”

“When I can.” Del could talk their way out of pranks and whatever general ruckus El caused in the Circle. But Del didn’t have any weight to throw around now; she couldn’t just bat her eyelashes and get the night patrol to look the other way now.

“You don’t share his penchant for rebellion, but you’re dedicated and stick around anyways.” It almost sounded like admiration Del heard in his voice. “He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

Although it wasn’t something she would admit out loud, Del was almost proud of the fact she’d kept him out of trouble all these years. Mostly. Nothing she said would have changed Elazar’s mind once he started planning his rebellion. There was no way to talk him out of that trouble with the Knight-Commander.

“How did you know I didn’t rebel with him?” Here she was, living the life of an apostate, same as El. They’d ended up lumped together despite their differing opinions.

Iron Bull chuckles, a gravelly sound deep in his chest that nearly startles Del. “As if the dwarfs nickname wasn’t clue enough? The fact that you’re alive and not dead at the Conclave tells me you weren’t sympathetic to the rebellion.”

Not sympathetic? Del can feel a dark expression slip into place. “Just because I didn’t rebel doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic to their cause. I know where they are coming from, I’ve felt many of the same hurts, I long for change and freedom just as much.”

The Qunari looks surprised at her candid admission and sharp tongue. At least she was able to prove him wrong on one point of his profile.

“So, too prim and proper to join a rebellion?”

Del rolls her eyes, she’d joined the Inquisition, that alone should have proved she was not worried about such things. Or, at least she wasn’t now. “You know that’s not it.”

“Then what motivates you, little lady. Or in this case, doesn’t.”

She almost prefers Ghostie to little lady.

“I have…differing views on violence than the rest of the rebels…”

That lie was so weak it wouldn’t have convinced Cullen. Iron Bull scoffs, “violence against templars, you mean.”

Del gapes at the Qunari- incredibly perceptive for someone with one eye.

“You’re torn- you contradict yourself- makes it obvious enough.”

“I… as much as I hate what was done to us… what we went through… I just don’t have the same hate towards templars that El and the others do, because then I’d have to hate some people very important to me. And I can’t…I just can’t.” Not when Ralf was the one person to always protect her.

He’s solemn for a long moment. Del wonders if he has any sympathy for mages, after all the Circles must be significantly better than whatever the Qunari mages had. Yet, there was Dalish, who despite all her instance on being an archer, was living openly as an apostate within the band and Iron Bull had no apparent issues with it.

“Just because you hate the system doesn’t mean you have to abhor each individual in it… it’s too much work to hate them individually anyways.”

The system. It sounded like Iron Bull spoke from experience.

Elazar wasn’t going to be the only one fond of this group.

.

Upon their return to Haven Delphine decided she much preferred the chill of the mountain air over the bone soaking cold of the Storm Coast- she’d made it abundantly clear that she would not be returning to the region with him again. No matter the business. El had rolled his eyes but agreed anyways, promising to not bring her along should they venture back to the coast. Del thanked the Maker before making a beeline for their shared cabin, all she wanted was a war bath and a warm bed. It was so closed now. She’d leave the war council to El for today.

Instead of finding Del soaking the chill from her bones, Elazar returned to find her curled up next to the hearth of the fireplace poring over a large leather-bound tome, two more study volumes spread across the floor next to her. It reminded him so clearly of the young girl he’d stumbled across in the Circle library all those years ago, stormy green eyes consuming the contents of library as if her life depended on it.

Nabbing a blanket from his cot, El silently settles on the floor next to her, throwing the blanket over their shoulders. He knows once she’s absorbed in her reading, Del will forget or forgo taking care of herself. The blanket breaks her concentration, grinning she leans over, bumping shoulders, and whispering her thanks.

“What’d you find, Del.”

“Someone left these on my bed, nothing but my name on the note. A proper surprise.”

El hadn’t heard excitement like this in her voice in years, it warmed his heart to see the curious spark in her eyes she’d had back from when they were both still apprentices. “They’re all on combat magic, El, spells, theory, practical technique. They’ve got everything!”

He can’t help but grin back, “never thought I’d see the day Delphine Trevelyan gets excited over banned literature.”

“Oh hush, is it really banned when there’s no Circles left to ban it?”

“Sneaking by on a technicality, Del.” He chuckles, “who left them for you?”

She shakes her head, “I told you, total surprise. I have no idea. I didn’t ask anyone for them either.”

Curious, “who knows you’re studying combat magic.”

“Well, I’ve talked about it with Josephine and Vivienne a few times over tea. Cullen and I talked about it when he asked for help training the recruits… maybe his lieutenants, Joshua, once.”

That seemed about right, he knew she’d kept her practice so herself, acted as if she was more confident in her abilities than she was. Del was a decent enough actress to have most folks fooled.

“Josie or Vivienne would have left a note though or given it to me in person, telling me all about where they managed to find it and how rare the print is. They’re not the type for surprises like this.”

“True,” El nods, “Vivienne would probably talk your ear off about it.”

Del rolls her eyes, “probably… but I don’t know why Cullen or Joshua would get them for me. Joshua and I are friendly but not that close.”

“Cullen does seem like the type to be too shy to leave a note with them.”

Her eyes go wide, “you think so? But why would he, off all people, be getting me books on combat magic?”

True, why would a templar willingly supply a mage with books on combat magic? This was giving Del everything the Order had worked to deny her all these years.

“I’m sure Leliana knows, though. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.”

Del smiles, settling in so her head is resting on his shoulder, “thanks, El.”

.

“You’re looking much more comfortable out there.”

Delphine tries to mask the surprise that washed over her with the sudden compliment. Although Cullen always thanked her for her help, comments on her magic were few and far between.

“Well the recruits seem to be catching on quick- makes my job a bit easier.” It was easier to focus on her execution when she knew the recruits were able to as least defend themselves from her standard attacks. She’d also gotten enough “practice” in after the trip to the Storm Coast to begin working on refining her casting, something she was rather proud of.

Cullen nods “it’s reassuring to see the progression.”

He deserved to be proud, Cullen was turning farmers and pilgrims into a formidable military force with very minimal support. Del had overheard Iron Bull dishing out compliments on the former templar to Elazar recently as well, which she was sure were well earned.

“I was wondering if you could spare someone to spar with me a short while. I’ve been reading up on some new techniques I’d like to practice.” She was trying to be nonchalant about it, but it was so difficult once Leliana had confirmed Elazar’s suspicions.

Cullen clears his throat, glancing away from her rather hurriedly. “I believe I can spare Ser Rosche for the time being.”

He calls the soldier over as Del gathers up her staff. She didn’t recognize the man, though she could hardly claim to be familiar with most of Cullen’s troops. Rosche’s face was set with deep lines and a furrowed brow- an expression that rang familiar. His armor confirmed it, despite wearing the trappings of the Inquisition, the man’s chest plate still bore the emblem of the Order. He must have been one of the templars to leave the Order with Cullen after Kirkwall, Del figured.

Rosche nods as Cullen finishes explaining the task, the grim expression never changing. He pointedly looks her up and down as Cullen introduced her.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Cullen shot her a small smile as he returned to his post scrutinizing the recruits as they continued to drill in formation.

The templar before her didn’t utter a word before falling into a defensive stance, his stare directed at the staff clutched in her hands.

Well then, down to business.

Delphine plants herself, reaching into the Veil around them, slowing her breathing as she channels that swirling energy through her staff. Rosche easily blocks the flames she summons- a testament to his training no doubt- before beginning to push forward.

An aggressor. He must prefer the blade to the shield. Del aims low, hoping to slow him momentarily while she casts a simplified chain lighting attach. Nothing strong enough to do any real harm, just a stun spell really. The jolt of electricity does little to slow Rosche’s advance, however. Sword drawn, he lunges, Del sidesteps and counters setting an ice mine between them. That proves enough to get the man to jump back, putting a more comfortable amount of space between them.

Del’s blood roars in her ears. This man was not one to go easy on her. Eyes narrowed; his gaze never leaves her. Del tries to match his stare but she’s well aware she’s less than intimidating.

Slowly, he begins to circle again, Del tries to keep the mine in between, to delay any more lunges but Rosche has already taken the lead in the fight, something Del was hoping to avoid. She needed to learn to take control in fights, to maintain the upper-hand against her opponents.

She tries to regain control but Rosche continues to hold the lead. He blocks everything she throws at him, even a fireball sent hurling at him full strength, all while he steadily inches closer. The air crackles around her as Del focuses a lighting spell on the blade of her staff, swingling wide at the templar. He parries her blade with ease, the spell quickly dissipating.

Del staggers back as she realizes he’s been dispelling her magic; no wonder her fireball didn’t even faze him. A shiver runs down her spine as a grin breaks out across his face, vaguely manic. It takes near all her will to tamp down the panic clutching at her chest.

“Is that the best you can do, little mage?”

Del barely manages to block his blade as he rushes forward, taunting grin still painted across his features. She throws up a barrier in response, giving her enough time and space to throw a few shots towards his head and shoulders. It’s quick enough he has to duck out of the way instead of block and dispel. Her pride is short lived as he regroups and presses up against her barrier.

Rosche’s grin has disappeared, lips set into a snarl as he shoves against the barrier again. Del is thrown back as it snaps, air rushing from her lungs as her back meets hard packed ground. Panic washes over her as the man stalks towards her, sword still held high. She casts on instinct, feeling the fire flow through her like it did when she first came into her magic, throwing as much heat at her attacker as she can. The flames never leave her hands.

Del cries out as an invisible weight forces down against her chest and her magic explodes against her palms. Her magic has never rebounded before- at least not of her own volition.

Desperate she reaches out again, chest heaving, for the Veil only to realize she can’t find it. Its as if the world around her had suddenly gone silent. The constant hum of energy around her gone.

“No-” her voice croaks at the realization the man looming above her now is suppressing her magic, keeping her from defending herself.

“Yes,” he sneers down at her, eyes cold.

Staff. She needs her staff. Her fingers graze of the shaft for a brief moment before its gone. Still struggling to catch her breath, Del watches as Rosche kicks it away.

He’s still looming over her, taunting her, as she struggles. Every time she reaches back out for the Veil he pushes back twice as hard, pushing her further and further from her magic. Del’s head is spinning as she stares up at him, wide eyed. She didn’t know magic suppression could physically hurt.

“Too bad, little mage.”

Del doesn’t remember how to move as he raises his sword to strike.

This wasn’t a sparring match.

“Chargers!”

The world around them springs into action as Iron Bull’s voice cuts through the roaring in Delphine’s ears. Something explodes above her, near Rosche’s shoulder, throwing him back. Bull and Krem rush by in her peripheral, weapons drawn. A crowd of Chargers quickly follows after.

Their elven mage, Dalish, suddenly appears above her, worry etched across her brow. “You alright?” Del can vaguely make out the feeling of Dalish’s fingers ghosting over her, checking for injuries. She can’t even find it in her to nod back until Del finds her breath.

“Hit…hit my head.”

“Aye you did.” Dalish chuckles a bit but the mirth doesn’t reach her eyes, “we saw you go flying.”

Well that explained the pounding.

The elven woman’s hands continue to investigate, poking and prodding across her torso. “Well, doesn’t look like anythin’s broken.”

Del coughs out a sorry excuse for a chuckle in response.

“Oh, that’s going to take more than elfroot.” Dalish hisses, slowly taking Del’s hands in her own.

The burning rushes in all at once, across her palms and fingertips. She must have roasted her own hands when Rosche caused her magic to rebound. Fuck.

“Let’s get you up, yeah?”

With a few curses between the two of them Dalish helps Del to her feet, a hand at her back keeping her steady as the world swayed around her.

A few yards off Iron Bull stood over Rosche, disarmed and face down in the dirt, one of the Qunari mercenary’s boots pressed into the man’s back. Krem and the others stood by, faces dower as Cullen stalked towards them, fuming.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Del groaned as the Commander’s shouting mixed with the pounding against her skull.

“He attacked Delphine, ser.” Krem answered, face stern and hands on his hips.

Del didn’t think Cullen’s scowl could get any deeper but she was quickly proven wrong. “They were sparring!”

“He wasn’t.” Bull’s voice was level as he stared down the blond. “He had her cornered and disarmed but ready to land a deadly blow.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up as he looked her way. She must have looked a mess, covered in dirt and melting snow, hands bloody and burned. Messy strands of hair fell in her face, Del figured her braid must have come undone upon impact. She didn’t care much to check; she was still barely holding herself upright with Dalish’s help.

“He was suppressing her magic, Commander-” Bull continued, voice dark- “she was down.”

Cullen’s expression darkened; his hard gaze pinned on the downed templar. “What is the meaning of this Rosche?”

“What’s all the fuss?” He spat, still struggling against Bull’s boot. “It’s just a mage!”

Delphine’s heart stopped. She wasn’t even a person to this man. He had meant to hurt her this way.

“Just a mage?” Cullen seethed.

Cullen could be riled up from time to time in meetings, he could be stern with the soldiers, and there had been moments when Del could see the anger swirling behind his eyes but he never appeared to act on it. Not as long as she’d known him. He stood, shoulders squared, one hand clenched around the hilt of his sword as if he meant to draw it against the disarmed man. If looks could kill Rosche would be long dead.

“Bull, please escort ser Rosche to the cells. I’ll need to inform the Herald and the others of what has happened.”

“Sounds good, Boss.”

Elazar.

“No!” Del’s knees crumple as she tries to rush forward. Dalish manages to catch her before she falls, hauling her back to her feet.

All eyes turn to Delphine.

“Don’t tell Elazar, Cullen, please.”

If Cullen was the one to deliver the news to Elazar, Del knew he would bite Cullen’s head off. El was still upset with Cullen over his comments about the rebellion and the templars, even after finding out Cullen had been the one to gift her with the books. He was never the kind to hold grudges but this, this was going to piss him off and if Cullen delivered the news, El would be sure to place the blame solely on him.

“The Herald needs to know, Delphine.” Cullen’s voice softened a bit but the deep frown did not seem to be disappearing anytime soon.

Elazar would know. There was no way with how small Haven was Elazar wouldn’t know soon, but none of this would end well if he heard it from Cullen’s mouth.

“Dalish, Stiches, take Delphine to Adan.” Iron Bull cuts in, voice booming over growing crowd. “Krem will go find the Herald, bring him to her. Cullen can inform Red and Josephine of what’s happened.”

Thank the Maker for the eagle eyed Qunari. Even in his short time with the Inquisition he already had a solid handle on the dynamics here.

Dalish wraps an arm around Del’s waist, supporting most of her weight. “Got it, Boss.”

Cullen doesn’t look particularly pleased but agrees with the Qunari.

Rosche groans and curses as Bull pressed down on his back. “I’ll take care of this one.”

Del doesn’t doubt it.

[braincoins]

“But Socks!” you, as the convenient strawperson, exclaim, “as much as I’d love to read your Dragon Age stuff, I’ve never played Origins and/or Awakening! I don’t really know anything about Grey Wardens or the events of those games!”

Well all you had to do was ask, Convenient Strawperson-chan! ^_^ I know Grey Wardens play some small part in DA:I, which seems to be the game most people have played, but I’ll just start from the beginning. I’ll also be including personal headcanons that come up in Dragon Age: Schism, though I will mark them as such.

Under a cut for the sake of people’s dashes. Consider this a first post in a series. (I’ll answer questions that non-strawpeople want to ask, too!)

So, really now, what is a Grey Warden? Well, that depends on who you ask. To most people outside the order, the Grey Wardens are a glorious order of noble heroes! And why is that? Well, they’re immune to the darkspawn taint (which usually kills people) and so they can safely slay darkspawn! They’re also the only ones who can stop Blights!! ...though this last bit of information is often forgotten, given that Blights happen once every few centuries. 

If you ask me, the Grey Wardens are the biggest dick move in Thedas, which is actually part of why I love them. Here’s all the downsides to joining this “glorious order”: 

First of all, the Right of Conscription. Ferelden has it; not sure if other nations in Thedas do? Anyway, it means that Grey Wardens can recruit anyone at any time. In practice, they have to be careful how they wield this tool (especially in Ferelden), but the RoC has been used to save people from hangings or other deadly fates... on the condition that they become a Warden Recruit. So... didn’t want to be Warden Recruit? TOO BAD, YOU ARE NOW. And no, you don’t get a say in the RoC. 

Second of all, there’s the Joining. It turns out that, in order to become a Grey Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. And a bunch of other stuff in there, but really now, DRINKING DARKSPAWN BLOOD. You might recognize this as a stupidly dangerous thing to do, given that darkspawn blood KILLS THINGS. But your options are drink it or die, because the Grey Wardens present at the Joining will kill you if you try to back out after learning about this. If you drink from the Joining chalice, you also might die, but your name will be remembered as a Grey Warden at least? Even though you’re dead. And hey, if you live, you... become “immune” to the darkspawn taint, which is to say you’re already fucking tainted so it’s not like it can get worse. Want to know why the Grey Wardens don’t tell people they’re gonna make them drink darkspawn blood? Well, if they did that, people wouldn’t want to join, and we need Grey Wardens. 

Supposing you survive the Joining, there’s the shortened lifespan (10-30 years depending on your sources; my headcanon is just straight up 10-ish years) and the nightmares (that maybe you can learn to tune out). Again, they don’t tell you this until afterwards. Why? Because then people might not want to become Grey Wardens... yadda yadda.

Oh, and forget about having kids! It’s very difficult if not impossible to have children as a Grey Warden! 

At some point, even if you were able to tune the nightmares out, they’ll come back and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. That’s the first sign of The Calling. Because it turns out that the Joining is really just turning you into a ghoul, except very, very slowly. You’re getting close to Ghoul-dom now. Most Grey Wardens choose to die in battle against the darkspawn rather than waiting to be turned. It’s tradition. 

And if there’s a Blight going on? Oh, well, it turns out that the only way to kill an Archdemon is to sacrifice a Grey Warden. Why didn’t they tell you? DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK NOW?!

The motto of the Grey Wardens is “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.” 

So what I’m saying is that Grey Wardens are SUPER TRAGIC BADASSES. They also wind up pretty cut off from their former lives, so the Wardens become their family. So, basically, SUPER TRAGIC BADASS FOUND FAMILY. I really don’t see how I was not supposed to love them immediately. 

They still have this reputation of “glory” and all that, but so many of their recruits were thieves or ne’er-do-wells saved from the gallows by the RoC. If you look at just the Wardens we have at the end of Awakening (and this is my list, i.e., the Wardens we have in Dragon Age: Schism):

The Warden (aka the Player Character): the Hero of Ferelden, but may have come from questionable backgrounds, depending on the origin you picked. Duncan might even have had to RoC you. If nothing else, much of Ferelden believed Loghain’s lies that the Wardens were traitors and murderers of beloved King Cailan, and that’s a hard thing to come out from under. In the case of Kivral, she’s a Dalish elf, and elves are... not exactly much beloved, the Dalish even less so, as they’re often painted as “savages.” 

Alistair: King Cailan’s half-brother, thanks to their father, King Maric, getting a little something in on the side (”You’re not just a bastard, you’re a royal bastard?”). Kivral didn’t put him on the throne, but you can if you want in your game. In any case, despite being the most experienced Warden in the group (he Joined six months before the PC), he prefers to follow and let the PC lead. Also in love with Kivral (again: my choice; you can romance someone else in your game), who’s head over heels for him. His mere existence is a threat to the throne. 

Nathaniel Howe: Son of Arl Rendon Howe, who backed Loghain and was, in pretty much all ways, a motherfucking asshole. Nate shows up trying to steal shit from the keep Queen Anora granted the Wardens, even though he insists he wasn’t stealing because it’s his stuff. The seneschal at the time wants to hang him. Kivral decided he’d undergo the Joining instead. Along the way, Nate learns about his father’s actions, comes to accept that, yes, his father was a sonuvabitch, and even pays special attention to non-noble/non-human companions, learning about the privilege he’s had most of his life.

Anders: When you first meet Anders, he’s surrounded by dead Templars and dead darkspawn. He swears forwards and backwards that the darkspawn killed the Templars and then he killed the darkspawn. REALLY. Even though he had run away from the Circle and was being hauled back there by those same Templars. In fact, a Templar shows up and wants to drag him off, but you can call RoC and recruit him instead. And also give him a kitten. 

Velanna: Dalish mage exiled from her clan, even though she was the Keeper’s first - i.e., in line to be the next Keeper. She’s trying to find her sister, and that’s the only reason she signs on with you. HATES HUMANS. HAAAAAAAATES HUMANS. SO FUCKING MUCH. HATES THEM. Not exactly a “people person.” Like, at all.

Sigrun: Casteless dwarf who joined THE LEGION OF THE DEAD. In other words, a fucking badass already. But she’s also this adorable ray of sunshine? Like... her life sucked so she made the choice to consider herself already dead and then you can get her to join the Wardens who are basically Dead People Walking, just on the surface. 

Oghren: One of your companions from Origins. A drunken, lecherous pervert of a dwarf, but he also unlocks the Berserker specialization for warriors in DA:O. He basically just shows up near the beginning of Awakening and is like, “Hey, I had fun killing shit with you and I wanna do more of it.”

Justice: Not in Schism, but mentioned in the notes: Justice is literally the Spirit of Justice who has taken over the corpse of a Grey Warden named Kristoff. In regular Dragon Age canon, Justice eventually leaves Kristoff’s corpse and hitches a ride with Anders, whose anger at the Chantry and the general treatment of mages turns him into VENGEANCE. In Schism, Justice departs back to the spirit world.

But I give you this list for a reason: thieves, exiles, casteless, apostates. These are the Great and Glorious Grey Wardens we’re dealing with here. Even Duncan, Maker watch over him, was a rogue and a thief before he became a Grey Warden and eventually rose to Warden-Commander of Ferelden. 

In the time period of Dragon Age: Schism, the people of Ferelden are still recovering from the Blight, from the death of their king, from Loghain’s claims of Grey Warden treachery, etc. Many generations before, there was a Grey Warden rebellion against the then-king, Arland, for his tyrannical ways. The Wardens were slaughtered - either by the king’s troops or by the demons that the Warden mage Avernus summoned in desperation - and the Warden Order was cast out of Ferelden until King Maric assumed the throne and allowed them back in. He even reinstated their Right of Conscription (though, again, you can’t just RoC anyone and everyone all the time; that’s a good way to get it - and possibly the Order again - revoked real quick).

So the Wardens are on shaky ground in Ferelden, where our story is set and centered (just as in Origins/Awakening). There aren’t many of them (see list above because - again, aside from Justice - that’s literally all of them in the entire country) and people are still sort of side-eyeing them. They have Queen Anora’s support, but even that’s shaky, especially while Alistair - who could have taken the throne in her place - is still alive and kicking. The leader of the Wardens of Ferelden may also be the Hero of Ferelden, but, in the case of Schism-verse, is also a “knife-ear” (as the slur goes), and not Andrastian (she’s not Fantasy Christian, basically).  

[mrs-theirin]

Reflections

// cw for implied/mention of magical self harm (no physical evidence, but just want to make sure i don’t trigger anyone!) and unhealthy behaviors //

What happens when the ever-joking Eden Hawke can't find the joke anymore? Varric visits her home in hopes of a warm night; he instead finds her in the worst state he's ever seen her in.

read on ao3 OR find it under the cut!

“Hey, Hawke, you in here? Bodahn told me the mages have moved out for the week, is it because the Templars—Eden?”

Varric watched Eden turn towards him, her tears glistening in the moonlight. He could see that her hair didn’t fall over her shoulders like it usually did; it was instead choppy and short, and his eyes moved to the floor to see most of it laying there. Her shaky hand was holding shears. He made his way over to her, trying to ignore how violently her body flinched as he approached, and took the shears out of her hand.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Varric cringed. Her voice sounded so broken, like she had been screaming for the past few hours. Maybe she had. Bodahn had said he had just gotten home a few minutes ago; if she had been screaming, no one would’ve known. “Where?” He tried to keep his voice level.

She moved her fingers through her short hair, tugging at it, then knocked on the side of her head twice. “Here.”

“How—”

“Magic. That—” She paused, trying to hold back a sob. “The horror. I thought if I forced myself to think of worse things, it would stop, but—”

She succumbed to a fit of sobs, her body shaking violently as she struggled to stay quiet. Varric rushed to close the door to her bedroom, then returned to her side. He sat next to her on the bed, sliding his hand into hers, which she squeezed tightly as she cried. It was hard to watch. Eden Hawke was a strong, confident, fearless woman. He had seen her upset before, but never anything like this.

“Eden.” His voice was soft. “Are you telling me you used your horror spell on yourself?” 

She nodded, her face in her hand. “It was a mistake,” she whispered. “It just made things worse.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Quill.”

She yanked her hand away at that, scooting away from him. “You should just go. This was never going to work out anyway.”

Varric’s heart stopped, but he pushed through. “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Why not?” she grumbled, still facing away from him. “I killed my papa. I almost killed my brother. My sister’s in the one place we fought to keep her away from for so long. My mother is dead and it’s my fault.”

His heart raced at the mention of her father, but he decided not to press it. You can’t force a story out of anyone. “Qu—”

She turned to him abruptly, catching him off guard. “You’d better run. I’m sure within a week you’ll be dead too.” She hung her head, voice breaking. “Just like the rest of them.”

“Eden—”

“I need to hug him. He told me—” She paused to cry a bit longer. “He—”

“Junior doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“No, he doesn’t. Which is why it hurts more that he would think it was my fault. But it makes sense. It was my fault when Papa died.”

“Eden, I’m sure—”

She stood, the bed shaking with the force of the action. “No, Varric. You don’t know. You weren’t there. I’ve never told the fucking story because I hate myself for it. Can you imagine what it’s like to watch your father die because of you? To watch him save your life and lose his in the process?”

“Eden—”

“Stop, Varric. This isn’t just another story you can hide with jokes and fake laughter. This is real.”

Immediately Varric’s pain shifted to anger. “You don’t think my shit is real? You hide too, Hawke. It’s not exclusive to charming dwarves.”

She laughed, a horrible screeching sound that sounded more like a scream than a laugh. “See? There you go again! You can never stop, can you? Maybe if you—if you crack so many jokes, it’ll make the pain go away, right? It’ll bring Papa back, right? It’ll—”

She broke down again, dropping to her knees, sobbing into Varric’s lap. He stroked her hair. She wasn’t angry at him, despite her insistence she was talking about him. No, she was using him as a mirror, as a way to hate herself through someone else. He knew what that was like.

“We’re too alike,” she muttered.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Varric chuckled, although his heart wasn’t in it.

“No,” she cried, emphasizing the word. “It means I’ll hate you, eventually. And I don’t want to hate you.”

“You don’t have to hate me. You don’t have to hate yourself either. Leandra’s death wasn’t your fault.”

She looked up at him and the look on her face shattered his heart into a million pieces. It was impossible to watch her like this, to see tears roll down her face, to see the new scar on her lip he didn’t notice before. “I saw them. Way before. I can’t—I can’t stop thinking about Ninette. I knew. I knew this man was out there, and I joked about it.” 

He watched her tremble, falling victim to another fit of sobs. “You didn’t know, Eden.”

“I—”

“Eden. You’re going to be okay. I want you to get up and sit next to me. Please.”

She hesitated, her face still in his lap, before slowly standing and sitting on the bed. She looked down at her hands. Varric reached over and grabbed one tightly, squeezing it. She glanced over at him, looking absolutely miserable; red eyes, uneven hair, smudged makeup. “What?” she muttered, hopeless and broken.

“You don’t have to feel better. Let’s get rid of your hair. Let’s get you into a warm bath, okay? I’ll tell Bodahn to—”

He stopped as Eden moved forward, kissing him deeply. He just held her hand tighter, letting her kiss him, but not pushing her. The last thing he wanted to do was push her. He pulled away as she grabbed his hand and placed in on her chest, pulling his hand away.

“No, Eden.”

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, her eyes still closed.

He moved his hand to her cheek and she whimpered at his loving touch. “Clean up your hair. I’ll tell Bodahn to draw a bath.”

She nodded her head. “I love you, Varric.”

“Shit, Quill. I love you too.”

With another kiss, Varric left the room, telling the other dwarf to start a warm bath. The two spent the night recovering and fixing her hair, and by the next day, Eden was smiling and boasting about her new haircut. He watched her, a deep pain in his chest, as she hid behind jokes and flirting.

It was like looking into a mirror.

[miss-nerd-alert]

Anders doesn’t suffer from bad writing in DA2

It’s easy to make such a claim, especially for people who liked him in Awakening, but it is inaccurate.

I’ve seen some people say that Anders’ character arc in DA2 is the result of “bigoted white writers who can’t write marginalized characters because they only demonize them” when his characterization is incredibly nuanced and actually really well executed.

When we first meet Anders in DA2, his motives are entirely justifiable. He’s an apostate using his magic to run a free medical clinic for the poor in Kirkwall’s Undercity, who came to help the mages in the Gallows escape to freedom, and he opposes the use of blood magic.

His character begins to change, however, when he gets a firsthand look at the abuses carried out by the Templars in the Gallows. Karl had been writing to Anders about how Meredith was running the Gallows, but seeing him-a hallowed mage-made Tranquil was the first time Anders had actually seen it. Justice, or more accurately Vengeance, blasts onto the scene and the Templars die. After that, all Templars are the same to him, opressors to be destroyed. It’s now that we begin to see the ruthlessness that Anders is capable of.

He’s completely on board with killing Ser Thrask, one of the only good Templars left in Kirkwall, just on the principle that he’s a Templar and thus the enemy. He begins to see people as allies or enemies, with no room for middle ground or neutrality. He’s perfectly fine with giving Fenris back to Danarius, because Fenris is vocally supportive of the Templars and hates magic. Never mind that Fenris suffered at the hands of mages for as long as he can remember (and even before he lost his memory), Anders completely disregards the suffering of another because they disagree on ONE (1) thing. Anders is also shown to idolize Tevinter for the privileges it’s mages enjoy, even knowing full well that privilege comes on the backs of non-mages, who are enslaved and abused in much the same manner the mages in the Gallows are. Anders doesn’t seem to care about the suffering of anyone but the people he’s advocating for.

Anders continues to help mages escape the Gallows for the next few years, but his stability starts to crack as things only get worse. He’s completely stunned that Meredith denied Ser Alrik’s “Tranquil Solution”, because how could the face of his enemy possibly be reasonable? By that point, you could tell him Meredith cannibalized children, and he’d believe it wholeheartedly. After he and Justice/Vengeance tear the Templars apart, they get angry when the mage girl calls them a demon, and they lash out, possibly killing her. He attacks someone he was supposed to be helping because she didn’t seem grateful.

Anders is still willing to try and find a peaceful solution at this point, though his saying Elthina “might be more reasonable” than he’d thought indicates that he had considered it rather pointless by then.

By Act 3, Anders makes it pretty clear there’s no going back. Meredith has destroyed the Mage Underground, and Anders is already putting his plan in motion.

Elthina was ineffective at best, and negligent at worst, but she was not the only one in the Chantry. We never see more than a handful of sisters or brothers, but from what we can pick up from their brief dialogue with one another, they were at least trying to help people. They talk about feeding the street urchins, upset that they run off before the sisters can do anything more than give them some food. Sebastian mentions how they take care of orphans, widows, and the sickly. Whatever they think of the mage/Templar conflict, they are powerless to do anything but clean up the mess.

When the Chantry is destroyed, the blast is HUGE. Debris is likely scattered over half of Hightown, and the destruction is so bad that years later, Cassandra mentions that it’s still ongoing, with Varric adding that repairing the damage completely “will take years”. Even if no one within the Chantry itself was innocent, civilians were still caught in the blast.

Anders was fighting for people who had been oppressed, and Meredith didn’t need to call for Annulment of the Circle when the mage responsible was right in front of her, but Anders only made things worse for mages in southern Thedas by blowing up the Chantry. It was fairly obvious that Meredith would use his actions as her excuse to use the Right of Annulment, as she’d already been looking for one. By blowing up the Chantry, Anders made every mage in southern Thedas a target, set the wolves on the mages in the Gallows, started a war that got many mages -innocent or otherwise- killed, and made many who had been sympathetic to the mages wary.

When you meet Harding, if playing as a mage, she mentions that even those within the Inquisition are nervous around mages. While his intentions may have been worthwhile, Anders’ actions only made the mages situation worse. They may be out of their Circles, but they face attacks and mistrust from all sides, eventually getting desperate enough to turn to a Tevinter magister, which would only further alienate any potential allies they might have had. In doing so, they bind themselves to CORYPHEUS, one of the thirteen magisters responsible for the Blight and caused a good deal of the mistrust modern mages face.

Anders isn’t a marginalized character being demonized by a white writer. He’s an example of how a marginalized character can still be wrong; how someone from a minority can still take good intentions too far and become just as bad as their opposition. That is writing that is both super impressive and incredibly relevant.

Long post, but I needed to get this out there.

[fenharel-babe]

Extremely Detailed Inquisitor Questionnaire for Elle!

Elle’s turn :))). Love her the most lol. Her character background is kinda confusing so,,bare with me. Plus, every question is kinda too detailed and sometimes goes off track (but gets back on it) because I want to explain Elle a lot more. But this isn’t everything about her. There’s still a lot more >:)))).

Name: Elle

Age: 26

Race: Elf, but she uses her magic to put a glamour over her. She looks human to others.

Gender/preferred pronouns: Female. She/Her

Class (warrior/rogue/mage): Was a Mage but in DAI is a warrior.

Preferred weapon/spell type: She would usually use a staff when she loved her magic, but in DAI she likes to use a sword with both hands. Never was that great with a shield.

Specialization: Knight Warrior

Romance: Cullen (precious pup🥺).

Elle is a very loving woman. She’s a bit quiet, a little shy, but she always means well. The Templar’s weren’t that great to her when she was young (being a mage and an elf), but she refused to let that stop her from being herself. She showed kindness to everyone, sympathized with them, and did anything she could that would help them. However, her being so kind sometimes got her in trouble. Being used, manipulated, tricked, and other terrible things. Now, she plays as a human who has no magic whatsoever and fights for peace like she always will.

*Describe what your Inquisitor is like before the game’s events–preferably, choose three words that describe best. Then explain why those adjectives are appropriate descriptors.

She was a kind little girl. Her father was a Templar human and her mother was an elf mage. A little weird to everyone else, but her father truly loves her mother, and he loves his mage daughter like she was everything. And he loves his other daughter as well!! He loved both of his children so much (older sister is mentioned later). When she grew up, she would sing at the local tavern. It was shows they would put on every night and she loved it. She learned her glamour spell during this time. She didn’t want people to know who she was since she was a little embarrassed. She’d look like a human and her looks would change a little bit, but not much. She would be considered a bard, but not much. She was very observant. She watched everyone as she sang, listened to their conversations when she was by the bar, and acted playful to catch them slipping up. She didn’t really use the information for anything, but it was a little fun to her. Three words to describe her would be Kind, Playful, and Sneaky.

Kind because she is kind. She listens to people, does her best to help them, and tries to not be judgemental. She’s playful because of how she acts. Whenever a Templar would say “oh it’s a mage,” she’d be like “Oh, thank you for noticing me. I do like the attention,” and she’d laugh at how the Templar’s looked a little uncomfortable. She’d make jokes and almost never seem to take anything seriously. Always having a comeback to the Templar’s (or sometimes mages) that made fun of her or tried to bring her down. And when Cullen says “no one made quite the entrance you did.” She’d smile and pull out the playful side of her and reply “Well, I do like having everyone’s attention,” or something a little more playful. And she’s sneaky because she was a kinda spy. She would listen to people when they thought no one could hear them, she’d sneak through the halls of her home late at night to go see her friends, and because of what she’s doing now. Hiding what she really is out of fear and anger of her past.

Does your Inquisitor change over the course of the game’s events? If so, how? What events affected their character arc the most?

Yes. She learns to not be afraid of her past and shows her real self to the main people in her life (the party members and main people in the inquisition). She learns to not hide herself and accepts her magic as a part of her. The one event that affected her most was when she was thrown into the Fade. When the fear demon was speaking to her, it shook her to her core. Her past flashing in front of her when she closed her eyes, and she was afraid everyone would see her entire past. It made her panic the whole time there, but leave it to Elle to hide behind a well built mask. She was a performer after all and meant to never show her true emotions when the attention is all on her. And when she saw how panicky she was and how afraid she was for them to find out, she decided to talk to Cullen and everyone else.

What is their combat skill level before the events of the game? Are they already skilled fighters, or can they barely hold their weapon of choice properly?

She was a very well trained Mage. She loved magic and was always wanting to learn more, and her father, siste rand mother also wanted to learn more. With her family encouraging her and wanting to learn beside her, it made her learn more and more about magic. How she could protect herself and others, but also the bad side of Magic... However, she didn’t just know how to fight with her staff. She was curious about fighting with swords, daggers, and bow and arrow. Always wanting to know more. Her favorite way of fighting (without her staff) was either with bow and arrow or a sword. As she grew up, she learned how to fight with a sword by her father, but it never was intense training. She even tried to fight the Templar’s for training and beat most of them. Why is that good? Because she didn’t get the amount of training they did. She was observant, noticed their patterns (almost every fighter has a pattern in how they fight), how strong they really are, and looked for weak spots. This is why she would’ve been good as a full time bard, but nah. She would study that and win almost every time. Made her dad very proud. But he was always proud of her no matter what,,,

How well do they improve after becoming the Herald/Inquisitor?

She learns how to truly fight. As a kid (and a grown up before the main events of DAI), she never tried to fight hard, never wanting to actually hurt someone (even if it happened anyway...), so she didn’t train too much. Just wanted the basics with the sword. She grew stronger (TUFF baby), learned how to not hide her emotions, and learned how to love fully. She never truly knew how to love another person (romantically I mean) until she met Cullen. She’s happy about that and so is everyone else around her :). And she learns how to not let herself lead mainly with her emotions. She was a little naive and lead with her emotions most of the time, but she learned that that’s not always the best thing to do, even if it hurts her heart.

Does the Inquisitor have family they left behind? Friends?

This part is rlly long sorry lol.

She has her mother and sister left behind. Yeah, she has a big sister. They are very close. Her sister is an actual human and is a warrior and is a Templar. She became a Templar because she wanted to be like her father and actually protect people. If someone ever insulted the mages, she’d literally be like “wanna square up?? Wanna take this outside???” She imagines that mage as her sister and can’t stand it when people try to hurt the mages or treat them unfairly when most of them did nothing wrong! She believes Templar’s were not made to be like that, so she tries to help people see that. Elle left because of her past. It wasn’t on her own accord, she left out of fear and shame. She hurt people on accident, so she couldn’t show her face.

What made it worse, her dad died when she was 10 and her sister was 11. He was a Templar so he used Lyrium. When he and their mother had Lela (the older sister), he wanted to stop taking it, prove that he was more than just a Templar taking lyrium. That he could be a good father. However, irs like Cullen said, if a Templar stops taking it then they could go mad. And mad he did. He never abused anyone, he rarely showed the symptoms of an abuser of the lyrium, but his wife knew and she always tried to help him stop taking it, but after so many years of not taking it, he would go back to it. But he overdosed (I’m assuming that’s possible right?) and died. It haunts her everyday because she has a ring of his. It was a Templar ring. She wears it everywhere she goes, refusing to take it off. And she also Has a best friend who is a Templar! I’m kinda assuming Templar and Mage relationships aren’t really ‘allowed’. They’re not banned but frowned upon. However, they met in secret when they were kids, and they’ve stayed friends every since. His name is Caleb and he loves seeing Elle mess with her magic when she had it :))).

How does the Inquisitor react to the Anchor and the idea of closing the Breach–do they want to do the right thing, are they only along because they are a prisoner, or something else?

Oh boy,,she’s terrified. Having technically magic on her hand gives her anxiety. She doesn’t know if she’ll hurt people, doesn’t know how to use it, doesn’t know what will happen, and it gives her a lot of anxiety. She’s scared, but hides it once again. She gets anxiety bc the last time she used magic she hurt people on accident (I’ll explain it if someone asks or maybe later idk) and everytime she looks at her hand she feels the magic that’s still in her flow throughout her. It scares her, but she eventually learns to deal with it. She learns how it works, and what she can use it for. Plus, she does want to do the right thing. Always has and always will. She’s happy after she knows she can help people, but that past always comes back to haunt her.

Do they take the mountain pass with the scouts to the Temple or do they charge with the soldiers?

She takes the mountain path. She knows it’s dangerous, but believes in herself and her companions to make it through. Plus, she didn’t want to risk more lives, and she wanted to save the scouts if she could. Once again, letting her emotions lead her in the beginning, but she believes they’re alive and won’t take any other path. If her comrades didn’t go with her, then she would’ve went by herself. Stubborn girl😤.

How does the Inquisitor react to being called the Herald of Andraste?

She’s a little worried. She doesn’t like people fearing her. She does claim to like the worship, to like the way people bow to her, and its not 100% false. Everyone likes attention sometimes, and she does like it. But it causes guilt to rise in her mind. Would they bow to her if they knew what she did? How she hurt people? She just accepts it and smiles to everyone who gives her praise. But after awhile, she accepted the title and knew that meant she was someone important.

Do they believe it themselves?

She does a little bit. Not fully believing it, but not thinking of it as impossible. She’s just wishy-washy about her opinion.

How do they react to being thrown a year into the future? Do they believe they can get back? Are they focused on their goal, gathering information? Or are they just freaking out?

Hmm...she isn’t panic panicking, but she is still worried. She’s afraid of what happened to her family in this future (her mom, sister, and everyone in the inquisition) and she feels like they can’t get back. The walls feel like they’re closing in around her, and when she sees everyone with the red lyrium growing inside of them, it causes her heart to ache. However, she pulls herself together and will fight her hardest to save everyone. She would not let this come to happen. No matter what she had to do.

Does the Inquisitor help Harrit and save all possible citizens of Haven? Why?

YES!! She’s rushing around everywhere, checking every building that she can, and trying her best to hear for anyone calling out for help. She helps everyone the best she can and still feels regret for how many they lost that day. She does it because she cares. She cares so much for everyone and wants to save everyone if she can. She couldn’t live with herself if she let someone die because she was too lazy to search.

How does the Inquisitor feel about being a distraction for Corypheus while Haven flees? Are they resigned to their fate? Resentful? Determined to defeat the enemy/survive?

She feels sad. She knows this is needed, she has to do this. When she decided to help the inquisition, she signed herself up for this mess, and she WILL see it through. Even if it costed her her life. However, her sadness does effect her when she’s talking. Her voice cracking and tears almost falling, but she holds it together and does her best to distract Corypheus.

Does the encounter with Corypheus change their opinion of being Herald? Does it make them believe they are the Herald, lose faith, or affirm to their previous belief?

She’ll stare at the mark on her hand for awhile after everything, wondering if it is a blessing or a curse. She feels it flowing through her. Not pain, but just...there. And now seeing that Corypheus wants it and how he will come for her life, it only makes her more determined. Elle is not a woman known for giving up. Her faith doesn’t dim. Heck, the fire inside of her gets brighter and stronger after this. She believes she was meant for this. To see a creature that powerful and to LIVE after it? She believes she’s truly blessed, and she will use that blessing to her advantage.

How do they feel about being chosen for Inquisitor?

Guilt. Overwhelming guilt. They don’t know her past. None of them do. They don’t know how she is truly a mage, how she lost control of her magic once and hurt people. They don’t know, and yet she watches as they bow to her. Swear their loyalty to her. An elf playing human and champion, when she feels like she doesn’t deserve it. And as she looks at them, sees their bravery, their loyalty, their faith, and the way they want to see this through, she smiles and pushes her guilt back and raises her sword high. She will save this world and maybe, just maybe...they’ll still love her if she reveals herself.

How does the Inquisitor react to being in the Fade?

She feels like it’s a playground. Well, not an actual playground, but she’s excited to see all of it. Is it terrifying? YES. But does she also find it...kinda beautiful? Yeah. She feels how Solas feels. She was always interested in her magic, and that interest hasnt dimmed at all, and she looks so in awe of everything. She couldn’t hold back her curious eyes looking everywhere. The only part she truly hated was seeing the graveyard of fears. She saw hers and it said, “Herself.” She saw her past flash before her eyes and she felt like it was hard to breathe. Her curiosity now replaced with fear and anger. However, when one of the companions called her name, she was pulled out of whatever trance she was in, and laughed at their concern.

“I’m fine. I’m always fine. I’m the inquisitor. Let’s just get out of here.” And when the demon spoke to her, it’s cold, cruel voice called out, “Would they still love you if they knew?” She would yell a curse at it in Elven, and keep walking through the fade, desperate to get back to the world to save everyone and avoid her past.

Do they ever believe the spirit is actually of Divine Justinia?

She does. She likes to believe that Divine Justinia would look out for them, would want them to get out of here, and somehow stay behind. Is it a stretch? Yes. But she believes it was Divine Justinia. Let her have hope for once...

How do they react to learning it was the Divine behind them in the Fade, not Andraste?

She didn’t know the Divine, but she felt sad at how she sacrificed herself to save Elle. She feels at fault, but knows she isn’t. Divine made that choice. She feels sad at how she isn’t what people believe she is, but she still feels like it’s the Makers will. Or whatever is watching over them, she believes it is their will, and knows she is still destined to be here.

What is their opinion on attending the ball in the first place? Do they think it’s a waste of time, a necessary duty, or something exciting?

She feels nervous, but not too nervous. She was like a bard and was used to being someone else. Being careful, putting on a mask. It was a talent of hers. So, she is a little excited to be who she was when she was a bit younger, even if her decisions will affect everyone, she keeps a confident look on her face, gives playful responses, listens to everyone when they think she isn’t, goes with their opinions for their support, and knows how to persuade people. It’s something that was taught to her and she guesses becoming like a bard was a very important step in her life. However, she does see this as serious and treats it like that. When she’s searching, she’s moving as fast as her feet can take her, using her strength to maybe or maybe not break a door, keeping her mask on when she shows up, and knows how to play nice and when to play vicious.

Does the Inquisitor fight Grand Duchess Florianne, or expose her?

SHE DRAGS HER SWEETIE!! Even Cullen was holding back a laugh at how Elle was circling her like a shark, the way she had a smile on her face, the way she was confident, and noticing how she was very good at this. She said some...colorful words, and she dragged her, exposed her, humiliated her, whatever word you wanna use! She usually would feel bad, but this woman was going to get people killed without hesitation, so Elle held nothing back. And she loves exposing terrible people >:).

How does the Inquisitor get along with Morrigan?

She treats her with the same kindness and respect she treats everyone else with! She doesn’t trust her completely when they first met, her naive ways and too kind heart was now protected and wary. But overtime they grew a bit closer and became friend and when Morrigan acts coy and secretive, Elle would play along as well. As if it was a game between the two. They enjoyed it sometimes, but when it came to serious matters, they would drop everything and try to understand each other, no secrets or coyness involved.

How does the Inquisitor feel about facing Corypheus for the last time? Do they feel confident? Do they believe they will survive the encounter? How do they cope with the possibility of failure?

Her heart hurts. She panics. She believes she can do this, she knows she can’t use her magic, she can’t show it, but her magic is flowing through her stronger than ever before. Her magic seemed alive and desperate to be revealed and unleashed again. She was tempted to unleash it and beat Corypheus, but she knew she could do this on her own strength. She feels a bit confident, but she is shaking when she goes to spend time with Cullen the night before facing Corypheus for the last time. It ends with private time alone (hehe know what I mean ;)), and she does everything to show how much she loves him. She holds onto him as tight as she can, as if he’ll disappear if she doesn’t hold on tight. She makes him feel as much pleasure as she can make him feel, whispers her love confessions to him, and gives everything she can to him. She loves him. She loves him. And she feels so happy when he does the same. He loves her. He loves her. And that night is the night she reveals herself to him, knowing she needs to let him know just in case she doesn’t make it...

How do they react to Solas’ disappearance?

Worried. She’s always worried for her friends and family. She was interested in Solas and everythint he taught her, so she considered him her friend. She liked his company and the way he sorta comforted her sometimes, so she was definitely worried. She sent out many orders to search for Solas, refusing to give up on him. Needing to find out what happen.

Now onto the people >:))).

Who does the Inquisitor prefer to have in their party? Why?

She likes Cassandra the most. She likes Cassandras voice a lot. She doesn’t know why but it just sounds beautiful to her, even if she mainly hears it with curse words or shouting, but it’s beautiful to her😌. Plus, she likes seeing Cassandra be kind to people who need it. She believes going with her is sort of teaching Cassandra to breach out and to show how people are suffering on every side. And she likes making Cassandra smile whenever she can, since Cassandra wasn’t one to smile or laugh.

What is the Inquisitor’s first impression of Leliana?

She finds her very interesting. She was used to being like a spy, but she saw how serious Leliana was and was in awe of her talent. She was still a little naive at the time and trusted Leliana with everything in her since Cassandra trusted her and how Leliana did stop Cassandra from basically attacking Elle in the dungeon👀. And eventually when she manages to soften Leliana, she loves how Leliana is hopeful and she agrees with her hopes and dreams. She’s happy she knows Leliana :))).

What is the Inquisitor’s first impression of Cullen?

First impression AND their development sorta is included.

She felt safe and was interested in him as well. In a different way from Leliana though... And as she fell for him, she felt love for the first time since she ran from home, and when she learned about how he quit Lyrium she felt a lot pride in her. Like, she was proud of him and supported him with all of her heart. And when she learned how he was suffering, her heart dropped so hard. She had seen this before. Her father was suffering like he was, dreams being terrible, and knowing that want to go back on it. She didn’t get it as a kid, but as she grew up she understood how dangerous quitting Lyrium was and she couldn’t let someone else she loves dearly die. She would NOT let it happen. Not again. She’s older. She can do this. She tells him not to take it and she watches him like Cassandra does. Checking in on him everyday and always making sure he’s telling her the truth. And sometimes she just flirts with him to take his mind off of it :))). It works and he feels so happy when she’s around him. Even if it’s in the war room...he just loves seeing her.

The same goes for everyone else. She treats them with kindness, loves their specific traits (Serahs prank, Cassandras true kindness, Morrigan interest in Elven lore, Solas’s knowledge, and everyone’s desire to save the world). This is it for Elle but this only scratches the surface of everything I’ve thought about her >:))). I love the idea of someone having a terrible past, misunderstood, and being afraid to show themself, but still also showing their true intentions and emotions. I love this baby and want to talk about her more but not sure how?? I guess I’ll figure it out. Anyways yeah, Julien is next >:))).

[varricmancer]

The Golden Halla | 2

** Cross-posted on AO3 ** 

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x F!OC

Summary:  The Inquisition has been sent a gift of thanks for assisting the Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains - a Golden Halla, said only to appear in times of need. However, the creature is much more than it appears to be.

A/N: Part 2 is here! So for this part, let us pretend we didn’t have to choose between the templars and the mages because I always hated that. porque no los dos? Anyway, that will explain how Cole is already there. We’ve saved the templars and Quizzy is off doing things with the mages right now. 

 Cullen stood in the middle of the training grounds, barking out orders while keeping one eye on the stables not far away. When he had awoken this morning, there had been nothing out of the ordinary - besides him waking up on the stable floor covered in straw and dirt but feeling more refreshed than he had in he didn’t know how long. 

The halla had been napping comfortably in her stall and there was no sign of the woman he’d caught a glimpse of before he’d passed out. He decided she was most likely just a product of his hallucinations. Or perhaps he’d been so out of it a demon had appeared when he’d been most vulnerable. He didn’t know, but with no sign of her again he’d gone about his day, all the while keeping a suspicious eye on the stables. 

His stomach grumbled violently and he realized he was hungry. Really, truly, voraciously hungry. It had been so long since he could stomach more than a bit of broth and bread. 

He cast one last furtive glance towards the stables before dismissing his men to other duties and strode towards the tavern. He found an open table near the back of the building, one that had a wall to his back and gave him a full view of the room. He could feel the eyes as people tried to be sneaky about watching him, since he was a bit of an oddity in here. He normally took his meals in his tent in case he felt sick. 

When the tavern maid came for his order, he let his stomach do the talking. One big bowl of stew with a possible need for seconds, buttered bread, a generous chunk of cheese, and whatever sweet they had prepared for after. 

He got comfortable while he waited, tearing off his gloves and coat, allowing himself to drop his shoulders and relax...and apparently too soon as he was soon joined by a couple of the Inquisition stragglers, plopping their own bowls onto his table with unapologetic grins. 

“Hey, Curly. Glad to see you feeling better,” Varric greeted, sliding in next to him and sliding a tankard towards him. 

“Was I ill?” Cullen grumbles, though he still accepts the mug and takes a small sip. It wouldn’t do for his men to see their commander getting sloshed, but he figured a tiny bit wouldn’t hurt. 

“Ah, it was a secret. Gotcha,” the tiresome dwarf winked.

Cullen rolls his eyes and quietly thanks the maid as she sets his feast before him. He tears into the stew, closing his eyes with a content sigh as he’s able to hold it down without belly fighting him. 

“Why do you call him Curly? He walks as straight as the rest of you,” the young man (questionable) who came with Varric questions. What was his name again? Cole? 

“It’s the hair, kid. He used to let it fly about in its natural state. These days he’s gotten it rather tamed, so now it’s ironic. Understand?” 

“Yes?” 

The dwarf snorts and waves his hand for another drink for himself. 

Cullen is thankful that for the most part, the two seem willing to simply sit there and let him enjoy his food. It’s not until his belly begins to settle as he’s tearing into his dessert that he realizes that slighting scratching sound he’d been hearing was the dwarf writing next to him, only pausing on occasion to answer Cole’s persistent questions.  

He must have felt Cullen’s curious glance because he looked up and shrugged. 

“Thinking of writing about...all this shit.” 

Cullen nods, hardly surprised.

He observes the dwarf write a few more lines before he stops, looking up thoughtfully. 

“Hey, Commander. Describe the most beautiful skin you’ve ever seen.” 

Cullen sputters, nearly choking on the bite of the berry dessert he’d been savoring. 

“Maker’s breath. What? Why?” 

He waves his quill around, “Having a blockage. I doubt you could do worse than me. I said ‘Bronzed.” 

Cullen quirks an eyebrow, wondering what was wrong with that. In fact, he remembered thinking that about the woman he’d seen last night. But...he supposed that wasn’t the correct coloring anyway. 

“Sand...y?” 

“Sand is a decent color, I guess. Hardly flattering though.” 

Cullen thought back to his vision. Sand wasn’t right. No, it was beautiful...shimmering...the color of honey…

“Skin like wildflower honey, dark and rich. He wonders if she tastes as sweet...why would he want to eat her?” 

Cullen blushes madly as the creature stares at him curiously from under that hideous hat. 

Varric chuckles lowly, the knowing tone grating on Cullen’s nerves. 

“Well, well. The Commander has the soul of a poet. Mind if I borrow that?” 

Cullen sighs and pushes up from the table. 

“Do as you will, dwarf. Tell your...friend there to stay out of my head.” 

He turned and stomped from the Tavern and pretended he wasn’t trying to escape to his tent due to embarrassment. He was a grown man and a soldier, after all. He was simply taking the time to look over reports. 

***

He reemerged several hours later, needing a break. He recalled he was going to take Grace out for a ride and decided now was as good a time as any. One of the men assigned to the stables asked if he wanted him to prepare her for his ride, but he liked to do things himself. Gave him a chance to look over his gear for safety and gave Grace a little extra attention. 

He strode into the stables, still keeping a slight eye out. For what, he didn’t know. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A few horses, a single Hart, and that golden Halla were it’s only occupants. One of the reports he’d looked over earlier had mentioned a noble sending some livestock to help care for the refugees here, so he would have to allocate some space for cows and sheep since he wasn’t sure how many there were. Surely more than could fit in here. 

He shrugged, trying to banish thoughts of reports and hallucinations from his mind. He spared a glance towards the Halla as she popped her head over the gate, watching him move around the stables. Thankfully, she stayed quiet. He gave her a quick pet on her snout to thank her, and she nuzzled into his hand. She was sweet and well-behaved at least. Though a bit spoiled, if the instructions left by their latest elven recruit was anything to go by. Three meals a day, as well as snacks to be made available in the stables. One of those meals was a warm oatmeal mash with berries and honey for breakfast! She ate better than he did...though he supposed that was mostly his own fault. 

He saddled Grace, checking over his gear for any repair needs as he did so. The poor thing was practically quivering with excitement. 

“Almost, sweetheart.” 

When he finally got the lead on her and started pulling her from the stables, you could practically feel Grace’s relief. He sighed, internally promising to take her out more. 

As he led her past the stalls, the Halla nickered in a way that sounded almost sad.  

He pauses, remembering that he’d heard Halla were extremely intelligent and knew she was probably trying to tell him something. 

“Are you wanting out, too?” 

She shook her whole head, ears flapping. He snorted, taking that as an agreement. 

“The Commander of the Inquisition can’t be seen wandering around with pets, Hana, and that’s pretty much all you are. I’ll tell the stable boys to let you out to graze later.” 

Her ears flatten and she settles her chin on the top of her stall gate. Maker’s breath, she was pouting? Was he seeing things or was this Halla really smart enough to pull such a trick? 

His heart melted a little, thinking that it was probably hard for the creature to go from the open wilderness to being shut up in a box all day. He sighed and grabbed another lead from the wall. 

“Fine. You walk behind Grace. No pulling or stopping every few seconds. The moment you start to act up, I will untie you and let the demons have at you.” 

The beast perked up immediately, prancing as he started towards her with the lead and opened her gate. He brought the lead towards her face and she turned away, backing up slightly. 

“You can’t go running free. Not everyone knows or cares that you’re “sacred.” To everyone here, you’re just a roast waiting for a fire.” 

The Halla snorted and bit the lead right out of his hand before butting him with her head. She herded him straight to Grace like she was waiting for him to lead the way already. 

Cullen sighed, saying a silent prayer to give him the patience to deal with...well, everything he has to deal with. 

“Of course you’d turn out to be just as bossy as all the other women surrounding me. Very well. Don’t wander.” 

Once they were outside, he quickly mounted his horse and began a light trot, checking behind him every few moments to see if the Halla was still there. She always was, seemingly happy to follow as long as she got to be outside. Cullen shook his head, amused with the creature. 

He made sure to nod at everyone that greeted him during his ride around the area outside Haven, holding his head high as he met the curious stares. Perhaps if he acted like having the Halla trail around behind him wasn’t strange, no one would question it. 

As they neared the lake, he slowed his horse. 

“Thirsty, ladies?” 

He jumped down and grabbed Grace’s lead, taking her towards the water. She bent over quickly, lapping at the cool water. The Halla soon trotted up and after a quick glance towards Grace, bent over to follow suit. 

“Good evening, Commander.” 

Cullen turned at the greeting, watching as the apostate Solas strode up to him. The mage usually avoided interacting with him if he could help it, understandably, so he was curious why the man would be coming to him now. 

“Good evening, Solas. Is there something I can help you with?” 

“I do not wish to bother you in what seems to be your personal time, Commander, I was simply curious about your companion there. It has been some time since I’ve seen a Halla with such distinctive markings.” 

Cullen chuckled, scratching his chin as he turned to watch the creature in question shake the water from her face and trot over to him. She nuzzled into his shoulder while she stared at the elf. 

“Ah, yes. A gift from the Dalish, although I’m fairly certain they mostly just wanted her away from the fighting in the plains. Apparently, she’s sacred. Ah, but of course you’d know more than I do.” 

The elf merely hummed, cocking his head as he continued studying the Halla. Cullen didn’t think she was that different to warrant such a stare. 

“There is...something different about her.” 

Cullen quirked an eyebrow, turning from Solas to look at Hana. She continued quietly staring at the elf, all while nudging herself closer and closer to Cullen. If she was Mabari, this would be standard behavior if they sensed a threat. 

“What do you mean?” 

Solas narrowed his eyes, studying Hana. Finally, he shrugged, turning to Cullen with a very slight smile. 

“I am not certain. She seems strongly connected to the fade. Perhaps that is why the Dalish consider her sacred. Either way, she seems very attached to you, Commander. I’ve heard that Halla pick their people, much like Mabari do.” 

“I believe in this case she merely thinks she’s found the biggest pushover, considering how I’m letting her ride along with us,” Cullen huffs a self-deprecating laugh. 

“Even normal Halla are very intelligent, Commander. She considers you worthy.” 

Cullen blinked in surprise, glancing down at the Halla. Hana finally looked away from the elf long enough to meet his gaze, nickering in what must be agreement. Or a demand for treats. 

“Huh.” 

Solas actually chuckled quietly, turning to leave. 

“Enjoy your evening, Commander.” 

Once Solas was once again out of sight, disappearing into Haven’s gates, Hana finally stepped away from his side. 

“You’re not fond of the mage, eh girl? He seems alright, for an apostate. Keeps to himself. But I know animals are usually smarter than me, so I’ll try to remember your warning,” Cullen murmured quietly, scratching the top of her head as he walked back over to Grace. 

She snorted, likely in agreement that she was indeed a far superior being to him. He shook his head fondly as he mounted Grace once more. Hana watched, waiting quietly for Grace to settle before they both settled into a comfortable trot back towards the stables. 

Both creatures seemed tired out enough that they went into their stalls without protest. He brushed down Grace and gave her some oats and an apple, and after dealing with Hana’s expectant gaze the whole time, did the same for her. 

“Alright, ladies. I’ll leave you to your rest. Grace, I promise to take you out again tomorrow. Hana, you can even come along again if you continue to behave yourself.” 

Maker, he was conversing more with the animals than he did with anyone else. He sighed and shook his head, striding out of the stables without a backward glance, thoughts of training schedules and requisitions back to take over his mind. 

***

The nightmare was here. Some tiny part of him knew it was a nightmare, but it didn’t stop the remembered pain and agony. The fingers ripping his skin, laughing at his misery. The feeling of mouths and heat in places he didn’t want them. He felt the excruciating sharp sting as chain ripped into the skin at his back and he screamed. Screamed for mercy, for deliverance, for death even…

The nightmare fled as his mind was coated with a golden light, easing him into a state of half-awareness. His exhausted eyes cracked open enough to catch the glimpse of the one that had been on the edge of his mind since the night before. The waterfall of snow-white hair, the honey-tinted shimmering bare skin, kind amber eyes boring into him as she calmly stroked his face. 

“Shhh, I am here. You are safe. Hamin elvyr, ma' enansal.” 

Cullen could do nothing more than let the beautiful voice calm him into a deep sleep, empty of the ghosts of the past that haunted him. 

A/N: Unless I messed it up, the Dalish should translate to “Rest easy, my blessing.” Take from that what you will ;) 

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter Five

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo

MASTERPOST:

A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

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CHAPTER Five - Elsie

...so I met the Herald of Andraste this morning. She’s already becoming pretty famous around these parts but after meeting her, I was struck by how normal she was. A woman just shy of thirty, and a mage. I watched as she helped drive away the apostates and rogue templars from the Crossroads and I was impressed. Her magic is scary, like all mages, but from the little I know of the art I could see that she had immense control and I felt like I was witnessing something special to see her wield it. I know that contradicts what I said about her being normal. Maybe that’s why people like her already - myself included

- Part of a letter sent by Scout Lace Harding to her mother

5. Elsie

Although horse riding was in her blood and she had been on horseback more in the past year than most of her life put together; Elsie was still desperately out of practice, especially when travelling roads she didn't know with a mare who was almost as stubborn as she was. By the time they had made camp that first evening on their journey, Elsie was no closer to getting on with her horse who had the most ridiculous name of Buttercup. Normally such a name would not offend her, but Buttercup was so unlike her namesake in both looks and temperament that Elsie couldn’t help but resent it.

Perhaps she was projecting her bubbling anger unknowingly on the poor mare. For most of the day, Elsie’s thoughts had been consumed with that of Commander Cullen. Cold, calculated, emotionless ex-templar, she thought bitterly as she set up her tent by a stream with the others.

“I think I’m going to pitch my tent away from the Herald,” Varric said with a wink. “She looks like she’s about to set something on fire, and I’m rather fond of my chest hair.”

Elsie rolled her eyes but managed a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

“Brooding?” Varric interjected.

She frowned at him. “I wasn’t brooding,” she muttered.

Varric laughed. “Believe me Dimples, I know brooding when I see it. I learnt from the expert also known as Fenris.”

Elsie didn’t reply and continued to pitch her tent in silence but tried to act more calmly. She was annoyed with the Commander and frustrated about how they had left things: she would much rather resolve the conflict upfront than sit and stew, which she had done for most of the day. Also, considering he had stayed in Haven, his obvious resentment towards her would no doubt be exacerbated by her absence, especially as she was not there to defend herself.

She heaved a sigh and instead turned back to Varric who was now reclining on a blanket outside of his tent.

“You’re from Kirkwall, right Varric?” she asked slowly, taking a seat on a log near him.

“Well if that’s not a loaded question, I don’t know what is,” he chuckled. “Out with it Dimples - you know I’m from Kirkwall...for better or worse.”

Elsie spread her hands as she searched for the right words. “Alright - Commander Cullen was from Kirkwall too, yes? Did you know him? Was he part of the mage uprising?”

Varric looked at her closely before shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll tell you Herald… but you’re not going to like it.”

*

The ride the next day was even more subdued as Elsie mulled over everything Varric had told her. Oh, like many apostates she had read his ‘Tales of the Champion’, whilst on the run, with the desire to know more about the mage couple who had started the rebellion. Her sister Evelyn had even been stationed at the Gallows before the trouble really started and had once mentioned in passing that she had met the Champion. Not for the first time, Elsie wished she could speak to her sister again, to ask her if she knew Cullen - surely their paths would’ve crossed on occasion, especially if he had been a commanding officer? She made a mental note to ask him about Evelyn once they were on better speaking terms… if that were to happen.

“So the Commander of the Inquisition just… turned a blind eye? Let things escalate and did nothing?” Elsie asked Varric that following evening.

Varric blinked at the sudden change in subject but recovered quickly. “I suppose that’s something you would need to ask him yourself. But he stood up against Meredith with us in the end.”

“In the end,” Elsie repeated slowly. “Some of what I’ve heard from mages who escaped the Gallows-”

“Are exaggerations, no doubt,” Cassandra interrupted, walking past them on her way to her tent. She looked down at them, her hands on her hips. “None of us were truly there in the Gallows or in the ranks. A Templar doesn’t question orders - that’s what makes them excellent soldiers.”

“But people died because he chose to look the other way!” Elsie replied heatedly, getting to her feet. She had been sitting and stewing on this fact for most of the day, and could feel her hands shaking.

“I think he knows that, Dimples,” Varric said quietly.

“Indeed,” Cassandra continued. “What matters now is that he made the right choices and was invaluable with the relief efforts in Kirkwall. That’s what I saw when I sought to recruit him - a brilliant soldier and swordsman, unafraid to admit he was wrong and more than willing to atone.” With that, Cassandra retreated into her tent without another word.

Varric and Elsie lapsed into a companionable silence, and the dwarf plucked at his crossbow idly whilst staring into the campfire, his mind obviously back in Kirkwall or someplace. Elsie thought over Cassandra’s words and offered a small smile to Solas who sat down opposite her and pulled out a book. She watched the elf set his staff down carefully on the ground by his feet and flick open a couple of pages before finding his place where he had left off. A prickle of magic she was now becoming familiar with and Elsie knew that Solas had just returned from setting wards around their little camp. She felt his soft magic flow silently around them and that’s when she remembered something that she had been sitting on since her talk with Varricc the previous evening.

She peered over her shoulder at Cassandra’s tent before leaning in closer to Varric, her voice low. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already have, but I guess you have another question?” he grinned, and Elsie gave him a gentle swat on the arm in response.

“Just something you said about Commander Cullen yesterday that’s been on my mind… does he really not see mages as people?” her mouth felt dry as she asked and Solas looked up from the book he was reading.

Varric’s good and contemplative mood evaporated and he looked down at his feet, rubbing his chin as he decided how to answer.

“You don’t forget something like that,” he admitted slowly. “But Curly has changed an awful lot since then; you would have to ask him yourself.”

Elsie rolled her eyes. “Sure, because we are such good friends.”

“Perhaps we need to give Cullen the benefit of the doubt,” Solas said, ever calm. “It’s the least we can do if we don’t want him to judge us as much as we are apparently judging him.”

She noted the quiet rebuke but didn’t comment on it. “I just feel like he’s watching us all the time - like when we were training before we left Haven.”

“With all due respect Elsie, it wasn’t me he was staring at,” Solas said, a wry smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“Oh really?” Varric said eagerly, threading his fingers together. “Do tell me more. Would you say he was ‘enraptured’? Besotted?”

Heat coursed through Elsie. “Really Varric,” she shook her head.

Varric ignored her. “Is the Commander Templar pining for the Herald mage I wonder? Opposites do attract after all.”

Elsie crossed her arms and regarded him coolly, hoping her warm cheeks didn’t give her away. “The journey must be making you weary for you are delusional,” she said calmly, although her gut twisted at the thought of him watching her as a person, as a woman, and not because she was a mage. “Besides, I don’t think the Commander could manage friendship with a mage, let alone be intimate with one.”

“Who said anything about intimacy?” Varric grinned, and Elsie wanted to put her fist in her mouth. She looked over at Solas for some support but the elf was smiling down at his book, refusing to meet her eye.

“Come now Dimples! Curly isn’t exactly hard on the eyes now, is he?”

He’s right about that , she admitted silently, thinking of his strong jaw and chiselled cheekbones.  

“Don’t forget the thrill of a forbidden romance,” the dwarf continued.

“What are you, a smutty romance writer?” she said, playing close attention to her gloves.

“I have been known to dabble.”

“Maker’s balls,” she swore. “If you are quite finished, I’m going to bed before you say any more ridiculous nonsense and start naming children or some other hogwash,” she said, waving a hand.

“That’s some pretty strong denial there,” Solas smiled.

Elsie glared at him. “Traitor,” she mumbled, hiding a smile as she got to her feet. “This conversation is over. Goodnight!”

She strode to her tent, the sounds of the elf and the dwarf’s laughter following her. “Have pleasant dreams of Curly!” Varric called after her.

Oh, how she wished she could slam a tent flap shut.

Needless to say, Elsie took a few moments to collect herself, although the taunting words of Varric and Solas rang in her ears. Cullen was a troubled, complicated man with a dark past and perhaps she had given him too little credit. And yet, as Elsie undressed and slipped into a simple nightdress, her hands lingered on her collarbone and her waist and she wondered what it would feel like if his breath tickled her neck and if it were his hands on her instead of her own -

Abruptly, she snatched her hands away, as if scolded. Maker, am I that desperate for comfort? So eager for the touch of another person that she would fantasise about a man she barely knew and antagonised her so? Stupid handsome Commander , she thought. It was his fault being - as Varric had said - not so bad on the eyes. She wasn’t sure if that made her dislike him more or less.

Despite her self-scolding, Elsie did dream of the Commander and as was typical of the Fade, it distorted the reality. She saw him as a Templar in Ostwick, walking the hallways she had known so well for many years. And in her dreams he was softer but strong, and pressed her quietly up against the library shelves, tucked away in secret corners, giving in to temptation.

A cold dip in the river the following morning chased all heated thoughts away, and as their journey continued, she sobered greatly as they faced demons and closed a rift which had already taken the lives of a small farming family. The next few days were much the same, which gave the small group a chance to practice working and fighting together. As they finally descended into the Hinterlands proper, Elsie was too full of simple wonder admiring the luscious green landscape to even complain about her saddle sores. The tall trees, the long grass and the tame fennecs were enough to calm her soul and soon all confusing thoughts of the Commander of the Inquisition had fled her mind.

The beauty of the landscape was a sharp contrast to the bloodshed they soon encountered.

The Crossroads were a mess. They left their horses to recover at the forward camp with Scout Harding and descended into the valley on foot. As the screams and shouts became louder, Elsie exchanged a worried glance with Cassandra, who nodded grimly and drew her sword. They rounded the corner and saw the scuffle between Inquisition soldiers, Templars and mages; so the foursome prepared themselves as they had practiced: Solas set a ward over them all, Varric slung Bianca from over his shoulder and Cassandra braced in a warrior pose whilst flames licked Elsie’s fingers.

Despite their plans to not fight them, both the Templars and apostates refused to listen. Elsie wrapped her flames around a Templar who boiled in his metal armour screaming in agony. She then felt a dreaded tingle of blood magic from behind her and spun on her heel, twirled her staff and shot a fireball at an apostate before they could finish summoning a demon. Their robes were set alight and the blood mage screamed in both pain and frustration as she summoned an ice cloud over her to douse the flames. However, she was too slow as Cassandra skidded on her knees past Elsie and lunged upwards with her sword to dig her weapon into the mage’s gut.

She spluttered blood from her mouth, her eyes wide, before she grinned sadistically at Cassandra. In a pool of blood and magic, the mage transformed into a hideous abomination and Elsie shuddered involuntarily as it screeched at them. It swung its huge, unnatural arms down at Cassandra, who quickly blocked with her shield, but she was too slow, and the abomination ripped it away from her arm, causing the Seeker to cry out in pain with what Elsie quickly summarised was likely a broken wrist.

Instinct took over and Elsie summoned fire to wrap around the abomination as she ran forward and reached behind her back to grab her dagger. As her flames distracted the creature, she lunged up with her sharp blade and slashed its throat. It screeched in agony, but the cut wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Elsie spun on her heel and swung her staff over her head, which was alight and burning with her magic. She went to strike again, aiming her dagger for the gut this time, but the abomination reached down and grabbed Elsie by the throat, dragging her off her feet. She dropped her dagger from her left hand and her staff from her right, and both fell to the cobbled ground with a clatter. She clawed desperately at the creature’s grossly malformed hands that were squeezing her throat, but her vision began to blur, even when the abomination leaned closer and whispered, with rotted breath ‘traitor’.

Elsie almost stopped struggling as she processed the word it had uttered. Fear groped her and she tried to gulp for air but its grip was strong -

Shuck.

She fell to the ground, suddenly free and sucked in as much air as she could with large, rasping gasps. Confused, she pulled herself to her feet and peered over at the now still abomination. A crossbow bolt was embedded between its rolled, bloodshot eyes. She turned to see Varric give her a quick wink before he turned and helped Solas with the final stragglers.

Cassandra stood leaning against a fence post, cradling her arm. “It’s over,” she said, looking around them.

Elsie nodded, unable to summon her voice. She looked around and saw body after fallen body litter the ground. Almost all the deceased were rogue templars or apostates and yet she did not feel particularly relieved about that fact. She didn’t really feel much of anything and went over to heal Cassandra’s wrist with a flick of magic she barely had to think about.

Traitor

Rubbing her neck sore neck and shrugging off Cassandra’s thanks, Elsie walked between the bodies as Inquisition soldiers began to sort and pile them up. Cassandra and Varric followed her every move like her shadow, but Solas remained apart and went to help with the physicians and offer his healing magic. Elsie knew she needed to join him and offer her limited skill of healing, but for her at that moment, it was important for her to look down on the faces of the people who had died - the people she had killed. Faces of men and women, elves and people passed her by, but the body of a blonde elven mage in tattered Circle robes gave her pause. The elf’s eyes were open, her green gaze staring at nothingness. She had no markings on her face, save for the bruises and blood from the skirmish and her ashen hair was clumps of blood tangled in it. She had one lone earring in her right ear and the metal was worn, as if regularly rubbed. Elsie wondered if it had been given to her by her mother, or a friend or a lover?

“It is war,” Varric mumbled from beside her, as Elsie let out a ragged breath. She reached forward and closed the elf’s eyes, her skin already cold.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she replied bitterly. How many did I kill today? She thought. How many fellow mages? How many of my sister’s comrades?

“Herald,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms. “Elsie?” she said quietly when Elsie looked up at her. “We should report to Corporal Vale-”

“No, not yet,” Elsie said, regaining her composure and turning her back on the dead elf. “I need to help heal the wounded and speak to Mother Giselle. The rest can wait.”

“But-”

Elsie strode on past the Seeker and headed towards Solas who was crouched by a row of stretchers. “By all mean go and see the Corporal - but I’ve got work to be getting on with,” and with that, Elsie knelt down next to Solas and downed a lyrium potion before setting her hands on a soldier’s thigh and applying pressure.

*

Three days after the skirmish, Elsie had spoken to Mother Giselle, but she had still not left the Crossroads, much to Cassandra’s agitation. The injured were many and everyday more came in the hopes of being seen by a healer or someone who could help them. Broken families and quiet children became a common sight to Elsie as she helped heal those in the greatest of need.

It was on the fifth day that Cassandra finally dared to approach her directly. They had not spoken to one another since Elsie’s cool dismissal and she had barely spared a thought for the Seeker - Elsie’s primary concern was helping those in need and she said as much to Cassandra when they spoke as Elsie finished wrapping a bandage around a young man’s arm.

“I spoke to Mother Giselle before she left for Haven,” Cassandra said levelly, watching Elsie work.

“Did you indeed,” she replied, not looking up from her task as her fingers worked deftly to complete the dressing.

“Yes and she said she spoke to you about appealing to the Chantry directly in Val Royeaux-”

“And I will,” Elsie interrupted, tying a knot, and tugging on it to test the strength. “But I cannot even think about journeying to Orlais when my work here is not finished.”

Cassandra frowned and crossed her arms. She was silent for a moment as she considered her next words. “You are needed elsewhere, Herald. We must return to Haven at once to plan with the others about how we approach the Chantry in Val Royeaux!”

Elsie remained silent as she checked her handiwork and smiled at the soldier. “How does that feel?”

The young man nodded gratefully. “Much better, thank you, Your Worship.”

She got to her feet and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You’re welcome. Now, make sure you rest and you’ll be back swinging a sword in no time.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes.

Elsie walked into the main cabin and approached the desk where she made a note on the patient’s care on a ledger. She idly rubbed her neck as she wrote, as the bruising there was still painful and was turning a grotesque shade of purple. Cassandra followed her and waited as patiently as she could, which Elsie knew she was pushing. Finally, she turned to the Seeker.

“I’ve spoken to Corporal Vale - there is much work to be done here: much more than healing these people.”

Cassandra bristled. “So let the healers and physicians take over and let us return to-”

“No, I cannot,” Elsie said sharply, cutting Cassandra off. “Whilst the healers can now cope with the wounded here, what about outside of this valley? Cassandra, the King’s Road is not safe for these people to leave and return to their homes. We need to stop the Templars and apostates, not to mention the raiders and mercenaries, otherwise our leaving would just undo all of the work done thus far and endanger the lives of those we have already saved!” she exclaimed. Her voice had risen unintentionally and a few patients in the beds around them looked over at them both curiously. Closing her eyes, Elsie took a breath before continuing more calmly. “Don’t you see? If we alleviate the threat in the Hinterlands, word will spread of the good and sustainable work the Inquisition is doing - which will hole more sway and influence when we eventually do go to Val Royeaux.”  Elsie’s hand’s shook, so she clasped them together, hoping the Seeker had not noticed. “And I know it must be me that helps - you must’ve read the reports from Vale: there are rifts all over the Hinterlands only I can close.”

The two women stared each other down for a moment until Cassandra finally spoke begrudgingly. “It seems you’ve thought a great deal about this.”

Elsie shrugged. “It helps to think and keep the mind busy when you’re wrapping bandages and the like,” she replied, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Cassandra signed and conceded. “Very well. Your theory is sound, even though I don’t fully agree. I know for sure the others back at Haven won’t approve either.”

Elsie smiled faintly. “Well I am sure they will cope,” she said dryly, just knowing the reports the Commander would receive about her stubbornness to cooperate to his orders would drive him mad. “In any case, I will write to them - personally - to explain our plans.”

“That would be helpful, I suppose.”

“Excellent,” Elsie grinned, rubbing her hands together. “Now, will you help me give these poor folk some lunch?”

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ->

[stitchcasual]

Official Business

My piece for the @afterkirkwall zine! I’m so glad I got to participate in this; I love a good excuse to write for viscount!Hawke ^_^

Check it out here on AO3 or keep reading under the cut!

-------------------

Hawke grips the neck of the bottle tight as he braces his other arm against the wall, sinking down onto the steps. He didn’t use to feel this old, couldn’t say for sure when he’d first noticed the creaking in his joints or the additional ache in his back, but they’ve been demanding more of his attention lately. Aveline chuckles at him, but he notices she’s taking longer to sit as well. None of them are as young as they were the day they first set foot on Kirkwall’s docks. That’s good, in a way: the Hawke of ten years ago would not have taken well to the mantle of viscount.

He looks over his shoulder at Fenris, standing at the top of the steps where he has a view of the whole of the main hall in the Viscount’s Keep. Fenris would, perhaps, argue on the merits of Hawke taking the office even now. Fenris believes in him, in what he’s trying to do here, but he also worries for what it’s doing to him. Hawke waves off the frown he sees gathering on Fenris’s face and sets to the delicate task of getting the cork out of the wine bottle.

Across the landing in a position mirroring Fenris is Bran, quill, ink, and parchment at the ready. Despite Hawke’s protestations that this is a gathering of friends and nothing more, the fact that the viscount, the guard captain, and the knight-commander are in the same room means Bran must be too. Hawke angles his head to try and keep Bran out of his visual range, preferring to ignore his aide as much as possible when he can. 

Hawke drinks from the bottle once he has it open, then stuffs the cork back in and jerks his head at Aveline. She has time enough to say, “Hawke, don’t you—” before she abandons speech in favor of catching the bottle as he tosses it to her. Cullen chuckles, though his laughter fades quickly, choked off by the glare Aveline fixes him with and the bottle as it once more flies through the air. Hawke grins and spreads his legs out in a careless sprawl so he takes up about five of the stairs.

“It’s looking good out there, Hawke,” Cullen says after he drinks, walking the bottle over to pass it back to Hawke before settling himself on the steps below Bran with a grimace and clank of platemail. 

“Oh, sure, Hightown is starting to come together.” Hawke swigs at the bottle and leans forward to rest both forearms on his thighs. It puts him a little off kilter, but he’s only had two sips of wine so far; he’s not worried about falling yet. And anyway, he knows Fenris won’t let him get hurt.

The keep is empty this late at night, only the staff and guards around, and none of them are too close by since Fenris and Bran are. It’s the only time Hawke lets his guard down and only with these few people. Of course, it also means that if Fenris decides that tonight Hawke’s earned a bump on the head if he falls down a few steps, there will be no one to witness it. No one who would worry over him, anyway. Those here have seen him take worse hits and live.

“I take it you don’t have much cause to be in Lowtown these days, Knight-Commander.”

“Just what I see on my way from the Docks.”

“I’d recommend a detour next time you come through, but only with a large armed escort.”

Cullen raises his eyebrows and turns to Aveline, who frowns first at Cullen and then at Hawke before actually drinking from the bottle that Hawke tosses to her. She points the neck at Cullen, shaking it as she speaks.

“Yes, the Guard is still stretched thin. We’ve lost a lot of good people over the last year. If you’d lend a few templars to my patrols, we’d have less trouble.”

“You know I can’t—”

“Oh, I know very well what you can and can’t do.”

Aveline nearly pegs Cullen in the face with the wine bottle, but it’s not for nothing the years he’s spent training and drilling with Hawke. Cullen wraps both hands around the bottle, staring at the carpet of the landing.  

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“The Gallows needs to change,” Hawke said, opening the door to Cullen’s office in the Templar wing.

“Good morning to you, too, Viscount.” Cullen looked up from the parchment he’d been poring over and stood, saluting.

Hawke waved a hand, dismissing any further pleasantries. “What’s different since we killed Meredith?” He closed the office door and crossed to lean against the wall next to Cullen’s desk. 

“We’re fighting for stability right now. It seems a poor time to institute changes. Once things settle down—”

“You don’t have that time.”

“It’s only been a few weeks!”

“And keeping things the way they were before will end with us in the same position we were just in. You know I respect what you do here, but it isn’t working.” Hawke stared at Cullen and arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Cullen straightened, but even his full height couldn’t match Hawke’s. “You know you have no true power over the Gallows.”

“I know.” Hawke shrugged. “But you’ll listen to me anyway.”

A silence took the room, the two men sizing each other up. Cullen paced around the front of his desk and crossed his arms. He’d have the advantage in a fight thanks to his armor and the absolutely ridiculous thin cotton shirt Hawke wore as part of the viscount’s official wardrobe, but Hawke just watched him without moving an inch himself, as though he felt no fear. Considering what he’d personally seen in just the last month, not to mention the last seven years, perhaps that response had already been drained out of him.

Cullen sighed and rubbed a hand across his brow. He sat on the edge of his desk, rolling a hand at Hawke for him to continue.

“You need to let go any templar even suspected of anything untoward with one of the mages.”

With a tired wave at the papers on his desk, Cullen said, “Do you realize how many of them that is? How many reports Meredith had that she did nothing about?”

“I’ve got suspicions. Send those templars away, get them out of Kirkwall. I don’t want any of Meredith’s old guard sticking around. Bring in new recruits, train them right. Meredith taught them fear; you can teach them respect.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“It won’t be. But you can do it. How’s your supply of lyrium?”

Cullen reached over and grabbed one of the papers, handing it to Hawke. “We’ll start to run low in a few months. I’ve gotten letters like that from a few suppliers already, saying they can’t risk sending their people and product into a ‘warzone.’”

Hawke snorted and passed the letter back. “I’ll talk to some people. I know a guy who might be able to help.”

“Of course you do.”

Hawke smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Unlike you, I had a life for the past few years. Now, tell me what your plans are.” When Cullen frowned at him, Hawke rolled his eyes and gestured at the wall toward the Gallows as a whole. “I know you have ideas for how to change things, even if you’re not doing anything yet. Tell me.”

Cullen had years of ideas, most of them discarded by Meredith for being too soft, but Hawke listened to them and nodded his agreement. He may not be a templar in name, but Cullen had trained him as one for a while and his lived experience with his sister and father counted for a lot. His mind made quick tactical work of situations, and as an outsider, he was able to point out some of the flawed logic circuits Cullen had grown used to after so long in the Order.

They talked until past time for lunch and there came a knock at the door. Hawke opened it to Fenris, who whispered into his ear, and Hawke groaned. He turned his back to the hallway, slowly walking backward toward Fenris, and pointed at Cullen.

“Start now.” 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Do you ever miss the way things used to be?” Cullen asks, hunching his shoulders within his armor, and Hawke is struck by just how young Cullen looks. He often forgets that Cullen is the same age as Bethany, given how much rides on his shoulders and how well he’s handled it. While Hawke feels every bit of his thirty-three years and has definitely begun to look it, sometimes it appears as though Cullen ages backward, that all the responsibility he’s taken on only serves to highlight the youth he should have had. Maker knows it’s not fair, but Hawke has long since stopped believing he’d ever get a fair shake.

“Well,” Hawke says, looking up at Fenris. “How many’s it been so far this year? Couple of poisoning attempts, one memorable noble lad who thought he could sneak a broadsword into the keep stuffed down his trousers.”

“Three poisonings,” Fenris says, one eyebrow arched. “And that incident was last year.”

“Stabbed himself in the calf,” Hawke recalls, smiling wistfully. “Highlight of my month. But if that’s all I have to deal with in terms of life-threatening situations, it’s leagues better than getting impaled on a Qunari battleaxe a few times.”

Cullen concedes the point, shrugging and nodding. Aveline’s face tightens and she frowns; Hawke doesn’t think any of his friends have gotten over the few months they all spent fretting over whether or not he’d wake after the injuries he sustained in his fight with the Arishok. Fenris still traces the scars sometimes, after anyone gets particularly close with their assassination attempt.

“At least you listen to me when I tell you what the Guard needs, Hawke,” Aveline mutters. “Meredith was a nightmare as acting viscount. Even if we could go back to the way things were, I wouldn’t trade it for the progress we’ve made.”

“Not enough progress.” Hawke extends one hand toward Cullen, making grabby claw motions. Cullen rolls his eyes before gently lobbing the bottle across the landing to him. “Can’t do work in Lowtown without Hightown screaming about it; the Docks need more berths in working order because operating at half capacity isn’t going to cut it long term, but no one wants to see work slowed on their projects to cover it. And there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to convince Kirkwall as a whole to band together. I’m as good as useless.”

He takes a long drink of wine but doesn’t miss the look Aveline gives Fenris; Hawke estimates in a day or two Fenris might say something about it, but he won’t tonight. Hawke sets the bottle on the landing next to his right foot and reaches up to remove the viscount’s circlet from his head. He twirls it around two fingers for a minute, ignoring the scandalized gasp from Bran, before setting it on the stair in front of him.

It’s the most obvious symbol of office that he has, the one thing that separates him from everyone else in a fancy tunic. The one thing that everyone else in a fancy tunic seems to want to take from him, not like any of them would know the first thing to do with it. As much as the burdens of being viscount weigh on him, as much as he loves and hates Kirkwall in equal measure most days, he’s the only halfway qualified person left in the city.

“Well, I’d rather have useless than inept,” Aveline says. “Now hand over that bottle; I need more to drink if you’re going to be this morose tonight.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“I can spare one additional patrol per day into Hightown, but that’s it, Hawke. You can tell those nobles that they’re not more important than any of the other citizens afraid to leave their homes at night.”

Hawke sat on Aveline’s desk, ignoring the scathing look she gave him. He’d missed her more important papers, he was sure of it, and at least he hadn’t dragged over a chair and placed his boots up there. He’d learned from last time. He shrugged with one arm and sighed.

“I can tell them anything I like. They still think I’m deliberately shorting them. And before you ask, yes, I’ve tried blaming it on you.”

Aveline glared at him.

“If it makes you feel better, they didn’t believe me. Turns out you’re more beloved than I am.”

“I’m shocked.”

Hawke glared back at her.

“Look, Hawke, you’re doing what you can, and I’m proud of you for that. It’s only been a few months since...everything; give them a little longer to come around.”

Hawke picked at a piece of parchment on Aveline’s desk, dropping it and raising his hands in surrender when she slapped a hand down on it. Aveline shoved Hawke off the desk and he let her, sinking with a groan into a chair instead.

Aveline raised an eyebrow as she rounded her desk to sit in the chair next to him.

“Can you talk to Cullen? He won’t listen to me when I ask for templar assistance on the patrols.” Aveline leaned forward, staring intently at Hawke. “I mean it. I really think seeing their insignia would curb the banditry we’re seeing. People respect the Guard, but they respect the Templars more.”

“I’ll do what I can, but he has his hands pretty full with everything at the Gallows.”

“And I have Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown, and the Docks. Feels a bit uneven if you ask me.”

Hawke dug a thumb into his temple below the metal of the viscount’s circlet. “You’re doing great?”

“Don’t patronize me, Hawke. Just get me some help.”

“Maybe Sebastian will loan some people for an extended assignment if Cullen doesn’t come around. I’ll ask him; I’ve got to send him a message anyway.” Hawke glanced at the door to Aveline’s office, closed for their private conference. “Anything else?”

“I think that’s everything for now.” Aveline followed his gaze, and the smile she gave him when she looked back was soft. “How’s Fenris?”

“Better than I am, most days. At least he gets to threaten people with violence.”

“Hawke,” Aveline warned.

“I’ve been extremely polite,” Hawke said. “Much more polite than any of them are to me, at any rate.” He sighed and looked again at the door. “It’s hard sometimes: this...situation is a lot like the one Danarius had him in.”

“He chose this one. That’s important.”

“I know.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Donnic still like being your subordinate?”

Aveline blushed a furious red. “Shut up. That’s none of your business.”

Hawke smirked. “As long as you’re still happy, that’s all I need to know. Just making sure I don’t need to dust off my sword and pay him a visit.”

“Don’t you dare, Hawke. I don’t care if he walks out on me; he’s a damn fine guardsman, and I need as many of those as I can get right now.”

“Fair enough.” Hawke levered himself out of his chair and saluted Aveline. “See you next week, Guard Captain.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hawke chuckles and kicks the bottle over, letting it roll across the landing to Aveline. He waves at Bran and makes a drinking motion with his hand. Bran rolls his eyes and sighs, but disappears for a few minutes to return with another wine bottle for them. He takes up his notes again, waiting for something like official business to happen. Hawke sets to digging the cork out of this bottle and fervently hopes they’ll manage to avoid anything like official business for the rest of the night.

It isn’t often he has a moment to relax like this, and less often that Aveline and Cullen are both in the keep at the same time to indulge him. Between the three of them, they’re all the city has for leadership, and it keeps them busy. Aveline may have her office in the same building as Hawke, but she’s on patrol nearly as often as the rest of her people, and Cullen spends the vast majority of his time at the Gallows, mediating between the templars, mages, and concerned citizens. Meetings with all of them are usually hurried things, no time for beating around the bush, and that’s something Hawke has come to greatly appreciate after his days spent listening to nobles wax poetic about what’s gone wrong with the city before finally circling around to their specific grievance.

He raises the bottle in a toast to Aveline once he’s freed the cork. “To being useless.”

“Hear, hear,” Aveline says and drinks.

Hawke passes his bottle to Cullen, who laughs and shakes his head but drinks too.

“I’ve actually been very productive,” he says, as he hands the bottle back to Hawke. 

“No one needs to hear it,” Aveline calls, her voice loud in the stillness of the keep.

Hawke looks up at Fenris, who pointedly directs his gaze elsewhere and only smiles with his eyes so no one else can tell, then over at Cullen, giving him the best shit-eating grin he can conjure. Which, given the wine and the hour, is pretty good, and Hawke laughs, with Cullen not far behind. 

“You sound like Isabela!” Hawke crows to the empty room, flinging his arms out wide. Cullen rescues the wine bottle before it can go flying.

Aveline gasps and nearly throws her bottle at Hawke before thinking better of it and drinking instead.

“How dare you! You take that back, Hawke.”

That only causes Hawke further merriment, and he leans back against the wall, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes as he laughs.

“I’m gonna—tell her. She’ll be—so proud!” he says, barely able to catch a breath.

After a few more indignant noises from Aveline, each less grumpy sounding than the last, she joins in the laughter, and the three leaders of the city absolutely do not do anything remotely approaching official business for the rest of the night.

[juniper-tree]

Last Day at Kinloch Hold - 5

Read on AO3  |  Part 1  |  Part 2  |  Part 3  |  Part 4 

The cup of wine was heavy in Cullen's hands.  His fingers felt weak and useless.

He stared at Solona.  Dark, coiled curls fanned out around her head, and in the soft light of candles between them her skin, a rich russet brown, was luminous.  He had never been this close to her.

And this close, he could see her eyes were troubled.  That her fingers shook as his did.

He had seen that look in her eyes before her Harrowing, as she walked toward the glowing font of lyrium and began the ritual.  Solona had been ready, even if she had not known what was to come.  He could feel it emanating from—her strength, her will.  But in her eyes there had been fear and doubt.  Fear she tried to swallow and hide, doubt whose whispers she tried to ignore.

Or perhaps he had only seen what he wanted to see.  What he himself felt.  Perhaps that crass Templar had been right about that, at least—that this infatuation of his was more than could be tolerated.

Look where it had led him, after all.

"Your note," he said. "I had to know."

She nodded, and said nothing.  But her eyes softened a little, and the grip around her cup loosened.

Cullen drank from his own cup.  He had never had wine before in his life. In half-hearted imaginings, he thought a dark red wine like this might be sweet.  In truth, it was bitter, and sour.  It bit at his tongue, and ached in his jaw.

But his mouth was dry, so he drank more.  It seemed to loosen his tongue.

"I have never lied, or forsaken my duty, in this way," he said.  He needed her to hear that.  Or perhaps he needed to say it aloud, to make it true.

There were actions he had taken during his training which he regretted.  Times he had overstepped some boundary, or embarrassed himself, or another recruit.  There were worse things he did not care to remember.  They were rare, but the memories stung.

He was already certain this evening would fall among those regrets.  He had to be careful.

Solona pulled her legs in closer.  "I've put a muffling on the door.  I've also put one in here.  Even if someone walks in, which they won't, they can't hear us.  I've done it many times."

So she had planned this?  Or she had become so adept at evading the rules and eluding the Templars' notice that even he had not seen?

"Do you hide here often?" he asked.

She ran a finger around the edge of her cup.  "Almost every day, lately."

Every day.  Alone.  He had seen how isolated she was, how people shunned her.  There was not much he could do—having a templar defend her would do nothing but damage, he knew.

Yet, in a strange way... he envied her solitude.  In the Tower, there was always someone near.  A brother at watch, a commander at inspection, a silent Tranquil whose soft presence was nonetheless unnerving.  Sleep was the only escape, if one could ignore the dozens of snoring, farting bodies that filled the dormitory.

Cullen longed to be at the Chantry again.  It was more quiet than home had been, and—unlike home—he had never wanted for anything.  When he was not training or studying, he liked to be alone, seated in some dark corner with a book, or his thoughts.

Much like Solona did now.  He must, he thought then, have felt some kinship with her, even before she... fell from favor.

He realized she was staring at him.

"I meant what I said, in the hall."  Her eyes showed the same worried insistence he had felt.  She wanted him to know this.  "You've been kind to me," she said with a weak smile.

How sad, he thought, that giving her the smallest of kindnesses was enough to set him apart.

"Well."  He swallowed the word.  Cullen did not want to linger upon how he felt about her, if he could even speak it aloud.  And, for all his observations, it was difficult for him to make any kind of statement on how she was treated, or how agitated some of their charges had become since the blood mage was taken.

No one had ever asked for his opinion.  Tellingly, neither had she.

Yet he felt compelled to give it.  To at least soften some of the things he had heard from his Templar brothers.  Their thoughts ranged from total indifference toward the fate of any one mage, to claiming—loud enough for any nearby to hear—that they all be disposed of, and to let the Maker sort amongst their souls.

"I don't know what the other mages are about lately," he said.  He tried to sound noncommittal.  "They seem to have forgot what the Chantry teaches."

She looked at him, her brow wrinkled, studying him.  "They want freedom.  What living creature does not?  I understand it."

"You do?" he asked.  He put down his cup.  "They want to break the Circle's organization.  They want outright rebellion."  He suddenly worried that there were some gaps too far to bridge between them.  That he shouldn't be befriending mages.  That he shouldn't be here at all.

Solona sighed, her jaw set tight.  "It seems they do.  But the Circle..."  She stared down into her wine and pursed her lips.  She seemed to be considering her words carefully.  "There's a mage who's escaped seven times now.  He will not be dissuaded from it.  Don't you think he has a reason?"

"Yes," he replied.  "He's mad."

"What if he isn't?"

"The last time he was captured," he said, "he spent every day in his cell talking to a cat."

She narrowed her eyes.  "I like to talk to cats," she said defensively.

"This one apparently talked back."  He tried to be patient with her, but honestly, there was no other reason for it.  That mage was mad, and the others, the seditious ones, would just as soon beg he be made Tranquil if it benefitted them in some way.  They were not charitable, as a group.  Solona knew that first-hand.

Though that was not a statement he would make aloud.

She took a long drink from her cup, looking past him at some dusty collection of books.  He wondered if it was not only his own patience wearing thin now.

"Do not misunderstand me," she said.  "I believe in the Circle.  But you must have some idea of how... trapped one might feel."  She tilted her head, her eyes softening.  "Surely you must have some empathy."

Empathy was a rare commodity among Templars.  It was actively discouraged in training, subdued and weeded out.  Mages must be dealt with firmly, to ensure they know it is Templars who keep order.  This is what he was taught.  They were like horses, or mabari.  They needed training.

But some people like to kick dogs, and whip horses.  One did not have to be a Templar to become someone like that.

There were reasons, too, why Templars might feel trapped.  Reasons that were not discussed by the Sisters, that were only mentioned in whisper and rumor.  The duties of a Templar were difficult.  They wore upon one's body and soul.  If most Templars did not live to see old age, and if their minds did not seem to last as long as their bodies... it was to be expected.  They gave everything they were to this service.  It was all Cullen ever wanted.

A life given to the Chantry, to serve her people and protect those in need... that was reward enough.

"Perhaps you are not aware," he said slowly, "that we are bound to our service.  Completely."  He was careful with his words.  "It is a bond that lasts for life." "But you have a choice."  Solona pulled up the loose sleeves of her robe, but they fell down again in an instant.

Cullen thought of all the children at the Chantry school who were there because there was nowhere else for them: the orphans and unacknowledged bastards; the third or fourth sons of noble families; young, rejected Chantry sisters.  They did not appreciate the sacred role they played, or the chance they were given.  Even the ones who were more like him, poor and desperate, were not eager to be Templars.  If the choice were given, most would never have joined the Order.  And that was a pity.

"Some of us do not," he said.

She looked so apologetic, he must have seemed offended.  "I never thought about what Templars go through." "It is no matter," he said.  "Templars do not think of mages in that way, either."

And that, too, was a pity.  She looked into his eyes, and he did not look away.  He wondered if they had ever truly looked at each other this way, without hastily demurring or turning their eyes down, until yesterday, when she had given him this strange invitation.

Was it possible, he thought, to forget what they were for a few hours?  To simply be, to attempt to talk as any two people might?

He was unsure.  It would be difficult to forget anyone was a mage.  A mage is fire made flesh and a demon asleep.  Even in his short time as a Templar, he had seen enough to make him believe that.

But they were also people, regardless of what an ass who passed for a Templar had to say.  The frightened, earnest young woman who sat across from him, drinking stolen wine, was simply that.  A young woman, with an uncertain future.

He feared for her.

"Do you know anything about the Grey Wardens?" he asked.  "Or what you might..."

She shook her head, her troubled eyes cast down.  "No. It is not a life I ever—"  Then she sighed, and looked at him, across the blanket and the wine and food.

"I suppose this means that, technically," she said, "I am no longer your charge."

There was truth to that, he thought blankly.  It was not the whole truth.  As long as he was a Templar and she a mage, he had a duty.  But while he sat here with her, to talk, as she had asked—he might try not to let it cloud his mind.

And if he could manage it, that would change things.

He reached for the bread and tore a crust from the loaf.  Solona offered him the cheese.

They ate in nervous silence.