#save a griffon ride a warden

[marshmallow-age]

[vhentheneras]

sorry i cant stop thinking about dragon age. what if Assan grows up during The Veilguard and at the end of the game Davrin can ride him into battle? coming from “warden elves caused the griffon extinction” to-> “dalish grey warden saving the world while riding a griffon” would be so fucking cool

[bumblewarden]

Ohh you're probably right about why Duncan didn't bring him. If Warden Novhen had been able to be present, things would have ended slightly differently. He would've been out of uniform to sneak into the palace anyway, so he would've taken sole responsibility then and then Duncan appeared and "conscripted" him

That's no longer double Wardens. If anything, it's setting Astala up to be in Unrest in the Alienage. But it is certainly a rogue shenanigan

Whenever Astala and Novhen are busy getting into some fresh bullshit in the countryside, the omniscient camera telling their story cuts to Valendrian like this (only the first 10ish seconds matter, i'm just not willing to recut a video rn)

So! I do have to come up with a story real quick for him becoming a Warden that does not involve the wedding.

It makes most sense for Novhen to have disappeared in the night. Nightmares come true, and he gets caught doing something he shouldn't. He's able to talk his way out of imprisonment into exile. It's a good thing moat historic medieval exilings weren't permanent. Maybe long, but not forever. He gets like five years. This means Novhen has disappeared without trace again with nothing but the clothes on his back. It takes a few days to walk to Amaranthine. Once he arrives, it takes a two or three days getting his bearings before sending a letter Cyrion's way (which will take another few days to finally reach him) to let him know what's happened. All that time, his family has no idea where he is. He's not sure how long he'll stay in Amaranthine, but he's not eager for the roads or farms, and it'd be a bit drastic (and dangerous) to take a ship out of the country. Tempting though. He's always wanted to see Rivain

I'm sure Cyrion's no small amount of stressed even when he receives the letter. He's trying to speak with his employer, Bann Rodolf, about giving his son a position at his permanent residence outside the city and attempts to find him a bride have come to a pause

We see Amaranthine's smuggling trade in Awakening, and it's not unrealistic for Novhen to get involved with them. In the letter where he tells them he's got a stable job, he fails to mention it's as a smuggler. He doesn’t want to disappoint them further. They can probably assume as much from him dancing around the matter. They know him

But there's a risk to working with humans. Only four months pass, and one of the shems makes a massive blunder and pins it on Novhen when the guard finds him. That's when Duncan conscripts him. It was better than the noose. Novhen sends a letter to inform his family about the update (while still leaving unsaid the exact nature of his work) and leaves with him, but while Duncan saved his life, it's clear from the letter that he is not excited about this latest career change

Also, i know the exact Soris line you're talking about, and the VO note for it is "sour grapes"! He's definitely some sort of jealous of the Warden, but more than that, he's bitter and rightfully angry at the world and the Warden's an easy target. Two Wardens in the family does not make it any better. I think you're right about him being closer to Shianni here. Whenever one of them (probably Astala) is soon to arrive, they'll make light fun of how "her worship will be deigning us with her present in the coming month"

Two mabaris can work! That's an easy enough adjustment to make to the story. That way Rascal can stink up rude guests with Astala, and Griffon can give baby Kieran rides with Novhen. A little ironic that the one named Griffon is the one deserting lol. Although i half wish the alternative you offered was as funny as it was XD

Astala can protest all she likes before the battle, but Novhen's steadfast that he should be the one to pick up Riordan's sword. Would Ilanlas have anything to say here I wonder? Or Khêd and Sulri if they're also here? Still, sounds like Astala will be getting that final blow in. It's easy enough to keep her the only one standing. And last one standing is always so dramatic 🥺 With the surplus Wardens on the floor, the healers are spread more thin, so he may not be able to get himself up in time for that (But he's still willing to whisper ideas in her ear just like when they were kids!)

None of the other Wardens on the roof are moving. The archdemon's torn wing is slowly regenerating. Mages are desperately trying to save her brother behind her, and she just saw her cousin still fighting in the city. Her body aches in lifting her blade, but the Blight will only bring more death, especially to those she loves, if she doesn't stop it then and there. She didn't want to die.

thank god novhen took the initiative to have sex with his girlfried

Also, i am trying to picture Flemeth's rescue at the end of the Ostagar sequence. With two total Wardens, one in each talon is so dramatic. One in each talon and a third in the beak is a bit silly XD I wonder who got stuck in the beak? Oh actually wait. If we're also importing Ilanlas (and Pavle and Radka) as a package deal, that's four Wardens plus maybe your Khêd and Sulri. Maybe some of them were on the ground away from the front lines to support the back troops with orders to flee should the Warden banner fall

I think Alistair is a must for the Tower of Ishal. That's supposed to be the safest position on the battlefield, and Duncan is trying to keep him alive. I think by this point, both he and Novhen would have the eye for battle that's needed to know when the beacon needs lit, but Novhen should probably be present for the Morriwarden at the hut. If we accept one in the mouth, we can still get Astala up. Alistair has the largest weight difference from the group, so he's in the mouth for balance

UNLESS WAIT UNLESS FLEMETH TURNS INTO A DRAGON THEN TO GET ALL OF THEM. I think in canon she's just a giant bird, but we know she's capable. That gives her four claws plus her mouth so she can rescue five! Maybe six even if someone shares a spot. It's no quite so dashing, but who gives a shit when there's a DRAGON

Illustrated for scientific purposes only.

And imagine the rumors that will come from it! People will say the archdemon already surfaced at Ostagar, but as the year marches on and there are no other dragon sightings, that gets chalked up to a false alarm

I think i remember seeing a WIP of that Zevran scene! Novhen is going to be just =_= when he hears about the first meeting with Zev.

N: You told a stranger where we were going? Stala, there are wanted posters with our faces on them!

A: I know, I know, but he was so nice at the time!

N: Did you see how many knives we had to strip from him?

A: I didn't see them last night!

A/N: damn girl, you need to learn to shoot your shot

We absolutely must keep the meeting in XD When that one lady is trying to lead them into the ambush, Novhen catches on immediately and whispers for whoever's present in the party that it's a trap, but the prospective bounty hunters (he surmises) seem set on them, so it's better to follow now when they can see it coming. Reluctantly, they go, and Astala recognizes Zev. After the fight while waiting for him to come back to consciousness, they have that little exchange. Novhen Gray Hair Counter +1

And yeah, i recently retconned it that Alistair stays with the Wardens, and Anora rules alone

If Pavle and Radka are being imported too, Pavle is likely to be hanging around the Wardens. He likes their company and how they tell Templars to fuck off. Also, if he has to sleep in the woods one more night, he's going to lose it. But he'll be willing to answer all the blood magic questions she has. He might find it odd and ask some questions of his own in return, but he'll do it

Also Radka (and/or Khêd) can give even more incentive to side with Bhelen by explaining Rica's whole deal

I have the og Blackwall conducting the interrogations of all surviving Wardens through Caron, Kader, and Andras (who stay in Ferelden to monitor the situation after he returns to Orlais). He has Andras talk to Novhen on the assumption that the (city) elf will distrust the (city) elf the least. Presumably, the logic is carried over to Astala as well. And if she's the archdemon slayer, she's going to be given special interest.

When Novhen died in that angst interlude, Kieran would've been in his late 20s. He made it pretty far. There's even a possibility of grandbabies being in the picture (not that i know how likely that'd be). It's not as full of a life as it could have been, but he at least gets to see his little boy all grown up before he dies

Actually! Didn't you have a thing where Astala was at the Winter Palace for WEWH? Or was that noncanon? But imagine how this would recontextualize the meeting between Astala and Morrigan

M: And you knew I was in Orlais how?

A: Luck. Also, Novhen sent an Orlesian plum tart recipe.

M, sighing: That does rather sound like something he would do.

Morri, Novhen, and Kieran have to be very deliberate with how they present themselves in the court since any of those relationships could be used against them. At this time, Novhen is away from the spotlight doing rogue shit, probably. Oooo what if he's in cahoots with Briala? Under a pseudonym of course, but if he's with Morrigan that makes more sense than my HoF at Skyhold shenanigans (maybe even the same pseud ~Renan~)

(Related: Do you think the Tabris kids had a discrete little hand sign or something to signal when they needed to pretend to not know each other? They got into so much trouble they just might XD Novhen needs to make sure Astala doesn't accidentally blow his cover when she and Inky find Briala XD)

And i've already sent you over dm a walkthrough timestamps to Adaia's Singular Canon Line, but i revisited my own save file and! it isn't a Singular line! it is Three lines.

So!! I've been wanting to do this for a while, but life got in the way, so now I'm here to take that thing up again because!!! Fun!!!! This is about the relationships between OCs, and I don't want to impose anything but. Regarding how Novhen and Astala would get along:

What if they HAD grown up together? Maybe not in the same family (although, it would be fun 👀👀👀👀👀👀 they are very similar and very different from each other in different aspects. For example both are very loyal and community oriented, but also Astala is loud and boisterous while Novhen is quieter and more underhanded), but definitely the same Alienage. They'd know each others' quirks and habits. Maybe Novhen got frustrated with Astala because she'd always hide in these really obvious spots when playing hide and seek and Astala in turn would never be able to find Novhen? Maybe Novhen would at some point have stolen a plum tart for her and maybe Astala would've helped him against another kid who made fun of Novhen? Maybe, if we wanted them to meet up later during the Blight, Astala had to move away from Denerim at some point. I think she's a bit older than Novhen; maybe she got married elsewhere. Or, if not, now we gave more elves storming Vaughan's estate, which is alwats fun. I think Novhen would get to lead that one operation until Nelaros's death, because before that, stealth does seem to be the best option.

I think these two would get along well, differences aside. Astala would make an effort to lower her if needed, and having a familiar face to lean on during the Blight year would probably be a big comfort to them both. I think they'd be comfortable enough with each other to talk about the recruitment and how it didn't exactly happen willingly; they could gripe about nobles and politics; they could just. Sit in silence after Broken Circle and try and digest Sloth's nightmare. They could kill the slavers at the Alienage together!!! I think having a like-minded person from the same cultural background would help enormously.

One thing Astala probably wouldn't be on board with is the Cult of Fen'Harel. She'd let Novhen practice alright and defend him if accusations about this were levelled against him, but I think she would either have fallen out of it if she'd ever been introduced to it (it didn't save Adaia after all, so...), or never warmed up to the idea of this elvhen trickster god

These are my thoughts as far as they go. What do you think? Also I hadn't thought of it, but if you want to move this conversation to DMs, they're open ^^

(And if this doesn't tickle your fancy anymore, feel free to ignore ^^)

👀👀👀👀👀 I am eating this ask up like breakfast. Or, er, ramen. Which is the thing i am actually eating atm. But yes yes yes to all of this, i love it so much

Full response under the readmore for length, but i'm realizing now my response is mostly about them as kids 😅 Oops

[Ask Game]

The way i play with companion!Novhen, i'd assume he and Astala are probably either siblings or cousins (i waffle), except this time on their mothers' sides. I don't know Astala's exact age, but Novhen was born in *pulls out notes* Wintermarch of 9:7 Dragon. If we try to stagger them based on Adaia's death, that's probably close to a decade between them which seems a tad bit higher than it should be. We'll just have to dance around that matter

Even if Astala isn't significantly older, there's probably never a single moment where he's taller than her XD Add onto that that girls tend to hit puberty first, there's gonna be quite the height difference around age 10

But yes, their personalities go in very different directions but are probably pretty compatible, especially if given the benefit of a shared childhood! They're both very sociable, but i suspect most people like Astala more, especially authority figures. She's much less of a troublemaker, and Novhen definitely took a while to come into his own as a social mastermind. (This also would make her the ideal candidate for a distraction whenever Novhen’s a-scheming. That’s gonna do her a lot of favors when trying to get him to steal plum tarts for her XD These two are the real blight as far as anyone in the alienage is concerned XDD)

Oh, actually! If they knew each other, i can imagine pretty well him practicing with or studying Astala to get better at social situation! And clearly it worked! (A: "Ok now make an angry face... You just look like you can't find a chamberpot. You have to scrunch your eyebrows like this." *jams her thumb down his forhead*)

Astala seems to prefer her hair shorter during the Blight, but how was it as a child? Because if it were in some sort of puff, i can imagine her child-level object permanence resulting in her hiding in an empty barrel with the puff still peeking over the top! (Artist's Rendition Below)

I don’t think he’d be too frustrated with her poor stealth outside of team games at least! (If they’re partnered is another story…) He does sometimes tease her that she’s not going to be a very good criminal when she gets bigger. Idk, how would she respond to that? Because how does she feels about the fact that she's not going to follow in her mother's footsteps (or how aware of that she'd be as a child) or maybe she would retort about how she’s already bigger or something else? Definitely a lot of ways to take that one lol

But also the idea of Novhen as alienage king of hide and seek is kinda cute. He's usually the last one left (all that damn thief training), so it’s not unheard of to see a parade of Astala, Shianni, Soris, and whoever else they've wrapped into their game (which with Astala could be quite a number) turning the alienage upsidedown to find him. There's probably at least one time he gets found in the first minute, and he thinks he's going to die of embarrassment. Because of that, they almost never let him be a hider in the first round. Sometimes when he’s hiding, they'll accidentally pick up seekers who weren't even playing along the way because they want to see him knocked down a peg XD That's what happens when you win too much!

Astala probably has him beat at wrestling tho! And the game where i imagine they’re most evenly matched would be arm wrestling. As an archer, Novhen has insane upper body and especially shoulder strength, but Astala has insane everywhere strength

On the less competitive side, imagine them as dance partners as little kids ☺️ Astala’s probably the more enthusiastic one about it, but i’d imagine she could drag him into it Easy whether through blackmail or Ole Reliable (puppy dog eyes). There have to be lots of events in the alienage that call for dancing, so it’s good to have a go-to dance partner! And if they ever get a Silly Urge while dancing, the one thing that i’ve found little kids most reliable to do is spin so fast they nearly make themselves sick, and when there’s two of them spinning each other, there’s no stopping them until the centrifugal force throws them both to the ground. At least they’re having fun lol

The Cult of Fen'Harel thing makes sense. I wouldn't expect Astala to be into that. I imagine in this case that Cyrion and Adaia agreed to expose the children to both sets of beliefs, so they could choose once they got older

It's a good thing Novhen's good at keeping matters hush because otherwise Astala would likely get stuck constantly mediating between Novhen and Ilanlas on matters of religion 🤭

Tbh Novhen would slightly begrudge her for choosing the Chantry, but i don't think he'd ever let her know if he could help it. It's just not worth it, and you can't talk about that without talking about Adaia's death which nobody is excited to talk about. Still, it's a potential source of drama, esp as the politics of DA:D are winding up

Back in the present day, if the endgame configuration is one where they live in the same location (which i think could only be the case if they were both companions), Novhen would offer her once for him to educate her child/ren in the way of the Cult of Fen'Harel and/or the Vir Banal'ras fighting style, probably get denied at least on the first one, and never bring it back up. He knows she's Andrastian and also wouldn't expect her to teach them that fighting style herself (too rogue-based), but if he had permission, he'd want to at least try to expose them to their family's traditions, so they could make a choice themselves like Novhen and Astala did

And honestly, if he's present for the origin, once Nelaros dies, Novhen would more than happily hand leadership of the mission over to Astala. Stealth only goes so far, and she has first dibs on revenge #SupportWomen

And with Unrest in the Alienage! As soon as Caladrius is dead, Novhen is scampering over his corpse to pick the lock on Cyrion's cage. Doesn't even wait for someone else to pilfer the key. Astala is free to react to that little scene however she wishes, and we get the whole Tabris family reunion after

Whoever’s Warden, i imagine those two leaning on each other a lot for emotional support during the Blight because not only are they the only alienage elves in the party, they’re family (or at the least childhood friends). Once we personalize the Broken Circle dreams, they get upsetting fast. If either of them get sent into that mission (or Maker forbid both of them), they’re definitely going to need to share a blanket by the fire for a minute

EDIT: the paragraph looks like it's been eaten but also! Novhen would be very cautious about Astala's Zevran romance at first. ("Yes, Stala, he's very dreamy, but let's not forget he's only here because he was hired to kill you.") We know he's very protective, and they're both so eldest sibling-coded

[dalishious]

Is there anything that mentions how tall griffons are? Actually, is there any information about griffons aside from they fought alongside the Wardens and then died but a nest survived? I doubt Bioware has written anything about it but I'd love to know about their intelligence, their physical attributes, their quirks, just everything about them since I'm a nerd about fictional animals.

Last Flight is full of griffons. They hold together the story, actually; while it tells the tale of the Fourth Blight, it’s also about what exactly became of the griffons, and is the link between the past and present settings.

Anyway, some miscellaneous griffon lore:

Most griffons are solid shades of grey (sometimes with brown or blue tinge), with solid white and black griffons being uncommon. Parti-coloured griffons are very rare. As they get older, their fur turns white around their muzzle, from their cere to their chest, and their tail.

Griffons can have white, grey, brown and black feathers. Usually they’re solid colours, but sometimes you see them with patterns. They all have gold eyes in different shades, from light yellow to dark amber.

An adult griffon can grow to be over 12 feet long from beak to tail, with an even greater wingspan.

Male griffons weigh more than a thousand pounds, with females only slightly less than that.

Their beaks are powerful enough to snap an elk’s thighbone effortlessly.

Their claws can shred plate mail like damp paper.

They have a “musky leonine smell.”

They are all extremely fast in the air, though naturally some griffons are particularly strong or particularly fast, varying like any creature. They are also very intelligent, comparable to mabari.

Griffons are plenty expressive. They squint their eyes when they’re pleased. They hiss and stick their tongues out when angry or displeased. They purr just like giant cats, and it sounds like an earthquake. The huff, they snarl, they croon, they whistle. They shrill as a greeting, and will try to coax pets out of their riders. (Revas, Isseya’s griffon, particularly likes scratches behind the ears.)

Griffons have their own unique personalities, but common qualities are territorial, short-tempered, and quick changing moods. They are predators, after all, and it’s best to give them a wide berth if you’re not familiar with them. They also tend to try and hide pain or any signs of weaknesses from their riders.

The griffons have an intense hatred for the darkspawn and the blight. It’s why the Joining doesn’t naturally work on them; they resist the Taint, and tear themselves apart. Isseya had to use blood magic to force the griffons to accept it… and while a joined griffon can survive exposure to darkspawn blood, become even stronger, faster, and gain the same heightened senses of the darkspawn that an experience warden has, they go progressively crazy and hostile from it, no longer listening to even their riders eventually, and they get sick. They also spread this sickness to their eggs and to other griffons, even those who do not undergo the Joining. (This is how the griffons become extinct, save for a nest of preserved eggs Isseya hid away and froze.)

The wardens feed them semi-large livestock like goats.

If a griffon’s rider is in peril, they may sacrifice themselves to save the rider. If a rider dies and the griffon lives, the griffon will mourn their loss, acting out with an even shorter temper. They will eventually choose a new rider. Otherwise, riders and griffons are paired for life.

Normally griffons obey their riders, but if they think something is stupid, they may try to fight instructions. This is another reason why it’s extremely important for riders to be matched well, in order to control their griffon.

Wardens usually pick smaller members to be griffon riders to be less stress on them, but they are fully capable of carrying two men in full armour on their backs at a time.

Warden recruits train riding griffons by first riding horses with giant wooden boards strapped to the saddles to mimic wings. Then they ride along with an experienced rider, before paired with a griffon of their own. Normally this training period goes over the course of a year, but under pressing circumstances–like a Blight–recruits are expected to learn fast.

Wardens are matched with griffons by presenting themselves to a group, and the griffons claiming them. Revas claims Isseya by resting her head on the elf’s shoulder. “A griffon always chose. One could not compel the great beasts to carry riders they did not want. A griffon would sooner hurl itself into a mountainside than it would accept servitude to a master it disliked. They were never servants, never slaves. A griffon was a partner and equal, or else it was a foe.”

[disasterdrvid]

Masterpost of characters I'd like to see in DA4

What it says on the tin. Half speculative, half wishlist. Was going to post this around EA Play Live, but Bioware loves crushing my hopes and dreams so I'm kicking this out of my drafts. Under the cut bc this is loooooong.

Potential Companions (And Maybe Romances)

Starting squad will probably be Fenris, Vaea, Francesca, and Autumn. (Based on this post.) I'm curious about the worldstate variations for Fenris--especially a romanced Hawke getting left in the Fade and how he gets involved in the first place if Hawke gave him back to Danarius. I'm curious if Vaea and Francesca are are romance options but they're really enjoyable in the comics so I'm excited to see more of them.

Lucanis Dellamorte!!! I will never shut up about him and his storyline. We've been lacking Crow companions so I'm hoping they do him justice in-game. However, I'm worried Bioware might write him too similar to Zevran if he's a potential romance. While Zevran's romance is one of the best, I don't want Lucanis to have too many similarities just because of a shared background.

Neve Gallus! The Tevinter PI who stole my heart. I love her to death and want her desperately in-game. Let me be gal pals who solve crimes, Bioware!

Audric ❤ Imagine all the fun banter about architecture as well as being undead. Would definitely have a different feel from Justice or Cole. (Also fingers crossed skeleton from the concepts actually is Audric.)

Not to be a massive lesbian but the hot Qunari lady from the concept art! I'm hoping she's not one of the characters who got cut in development and, if she made it, she's not straight.

Strife my beloved ❤ Not sure if he'll just be encounterable or a full companion, but he was super enjoyable in Tevinter Nights and I desperately want his sass for DA4.

Tessa and Marius! I'm constantly oscillating between companion or just NPCs, but I'd love to see the magekilling duo fully voiced and animated. (Also if they do come back, Charter is an obvious add-on.)

Advisor Roles

Dorian! Based on his appearance in Deception (a small cameo where he guides the crew), I'd love for him to come back in a much more limited way to let everyone else shine.

Varric ❤ This man needs a break and based on the voiceover from the trailer, as well as his appearance in Knight Errant, I'd guess he'd serve more as a spymaster to our group.

Maevaris is one I'm constantly caught between advisor or companion. But I love her dearly and if she somehow doesn't end up in-game the Bioware writers have an invitation to catch these hands.

Controversial but the Inquisitor. Like how the Warden wasn't the DA2 protag and Hawke was the DAI protag, I don't want (or even believe) they'll be the protagonist this time around and that take neglects a lot of what was said in Trespasser. I think they'd be best served advising the new hero on how to navigate the bullshit of saving the world--especially Inquisitors who really fought against being the Herald. However, I do want them in on the crisis (not the midpoint, but that's another post) confrontation of Solas. Also: give me consequences for the Well, damn it!

General NPCs

Awakening Wardens!!!!! Sigrun, Velanna, and Nathaniel are some of my all-time favorite characters and it's been too long since we last saw them. (Oghren counts too, ig...) I also want Bioware to at least acknowledge Awakening's fucked up and retconned lore. Since we only just reached the point of the Warden disappearing, we can assume these guys are kicking around somewhere. With the theorized Warden civil war apparently brewing, and potential Weisshaupt concept art, I want to see them kicking ass and trying to save the Wardens from themselves--riding griffons all the while. Speaking of...

Valya, Reimas, and Caronel! We haven't heard from them since Last Flight, and I desperately want them to get some kind of acknowledgement for rediscovering griffons. If we do end up at Weisshaupt they'd better still be alive and making sure those griffon hatchlings are in good hands.

Merrill ❤ With everything going on with Solas, if Merrill doesn't get involved I'm suing. (And if she doesn't make jokes about Fenris adopting Vaea then what's the point!!!)

Isabela got featured in some concept art, so I'm hoping she makes an appearance--if not returning as a companion or captain of the ship base that some have theorized.

Warden Carver/Bethany. Again, the heavy emphasis on Wardes would be an ideal way of bringing them back.

Stroud, if survived. I can't think of anyone who chose him over Hawke, but if they did I can't see him not coming back in that circumstance.

Generally speaking, the Inquisition romances will probably all come back. The end of Trespasser shows them with the Inquisitor in that meeting so we can assume they'll have their LI's back. I've mentioned before that I only believe three or four will have expanded roles, and the rest will simply cameo. Obvious caveat to this is that Greg Smellis needs to be replaced so I can laugh that Cullen came back without him. (Bonus points if Anders' VA replaces him like he did for DA2.) This obviously doesn't apply to a Qun-aligned Bull. RIP.

Divine Victoria (all iterations). Since most people chose Leliana or Cassandra, that Trespasser cutscene hints at this even if they weren't elected Divine. But given the Inquisition--if still around--works for her, then we can assume all iterations of Victoria will come back in some capacity.

THE HERO OF FUCKING FERELDEN. With Gaider gone, I'm hoping the policy of keeping our original protagonist out of content went with him. ESPECIALLY because of that Warden civil war. (Also my Hero would never pass up the opportunity to have a griffon. C'mon, Bioware.)

HoF's romance. Again, I want Bioware to acknowledge the weird lore of Awakening. Alistair--even a king--apparently disappears according to the epilogue, so I want some kind of plot point with this. (Again: the Warden stuff seems to be an ideal way of bringing some back.) But all the other romances will probably feature (Leliana and Morrigan are two big ones), so fingers crossed. I don't think Zevran will be a companion like some theorize, but if the Crows are involved we know Zevran can't be far behind.

Hawke (if survived). Controversial, but I think a Hawke left in the Fade is probably dead. But if they weren't I'm hoping they'll feature--especially if Fenris is a companion, Varric is helping out, and Merrill and Isabela get involved.

Fucking Shale! Please, for the love of god, let Shale come back! (Imagine her meeting a Cadash Inquisitor lol)

Morrigan. (And by extension, Kieran.) Yeah, there's gonna be consequences for what happened last game. Yikes.

By that logic, and weirdly enough, Flemeth. We've seen her come back from a supposed death before, so I wouldn't be surprised if she pops up at some point. And if it's true that the Evanuris are our real Big Bads... 👀

Feynriel! We haven't seen him since Act 2, and most people have likely sent him to Tevinter to continue to hone his skills. I'd love to see him again and find out just how far he's come since Hawke saved him. I'm also interested if he's not aligned with Fen'Harel and how that will influence the use of his abilities. He's one I'd actually like to have as a companion, to be honest. But I'm putting him under general NPCs because I don't want to count on that hope.

Teia and Viago! They made a cameo in Deception, and I loved the tension between them in Eight Little Talons. Given the Crows' involvement as well as any potential consequences regarding Lucanis, I can't see them not coming back. (This speculation also then extends to the remaining Talons.)

Probably Sten. The high involvement of Qunari in Trespasser and later books/comics means we're likely to face down our old companion at some point. If the HoF does return, this could result in a fulfillment of Sten's promise to not look for them on the field.

[lesetoilesfous]

Exhausted parent kiss. But I can't choose a ship! Your choice ❤

I finally wrote this! It got, very long, but I had fun. I hope you enjoy!

(If you want me to write you a Dragon Age ficlet, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Rating: Teen and up

Pairing: f!handers

Characters: Marian Hawke, Anders, OC kids

Tags: Fluff, the most dysfunctional happy family

“What do you mean you didn’t ride a three headed griffin into battle?”

Anders tries very, very hard not to sigh. Malcolm stares up at him with eyes as bright, brown and demanding as his own. Next to him, Karl tries and fails to stifle his giggles, causing him to turn a curious shade of red. Further up the bed, Leandra is watching all the three of them with determined disapproval. Her frown does not, however, hide the curiosity in her eyes. 

Anders sits back on the bed, and the straw mattress huffs a little with the movement. Malcolm scrambles backwards on the rough wool blankets to make room for him. Anders scratches his beard: it’s longer and thicker now than it’s ever been before. But Marian insists she likes it, and he hasn’t grown to hate it yet. Varric says it makes him look dignified, which Anders has tried not to take as the insult it probably is. As if he hadn’t been dignified before. 

“And where, exactly, did you hear this?”

“Mum said it!” Karl says, quickly and loudly, before Malcolm can reply. Malcolm whirls on his twin, eyes wide.

“Really? You didn’t say that before!” Even more excited now, betrayed mostly by the blue sparks falling around his short, plump fingers, Malcolm turns back to Anders. “Did she ride into battle with you? Did she have her own griffin? Was it bigger than yours? Did it have four heads?”

Anders tries very hard not to laugh, catching his son’s hands and letting his own magic wash over them, calming and soothing him before they find themselves putting out yet another accidental fire. All three children perk up at that, Leandra and Karl crawling closer on the bed to get a better look. Anders catches the blue light of his own magic in the reflection of his son’s brown eyes, and they betray nothing but wonder. Something in his chest aches. Outside the window, pigeons coo in the eaves. 

“I heard the griffons went extinct.” Leandra says, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Anders frowns a little as she does so. It really needs a wash, but Leandra is apparently at the age at which she has far more, better things to do than bathing. Anders releases Malcolm’s hands when he pulls at them, and sighs, adjusting himself on the bed again. The smell of hay and wool and three small children fills his mouth and nose. He doesn’t try to fight his smile. Instead, Anders sits back, and pulls on his magic again, conjuring an illusion. 

His children scramble closer as he does so, and Anders grins and leans back a little as Malcolm all but climbs into his lap, reaching up to poke the translucent, glowing blue apparition of a tiny griffon above his head. “They did.” Anders waves his hand, conjuring a horde of Grey Wardens (the king of Ferelden, the head of the Antivan crows, Divine Justinia...Nate, Sigrun, Velanna - even Oghren, sitting awkwardly on a stocky creature smaller than the others. At the head of the pack is the Warden herself, as furiously brave as Anders had ever seen her.) Anders waves his hand, and the wardens swoop over the childrens’ heads on their griffons. Malcolm jumps after them, and Karl reaches up to bat Alistair out of the air. Leandra stares, blues eye wide and bright.  

Anders clears his throat, “There was a time, when Ferelden was facing a terrible Blight.” He twists his hand, and a great draconic archdemon emerges from the air. Karl’s face falls as he glares at it, and Anders frowns a little, reaching out to ruffles his son’s messy black hair. As soon as he does, Karl’s seriousness dissipates, melting into a wide, toothy grin. Anders smiles, and waves his hand again. Two figures: Alistair and the Warden, form out of the light. “And only two Grey Wardens were left to save us all. No griffins. No army. The traitorous Teyrn Loghain had even made them enemies of the people, falsely claiming that they had betrayed King Cailan.” Anders summons a cartoonish Loghain, and Malcolm boos, shifting to sit more comfortably, cross-legged on the mattress. Leandra has found and is somewhat throttling the black bear Merrill had stitched for her. Karl moves a little closer to his brother. Anders smiles, enjoying the weight of his children’s combined, delighted attention. 

“But they found a formidable group of friends.” Anders summons them: Zevran, Leliana, Sten, Oghren, and - after a moment’s hesitation - Wynne. He adds Dog last, bounding and slobbering around the rest, knocking over Alistair. Malcolm giggles, and Karl grins. “They fought the archdemon, and won.” Anders’ ghostly warden takes a running leap at the archdemon, and as the shadows of the illusions flicker on the wall like sunlight through water, Anders watches the fierce longing in his daughter’s eyes. Her small hand curls into a fist in her lap. He takes a deep breath, and waves the illusion away. “The end.”

Malcolm frowns. “But what about you? You were a Grey Warden too, weren’t you?”

“He was.” Karl says, before Anders can. “That’s how we know there’s not any darkspawn in the woods.” Karl folds his arms tightly across his chest as he says it, and Anders frowns a little. Outside, the forest around their cottage creaks and rustles in a gentle breeze. 

“Are you worried about darkspawn in the woods?” 

Karl looks away from him, his brown eyes both so like and so different to Anders’ own. He frowns at the rough, brown rug on the wooden floorboards. “No. I’m just saying. If there were, you would know. Wouldn’t you?” Karl looks back at him then, and he is clearly trying as hard as an eight year old can to look like he isn’t afraid. Anders’ frown deepens, and he holds out his arms.

“Come here.” Karl bites his lip for a moment before coming closer, and letting Anders pull him into his lap. Anders pulls his son close - he’s already begun what Anders doesn’t doubt will be a long and rapid growth spurt, and he’s heavier then he used to be, but still small enough to fit under his chin. Anders’ arm tightens around Karl’s chest, and he looks up at Malcolm and Leandra. “Come on, you two as well.” Malcolm wastes no time getting into Anders’ lap, and Anders huffs a little as he does so, catching a mouthful of thick black hair. Malcolm grins up at him.

“Sorry Dad.”

Anders levels him with a look. “No, you’re not.” Malcolm’s grin widens until his cheeks dimple. Downstairs, there’s the sound of Mrs Whiskers meowing to be let in, and then the soft creak of the wooden door as Marian lets her. The shadows of early evening lengthen across the floorboards. 

Satisfied that he has his children’s attention, Anders reaches into his shirt and pulls out the strangely cold vial of darkspawn blood that he has worn ever since his joining. Immediately, he feels Karl and Leandra’s attention sharpen and focus. Karl shifts in Anders’ lap, and Anders tries not to wince as his son’s sharp elbow catches his ribs. 

“What’s that?”

“This,” Anders says, watching Karl carefully, “is darkspawn blood.” Immediately, Karl recoils. Malcolm snorts. 

“Scaredy cat.”

Karl glares at him, and orange sparks fall from his fingers to the wooden floorboards with a scent like smoke, dangerously close to one of the many existing scorch marks on the children’s battered rug. “I am not.”

Anders drops the vial, and squeezes Malcolm’s shoulders. “Mal.” Malcolm manages to hold his gaze for half a heartbeat before he scowls, flushing red.

“Sorry Karl.”

Karl frowns. “I’m not a scaredy cat.”

“No, you’re not.” Anders agrees, calmly. “But I am. Specifically, I am very scared of what your mother will do to me if I tell her you set fire to the carpet again.” Karl giggles, and Anders grins at him as the sparks fade, holding out his hand. “Ok?”

Karl looks at him for a moment, and Anders feels suddenly horribly nervous. As if on this evening, of all evenings, his son will suddenly run away from him. But then Karl’s narrow shoulders lower, and he takes Anders’ hand, and Anders gently pulls him closer as Karl climbs back up onto the bed. Karl nuzzles into Anders’ neck, and Anders presses a kiss to the top of his head, before turning to Malcolm and doing the same. Karl’s voice is muffled when he speaks. “Why d’you have darkspawn blood?”

Anders thinks about it. He can feel Leandra watching him, thoughtfully. Where she��d gotten her intelligence, he had no idea, but he was quite certain that she was brighter than both he and Marian had been at her age. He says, carefully, “This is what lets me sense darkspawn. But it only works for me. No one else.”

“Isn’t it scary?” Leandra’s voice is soft. Anders’ arms tighten around the twins. He takes a deep breath.

“Sometimes.” He admits. Downstairs, there’s the familiar, comforting clatter of Hawke attempting to make sense of the childrens’ collective mess. Anders is not interested in letting her do it alone. He heaves a sigh, and gets up, gently depositing the twins on the bed. “Anyway, that’s enough of that. Come on you three, it’s time for you to get some sleep.” 

Leandra immediately hops off the mattress and climbs into her own bed, lighting the candle beside it with a wave of her hand and a pleased little grin as she grabs for her latest gift from Varric - some book about Orlesian girls in a boarding school solving murder mysteries. Anders’ heart skips a beat, but his attention is diverted from his daughter by a tugging on his sleeve. Anders looks down at Malcolm’s wide brown eyes. “You never answered the question, Dad.”

Anders grins, bending down and picking him up, squeezing the heavy, warm weight of his son close for a moment before gently setting him down on the bed. Malcolm giggles as he does so, and Anders gently kisses his forehead as he tucks him in. “Well, mein schatz, a Grey Warden never shares his secrets.” Malcolm huffs as Anders moves to gently push Karl’s hair out of his face and kiss his forehead, too.

Karl frowns at him. “That’s just what rubbish people say when they don’t want to answer questions.” Anders raises his eyebrows, and Karl blushes, looking away and pulling up his blankets. “That’s what Uncle Varric says.” Anders files that away to bring up with Varric later as he crosses the room to Leandra’s bed.

Gently, Anders tucks Leandra’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t stay up too late, sweetheart.” Leandra nods, putting down her book and holding out her arms for a hug. Anders bends to hold her, tightly, gently, kissing her head as he lets her go. “Sweet dreams.”

“The boys are right, Dad.” Leandra says, seriously, over the pages of her book. “You didn’t say.”

Anders pauses in the door, and looks back at his children: happy, safe, magical and well. He’s not sure he was built to be this happy. But he grins at them, and throws one last illusion into the air. “I never rode a griffin, and neither did your mother. But when she first came to Kirkwall...She travelled by dragon.” All three of his children gasp as a glittering blue dragon, ridden by the armoured, beautiful figure of his wife, swoops down from the rafters above them and disappears in a shower of light.

Very softly, Anders shuts the door.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Tash’s Gifts

Fun fact: While I was born on Valentine’s Day, my due date was supposed to be the 18th. So, I made Tash’s birthday the equivalent of February 18th in Thedas, 18 Guardian. And for some reason, I thought it’d be fun to go over what gifts he receives from people in the Inquisition that he treasures and gifts he gives to them.

From Solas: A small magic orb with which Tash can focus his powers through in lieu of a staff. It is of an unknown material and decorated with the mosaic pattern typical to ancient Elvhen art.  To Solas: A round river stone Tash claims he was granted by a spirit that talked to him while he was camping by the river. The spirit has a tendency to meander lazily when talking, but Solas appreciated the thought.

From Varric: A small handwritten children’s book about a young, cheerful Vashoth mage who saves a town with a cheerful dragon sidekick and a pet mabari with a note: “What do you think, kid? Should I stick to books for adults?”  To Varric: A small velvet pouch with enough space for a notebook and pencil, which can only be opened by Varric himself.

From Cassandra: A small sword and shield suited to Tash’s size. Unfortunately, he quickly outgrows it, but not before he gets some lessons from the Seeker. To Cassandra: A silver bookmark enchanted by Tash to flash red if someone is approaching so she can quickly hide the book.

From Blackwall: A handcrafted wooden chess set of walnut and maple wood, carved into unique shapes. The light pawns are griffons, with various Grey Wardens serving as the back row (mages as the bishops, archers as the rooks, warriors as the knights). The dark pawns are warriors with varying styles of armor, with mages and archers making up the back row. To Blackwall: A representation of a heavily-bearded Grey Warden riding a griffon handmade by Tash, which unfortunately looks more like a darkspawn riding a six armed slug. Blackwall only ends up displaying it after he is revealed to be Rainier.

From Vivienne: A specially-crafted silver Orlesian mask with horns that Tash wears to the ball at Halamshiral and keeps afterward.  Also a ring crafted by the Formari and enchanted to never tarnish. He wears it almost always. To Vivienne: A set of colorful cloth swatches and vague fashion designs that Vivienne ends up discussing with Josephine and Tash for outfit ideas.

From the Bull’s Chargers: A stuffed animal nug (from Krem), a vial of experimental explosive powder that was immediately thrown out (from Rocky), an offer to learn “bow” techniques (from Dalish), a set of knives (from Skinner), a fantasy novel (from Grim), a collection of drawings of plants (from Stitches), and a large drinking horn with a tin of cocoa powder (from the Iron Bull). To the Bull’s Chargers: A set of experimental armor designed by Tash and crafted by Dagna and Harritt. The Valo-Kas recieved a different set of armor and the two have “friendly discussions” about whose is better.

From Dorian: Several books on Tevinter history, culture, fashion, magic, and legends. To Dorian: A beautiful necklace with a somewhat morbid design of snakes curling around a dragon’s skull. Dorian later embeds the communication crystal in this necklace so that light shines out of the dragon’s eye sockets when he uses it.

From Cullen: A heavy cloak with fur trim to keep Tash warm. He loves it. Apparently Cullen was unaware of how similar it looks to his own mantle, but it’s one of the reasons Tash adores it.  To Cullen: A box of frosted shortbread cookies made by Tash with the promise of more whenever he wants them. Also a specially made silvered sword with an Inquisition green ribbon wrapped around the hilt.

From Cole: A tiny dragon egg that hatches into a miniature dragon, in the hopes that Tash will overcome his fear of the creatures. He does, although only for his little pet dragon. To Cole: A very strong hug and a set of clothes for him that he can choose from now he isn’t a spirit. Cole doesn’t use them often but appreciates the thought.

From Leliana: A box of honeyed candies and a book of riddles. To Leliana: A pair of ruby slippers.

From Josephine: A set of knitted horn covers in Inquisition green, which slip onto his horns, keeping them warm and also helping him to sleep on them more easily. Prior to this he would just wrap scarves around them. Eventually he gets them in an array of styles and colors so he can wear them on any occasion it gets cold. To Josephine: A set of inks in a rainbow of colors accompanied by two large paperweights that look like ships.

From Hawke: A mabari puppy that Tash carries everywhere. To Hawke: A small wooden figurine of the Champion of Kirkwall, which Tash made a coat for out of a scrap of cloth and added dragon wings to with the help of Blackwall. Hawke finds it incredibly cool.

From Morrigan and Kieran: A book about ancient places and magics in Thedas. To Morrigan and Kieran: A book of legends that Tash found very interesting.

From Grand Duke Gaspard: An invitation to a wyvern-hunting expedition which is declined and a shield embossed with the Inquisition’s insignia.

From Empress Celene and Marquise Briala: Royal Box seats to an Orlesian theatre troupe performance. Tash loves the performance, and his enthusiasm is well-recieved by the Orlesian people.

From Sera: A beautifully wrapped box containing a large and hairy spider. Then, a few days later, a likely-stolen gold bracelet with a large “T” scratched into it with a knife that Tash sometimes wears on one of his horns.  To Sera: Nothing. Then, a few days later, a garish necklace inscribed with the word “Arrows” in tacky colors. She wears it specifically to displease people and loves it.

[quandongcrumble]

Ok but Sera would totally give Blackwall a “Save a griffon, ride a Warden” t-shirt

[memoirsofratasum]

Aeromage Sanna: War Eternal

There has been a lot written about hope over the ages. That it doesn’t die, that there is always a sliver if know where to look and that’s enough to light an inferno. I’ve always been of the camp that hope is the product of hard work and determination, that it’s nothing passive you can just find like a pebble in a stream bed. You have to make it, even if it means doing the seemingly impossible. I wonder if Aurene and the commander would agree.

I had been tending to the wounded at Thunderhead Peak for what felt like years. There hadn’t been enough beds in the medical bay and we had to spread out into the larger cavern. We had lost some good soldiers, and others wouldn’t be the same. But it could have been worse. A lot worse. Kralkatorrik did not return for a round two and we were able to focus on those we could save in relative peace and quiet.

The mood in the mountain was somber. You could tell among the soldiers who had never faced bad odd before and those who knew that you can’t win every battle. But it was more than losing the battle that affected my patients. It was the loss of Aurene.

There had been so much riding on the young dragon that too many of the wounded claimed there was no point anymore and we should just give up. And untyrian attitude if I ever heard one! If you were still breathing that meant you could still do something! I did what I could to bolster their hope and had little time to myself to think about what had happened.

I never found that time either. After most of the wounded were healed up enough to be moved, the Pact had ordered a withdrawal from the fortress, leaving behind a skeleton crew and researchers. We may have lost but then mountain was still valuable. However we had only just returned to our own mountain at the Priory for a debriefing when new orders came.

Aurene was alive! And her and the commander were going after Kralkatorrik as we spoke! We all were ordered to board an airship immediately and follow the tracking signal within the crystal dragon. Gear was hastily packed back up and we were in the air within hours.

I don’t know much about this tracker but since I’m not an airship captain I don’t need too. It led us far from the Shiverpeaks, southwards towards the Clashing Ocean in all haste. I don’t think I’ve ever been on an airship flying this fast before. We knew we were nearing the right spot when we spotted airships from the other Pact orders coming in on the horizon. No one was sure what was going to happen and so we were told to be prepared for anything. I don’t think anyone could have prepared for what happened next.

The sky tore open from a massive rift and the gigantic glittering body of Kralkatorrik plummeted into the ocean followed by solid chunks of earth. Our airship had to pull up to avoid the sudden tidal surge. The sea must have been shallow at this spot or more landmass than we estimated fell from the rift since Kralatorrik’s body and earthen escort did not sink, but stayed fully visible on the surface. 

 All the airships stayed in position and we could see the blue form of Aurene and the commander circling above, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. Asuran scanning devices were placed on deck and the results I wasn’t allowed to see were shared among the net of airships with the conclusion that the dragon was out cold and the newly formed landmass was safe to land on. As an elementalist I would have loved to use those scanning devices for myself. I wonder what else they can do?

One of the other airships dropped the boxes of popup tents and supplies on the smallest island of the new landmass, allowing for a rudimentary outpost to get started while the rest of us disembarked and the commander finally landed. 

To say that people were excited would be an understatement. Not only was this place, uncreatively deemed Dragonfall, a new place to explore, it was new to Tyria itself! It was pretty clear that the land had been dragged out of Mists, likely pulled from Kralkattorik’s wake. We could learn so much about the Mists from this place.

But it wasn’t all Priory-style thrills. There was still a not-actually-asleep elder dragon to worry about. The outpost itself was parked right next to his tail! Every so often the tail would stir, causing the ground to shake and the water to surge, drenching the edges of the camp. Kralkatorrik was at our mercy for now, but that would not last forever and we had to act quickly.

The first order of business was scouting and establishing outposts in the other sectors. It was decided that the fastest way to scout the area was for team to fly down from an orbiting airship and report back on the landscape. Anyone who had a griffon or, like in mine and Tarnn’s case, a jackal who could effectively take the form of a griffon was called aboard the Order of Whisper’s ship The Silent Treatment, a small and quick medical airship. It was nimble enough to maneuver out of trouble should the need arise and fast enough that we would be back in only a few hours, just in time for outpost teams to move out.

There were three areas of interest to scout in Dragonfall. First we jumped to the south, diving headlong into a canopy so reminiscent of the Maguuma Jungle I was expecting to hear the drums and cords of the Itzel. It was a beautiful sight to behold. I wove Cirrus through the thick branches, following a pathway below that looked like a promising trail. There was the expected branded minions infesting the place, but also other figures moving together in formation through the underbrush. I wasn’t able to get a good look at them but Tarnn radioed in that they were Mist Warden ghosts, likely allies that could help bolster our own forces. Looks like his study into spirits was paying off. A source of fresh water was located and another group also announced that they had found a nice clearing and I confirmed there was a trail leading to it. After that I and the other elementalist cast some updrafts so everyone could get back on board.

The land to the west of the jungle was immediately much more hostile, chock full of undead and not the friendly kind. The humans were saying that this had to have been part of Grenth’s realm just as surely as the previous was Melandru’s. I can believe that. The air carried a foul scent and the sky was green. It was hard to tell if all the roaming undead were warring with each other or if they were just particularly territorial towards our trespassing. I have no idea how an outpost could be established in such a place but I was told there was an opening that seemed to be mostly ignored by the inhabitants that could be easily guarded.

There was something else in this area as well. I and a few others turned our attentioned to the southern coast, mostly to check if there was a settlement opportunity by the sea and partially to get some fresh air. But we had barely arrived before our griffons were beak to snout with some flying reptilian creatures! Our mounts were so startled that they scattered out of formation, causing the newcomers to give chase. Thankfully Aurene(!) arrived and herded the flying reptiles back to the cliffs and we were able to get calm our frightened mounts. Aurene apologized for the scare and explained that the skyscales were new to Tyria and were probably a little too curious for their own good. She invited us to land to get a closer look. The skyscales were definitely curious and kept sniffing at us, causing a few ruffled feathers. But my Cirrus and Tarnn’s Arkose were equally as curious, their sandy feathers shifting to scales as if trying them on. Aurene further explained that these skyscales were prime candidates as proper mounts for the war effort. She even had summoned the commander in order to use one for their mission. I wish I could say we had more time to talk, but we all had our duties and so after well wishes we returned to The Silent Treatment.

It’s almost kinda funny. Aurene is a dragon but you can tell she had spent so much of her life among Pact members. She was as professional and humble as any I’ve served with and speaking to her was like speaking to any other officer. Maybe it’s just me though.

While I was sad to leave Aurene and the skyscales behind, I was glad to leave the area as we headed north. We passed over Kralatorrik’s brandstormed covered body in silence and then came upon a conflagration. An entire forest was on fire but not being destroyed!. At first I thought this was exciting. What can I say, I’m an elementalist, I like fire. But mutterings of Balthazar squashed that. Even in death he still managed to make himself relevant. We dove off the airship without the usual commentary, some of the humans looked a little uncomfortable. 

One of the first things I noted and radioed in was how breathable the air is. Sure it smelled like smoke but it didn’t choke or burn the lungs. Normally I would have expected the smoke and fumes to have killed us before we finished diving. But we were able to breath and see clearly. Balthazar must not have had time to make renovations before his demise. There were the expected beasts; salamander drakes and hydras and the like. There were also strange shadowy creatures I didn’t recognize. When I asked about them all I received over the radio was a human saying they would tell me later. Must be a god thing. But I digress. A pass by the western coast proved fruitful. We found an open clearing mostly devoid of fire with flat ground and places for fortifications. With confirmation from the airship and a particularly daring griffon that there was a trail back towards the main Pact outpost, we returned to the ship and made our way back to base.

Our reports had spread fast. We saw the Olmakhan just exiting the gate for the Grenth clearing and the jungle team was already long gone. We were told to rest up, the Pact wasn’t going to wait around for Kralkatorrik and so we needed to be in top shape when the order was given.

While we sat around a fire with hot food and drink we got the rundown of what the scouting team had missed while out in the field. Word was that the commander was figuring out how to fashion a real dragonsblood spear using blood from the torn off wing. No details other than it was looking promising. Once the outposts were prepared and the commander was ready we’d face Kralkatorrik again, ideally before he woke up. With the way that tail thrashed I’d say there wasn’t much time. 

We got the call to action a few days later. The outpost engineers had set up brandstorm disruptors and ley line reflectors which would disperse the brandstorm shielding Kralkatorrik. While we were attacking the body, the commander and Aurene were to make their way underground to where the crystal dragon’s head was submerged for a more direct assault. Reminded me a little of the final fight against Mordremoth.

We watched as the brandstorm was pulled away, revealing the stone and crystal body of Kralkatorrik. He knew he was big, I had seen him more than once, but embedded in the rock and earth I could see how he once was mistaken for a mountain range. There wasn’t a lot of time to admire the scenery though. The commander was making their way down below and we needed to move. Almorra roared her signal and hundreds of mounts in a riot of colors descended upon the dragon’s body.

There were crystal lesions on his scales, injuries from the Mists that were not healing. They might not seem like much but those weak points would cause a lot of pain and distraction for the commander to do the real damage. This task wouldn’t necessarily take the army to perform, but the dragon’s branded minions were not sitting this one out. Menders attempted to out heal our attacks and gigantic branded monsters came out of hiding to defend their master. And then we’d go back to attacking the lesions. Rise and repeat. It wasn’t a slick and clean fight, it was rough and chaotic and maybe more than a little desperate. There was supposed to be a sign of the commander’s success but who knew what that would be. In the meantime we kept fighting.

And then it happened. 

We were scrambling over scales and stone when a surge of magic reverberated below us, something unbelievably strong but deep enough that it only knocked us off our feet. It would have been cause for alarm if it wasn’t for the change that came over the branded minions. They were suddenly stumbling and shuffling as if the gravity that held them on Tyria had shifted planes. In a way it did.

Almorra blew the horn for retreat as streams of rainbow light started to pour out from between the cracks in the scales, brighter and more numerous with each passing second. We had to get off Kralkatorrik’s body. Raptor and jackal riders scooped up the stranglers while springers and griffons made for the cliffs. A stampede of people and mounts cleared the elder dragon corpse in a matter of moments, leaving behind dazed and confused branded. And not a moment too soon. Just as the last sylvari was hauled up to safety, the body of Kralkatorrik burst in a flash of nearly blinding rainbow light.

The light reached into the sky before turning back towards the earth and speeding just over our heads and then pulled up again, like a griffon filled with the joy of flight. I don’t know who first shouted her name, but once they did I was able to clearly make out Aurene’s draconian form and brilliant prismatic wings. The cheer was deafening. She had done it! She had become an Elder Dragon!

I don’t know how long we all stayed on that cliff watching Aurene. She flew around us on her brand new wings and bid farewell to the commander and all of us before streaming towards the horizon. And just like that the war was over. Kralkaotrrik’s remains were nothing more than lifeless crystal and his minions were staggered without their leader. There would still be some mopping up but the major threat was gone.

That night the Pact Outpost was transformed into a party that I’m sure the norn skaalds with sing about for ages. Music, that engine degreaser they call spirits, even the rations were dressed up a bit thanks to some foraging in the jungle. The next day we would return to the mainland, spreading the word of our victory while research teams were free to study Dragonfall and the fallen dragon to their heart’s content. But right now the Pact was letting its hair down and I don’t think anyone was letting it down more than Almorra who we discovered will start singing after getting a few mugs in her.

There was one person missing from the festivities though. The commander was nowhere to be seen in the crowd. Tarnn was the one who finally spotted them, standing high above on the top of a docked airship and barely discernible against the night sky. They clearly wanted a moment alone. They certainly earned it. 

But if you looked in the direct the commander was facing, far out towards the edge of the world and let your eyes adjust a little, you could almost make out the gleam of rainbow light.

[allisondraste]

Convalescence (2/5)

Chapter 2: It’s Poetic

Story Summary: It has been four months since the Blight ended, and four months since Alistair and Lucia have seen each other. Relationships are hard, especially when there is no certainty that one still exists. (Sequel to “Let Me Go”)

Chapter Summary:  It is a lot easier for Lucia to deal with the affairs of the wardens than to deal with the affairs of the heart. It takes a friend to help her care for herself.

Pairings: Alistair x F!Amell, Alistair x F!Non-Warden Cousland, Nathaniel Howe x F!Non-Warden Cousland

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter 1

The crisp morning air tingled against Lucia’s face as she stood atop the battlements overlooking the Keep, her Keep.  Unable to sleep, as was her custom more nights than not, she had wandered outside in only her light linen leggings and tunic, hoping that the biting Fereldan wind would numb her heart and quiet her mind as it numbed her nose and fingertips.  It was a foolish notion, but one that gave her some measure of comfort more than tossing and turning in a bed that was too large for one person. Lucia liked the cold, anyway. It reminded her of her travels, the Frostback Mountains, and campfires with songs and stories over them.  It was the most at home she could feel at Vigil’s Keep.

Warden-Commander Amell. Hero of Ferelden Amell. She still shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her titles and the responsibility that they placed upon her.  The Keep had formerly belonged to the traitorous Rendon Howe and his family, but was seized and gifted to the Grey Wardens to honor their sacrifices for the Fereldan people.  It was a place to rebuild their presence and heal from the Blight that had nearly destroyed them. Since Lucia’s arrival multiple wardens had been successfully joined and those loyal to the wardens’ cause had volunteered their time and funds to insure that the fortress was nearly impenetrable .  And it was. The Keep withstood a siege of sentient darkspawn and allowed Lucia and her fellow wardens to save the city of Amaranthine. Her Keep and her wardens were something of which she should be proud. Yet she felt nothing but guilt.

Lucia had read the tales of Blights past, of noble heroes riding their griffon steeds to slay the Old Gods whose awakening caused the darkspawn to rise to the surface.  Five times in written history had this occurred, and in all but one instance, the Grey Warden who slayed the corrupted creature did so at the cost of their life. It was a hero’s sacrifice, one that Lucia did not make.  No, instead she had allowed two people she loved more than herself to make a sacrifice for her. Everybody lived, but at what cost? It seemed that everything had only worsened since she had slain the dragon. There were days, like this one, when she wondered if the world would have been better off if she had died in the typical Blight Hero fashion.

Then she thought of Alistair.  They had fought tirelessly under this same sky to gain the allegiance of the Dwarves, Dalish, and Circle of Magi.  Together they won the support of the landsmeet, the favor of the queen, and ended a Blight before it really even started.  Just the two of them alone had accomplished what it had taken armies and over a decade to do during the Fourth Blight. They had come to love one another during that hardship, an unwise decision, but one she could not bring herself to regret.  Alistair would have never let her make the sacrifice. At least this way, with Morrigan’s ritual, he had been allowed to live.

Lucia leaned forward against the parapet, elbows resting on the cold, rough stone.  She twirled the shriveled remains of a white rose between her thumb and index finger, and allowed herself a bitter, tearful laugh.  There were more wardens now than there ever had been since her joining, more people who would risk life and limb for her and her cause, yet she had never felt more alone than she did in this moment.  No matter how many bands of talking darkspawn into which she flung herself, nor how many duties she carried, she could not shake the memory of the last conversation she had with him.

She had been in a bad place, they both had.  She knew that they needed time and distance from the pain to heal, and freedom to work through an enormous grief in their own ways.  At the time, she had not been certain there was a future to be had with him. It was difficult to see past the demons in her head with whispers of an escape from the suffering and promises of contentedness.  Whispers and promises that sounded more like screams to her desperate heart.

Without a doubt, her choice to leave had been for the best.  However, the manner in which she left and the choice to not write him, not even once, were not.  She didn’t know how she expected him to react when he found her attempting to sneak away without a goodbye.  She didn’t know why she didn’t tell him she loved him before she left nor why she could not seem to remember how to write every time she picked up a quill and parchment.  What was she to say for herself anyway? That she was sorry for ripping his heart out, stomping on it, and running away because she was scared of what she had done? Knowing Alistair, though, he would have simply appreciated notice that she was alive.  

Hearing footsteps behind her, she wiped away a rogue tear that escaped down her cheek.  She turned to see a dark-haired man approaching her carrying a heavy woolen blanket. She furrowed her brows in confusion, wondering what Nathaniel could possibly want this early in the morning.

“Some of the guards saw you leave your quarters in the middle of the night, and were worried when you didn’t return.  I figured I might find you up here, attempting to freeze to death,” he remarked dryly as he draped the blanket around her shoulders.  “If you want to die, I can think of a hundred more noteworthy ways to go.”

“I’m not trying to freeze to death,” she retorted defensively, “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Troubled?”  Nathaniel’s tone changed, suggesting that he understood now was not a great time for banter.  He joined her in resting his elbows on the parapet.

“I’m fine.  Just… restless.” She looked straight ahead, not really focusing on anything in particular. It was a vain attempt to avoid his gaze. “You know, you’re an excellent commander, but a piss poor liar.”  He offered her a knowing look and his eyes flicked to the mummified rose in her hand.  “What’s that?” He nodded toward the flower.

“Its… my latest weapon of choice.”  She said, sarcasm enveloping her as a defensive barrier.

“A withered rose?”  His expression was a mix of amusement and irritation.

Lucia shrugged.  “It’s poetic.”

“Right.”  Nathaniel rolled his eyes in a display of insubordination that would have offended her had he not actually been more friend than fellow warden. “Permission to speak... candidly?”

“Always.”

“You think entirely too much.”

His remark caught her by surprise and she turned her head abruptly to look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I have seen you thumbing that rose with a sour look on your face every day since I’ve been here.” He was observant, she would grant him that much.  Either that, or she had been indiscreet. “That is a lot of thinking and looking miserable without doing anything about it.”

“It’s unwise to act without thinking things through,” she offered in her defense.  That was how she had always operated: consider all possible outcomes and make the best choice.  It was logical.

“Maybe so,” the other warden conceded, “But it is stupid to waste so much time thinking about the possibilities that you lose something important to you because you were too stubborn to act.”

“I don’t know what to do, Nathaniel!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Well, what does your gut say?”

“My gut? But that’s not how I -” “What does it say,” he interrupted, pressing her to answer.

“I need to go to Denerim, “ she stated definitively, surprised by her own certainty.

“Then we are going to Denerim,” Nathaniel ordered as if he were her commander now. He probably should have been, if she were honest. “Come on.”

“Now?” Panic seized her at the prospect of Denerim and Alistair. As much rumination as she had engaged in about what she could have or should have done, she was wholly unprepared to face him.  She had no idea if he would even want to see her.

“Yes. Now.”  Nathaniel whirled around as he spoke, waving for her to follow. “I’m tired of you moping about.”

True to his word Nathaniel insisted that they leave at that instant, allowing her a half hour or so to pack her things and collect her hounds as she refused to travel without them.  It was morning, and a perfect time to embark, or so he said. It was a full day’s travel to the capital, and it was safer in the daylight. She wanted to resent him for pushing her to make the journey, however, she could be nothing but grateful because she did not think she could bring herself to do it alone.  For all the things she had faced over the past few months, possible rejection from Alistair was the most daunting. What if he wasn’t even there? Would that be worse than him being there and not wanting to see her? She couldn’t be sure.

As they reached the city, Nathaniel rode on inside, but Lucia stalled by the gates as the feeling of dread overwhelmed her.  Rune and Fang whimpered and growled at either side of her, causing the horse to stir anxiously. Mabari were indeed too smart for their own good.  They knew that she was dragging her feet, and they knew that she was sad. She could no longer fool anybody into thinking she was okay. Not even the dogs.

“I know, I know,” she whined, not sure why she should have to explain herself to them, “I’ll talk to him.  I just need to take my time.” Both hounds barked cheerfully, satisfied with her promise.

“Hurry up,” Nathaniel shouted from ahead of her, clearly not as satisfied by her words “I can hear you thinking back there.”

She groaned and urged her horse forward into the expanse of Denerim’s market district.  It looked so much different than the last time she had seen it, although admittedly it had been immediately following the battle.  Everything was burning and Darkspawn corpses littered the ground at every turn. It had taken days for the smell of carrion and smoke to leave her nostrils.  

Now, the district was teeming with the life she had always known it to have.  Children played in the streets and gasped in amazement as the wardens rode by.  Judging from the whispers of “That’s her!” and “The Hero of Ferelden is here!” she knew that there would be little hope of reaching the castle before word did.

As she expected, news of the wardens’ arrival reached the castle ahead of them, as Queen Anora sent servants out to greet them.  Stable workers took their horses as they dismounted, another servant took the dogs, and a young woman, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen stood by the door, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Her majesty is waiting for you in the throne room,” the girl said bowing her head.  

“Thank you,” Lucia said softly and Nathaniel nodded.

The doors to the palace opened into an open vestibule that was attached to the main hall.  Lucia and Nathaniel moved swiftly across the room and through the heavy wooden doors ahead of them.  The hall was just as Lucia remembered it, only there were fewer people and less chatter. Sunlight filtered in through large windows near the ceiling and a contingent of guards stood by the throne.  Queen Anora sat, posture erect and very proper, at the far end of the room. She stood when she noticed the pair of Wardens and began to approach them, leaving her guards behind to grumble.

“Warden-Commander,” she exclaimed, “This is a pleasant, if not unexpected surprise.”  She paused, her eyes darting toward Nathaniel, an amused expression spreading across her face.

“It has been some time, your majesty,” Nathaniel said fondly.

“Indeed it has, my friend.” Anora nodded and examined his armor, “You are a Grey Warden now?”

“Apparently,” he answered sarcastically, “I came home from Starkhaven to nothing but rumors of my father’s atrocities.  The commander saved me from the gallows. I owe her my life.”

“Don’t we all?”  Anora and Nathaniel shared a smile filled sorrow that only the children of the two most infamous traitors in the land could understand. Then, Anora turned her attention to Lucia again, “I presume you did not travel to the capital to exchange pleasantries.”

“No.” She looked down, examining the grey stone floor beneath her, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.  It wasn’t, but she didn’t want to meet Anora’s piercing gaze. “I’m here to see Alistair.”

“Alistair is not in Denerim at the moment,” Anora explained, her eyes expressing sympathy that crackled in her voice.

“Oh.” There was no hiding the disappointment that overwhelmed Lucia. It was foolish of her to assume he would be there waiting for her when she arrived. Time had not frozen in her absence, and she should have known better than to get her hopes up.“Where is he?”

“He left for Highever yesterday morning.  It wasn’t to be a long trip, but he will not be returning for a few days,” Anora answered, quickly adding,“Of course, you and Nathaniel are welcome to stay in the palace in the meantime.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Nathaniel bowed his head in the first sign of reverence Lucia had seen from him thus far.  They must have known one another as children. There was a long-standing, mutual respect in the air between them that was wonderful to see.

The queen ordered for servants to show the two to their rooms, and Lucia just sighed solemnly. The anxiety of the moment lingered unresolved and buzzing about in her head.Several days of waiting was going to feel like a lifetime.  

“Are you all right,” Nathaniel asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and drawing her to the present.

“No.” She shook her head, releasing tears that clung to her lashes. “No I’m not”. It was the first time she had been truly honest with herself since she left.

Nathaniel gave her a few pats on the shoulder, his typical demonstration of support and sympathy.  In the midst of her emotions Lucia turned and embraced him tightly, both arms around his waist, and sobbed into his chest.  He tensed, shocked by the abrupt contact, but eased and returned the hug. She would later demand that he never tell another soul about this moment, but for now she needed comfort and he was a friend.

[etaeternum]

Revival

Bond of the Grey 

Chapter 1: Revival 

The second part of Mother of Griffons. You can start here if you want. I try to recap through the fic. Some parts might not make as much sense though.

Powers change within the Order of the Grey. The healing royal couple struggles with shadows of the past as they navigate responsibilities to their Kingdom and the Grey Wardens. Lieutenant Howe finds himself in a confusing relationship with a younger Warden, conflicting with his commitment to duty.

Displaced dirt floated through the air, settling to the ground as the battlefield calmed. Soldiers collected fallen allies, counting casualties as others built pyres. The standing aided the injured, walking back to the supply camp to be healed. Red tinged the creek running through the ravine, meeting up with the larger river ahead. Blood of enemies and allies soaked the ground and dripped into the waterway. Few remaining enemies retreated to the river, only to be taken down by the Inquisitor and her party on their journey to the elven temple. Though the battle proved a victory for the Inquisition, the losses continued to climb.

But Caoilainn lived. The breath of those surrounding the Grand Enchanter while she worked to heal the Warden Commander released in unison, echoing through the gully when Caoilainn’s gasp confirmed her survival.

“Maker!” Alistair yelled, watching Caoilainn emerge from his arms. Starving for air, she lunged forward her fingers grazing her neck as she heaved. “Thank the Maker, Caoilainn. You’re alive.”

It took but a moment for her heaving to mellow, breath caught, quenched by the humid air of the Arbor Wilds. Her palm came to her forehead and slid past her hairline as she observed her surroundings. The dark emptiness that had engulfed her faded away, dissolving. Eyes wide, she reoriented herself with consciousness and the environment.

Body regulated, breathing normalized, and life aligned with memory, she turned to Alistair, resting on her knees. The people surrounding them made space though Fiona stayed nearby to monitor Caoilainn.

Large silvery-blue eyes locked with Alistair's concerned hazel stare. Seconds dragged; her watery gaze, grateful and tired mirroring the energy of the ravine. Her cheeks cooled from the rush of heat flowing through. Alistair’s discomfort, present on his face and lined by worry called her attention.

Her history haunted what should have been a loving reunion. She recalled her shame; Alistair’s anger from the night before replayed in her mind. 'Ten fucking years, Caoilainn. I’m done trying.'

She had been doubtful of her worthiness for Alistair, and lured into the convenience and chemistry with her Lieutenant; she had cheated. Ten years of infidelity resulted from her weakness of will, compounded by grief, and magnified by her infertility; she had used Nathaniel as a distraction. But Alistair’s confidence and his persistent devotion to remedy their relationship won over her defenses, breaking down her walls when he found her at Skyhold prior the journey to the Arbor Wilds.

Though she had still questioned her worth, she told Nathaniel of the end of their casual amour in favor of her commitment to Alistair the night before the battle. But Alistair assumed the worst of the conversation and projected years of repressed anger in one short argument, resigning his willingness to continue their marriage.

Determined to have another chance with him, Caoilainn abandoned her post with the Wardens during the battle at the Arbor Wilds that day. In a decisive moment, she made Alistair her priority and put aside her responsibilities as Warden Commander. It resulted in the nearly fatal blow from which she just woke.

Now having been revived, she knelt across from Alistair, wordless. Her brows wrinkled in a plea, begging for forgiveness as her mouth turned to an awkward grin. Caoilainn laughed, lacking any other reasonable response to the strange emotions troubling her. Her simper, a giggle that grew to an inviting chuckle, asking Alistair to agree with the ridiculousness of their situation.

Alistair did not agree. The sound of her laughter he had but moments ago feared he would never hear again now insulted his presumptive grief. Fear and sorrow had led his imagination to the harrowing reality of life without Caoilainn while he waited for her to survive, and now she laughed. Rather than join the humor, his concern grew annoyed and frustrated. A stern face, displeasure expressed by creased brows and a frown though his playful sarcasm carried through his interruption.

“She thinks this is funny,” Alistair’s shook his head and spoke to Fiona before scolding Caoilainn. “Not funny, Caoilainn. What on earth were you thinking? Why would you do that?” He referred to her heroic escapades, jumping in front of an enemy who targeted Alistair. It caused the need for her revival by the Grand Enchanter who sat near them in the ravine.

Provoked by the prospect of Caoilainn’s death, Fiona’s own guilt as an absent mother had produced images of a conversation with her son about loss. She had hoped her words would resonate with him and perhaps he would remember them later. But it had been a vain wish, just a fantasy erased when Caoilainn awoke.

Fiona simpered and occupied herself with the kit of healing elements at her side, attempting to avoid their tiff.

Caoilainn’s laughter stopped and her emotions drew inward. A proud chin and bunched lips reserved her expression as she replied shortly, “I saved you.”

“Yeah?” He challenged, brows raised. “I can take a beating in a battle, Caoilainn. You know that. That was about something else entirely and you know it.”

“You were outnumbered,” she added, the maintenance of her composure dismissed his accusation.

“Oh? That, of course. Outnumbered. Because that never happens to me.” Desperate for explanations, Alistair’s voice rose; his loving and irritated interrogation continued. “I’m a king now not a delicate flower.”

A decade had passed since they fought side by side during the Blight. After taking the throne, Caoilainn became Commander of the Grey and dedicated herself to rebuilding the Order. Alistair’s responsibilities as Ferelden's King kept him in Denerim.

Silent, stubborn, Caoilainn waited for him to end his line of questions. The teary twinkle in her eye the only clue to the impact of his words.

His arms came to her shoulders. Fraught, he held her, forehead wrinkling with earnest. “Were you trying to prove that you love me?” He asked, and she stared back, her chin nodding an answer ever so slightly. “Damn it, Caoilainn. I know that.”

Tears pooled, but her steady frown and serious stare didn’t falter.

Overwhelmed with aggravation at her lack of response, he bowed his forehead to meet hers. With a long blink, Alistair released a stretched, tired sigh, revisiting all the sad images that bled through his imagination when he thought he lost her. “I would never forgive you if you had….” He looked away. The end of the statement hovered; the word that followed far too real considering the recent possibility of her death.

Caoilainn’s hand rose and met his cheek, her pinky-finger dragging past his jaw, guiding his face to their gaze. “Stop,” she murmured with comfort and compassion. The bob of her head and the widening of her eyes conveyed the intensity of her words. “Alistair, I'm right here. I didn't.” She respected his difficulty with the word ‘die.’

Leaning in, her lips met his. But Alistair did not reciprocate her kiss. He stared back, frowning and surprised by her affection. When she pulled away his arms wrapped around her frame, bringing her in for an embrace. His hand rested on the back of her head; their cheeks touched, and he whispered in her ear. “Don’t do that again.” Head tilted down and brows raised as his eyes tracked the collection of people standing nearby, he informed, “We have more to talk about…but it can wait until we have less company.” He rose from the ground and offered her a hand.

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear before grabbing his hand and rising. She stood across from him, luring eye contact from beneath long lashes and reminded, “I love you, Alistair.”

“I know,” he replied with a short-lived grin, avoiding her eyes. Joy hindered by confusion, complex emotions prevented his return of her message.

Her hopeful and apologetic eyes searched him for more, unfamiliar with Alistair's curtness, at least in this context. He gave her another weak smile before the two divided- Alistair back to his advisors and Caoilainn to gather with her army.

Bodies moved to pyres, built and burned in reverence to the dead, observed in silence. The armies marched back to the forward camp through the rest of the day and night. Chattering through their formation, the trip back relaxed but purposeful. The losses, higher than predicted, did not hamper the confidence provided by their victory.

“What's wrong, Lieutenant? You ain’t looking so great.” Hale questioned Nathaniel on their walk back. He had been quiet since the battle, despite the pleasant environment.

Nathaniel's vision of Caoilainn's death brought to light his own shame for their affair, resulting in a complete emotional shutdown. Old patterns found him: avoiding sadness with casual partners and pushing away those who cared. In this case, Hale. He had projected his guilt onto the young woman, considering the parallels of his friendship with Caoilainn and what seemed to be a growing relationship with Hale. The similarities unnerved him.

“I’m fine,” he fell back into the avoidant trait and caught himself. “We’ll talk more later.” Though he lacked the desire to talk about anything, considering how he imagined Hale’s behavior- matching her age, immature and selfish- he couldn’t leave her in the dark.

Talking to Caoilainn would no longer be an option. His gaze wandered to the Warden Commander, riding alone at the head of the Warden army. Many senior Wardens approached her to share their relief of her survival. She smiled and nodded, then resumed her slow trot.

Colors appeared brighter than ever before and perfumed scents of nature filled Caoilainn's nose as if for the first time. The sea of greens surrounded them, delicate vines drooped from boughs, and flowers grew from cracks in trees. A new experience, marching back to the forward camp with a different appreciation for life. Each breath filled her lungs with clean air, nature nourishing her soul, rejuvenating her.

That is until she coughed. A quiet fit to clear her throat, it lasted longer than expected and the itch never seemed to disappear. Between the noise and activity of the march, no one noticed, and it passed. My body is still healing. She assumed a reasonable explanation and played off the symptom though she rode with less vigor.

Other things occupied her mind. Alistair’s distance. It was unusual, unlike him to withhold affection, to not reciprocate an ‘I love you.’ She feared his commitment to the decision at the end of their argument the night before. Daring feats had not been enough to prove her love and devotion.We’ll work this out. She reminded herself. Of course, their resolution wouldn’t be simple, she had to remember this as she prepared for their conversation.

The ride back to the forward camp drained the already tired armies. Well into the night, they arrived. Tents set and camps divided with minimal effort despite the dark, almost a habit at this point in their journey.

Upon arrival, Caoilainn found a place to bathe and change. Washing the dried blood over healed wounds and cleaning her hair from the dirt and leaves matted in. She brushed tangles out with her fingers and braided her ashen-blonde locks. Groomed, clean, her armor presentable again, she set to find Alistair.

Desire for integrity and absolution drove each step. The decision to end her adulterous trysts with Nathaniel brought with it resolute commitment and certainty of her love for Alistair. She had lost this clarity long ago; after their coronation, when her sadness grew to resentment, then merged with guilt when the affair began. Now determined to reclaim what she lost, freed from internal questions of loyalty, and willing to accept whatever consequences Alistair would require to absolve her misdeeds, she found his tent.

Her nervous heart pounded, unsure how he would receive her. Shoulders back, chin held high, her confidence masked her anxiety; deliberate steps brought her into Alistair’s tent. She moved the flap and entered without asking.

Eyes homed on him sitting on his cot, removing his boots. He glanced up when she entered before looking back to his feet without speaking.

“You wanted to talk?” Caoilainn inquired; she braced herself for his response.

This is new. Alistair noticed the change in her behavior as out of the ordinary; Caoilainn rarely sought conversation risking potential for conflict. Having kicked off his boots, he leaned back on the cot. His palms rested behind him, and he gave a lazy grin as he evaluated the situation. “You’re eager to talk and I didn’t have to hunt you down. I could get used to this.”

Caoilainn’s cheeks flushed for a moment before she took a few long strides toward him. Feet pressed into the ground in a wide stance, she crossed her arms. A half-smirk broke through her serious posture. “I do, Alistair. I want to put the past behind us.”

His head nodded side to side, weighing her response before he gave his. A crooked smile, partly a frown, and a raised brow examined her reaction. He needed to tell her the truth, regardless of its unpleasantness. “If only we could put the past behind us. I wish it were that easy. Caoilainn, I’m so happy you’re alive. Truly. But I'm still angry about Howe. Livid, even.” The temperature on his face rose with his tone. His breath caught. “When I thought I lost you, I realized all the things I wished I’d said. The things I needed to say.”

It would be easy to forgive her. Effortless pardoning of her transgressions might permit them to bury the past and live happily ever after. But he had tried that already. He knew about her affair from the beginning. Feigning ignorance with hopes she would cease her illicit interactions only enabled her to continue. Even upon finding her at Skyhold, he diminished his anger and attempted to placate. The night before the battle, Alistair’s rage finally boiled to the surface. With it, he found vivid obstinance.

No longer willing to pacify for her convenience, even if it conflicted with his relief for her survival, he did not abandon himself.

She met his rise and fall of anger with an astute nod, realizing Alistair had told her of his feelings days ago but he minimized it in efforts to rekindle their love. Prepared to accept the consequence of her actions, but also desiring to reason with him, she searched for words in her reply. “I haven't… been with him since you came to Skyhold, Alistair. I told him we're through.”

Alistair snorted, and his head leaned back before returning to their conversation in a biting tone. “You know, I figured as much. And yet, I'm still angry.” He paused, again noticing when he spoke of the anger, his anger grew. Leaning forward, his elbows rested on his knees, fingers touched, and he shook his head. “Of all the men, Caoilainn. I can't stand him. He's a miserable excuse for a man. And what you did was wrong.”

Within his vision of Caoilainn’s death, Alistair projected Nathaniel as far too bold in his demeanor, speaking of her as if they were friends. He abused his position as Caoilainn’s successor as Warden Commander and made Alistair’s work as King with the Wardens even more difficult. The bitterness of the memory still lingered but Alistair kept the images to himself.

“I know that,” she answered. Chin lifted higher, taking his words with vigilance. His expression of anger had reason to be far more reactive, and she appreciated his tamed demeanor. “And I’m sorry.”

“And I believe that to be true,” he squinted, studying her bold elegance returning with full force. Her apology didn’t seem to make him any less embittered.

“Alistair, I still have to lead him,” she shared her concern, uncrossing her arms and opening her palms. She pleaded, rather than growing defensive. The ease at which she could act on her volatile nature and yell, lose her temper and ignore Alistair’s emotions tempted her. But she acknowledged escalating their arguments had never been effective; it did little more than create dissonance and rarely provided resolution. Despite her frustration with Alistair’s resistance to her apology, she remained calm. “He's my First Lieutenant. When I go back to Vigil's Keep-”

“You keep saying that,” Alistair interrupted, referencing the conversation they had by the pond a few days prior. His nose scrunched and his hand lifted to illustrate his quotation of her words. “‘When I go back.’ How are you so sure you’ll go back?”

“What do you mean?” Her brow furrowed, and her head tilted to the side.

“Well, you're here for Morrigan to find the cure, right? That's kind of the whole reason we're in this mess. So what if she finds it?” He took a moment to study her body language in response to his critical evaluation. “Caoilainn, we won't be Grey Wardens anymore.”

Her shoulders slouched and her eyes grew larger but she didn’t reply.

“There it is. That’s what I thought,” he grinned, but his words stabbed with resentment. He pointed at her. “You haven’t thought that far ahead.” The anger made him bolder, he named her shortsightedness.

Caoilainn couldn’t lie. She hadn’t considered the rippling effects of being without the Taint. The lack of forethought embarrassed her. “It's hard to imagine life without the bond.”

“Tell me about it,” he gave a sour chuckle, forehead lifting. “I've done it since you left the palace. But my blood still craves it.” Alistair had never explained the challenges of being without the Wardens to anyone; another area of long held resentment toward Caoilainn he had denied himself.

“Oh…,” the news hit her with force; yet another reminder of her selfishness. Her life revolved around the Grey Warden connection, its significance something she endorsed to her army. But she never considered what it would be like for Alistair to live without it. “You never told me.”

“You never asked and I couldn't reach you.”

Shaking her head, she closed the space between them and knelt at Alistair’s feet. Her head ducked beneath his, her hands rested on his knees, looking up from her place beneath him. “I'm sorry. I know that’s not enough but I'm so sorry for everything. Alistair, please forgive me.” Give me the chance to make it up to you.

His palm cradled her cheek, and he dipped his head. A sad but playful grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No matter how angry I am, it won't stop me from loving you… and that’s despite my best efforts. But I need time, my Queen.” His last statement was final.

Lips tightened in a grim smile, she gave a short nod. A sinking feeling in her chest pulled her attention away. She used his knees as leverage and rose from the ground. “We’ll talk more at Skyhold?”

“We will,” he confirmed, leaning back on his cot again.  “For now, I want to focus on getting out of Orlais.”

A chuckle escaped her; the only response she could think of under these circumstances. Resigned of efforts to pursue him further, and uncomfortable with her obvious inexperience with Alistair needing space, she turned to walk from his tent.

Before Caoilainn could take a step, Alistair pushed off his cot and reached for her hand. He pulled her in, arms wrapped around her waist, requiring hers to reach around his neck. His nose nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Silence held respect for pain and shared wariness of the path toward resolution. Their embrace released, and she withheld a sigh. Reluctant, heart heavy, Caoilainn returned to her tent. He needs time, she assured herself in response to thoughts of his dejection and her wish to allay his pain.

[fanfoolishness]

no words for heaven or for earth (9/9)

Hawke was left in the Fade, but Varric thinks, or hopes, that she’s still alive. And he has some surprising evidence. Read here at AO3.

Part 1: Where’s Hawke? |  Part 2: because you aren’t here | Part 3: the lonely ruined tower | Part 4: what’s real, anyway?  | Part 5: the birds in the hedgerows | Part 6: a rain of parchment | Part 7: the streets of Kirkwall | Part 8: the hanged man, reversed

***

Part 9: every good tale deserves an epilogue

Varric wiped the sweat from his brow, trying not to smudge the ink on the half-written letter before him.  It was the fifth such letter he’d written this morning.  Good news had to be shared, even if it meant writing letters in the stifling desert heat.

He took a break to let the ink finish drying, leaning back in the rickety wooden chair.  He was grateful for a lot of things this morning, but right this second, he was grateful to be in a room at Griffon Wing Keep instead of a cramped tent.  This room was big enough for a camp bed, and it was there his gaze kept drifting to where Min Hawke’s dark hair lay tumbled over the pillow as she slept.

Cassandra, Vivienne, Solas had all assured him that no demons had followed them out of the Fade, and nothing evil had hitched a ride back with any of them.  Hawke was still, improbably, amazingly, Hawke.

She wasn’t unmarked by her time in the Fade, of course.  There were two nasty wounds on her side, the knock to her head from the false Arishok, signs of dehydration.  And there was the other thing… Varric wasn’t sure how she was going to take the news of that development.  He sighed.  She was Hawke.  She would figure it out.

He leaned forward, the pen familiar within his grip, and he finished the letter.  When it was done he blew on the ink until it dried and folded it up carefully.

“Writing more letters, then?” asked Hawke.

He nearly fell over in his haste, trying to get out of the chair.  Maker’s breath, but she looked wonderful -- her hair a tousled mess, a healing bruise on her forehead, her lips cracked.  

She smiled, radiant.

He sat at the front of the flimsy camp bed beside her, hoping it would bear both of their weights without buckling.  “You scared the shit out of me.”  He brushed her hair back out of her eyes, resting his hand against her cheek.

“I scared you?  You do realize where I’ve just been, don’t you?  If anyone’s to be scared, it’s me,” said Hawke, laying her hand on his.  Her eyes were bright.  “Varric, I -- thank you.  Thank you for everything.  For finding me.”

He waved his other hand at her.  “This is just a suggestion, but maybe you should never do that again,” said Varric.  “You really do have the worst luck, don’t you, Sparrow?”

She groaned.  “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she closed her eyes.  “If you need to talk about it…”

“Not yet,” she murmured.  “There was so much -- all of my deepest fears, wishes, longings.  The Fade was never for people like us, Varric.  At least you’ll never have to go again, at any rate.”

Varric nibbled at the corner of his lip.  “Um… about that.”

“Oh?”

“How do you think I sent you those letters?”

She lifted her head, her pale blue eyes clear, and he pulled his hand back.  “I have no idea.  I couldn’t figure it out.  They helped me wonderfully, but I couldn’t understand why they were there.”

“Turns out that unless you’re already someone Fade-adjacent, like a mage or a Seeker, being in the Fade… it’ll do things to you.”  He shrugged.  “I wrote those letters in my dreams.  Something about wanting to find you more than anything else -- ahh, you get the idea.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, then winced when the action made the bruise on her forehead wrinkle.  “A dwarf who can dream!  What will they come up with next?  Is it permanent?”

“It didn’t seem to be the first time around, but Solas gave me the once-over after we came back out with you,” said Varric.  “Going into the raw Fade a second time… yeah, he thinks it’s permanent.”

Hawke’s mouth fell open.  “Oh, Varric.  I hope they aren’t bad ones, at any rate.”

“They’ll be better now, I think.”  He leaned down, kissing the unbruised part of her temple.  She hummed contentedly.

He studied her face, worn with new lines beneath her eyes, evidence of scars she would always carry.  It wasn’t fair.  She’d already given so much.  She shouldn’t have had to go through this alone.  

She gave him a rueful smile.  “Perhaps your dreams will help you write new stories.  I hear human authors use their dreams for inspiration all the time.”  She paused for a moment, considering.  “Speaking of dreams…”  She frowned.  “Mine seem different.  Richer.  Wider, somehow.  I don’t know how to describe it.”

Varric hesitated.  “Remember how I said being in the Fade’ll do stuff to you?”

Hawke’s eyes widened.  “Varric…”

“Well… um…”

“Varric…”

But she saved him from having to explain things.  The bedspread caught fire under her fists.

“What the --” she shrieked, smacking the flames out with her hands and wads of blanket.  Thankfully, the flames smothered before Varric had a chance to try and help.  “Are you serious?”

Varric shrugged uneasily.  “Turns out that being in the Fade can make the right person… develop magic.  So, uh.  Congratulations.”

Hawke just stared at him for a few moments, smoke black and gauzy in the air beside her, the smell of the scorched bedspread acrid on the air.  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, pursing her lips.  “Shit.”

***

Dearest Bethany,

I’m here.  I’m alive.  I’m going to be all right.

Words can never be enough to thank you for what you did for me, for how you and Varric brought the others to help me.  I will never, ever forget it.

Things are broken with the Wardens.  Warden Clarel was tricked by Corypheus and his worm Erimond; the Wardens were forced into killing each other with blood magic.  The Inquisitor is going to execute this Erimond bastard when they return to Skyhold, and I’m glad.  It was vicious.  I’m so grateful Aveline got you away from them.

Warden Alistair has gone to Weisshaupt to sort it out, and I think the Wardens will recover in the end.  I expect they’ll want to see you again in time.  But I am hoping you can stay near Kirkwall a little longer.

There’s so much to tell you, Bethany.  I made it out of the Fade, thanks to you and Merrill and the others.  But I guess being there in the flesh, for such a long time -- it changes you.  

The mages here tell me I’m not possessed, and I’m still me.  But whatever is in me of Dad, the Fade has brought it out.  

I have magic now.  I’m… a mage.

Not a powerful one, mind.  They were quite clear on that.  I’ll never be able to summon half the firestorms or the blizzards you were always so adept at.  But there are little things I can do… and there are the dreams.  They’re different now, full of birdsong and soft voices, and a green light that never fades.

I’m going to need a teacher, Bethany.  Will you help me?  Like Dad helped you?

Varric is coming back with me, just enough for me to get settled before he returns to the Inquisition.  He’s got to see this Corypheus business through.  I would stay and fight with him, but I need -- I need to see Kirkwall.  And I want to see it again with you.

Expect me at the new moon, sister.  I love you dearly.

Your sister, forever and always,

Min

PS: Have I mentioned that Varric and I have fallen in love?  Because we have.  I’m not joking, either.  And I’ll have all the details for you when I arrive, no matter how red Varric’s ears get.  (If you have the right topic of conversation, he actually blushes quite easily, it’s adorable.)  

PPS: I mean it, Bethany.  We really are in love.  No joking, I promise.

PPPS:  (Yes, we’ve slept together, and IT’S AMAZING, I really do mean it, ALL THE DETAILS when I come home!)

***

The light of the twin moons was pale and wan on the desert sand.  Hawke rubbed her eyes.  It was a beastly early hour, and cold as anything.  Still, though, she knew it was better than trying to travel beneath the fierceness of the sun.  Insects buzzed in the dark, their night-chorus layered and lush.

“It’s a long ways back to Kirkwall,” she said.

Varric nodded.  “Don’t I know it.”  He adjusted Bianca on his back, making sure she sat snugly with his pack.  

“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.  I’ll be all right.”

“I know,” he said.  “You survived the Fade, didn’t you?  But I’d miss you too damn much.”

“You’re terribly sentimental.”

“What can I say, Hawke?  You bring out the best in me,” said Varric.  And he reached out, folding her hand within his own, and she twined his fingers with his beneath the moonlight.  

“It’s only because I love you.”

“Now who’s sentimental?” he asked, his voice a husky laugh.  She bent and kissed him, hard, until they both burned for breath.  She pulled away reluctantly, and only because she knew the dawn would soon be coming.

She put one boot down into the sand, then the other, in a familiar dance.  Varric’s steps beside her felt nearly as familiar as her own.  She walked into the dark beneath the pale white moons, beneath the stars, and she thought of home.

*

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Author’s note: 

It's finally finished!  I have finally atoned for leaving Min Hawke in the Fade on my very first DA:I playthrough, and also satisfied my deep and burning desire for Hawke to fall in love with Varric.  This is not the end for my stories about these two, but it's such a relief to have this incredibly important part of their relationship finally completed.  I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing about it!

A few notes:

Min's sparrow in the Fade?  She thought it was Bethany's.  It was actually her latent magic becoming activated and growing in the Fade, which was why the sparrow became more powerful as the final chapters finished.  Min only half-realized it at the end of Chapter 8, but she had assumed she was imagining it, or that using the sparrow to make weapons was something limited to the Fade alone.

Min's minor mage skills will be easy to manage in some ways, difficult in others.  Her fighting style's going to be awesomely augmented with barriers and spirit blades, but nights will get more difficult, as they will for Varric.

I really want to do some time in Kirkwall with Min and Bethany (and Merrill and perhaps even Anders), and training to use her magic as well as becoming reacquainted with the others.

Min will likely visit Skyhold multiple times during the remainder of the Inquisition years.

Where she and Varric will have obnoxiously loud sexytimes now that the cat is out of the bag.

Varric does learn to use dreams for inspiration.  Some of those books do poorly, being strange and out of the normal realm of his work, but one series inspires an entirely new genre, something one reviewer describes as "scientific fiction."

[anjelica-grey]

As promised, here's my last contribution to #dragonageday : "Save a Griffin, Ride a Warden," a new design celebrating--um--wildlife conservation. Yeah, that. 😳 Find it here: redbubble.com/people/anjelicagrey/works/42999417 #greywardens #alistairtheirin #griffons https://www.instagram.com/p/B5rPrXUH64Z/?igshid=h8o8apupit45

[greyeyedgriffin]

Pssst, I dare you to do that ship meme with Cait and Ben (also look Ma, no anon!)

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - Round 1: until the very second he’s revealed the be an Envy demon. Round 2: As long as they’re willing to put up with each other, so basically forever

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Round 1: Caitlin falls at a reasonable rate but takes forever to realize it. Ben falls a little quicker but is much the same (WHAT ARE THESE FEELINGS?!) Round 2: It takes Caitlin a few years, because of rebuilding trust etc.

How was their first kiss? - Obnoxiously sweet

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Ben, but it took Caitlin a while to realize that’s what he was actually asking

Who is the best man/men? - Nathaniel Howe

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Hawke

Who did the most planning? - Leliana, she also officiated

Who stressed the most? - Caitlin was much more open about her stress, Ben was super low key but screaming on the inside

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - No templars, no other wardens save those at Vigil’s Keep, Cassandra, Solas, Vivienne, basically anyone who knew what Ben was and reacted negatively

Sex:

Who is on top? - Ben

Who is the one to instigate things? - Usually Ben

How healthy is their sex life? - Round 1: Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right nowRound 2:Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now 

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Warden stamina *winkwonk*

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - I think Ben takes pride in turning Caitlin into a mess

How rough are they in bed? - Varies. Some days you just need sweet softness, other days you want to shake the masonry

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - 1

How many children will they adopt? - Do the wardens count?

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - It’s pretty equal, but Caitlin does have to do commander work a lot

Who is the stricter parent? - Caitlin

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Both, the griffon and roof incident made them both wary

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Caitlin

Who is the more loved parent? - Both

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Caitlin

Who cried the most at graduation? - Caitlin

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Ben

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Caitlin

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Ben

Who does the grocery shopping? - They both do

How often do they bake desserts? - If Cait’s got the time, at least once a week if not more

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Caitlin insists on balance

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Ben

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Ben

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Ben

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Both

Who is really against chores? - Neither

Who cleans up after the pets? - Caitlin, unless she’s incapable (sick, wounded, etc.)

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Ben

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Ben

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Ben

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? -  Caitlin

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Both, but Caitlin considers it her job and does it the most

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Caitlin LOVES DECORATING, Ben gets dragged along for the ride

What are their goals for the relationship? - They had to relearn a lot of trust, so it’s mostly keeping it that way and keeping each other safe

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Neither, between farmboy habits and being a warden they’re up early

Who plays the most pranks? - Ben, the jerk.

[erynnar]

It was not long after the practice session with the new weapons that Wynne returned, the good news was that Drysi was the only victim. There had been others he had chatted up, but he had not had the time to force himself on them, for which Kai was extremely grateful, as were Irving, Greagoir, and Wynne herself. More victims would have made things even more complicated, not to mention having to confront the additional emotional anguish.

Kai paid the innkeeper and pulled up the hood of her cloak and put the veil across her face. It was one thing to have her face exposed here, but on the road was another thing altogether. The others saddled the Ceffyls while Wynne packed and gathered what little she brought with her in her run from Highever to get to Kai's side.

Luckily, Gnat had no problem riding though she would have to ride in front of Jarren until they could get her a Ceffyl of her own. Kai lost the coin toss between her and Zev on who would have Oghren sitting in front of them, he gave her a sly smile and a wink. She narrowed her eyes at him. She suspected him of cheating somehow, he only gave her a low chuckle and a kiss. After a very public and somewhat disturbing display of affection between Oghren and Felsi, Zev and Jarren got Oghren settled up in front of her. Kai took a tentative sniff, he actually didn't smell as bad as he usually did. "Felsi made you take a bath, didn't she," Kai giggled.

"Bah, Felsi and I did the aquatic Rhumba, Warden, you should try it in the bathtub some time."

"I still say she tricked you into taking a bath" Kai teased him, "I think the sex was her way of getting you in the tub."

"Sodding women, you’re all tricky wenches," Oghren growled at her.

Kai laughed at him, "I think I should send her a present. I am just glad you and Felsi got to be together, Oghren," She patted his shoulder consolingly. Kai turned Luna towards the road once the others were all mounted and ready to go. Kai said goodbye to Felsi and the barkeep, before she rode off through the town, waving back at the villagers who were waving to them.

Timothy motioned for them to stop before they had gotten to the edge of town. "My lady, I can't thank you enough for what you did. Your man Jarren came with the news this morning, I think it did Drysi a lot of good. That Templar can no longer hurt her, and Nila said that the girl fell asleep without bad dreams for the first time. The poor thing has been exhausted with fear. Nila made these for you," Timothy handed Kai a bag which, when she opened it, she discovered it contained food wrapped up for their trip, including a whole pile of cookies. Sten would be so disappointed if they ate them all, she made a note to save some of the cookies for him. She had reason to know that Nila made some of the best in all of Ferelden.

She smiled at him, "Give Nila our thanks, The Silver Griffon will be back." He took the bag and put it in her saddlebag for her before giving her hand a squeeze.

"Goodbye, my lady," Timothy waved and smiled as they left to take the North Road to Highever.

They stuck to the North road as the terrain was rocky and too hard for the Ceffyls to try to pick their way across land. The sunshine sparkled, and a slight breeze kept the sun from making them too warm, a lovely day for a ride, if this were any ordinary day, in an ordinary world where there weren't bad things going on. She should have known it wouldn't last.