#saessenach

[crocordile]

Irene and Sophos enjoying some time off, an illustration inside my gift fic 'Between the mountains and the sea' for @saessenach for the @hamiathesgiftexchange!

[athenasdragon]

13 and 15 for the Rook & partner ask game? 👀

Thanks! From these questions (about Grace Thorne and Lucanis)

What song(s) do you associate with them?

This is so heavily informed by just. What I've been listening to lately. But here are a few that jump out at me:

"Unconditional Love" by Against Me!

"Ofelia" by Kiltro (everyone listen to this song it's really good)

"Unknown / Nth" by Hozier

"Slow Mover" by Angie McMahon

"My Body is a Cage" by Arcade Fire

Two of these even have specific lyrics about insomnia/falling asleep together. Ofelia has "I think of a lot of things in the nights, you know? / I never sleep when you're gone / Caught in my obstinance / It's curious, what still keeps me up" and Slow Mover has "Maybe we'll get married / Maybe fall in love / Could you make me fall asleep / When you're holding me?"

What was the partner’s reaction to Rook being imprisoned in the Fade? How did they cope? How did they react upon seeing Rook again?

As other people have pointed out, I think Lucanis was probably pretty poorly because a) the last thing he heard was Rook screaming his name, not knowing they were seeing his dead body; b) he doesn't have skills that are particularly useful to contribute to the search; and c) as we see when Manfred is gone, Spite doesn't understand that it might make others feel worse by asking about people who are gone, and struggles to parse loss. So I think he has a lot of time with his hands idle (probably stress cooking) and Spite bothering him about where Rook is any why they aren't looking for her. I think it's a pretty rough few weeks.

When Rook gets back, my vision is of Lucanis getting maybe one relieved word in before Spite takes over and just tackles Rook into a hug. But I also think this is going to be a scene in my fic, so I may leave it there for now!

[singerorpheus]

Hi!! Thank you so much for the Hadestown recordings!! I LOVED Madeline Charlemagne as Eurydice when I saw the show, and I am so happy there are recordings of her role, but the character that drove me absolutely BATSHIT was Hermes?? When my friend and I saw the play, Waylon Jacobs understudied and was PHENOMENAL. SO natural in the role, the charm was insane, and Hermes' was easily the best costume in the entire show!! Overall Hadestown UK was such a transcendental experience I struggle to even put it into words, and whenever I try to, I just end up replaying your recording of If It's True bc that just sums it up ❤️

Hi hi :)! I'm just happy to give back bc of all the people who put up their opening night recordings that made me go to watch it irl HAHA I thought Madeline was brilliant too, she's a such a good Eurydice understudy, I actually wonder if she's gonna take over when Grace goes to bway Sunset Boulevard? And also did Beth go on as Fate for you too? Also yes, witnessing and Feeling the presence of Hermes in real life was so crazy, Melanie had so much of it, she had all the command over the stage and us the audience honestly!! I hope you noticed the new pocket watch bits from Hermes, it adds a whole new layer to the story, it really is so, SO crazy. Waylon was a worker for me, but a little thing that I didn't think to expect is how much my eyes would naturally gravitate towards the workers. I remember him and Lauren looking towards each other when Hermes said Hades would let Orphydice go during Wait For Me II 😭 Honestly I tell everyone I know that watching Hadestown was truly a life changing experience HAHA I could really wax poetic about Donal's If It's True (and his Orpheus!!) all day, I was just comparing all the audios the other day and he really has improved loads in terms of maintaining his stamina to carry the emotion through and god he really shakes the theatre down in that number for me. I couldn't be happier experiencing it live like I almost didn't breathe LMAO :")

[sunny12th]

🎵

1. A House in Nebraska by Ethel Cain

2. Super Rich Kids by Frank Ocean, Earl Sweatshirt

3. Mississippi by Kevin Abstract

4. Skin by Dijon

5. All Caps by Madvillain, Madlib, MF DOOM

[jays-asoiaf-reblogs-and-archive]

Artist part 6

saessenach last updated 01/02/2025

buildoblivion (tagged as buildoblivionthenwewilltalk)  last updated 01/04/2025

arte072  last updated 01/04/2025

artist-ellen last updated 04/05/2024 (2024)

shieldofmen last updated 03/01/2025

sleazyjanet last updated 03/11/2024

coldraindropsss last updated 01/03/2025

elaena last updated 03/11/2024

wodania last updated 01/04/2025

philiasperanzart last updated 22/07/2023 (2023)

[emryx]

“I’ve got you.”

Inspired by a fic I found on accident and I’m sobbing over the Teia characterization. 100% recommend

READ IT HERE

Written by @/saessenach <3 We need more Teia-centered works. I love my man Viago, but Teia deserves all the spotlight she can get 🫠

[naomimakesart]

For an autumn gift exchange I drew an autumn Sansa picking apples for @saessenach !! I hope you like it 🧡❤️

[hauntingofhouses]

I just keep obsessing over how Mizu is so many things. She truly is water, so deep and unfathomable and complex, ever-changing, ever-adapting, fluid and mysterious, she fits into every shape you pour her into, she is gentle yet vicious, soft-hearted yet callous, stoic and quiet yet still sarcastic and playful.

She is Japanese and white and both and neither, she is woman and man and both and neither, she is human and demon, she is ronin and bride and Onryo and phoenix.

She is also a sword; Mizu and her sword are one.

"The sword is the soul of the samurai."

"I am... made of mixed metal. No amount of hammering can remove my impurity."

"What is a sword? [...] It is a line. On one side of the line is life. The other, death. The edge we forge cuts the line between life and death."

Mizu's soul is thus represented by her blade, but Mizu is also

the metal: beautiful, strong, sharp, and precise, but ultimately neutral, neither good nor evil, as metal can be used to craft both weapons of death, or knives for cooking and nourishment;

the maker: artistic and passionate, the maker creates;

and the one to wield it: deadly and swift, the swordsman destroys.

In the first episode, we don't even see her blade for much of it, only mentions of it, as she doesn't even deign to fight someone like Hachiman the Flesh-Trader in Ringo's noodle shop.

Most people don't even deserve to see her blade. And who is the first person in the show whom the sword is even shown to? Well...

Taigen: "Are you afraid to fight with steel?" Mizu: "Thank you. No one has yet deserved my blade."

And then, more crucially, who does she actually allow to wield her blade? The first person she spars with? It is none other than Mikio, her husband.

She literally passes him her sword, letting him wield it for the rest of their fight, taking his naginata in exchange. Not purely a crossing of blades, but an exchange of it. Mizu is literally baring her soul to him and putting it in his hands.

In the whole show, the only other time we actually see someone besides Mizu holding her sword is after Mizu kills the Four Fangs and passes out from her wounds. Ringo picks the unconscious Mizu up, and in the process, her sword slips from her hand.

And then, resisting his selfish quest to reclaim his honour, Taigen tells Ringo a safe place for Mizu to recover and follows them both there, but not before he takes Mizu's sword, and also Chiaki's broken blade.

It is brief, but he does hold it, and the shot focusing on his hand picking it up places further emphasis on this fact.

Now, about the broken blade, @saessenach told me something very interesting, which is that when Mizu had helped craft this sword, it was made for the man she believed Chiaki was. And who exactly is that again? Let's go over the cover story he related to Master Eiji:

"I am not a swordsman. I bind books. I was taught my trade by... my father. He was killed by a drunk ronin, who cut my father down for splashing him with his cart. This ronin is a drunk, but he is skilled as I am not. He will kill me. I know this. But with a sword from you, Master, I can take his life as he takes mine. And die avenged."

So, as @saessenach so aptly put it, the broken blade "was made for a man who wanted to regain his honour from a stronger swordsman. He doesn't expect to survive the duel, but would just like to die with honour."

And doesn't that sound familiar? Like Taigen, a man who would also like to regain his honour by duelling a swordsman stronger than himself? Taigen, who had also come from nothing, who was raised not to be a samurai, but a humble fisherman, by his father who is now dead?

So of course that's why, when Taigen wields that broken blade, despite not even knowing the story behind it, Ringo unwittingly glimpses it anyway, and says this:

"Master Eiji's broken blade is a good fit for him."

Mizu just shrugs and frowns, refusing to accept it, because the sword isn't just bearing Master Eiji's signature, but also hers. A part of her is in this sword, just as a part of her is in all the blades she makes (though none of them are her soul, which is represented only by her meteorite sword).

But then later, after fighting together and barely making it out from the chasm of arrows alive, after seeing each other's skills, only then does she admit to Taigen:

"The broken blade fits well in your hand."

Which is why she (after knocking Taigen out and leaving him lying in the snow LMAO) leaves him with the broken blade, and again comments on how it "so well fits his hand."

Also, on the topic of the broken blade, why did it break again? Well, Mizu is one of the sword's makers, signing her name on it, thus putting a little of her soul into it as I already mentioned. According to Master Eiji, this process of the soul entering the sword occurs during the yaki-ire:

"The yaki-ire is when metal is reborn, and the soul enters the sword. All must be pure for the sword to be pure. The metal, the maker, the one to wield it."

As this process unfolds, this conversation happens:

Eiji: "Mizu. Is your mind clear?" Mizu: "It is." Eiji: "Mizu. Is your soul at rest?" Mizu: "It is."

However, after Master Eiji presents Mizu with the finished sword, it breaks, much to Mizu's disheartenment.

Chiaki: [About the blade being broken] "How could this happen?" Eiji: [...] "An unexpected element entered the blade." [...] Mizu: "The fault is mine. The element is me."

Mizu is right; she is "the unexpected element" that broke the blade, but not because of her race, nor her gender, but because her mind is not clear, and her soul is not at rest.

Why? Because the yaki-ire takes place right after she binds for the first time; she is in pain both physically and mentally, ashamed of who and what she is, hiding her true self, trying to smother an inherent part of her identity.

Then, about Bloodsoaked Chiaki wielding a sword which is broken, Master Eiji says this,

"A soul like that is drowned in blood. There is no stopping them. They will always find their broken blade."

This parallels Mizu breaking her blade after her rampage through the nine levels of Shindo and Fowler's fortress, after she gets literally soaked in blood.

After storming the fortress, her blade, too, is broken, and she is unable to melt it down and repair it.

Master Eiji: "Your sword broke because the blend was wrong." Mizu: "It was perfect." Master Eiji: "It was too pure. Your metal wants to be blended with new steel."

The sword, as, Mizu's soul, houses all the rage that has festered over the years. The purity of its meteorite steel represents her single-minded, hate-driven goal for vengeance.

On that note, it's interesting to remember that the meteor fell in front of Mizu during her confrontation with Taigen and his gang of bullies. That encounter was the beginning of her rage, the moment she stopped running and hiding, and instead fought back, clawing and throwing herself at the people who mistreated her. The meteorite thus represents her anger, her fighting spirit, her resistance.

Over time, she crafts her sword--her soul--purely out of this anger, and sets off on her revenge quest.

Of course, she then meets her mother, gets married to Mikio, and after their betrayals, Mizu once again resumes her quest.

But after her journey seeking Fowler, after meeting Ringo and Taigen and Akemi, Mizu's soul no longer feels singularly bound to her hate. She's made friends, she's starting to let people in, but she still suppresses those feelings, still insisting that she is just an Onryo, that she has no room for love or friendship or weakness, despite the fact that those are things her soul craves and needs deep down. She needs gentleness and respite, she needs to allow herself to be vulnerable and allow herself to love again, because she's not a demon--or at least not completely.

"There may be a demon in you..."

When Master Eiji says this to Mizu, he's not insulting her; by demon here, what he is referencing is the part of Mizu that is capable of great wrath and violence. Just like a demon is.

"...But there is more."

Mizu is still a human being. And she should let herself be one, should allow herself to feel more than just rage, but also joy, grief, love, and even pain.

"If you do not invite the whole, the demon takes two chairs."

So that's when she finally allows herself to start "allowing the whole"; she stands in front of the fire completely naked, no longer suppressing her true self, and melts the metal of those she collected, which are, in order,

the broken blade that now represents Taigen;

Akemi's knife;

Ringo's bell;

and Master Eiji's tongs.

These are people whom she cares about, who compel her to open herself up and see beyond her hate, who make her feel like she is capable of being more than just a demon.

By blending their steel into her future sword, she is accepting them, and the lessons and values they had taught her along the way, into her soul.

But as it stands now, Mizu does not have that sword. Not yet, for it's yet to be forged, as she gives the blended metal to Master Eiji.

Mizu: "If I succeed [to kill Fowler] and am still alive, I will return. And you can determine if I am worthy of a sword of this metal, made by your hand."

Which is why, in the finale, Mizu only fights with a random assortment of weapons she picks up (a sword, a naginata, a gun--but never shoots it--and the dagger Fowler stabs her with).

And then of course, Fowler drops the big reveals about Skeffington and Routeley; about her birth mother having been killed by one of the white men; about her Mama actually being a maid who was paid to keep her hidden.

With all this, there is so much she's still yet to know about who she is, who her parents are, and her identity is left hanging. So she leaves Japan not only to kill the remaining white men, but also to discover more about herself and her heritage--her white half. And this also mirrors the way she looks at the very end:

her hair grown out, her bangs identical to how she looked as a child; no longer wearing a scarf around her neck, no longer covering a part of herself.

Thus, Mizu will eventually receive her new sword that matches the new state of her soul, made of steel that "could kill a god."

But for now, she needs to understand who she really is, to discover the full breadth and complexities of the metal that made her, and the hidden depths within herself. In doing so, she must also learn to accept her anger as a tool, but cannot let it control her lest she become a demon; thus, she must allow herself to love as much as she hates, and most of all, simply let herself be.

Only then, can she claim her sword--her soul.

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @bitchesofostwick! I will tag @exhausted-archivist, @layalu, @inquisimer, @bumblewarden, @pickelda, @dreadfutures, @pinayelf, @star--nymph @greypetrel, @ndostairlyrium, @jtownnn, @idolsgf, @elfroot-and-laurels @saessenach if you are working on something you'd like to share!

Here's a bit of a Rookanis arranged marriage AU that's been simmering in the background this past week. For context, Lucanis is watching Lenore from the rafters of the Chantry while she plays her violin alone.

(470 Words, no warnings)

The music rose in a golden line, smooth as a bird soaring the thermals, circling and circling. Lucanis’s hands hung loose between his knees, though he often tapped them against his leg in time with her. Music was not something he’d had ever needed to learn, with the exception of the basics of sheet music. Code was sometimes hidden there or he would not know even that much. Anything else was beyond him.  “Tell Caterina I am guarding her interests,” Lucanis told Illario. “There was an attempt last week.”

No, Lucanis had never been a musical creature. But she—Ingellvar, her surname was; he’d yet to hear anyone use her first—she played with the ease of long practice. More than that; she played as if she was unspooling some horrible, painful thing from her chest. She always left more relaxed than she’d arrived, shoulders even and loose, hands gentle on her case. It was a pleasure to listen to her. It was a puzzle, an enigma, to watch.  Neither of those were the reason he came here so often. Spite’s fascination took precedence; Lucanis’s questions followed some distance after.  “I heard nothing of this,” Illario said, scowling. “She was meant to inform our people if—” “I took care of it. She never knew anyone was watching,” Lucanis said, and nodded to a dark stain on the adjacent rafter. There had been blood dripping below while Lucanis had hauled the body away, but she had not seen it. Too focused on her music. If she was not careful, that lack of attention would get her killed. Already, it nearly had. Twice. He saw no use in mentioning the second to Illario. He had already told Caterina.  “Why her?” Illario asked unexpectedly. Lucanis looked at him.  “The Necropolis has other orphans. Some of them are prettier, at least; some of them are stronger. Surely others are are more expendable. Whydid they send her?” “She said that the Necropolis chose her,” Lucanis said.  The key had changed while he was talking. The song was deepening, slowing; a flying thing grounded. He had missed its transition.  “She said that the others were found in the Necropolis, but she belongs to it. The liaison who brought her said—” SHE IS BELOVED OF THE DEAD, the creature had intoned, and she had bowed her head. He still hardly knew what she looked like; she had worn a spell, some sort of mask that'd shown him only her glowing skull. They remained all but strangers to each other. “It does not matter what it said,” Lucanis told Illario, impatient. “Carry your message. I will keep watch until she returns to her guards.” Illario laughed at him again, looking down at the small figure below.  “It isn’t too late, cousin,” he said, and clapped Lucanis on the shoulder. “I could still take her off your hands.”

[rookamell]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the wonderful @serensama thank you!!

I will tag @flowersforthemachines @pixiedurango and anyone else that wants to join I was doing this in a rush but edited tags so I can see more WIPs @saessenach @mythals-whore

From the developing au:

The blood magic might have bothered him more, if it hadn’t saved his and Lucanis’s lives. And frankly, if it had been anyone other than Rook doing it. He wondered where she’d learned, though perhaps living in Tevinter for eight years meant you picked up a thing or two.

Lucanis had better pray to his Maker if he had one word to say about it after he woke up. Davrin wouldn’t even feel bad setting Assan on him.

He grimaced when he entered the library and saw Rook on the couch, asleep. She was clean, at least, her hair dark with moisture and loose against the pillows where she lay, a bandage tied shoddily around her right hand.

Neve was there as well, hands on her hips as she looked over at Davrin.

“I take it confronting Zara went well?” she asked, tucking dark hair behind her ear, one eyebrow raising.

“You figure?”

Neve grinned, almost reluctantly.

“Well,” she said, “You’re covered in enough blood to fill a bathtub, and Rook was tired enough to fall asleep in the middle of the room. And hasn’t woken up from us talking yet.”

“And Lucanis is passed out in the pantry,” Davrin added, more for the look on Neve’s face than anything else.

“We’re alive,” he said, and shrugged before he had to push Assan away from eating his cloak.

That made Neve grin again.

“Good start,” she said, then nodded her head toward Rook. “What happened?”

“Blood magic,” Davrin said, “Lucanis’s deadbeat cousin showing up to make everything worse. What didn’t happen?”

“Good thing Rook was there, then,” Neve said. “If it was that bad.”

“You have no idea,” he said, gazing down at her, asleep on the couch. Shit, she had to be tired if she was still asleep after that whole conversation. He and Neve hadn’t even been keeping their voices down.

“She’ll probably debrief everyone at dinner.”

“I’ll tell Bel she’ll need to cook today,” Neve folded her arms, frowning down at Rook.

Davrin nodded, then started toward the baths again. If he had to spend one more moment covered in this congealed blood…

“Davrin.”

“Yeah, Neve?”

“That cut on her hand,” Neve nodded her head toward Rook’s shoddy bandage job. “Awfully strange place for a wound to be.”

Neve was smart. Too smart. She’d probably already put two and two together.

They won’t hear it from me.

“She saved me and Lucanis,” was all he said. “Not my place to judge how, Neve. Not yours, either.”

“There’s some lines you can’t cross,” Neve said, a scowl on her features. “Not without losing parts of you.”

Next thing you know, you’re standing in a hallway full of corpses.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. One thing you learn in the Wardens is that the Blight has to be stopped. No matter what. And besides,” he shrugged, and finally, finally, turned towards the baths, determined to make it there this time.

“This is Rook we’re talking about.”

[sternentreue]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @saessenach!! 🩷

Tagging @blightedcrow and @pixiedurango! As always, no pressure, but I'm always happy to see some WIPs!

I am going to break the rules and post an art WIP (yay?)!

Bonus:

“Sooo... heart-shaped churros. For everyone?” Rook grinned playfully and hopped onto the table in his usual nonchalant manner. He let his bare feet dangle, toes curling happily as he took a bite of the sweet pastry. The others had already retired to their rooms for the evening - or rather, they had taken the not-so-subtle hint and left quickly after dinner, giggling and exchanging knowing looks - leaving only Rook and Lucanis to clean up. “It was an experiment. Straight shapes are easy. I wanted to try something new.” Lucanis shrugged as he put the dish towel away, but the casual statement did nothing to hide the nervous quiver in his voice and the slight blush that was visible even in the dim orange light of the fireplace. “I’d say you did quite well. You should try new things more often.” It might have seemed like playful banter to an outsider, but they both knew what Rook was trying to say, and it was just the encouragement Lucanis needed. He gathered all his courage and slowly stepped into Rook’s personal space between his dangling legs. The elf didn’t seem to mind, judging by his growing smile and the way he tugged at Lucanis’ waistcoat to pull him closer. “I can try, for you. And you’ve got sugar on your face.”

[officialscud]

props to @saessenach for bringing Poison to my attention. anyway here’s the teiago playlist so far lol

feel free to recommend more songs ✌️

[athenasdragon]

Reflection Ruesday

I was tagged by @becausedragonage for her new Tuesday fic activity, Reflection Tuesday Ruesday! The idea is to go back into your WIP folder, find something old you actually like, and share it. Maybe you go back to it, maybe you don't, but at least it gets seen!

This is actually a fic I was writing for Uprooted by Naomi Novik. The prompt was a fake dating AU and it features Agnieszka and the Dragon going to Kralia together and trying to convincingly present themselves as a couple. I even sent what I had to @wherestoriescomefrom for beta reading circa 2021, but I just never came back to it! I've left in my notes to myself because I always think it's interesting to see how other people block out story beats.

I will tag @bbcphile, @laurelsofhighever, @saessenach, and anyone else who wants to participate <3

...

I rested my elbows heavily on the stone frame of the Dragon’s window and looked through the thick, warped glass down to the courtyard below. I could make out the skirts of the women who kept flitting back and forth: bright splots of color that swayed and paused and vanished into one door or another. Emerald foliage studded with flowers nodded from the corners, casting shadows over the figures.

He had a better view than I did, of course. I wondered whether he had chosen our rooms. Probably not—but it was one more annoyance on the pile.

“Come away from there,” he said absently from behind me. “Someone will see you and start talk.”

I turned, still leaning against the wall, to see him running his hands over two coats which lay on his bed—comparing their material. “Don’t you want people to think we’re together? Isn’t that the point of all this?”

He gave me one of his sharp looks. “I want you protected at court, and appearing strategically together is the best way to accomplish that. Having you seen at my bedroom window at odd hours of the day and night could do quite the opposite.”

I pushed away from the wall and came to stand next to him as he finished selecting a bottle green coat with bronze embroidery around the sleeves and collar. He shrugged into it, wincing a little as he maneuvered his right arm but turning to hide it from me. His scar must have been hurting him—my rush healing job had been far from perfect. I bit my lip and said nothing.

I wondered if he saw me biting back replies whenever we spoke. Part of me felt that I had earned the right to question and bicker after saving the Dragon’s life twice in the Wood, but since our arrival in Kralia I was too restless and exhausted to find satisfaction in prodding him. When we argued at the Tower he would often retreat to the library or some other remote room, allowing me time to spend as I pleased. Here, I shuddered to think of him leaving me to my own devices.

He seemed tired too, though he was careful to hide the cause. Perhaps nightmares of the Wood woke him in the night as they did me. Perhaps he had yet to recover his energy after such severe injury followed by a week’s travel. Perhaps he was simply worn out by whatever meetings kept him busy for long stretches of the day. Whatever the reason, both our sharp edges were dulled enough by our present situation that our time together was mostly civil, and I didn’t comment on the room or his winces.

“All right, let’s practice. Change your gown.”

Once again passing over an old argument for the sake of efficiency, I complied. “Vanastalem.” My already-dirty dress from that morning, a “simple” rust-colored gown with a lace overskirt, rustled and swirled as more petticoats blossomed beneath the skirt. The sleeves ballooned like sails as the fabric transformed into pearly white silk with deep green and bronze brocading to match his coat. I felt cold emeralds at my throat and a weight that told me more jewels had appeared in my hair.

“Good.” He nodded with an air of frank approval that was rare for him and I felt the back of my neck grow warm. “You certainly look the part—let’s see if you remember the motions too.”

Look the part of your lover? I wanted to ask. Of a castle-born noblewoman? The thought was irritating for reasons I didn’t care to examine closely.

He cleared his throat and indicated his arm, which I had not realized he was offering to me. I stepped next to him and took it, gingerly placing my hand on his forearm.

We both looked at our reflections in the small mirror on the opposite wall. I stood slightly taller than the Dragon, although my hair and jeweled headpiece made the difference look greater. He looked stiff and stern, as though he was posing for a portrait. I looked like I was obliged to hold something distasteful, like an overpoweringly scented bouquet of flowers gifted by someone you don’t wish to offend. An uncomfortable laugh bubbled out of me at the sight.

His reflection raised its eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

“We don’t look convincing.” I fidgeted with the jewels at my neck, which were starting to feel like a collar.

He frowned. “The dress looks fine. You just need to practice your bearing.”

“No, I mean no one will believe that we’re—together. Unless you want people to think that we’ve formed some kind of reluctant power alliance.” I gestured to the mirror, indicating our postures and the space between us. I tried a smile to show that I was making a genuine suggestion. “It looks like we hate each other.”

This time I felt his arm shift under mine as his frown deepened. “We look appropriate for hinting something at court. This isn’t a dance in the Dvernik square. Just stand up straight.”

I scowled at him but straightened my spine. “Fine. Good enough?”

“Adequate. Now watch me.” He stepped one foot in front of him and sank down as he bent deeply at the waist, pausing for a moment with his forehead pointed to the floor. “For a formal court appearance, you should bow this deeply. If this were a first introduction you would wait to be instructed to rise. Since it is not, you need only hold the position for a breath.” He straightened, his eyes on mine in the mirror. “Show me.”

Stepping one foot forward like he had, I curtsied low, sliding my hand down his arm slightly as I did. He bit off a hiss and I felt him tense. I stood up quickly enough to see his wince.

“You’re still hurt.” It was meant to be a question but it came out as a statement.

He jerked his arm away from mine. “It is healing.”

“Let me look at it, I might—”

“Just try to focus for once, please. I really don’t have time for—”

“Sarkan.” His eyes widened and he stopped trying to speak over me. I had only used his name sparingly since he had shared it with me, and each time he reacted the same way: surprised and almost confused, as though he felt the same power I did when I spoke it. It made me wonder why he had told me, but it was useful when I needed his attention. “I used Jaga’s spell for burns but it was meant to be a quick solution. I might be able to do more now.” I grabbed for his arm and this time he glared but didn’t stop me—possibly still stunned from me speaking his true name.

He watched as I gingerly pushed back his sleeve. “I haven’t relied solely on your work. I have applied Grosho’s [?] spell for burns, but the burn itself is healed.” He was correct: his arm was smooth and pale as always. Only that gnarled silver scar remained like a vine growing under his skin.

“And it still hurts? Here?” I pushed away the memory of what had caused the scar in the first place and the heart-pounding fear it conjured and brushed my fingers over the raised silver skin.

This time he didn’t bother to stifle his hiss of pain. “Yes,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “It would seem that there is still magic bound up in the wound. Magic that I cannot control,” he added pointedly.

I frowned. “You think my working is preventing it from healing fully?” I had never heard of such a thing, but then again, I had little experience with healing. My magic did seem to have a mind of its own at times. “Let me try something.”

Surprisingly, he made no protest, though I could feel his gaze burning through me as I stroked my fingers over his arm again. I mentally flipped through Jaga’s spellbook. The scar was like a vine, but I didn’t want anything for killing plants—or for growing them, for that matter. Tracing the raised shape again, another similarity came to mind: it looked like my haphazard attempts at sewing when my mother had decided I was old enough to mend my own dresses. I recalled Jaga’s spell for hiding seams and smoothing edges. It was as good a place to start as any.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a slow breath through my nose and centered my focus where my fingertips rested against Sarkan’s feverish skin. “Mikew,” I breathed. “Mikew, mikew, mikew,” encouraging the skin to smooth and soften and forget that it had ever been split.

[She senses the remains of the working that she did with Solya to heal the Dragon in that field after the Wood.] There was a seam between my magic and the Falcon’s, like the line where one river feeds into another and the waters don’t quite mix.

[While casting, she manages to communicate that Sarkan should join her working. Together they heal the remaining damage and cast a unified healing in the way that A and Solya couldn’t. Their magic combines in that same way it always does, although not quite as intense as the rose illusion, and they move closer. A feels a pull to finish the working by kissing his wrist and looks away, confused and resisting the instinct.]

[She sees them in the mirror as they stand now, heads tilted together, her hands gently cradling his arm, bound together by power, and sees how they could appear convincingly as a couple, just as the working ends]

[In the pause after the spell ends, before Sarkan can pull away and roll down his sleeve, she tells him to look and comments that they look convincing now. He flushes and leaves, telling her not to be late meeting him for the event tonight and they will just have to make do with the practice they’ve had]

[Watching him go, Agnieszka’s annoyance returns and she reflects how impossible Sarkan is to please, even when she tries to play along with what he wants and even heals him]

[thedasweekend]

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[inquisimer]

last line tag game

tagged by @rook-de-rivas (on my main blog @isseya-apologist, hi this is my writing sideblog) to post the last line I'd written in one of my WIPs (and tag as many people as words but uh. I'm a wordy bitch and will just be tagging a selection lol).

As I'm running Evanthia's playthrough, I'm doing some off-the-cuff writing that will eventually become her post-canon-hired-by-the-Crows-to-watch-Spite fic, so here's a bit of that:

The gentle ease of the Necropolis is exactly as it has always been—it is the changes in Evanthia that keep her from settling back into the shape she left when they first sent her away. She supposes that would have been too much to hope for, as well.

tagging forward to: @shivunin | @effelants | @flowersforthemachines | @asexualtabris | @wishforhome | @queenaeducan-writes | @fadedsweater | @dreadfutures | @crabs-with-sticks | @saessenach making grabby hands at WIPs pls 😍💜

[rederiswrites]

I was tagged by @saessenach for a WIP Wednesday snippet. Thanks for the tag! Here's a bit from my current piece:

“I was very sorry to hear about Varric,” Maevaris said. “He was dear to me, you know.”

For a second, Arden’s chest ached horribly. Something tried to bubble up. He felt a strange sensation, as if two of him were in the same spot, and then he was floating loose. It happened, sometimes, and he’d have worried about it, but really it was a relief. He opened his mouth, and watched himself speak. 

“It was touch and go at first,” he heard himself saying. “Sometimes it feels like the wound will never heal. Don’t worry, though. We’ll manage.” There. That was good. That was the sort of thing people said.

Maevaris smiled, and squeezed his arm kindly. He felt it like one feels touch in a dream, both real and not. She seemed sad. 

“He wrote me about you, you know,” he heard her say. “Only good things. He sounded terribly fond of you.”

Arden’s vision narrowed, the world darkening until only the two of them were there. Maevaris, and his little puppet-self, responding jerkily as he tried to remember what was expected.

Later, Neve found him curled up in the lounge, drifting as he puffed away at the mouthpiece of the hookah there.

“There you are! I looked around and you’d just gone.” He looked up at her, slowly bringing her face into focus. “Are you alright?” she asked. She was looking at him intently.

“Just tired, I think,” he answered. “It’s been a long day.”