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anew-flame · 3 months

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Just wanted to post my Trespasser epilogue for my Inquisitor, Rhaella Trevelyan. This was my very first playthrough of any Dragon Age game, and I’m happy with my choices! Might do a second playthrough with everything exactly the same because I’m not ready to say goodbye 🥺

Under a cut to preserve your dashes plus hide spoilers:

In short, the Inquisition was disbanded. Some were relieved to see the unpredictable organization dismantled. Others prepared to remember the Inquisition’s good works and the many lives it saved. Those who had served returned to their former lives, knowing they had stopped a great evil from destroying the world…and hoping that the peace for which they had fought remained, once the Inquisition was gone.

With the Dragon’s Breath disrupted and any hope of a swift victory dashed, the Qunari retreated back to the North. Few knew what debates were waged in Par Vollen, but not long after the Exalted Council, the Qunari launched new attacks against Tevinter. Their aggression caught the already unstable Imperium off guard. Tevinter was soon mired in a war many feared could spread across Thedas.

The Exalted Council remained intact, advising Divine Victoria on important matters. Cassandra served for several years. While she often disagreed with Leliana’s policies, the former Right and Left Hands of the Divine shared a mutual respect and worked well together.

Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess.

The end of the Inquisition as it had been sent shock waves through the College of Enchanters. Madam de Fer ably played on the mages’ fears. New followers united to build a new circle — with Vivienne as its Grand Enchanter — in direct competition with the College. What the Circle lacked in numbers, they made up for in political connection; soon they were a force to be reckoned with. The two institutions settled into an uneasy coexistence across the South, vying for power.

After the Exalted Council, Leliana devoted herself fully to the Sunburst Throne and her dream of reshaping the Chantry. Within a year, she removed restrictions surrounding Chantry priesthood, allowing men and women of all races to be initiated and ordained. The decree was followed swiftly be her decision to return the Canticle of Shartan to the canonical Chant, a move that divided Andrastians deeply. A rebellion to renounce her and return the Chantry to its former state arose, beginning first in Orlais, then spreading to other parts of Thedas. Divine Victoria was resolute, holding her ground even after several unsuccessful attempts on her life. Seemingly unconcerned with the assassination attempts, she held up the hostility leveled against her as proof that she was on the right path.

With the Inquisition disbanded, Sera joined the Inquisitor in officially retiring from scaring people in high places. By formal account and agreement, both would lead boring, safe lives nowhere special doing not much at all. And with that comforting lie, those in power continued their fragile lives as though all was back to normal. Meanwhile, Red Jenny, an entirely separate person not at all collectively embodied by Sera, the inquisitor, and countless friends continued to make a difference, or just have fun, where and when the impulse struck.

With frequent visits to her Widdle, of course.

Perhaps most unnerving was Sera’s standing offer to the Divine: “When the nobs piss about with your Left Hand or Right, call on Red Jenny to give them two fingers.”

Varric took up the role of Viscount and, with the help of his friend Hawke, rebuilt Kirkwall’s damaged infrastructure. Under his rule, the city-state finally resumed its place as the major trade hub of the Free Marches. He continued to ignore all mail from both the Merchants Guild and the Prince of Starkhaven.

With the inquisition disbanded, the Bull’s chargers returned to taking jobs throughout Orlais and Ferelden. Fighting demons and clearing out the remains of Venatori forces, the Iron Bull did his part to restore order to Thedas.

Many of the jobs brought the Chargers close to the Imperium’s border, where, from time to time, in a border-town villa… Bull and a certain Tevinter magister would spend a few hours together before life pulled them apart again.

After the Inquisition disbanded, Cullen and the Inquisitor retired to private life together. Unburdened by the restrictions of their offices, they continued doing good works on their own terms. That is, after a long-overdue visit to Cullen’s siblings, who were overjoyed to meet their new sister-in-law.

Dorian returned to Tevinter to take his father’s place in the Magisterium. As rumors flew about the Imperium’s infighting, Dorian was spoken of often as a voice of resistance against corruption. Along with Magister Maevaris Tilani, he formed a group called the Lucerni to restore and redeem Tevinter — a fight many thought hopeless.

Those fighting by Magister Pavus’s side noted that he kept in constant contact with the Inquisitor via message crystal. Whether for vital information or for moral support, these talks seemed to give Dorian the strength to continue his fight.

On one occasion, Venatori forces ambushed Dorian, who likely would have died had not an unnamed mercenary band led by a Tal-Vashoth warrior crossed Tevinter’s border and mounted a dangerous rescue operation. The mercenaries left a trail of freed slaves and dead Venatori in their wake, enabling Dorian to escape. When asked about the Tal-Vashoth in question, Magister Pavus declined to comment.

Them Rainier was shown mercy when none was deserved, and set on a path of redemption. This gift, so compassionately given, needed to be shared. Freed from his obligations to the Inquisition, Rainier traveled Thedas, giving hope to the condemned and the forgotten.

In the deepest prisons and pits of Thedas, he found, if not goodness itself, its potential. By showing faith in those who had none, Rainier lifted them up and made them into something better than they were.

With the Inquisition disbanded, Josephine made her farewells and returned to Antiva and her family. She was soon approached by an agent from the House of Repose, whose assassins had been killed by Inquisition agents on Josephine’s behalf. Far from being offended, the House of Repose was inquiring as to whether Josephine might have need of their services. She quickly persuaded them she had no need for assassins, but instead hired them as guards for the Montilyets’ new trading vessels. Rivaini pirates looking to rekindle an ancient feud soon learned that the Montilyets’ ships were not lightly boarded, and her house prospered greatly.

Cole returned to the Fade, saying that there was more pain coming, and that he knew where Compassion would be most needed. He promised that his friends in the Inquisition would remember him… and that where the hurt was greatest, he would help.

After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor’s story about Fen’Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf’s forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned.

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anneapocalypse · 2 years

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Dragon Age: Asunder

Crosspost. Originally posted on dreamwidth on 06/15/20.

A religion without ideals is tyranny.

–Divine Justinia V

"This is our power. We may unleash great destructive force, or we may control it. It is a choice we must make wisely, for this power can bring great suffering to others."

–Wynne

Asunder is the third novel in the Dragon Age universe, written by David Gaider and published in 2011. It takes place after Dragon Age II and before Inquisition. As a story, it deals with the growing tensions between mages and templars at the White Spire in Val Royeaux and across Thedas, and also explores some of the intricacies of magic in this universe, particularly with regard to Fade spirits.

At this time, following Anders' attack on the Kirkwall Chantry and the ensuing battle between the mages and the templars, the College of Magi has been dissolved. This means that the First Enchanters from the various Circles are no longer allowed to convene, effectively isolating the Circles from one another. At Val Royeaux's White Spire, a series of murders has drawn the attention of the Seekers, with Lord Seeker Lambert arriving to personally oversee an investigation.

Meanwhile, our old friend Wynne arrives at the White Spire about to embark on a mission to save a friend of hers from possession. She enlists the help of Enchanter Rhys and Knight-Captain Evangeline.

So yeah there's a lot going on in this story, and though it's not immediately clear how all the threads connect, they definitely do. There is also a plain old civil war in Orlais as well as the mage-templar conflict, with a lord looking to depose the Empress and take the throne. This is really only a vague backdrop in Asunder; we'll learn all about it in The Masked Empire.

Spoilers follow.

Rhys, Cole, and the Nature of Spirits

The arcs of these two characters are so deeply intertwined that I don't feel I can really separate them.

It turns out the main character, Rhys, is Wynne's son. This caught me by surprise as I'd totally forgotten that Wynne even had a son, but it's actually established in party dialogue in Origins. Rhys himself is a "spirit medium," and communicating with benevolent spirits is a particular talent of his and part of his research, though he has been forbidden from pursuing that research any further since the Kirkwall incident and the templars tightening restrictions.

Spirit healing is a particularly interesting specialization to me because if you read the Codex entries, you learn that this magic is specifically drawn from spirits perceived to be benevolent or at least nonthreatening—spirits of compassion, hope, faith, and so forth. Templars are wary of it, but it's not forbidden. Wynne held this specialization in Origins, as well as being the first character we meet who was bound (some might say possessed, though that's up for debate) by a benevolent spirit, which had saved her life in battle at Kinloch Hold.

I did not know Cole was in this book! I also did not know Cole was a SERIAL KILLER. Now I'm still early in Inquisition, so that information may be in there and I haven't gotten to it yet, but it was a surprise for me. This sure makes it interesting that he's a companion in the game, and also perhaps does not make a great case for benevolent spirits.

Cole calls into question what Rhys knows about spirits and about his own abilities. We ultimately aren't given a definite answer for why Rhys couldn't sense what Cole truly was, whether Cole was influencing his mind the whole time, or whether it was simply Cole's sincere belief that he was human that made him manifest as human to Rhys.

I kinda wish the development of Rhys and Cole's friendship had been shown in full and not just summarized, though I realize there probably wasn't room for it. Nevertheless, I though it was really interesting. Rhys is certain Cole is not a spirit—that if he has, Rhys would be able to sense him as such. But if you've met Cole in Inquisition, you already know that is in fact what he is, though as is revealed in the book's epilogue, there was a real Cole, a boy brought to the tower and forgotten in the dungeon where he died, alone save for the spirit of compassion who stayed with him and comforted him in his final hours. The Cole we meet is described as a young man, around twenty, so a bit older than I'd read him for in-game, and not a child.

Rhys also could not sense the spirit in Wynne. It seems that once a spirit has bonded to the soul of a mortal and they have become one, the spirit cannot be sensed in the same way. Presumably Rhys also would not have been able to sense Justice, had he met Anders. I am curious, then, whether Cole the spirit possesses any of Cole the human. It does not seem like he possessed his body, as Justice possessed Kristoff's, and I'm not sure that it's possible for a spirit to possess the soul of a mortal once they've died. It's very possible Cole is just a different case but it did make me wonder.

Hedge Magic

Cole is, or at least appears to be (and the human Cole probably was), what is called colloquially a "hedge mage" and formally "arcanist derangement." If a mage is left untrained and never learns to consciously channel their power through spells, their magic will express itself in involuntary and unpredictable ways—some of which may not even be immediately recognizable as magic.

Who is actually considered a hedge mage seems to depend on who you ask. The Chantry stance seems to encompass just about anyone trained outside the Circle&,mdash;the Chasind "witches," for example, or Avvar shamans. The wiki even lists Morrigan as a hedge mage, which to me seems frankly ridiculous. Morrigan possesses unusual abilities, most notably shapechanging, but based on the way Morrigan uses magic in Origins I think it is clear that she knows spells, and has great control over the magic she wields. Morrigan wasn't trained by the Circle, but she absolutely was trained. Morrigan and Cole aren't remotely in the same category to me.

Blood Magic

The story raises some interesting questions about the nature of blood magic, which I'd like to write more about later, but I'll cover it in brief here. Knight-Captain Evangeline, a templar at the White Spire, finds the use of phylacteries to track mages a little too close to blood magic for her tastes, "A bit of hypocrisy in the name of the great good" as she puts it. We actually see Evangeline use a phylactery in this game, by holding it and concentrating to "channel power" into it, causing it to glow brighter the closer it comes to the mage whose blood it holds. This definitely does seem like magic. I don't know what else it could be in the context of this universe. Templars are not mages but they are using magic which says some interesting things about the nature of magic and of lyrium specifically.

Similar questions have been raised in this series about the use of darkspawn blood by the Grey Wardens, and whether the Joining is a form of blood magic. My question is this: does anything involving both blood and magic fall into the category of Blood Magic? Or is Blood Magic specifically the practice of drawing mana from the life force contained in blood? Because see I would tend to say the latter, which would mean that neither the phylacteries nor probably the Joining qualify. But this does raise interesting questions about the nature of magic either way. One could also argue that demons are drawn to the spilling of blood in general, and so any spell or ritual involving blood will attract them, and this is what qualifies them as blood magic, not the act of drawing mana from the blood specifically.

The Circle and the Chantry

It turns out that Pharmond's research on the Rite of Tranquility was sanctioned by the Divine herself, who is actively looking for ways to change the Circle. This provides some useful context for Inquisition!

From Evangeline's point of view, we are told that "Once upon a time the Chantry had considered the idea of a mage rebellion unthinkable as well." I… highly doubt that this is true. That may well be the official stance, and Evangeline may well believe it, but I'm certain they've always been aware of the possibility. You don't create an order like the templars to maintain control of people without the awareness that they may resist that control.

It is pretty clear at this point that the Circle as it currently exists is not working. Asunder works well to highlight that even in the absence of the kind of egregious abuses we see in Kirkwall, locking up grown adults and treating them like children who can't control themselves does not foster safety. I've argued that some kind of checks on magical power are probably necessary to prevent abuses of that power and I still think that, but I also think that under the existing system, the templars have far too much power over other people, and that kind of power will lead to abuse.

The Seekers

If the Seekers of Truth are supposed to be overseeing the Templar Order, they seem to be doing a pretty abysmal job of it. Like where were the Seekers for the entire ten years before Anders' attack on the Chantry, when Kirkwall's troubled mages and templar abuses were known even outside Kirkwall? What were they doing all this time? Was Kirkwall a wake-up call that they hadn't been doing their jobs?

Lord Seeker Lambert reveals to us that he once served in Tevinter, where he was at one time sympathetic to mage freedom. What he saw there convinced him that mages will always take as much power as they can get by whatever means they deem necessary. Tevinter seems to have that effect on people. :P

Honestly, the Lord Seeker's case against Rhys—that he is under the influence of a demon who has caused him to forget what he's done—is so convincing I almost believe it. And it's almost true, but the stinger in the Epilogue is that it really was Cole alone, and not Rhys, who committed the murders, even though Rhys is still afraid he did it. This is made pretty clear when Cole kills Lord Seeker Lambert, proving that he did not need to possess a mage to carry out the murders.

It did not escape my attention that we have a different Lord Seeker in Inquisition than the one in this book, and because of that I predicted that Cole was going to kill Lambert before the end—and I was correct! Hilariously, it also took me most of the book to figure out that Lord Seeker Lamber is the guy on the cover. He's not really a main character, so I'm not sure why it was him. Rhys and Evangeline would have made more sense to me, or Rhys and Adrian, or even Wynne and Pharamond.

Tranquility

The twist on Wynne's possessed friend Pharamond is that he's Tranquil—and therefore shouldn't be able to be possessed at all.

The official word on the Rite of Tranquility is that it severs a mage's connection to the Fade, removing their desires and emotions so that they are no longer susceptible to demons and can no longer perform magic. Tranquil still possess free will and problem-solving abilities. Most Tranquil, if asked, will express contentment with their state.

However, we also have two canonical examples of Tranquility being reversed. In DA2, during the failed attempt to rescue Anders' former lover Karl, contact with Justice temporarily undoes Karl's Tranquility. Karl begs Anders to kill him rather than let him become Tranquil again.

Then here in Asunder, we have Pharamond.

Pharamond has been conducting research which has revealed to him what the Rite of Tranquility really is. The Tranquil are not immune to demons, merely undesirable to them, since without emotions and desires they cannot give a demon the experiences they crave. But a Tranquil can be possessed. They can even make contact with spirits under the right circumstances, and if a spirit touches the mind of a Tranquil, it seems their connection to the Fade may be restored.

This seems consistent with what happened with Karl and Justice; that it was only a temporary effect was probably related to Justice's unusual state, stuck in the physical world and bonded to a human.

Pharamond, as a result of his experiments, manages to reverse his own Tranquility. A restored Pharamond describes Tranquility as being like a dream, in which you know something is off but you cannot act other than the dream allows. This is certainly a chilling description. Pharamond, like Karl, ultimately would rather die than become Tranquil again. I think it's safe to say that regardless of how pleasant or unpleasant Tranquility is, it fundamentally changes a person, removing a vital part of who they are.

But despite how Pharamond describes Tranquility, we have the word of another Tranquil to consider. A Tranquil who chooses to aid the rebels later on remarks that "Obedience is prudent. To interpret it as a lack of free will would be an error."

Wynne

Wynne definitely feels like Wynne, but I'd agree with Rhys that she has changed, and I'm not surprised she has—it has, after all, been ten years, and the Wynne we met in Origins did not even expect to be alive ten years later. Seeing her through Rhys's somewhat distrusting eyes, I even wondered at some points if she was lying about their mission.

That Wynne acquired a taste for dwarven ale while in Orzammar delights me, as does her ongoing friendship with Shale, who also appears in this book!

As a sidenote, it took me reading this book to notice that Wynne in the game does not have a British accent like most Fereldans. Her voice actor is American.

It is noteworthy that Wynne is pro-Circle, in that she voted against the Circle breaking from the Chantry. It should also be noted that even pro-Circle mages do not tend to support templar abuses of their fellow mages. You might say they are reformists rather than total abolitionists. I bring this up because it is a contentious point in Inquisition concerning certain companions, and I think it is important to acknowledge that mages can be pro-Circle and pro-reform.

As the story progresses, we find Wynne pushed further and further to the side of the rebel mages, in large part to save her son's life. But it is revealed that her aspirations may have been a bit more radical all along than they initially appeared: after learning of the results of Pharamond's research, Wynne sent Shale to notify the nearest Circle and had them send word to every Circle in Thedas. I don't think she was hoping to start a war, but to give the Circles vital knowledge and bargaining power. Alas, things did not go as peacefully as she'd hoped, yet Wynne still contributed to the fight in a meaningful way.

It was nice to see Wynne herself struggle against temptation, in her desperation to save her son. It's not clear what actually would have happened had Wynne been able to use the staff Evangeline destroyed, but given the way Wynne acted while wielding it, I suspect some kind of demonic influence. (While there is no canon to confirm this, I also suspect this might be the Malign Staff that can be looted from a Hurlock general during the Battle of Denerim, which fits the physical description. The Corrupted Magister's Staff would also fit, but the Malign Staff specifically reduces willpower, which would make the user more susceptible to demons.)

In the end, Wynne sacrifices herself to save Evangeline, the templar her son loves, feeling that she is fulfilling the purpose for which the spirit of faith kept her alive. It's a good end for Wynne, and in its own way her death also supports the mage rebellion. Rhys is asked to take his mother's place in the Aequitarian fraternity, and by casting his vote to fight for their for freedom, it is he tips the balance. I actually teared up a bit when Rhys gave his speech, which is not simply about fighting but about letting go of their past assumptions about magic and everything around it.

Fiona

So Fiona is already Grand Enchanter at this point, elected fairly recently, and her election was so controversial due to her staunch Libertarian leanings that the Chantry reacted by disbanding the College of Enchanters so that they could no longer convene.

Reading this book, I really wanted to know why and how Fiona ended up returning to the Circle, because last we saw Fiona, she was a Grey Warden who had all but sworn she would never return to the Circle. And granted, it's been thirty years, so I wasn't questioning that it could happen, only the why and how. All she says in the book is "I came to the Circle from the Grey Wardens because I saw something had to be done."

From a Doylist standpoint, it was hard not to see this as purely a move to make "Fuck the Divine" Fiona important in Inquisition, because, you know, people like to hear familiar names. (And given the role the Wardens play in Inquisition, I wasn't sure why Fiona couldn't have been just as relevant as a Grey Warden, especially since she is now immune to the Calling.) The logical in-universe conclusion seemed to be that Fiona returned to the Circle for the specific purpose of pushing the Circle to secede from the Chantry and start a revolution.

The book offers no answers to this question. I checked, the wiki, however, and it seems that dialogue with Fiona in Inquisition does offer an answer. Apparently after the events of The Calling Fiona was not only immune to the Calling but cured of the Taint altogether—she was in fact no longer a Grey Warden, and due to her unique immunity, she was unable to re-take the Joining. And so, expelled from the Wardens, she was sent back to the Circle, where she decided she could do more good. I find that a satisfactory answer, and it seems to show some real character growth on Fiona's part.

Divine Justinia V

With my Fiona questions answered, I have one major lingering question, and it's about Divine Justinia V, formerly known as Revered Mother Dorothea of the Lothering Chantry. (And we're not going to get into how this poor woman appears to have aged 40 years in 13, because this post is not about the games.)

Divine Justinia is sort of a peripheral presence in this story but nonetheless an important one. Nothing directly comes of the attack on her by a solo mage early in the book, but it's pointed out later that said mage could never even have gotten out of the tower, nevermind anywhere near the Divine, without some templars at the very least looking the other way—and more likely actively facilitating.

At this time, Divine Justinia is a fairly radical voice in the Chantry, to the extent that I'm curious how she came to be Divine in the first place. Her election is said to have been controversial. Though it is suggested in Dragon Age II that Justinia is considering an Exalted March on Kirkwall to restore order, in hindsight perhaps we cannot be sure she would not have favored the mages or at least sought a more equitable resolution. It turns out to be Justinia who sanctioned Pharamond's research in the first place, and everything we see from here on paints her as a radically pro-mage Divine.

So how'd she get elected in the first place? This is really about more than Justinia herself; it points to a growing liberal streak within the Chantry leading to enough Grand Clerics willing to support a relatively young and pro-mage Divine who was not even a Grand Cleric herself.

The Doylist part of me says that Mother Dorothea ends up Divine because the writers really wanted Leliana to stay relevant enough to be in every single game, even when it meant overriding the player choice not to harden her in Origins (though you can always argue that if the Warden didn't harden her, some later experience did). But while I strongly suspect that's the case, I'd still like it to make sense in-universe, and maybe it does.

The wiki tells me that the previous Divine, Beatrix III, named Dorothea as her preferred successor, and though the Grand Clerics do have the power to overrule that appointment, traditionally they usually don't. Apparently, not enough of them found Justinia radical enough to veto, because she was elected Divine despite controversy. So why did Beatrix favor Mother Dorothea? I'm hoping to learn more about Beatrix in Dawn of the Seeker, the animated film about a conspiracy against the Divine which Cassandra helps to foil, and which I hope to watch soon!

Miscellaneous Lore

As our heroes trek across Orlais, coming in contact with common people along hte way, we are reminded that because most mages are taken to the Circle at a young age, your average person rarely has contact with a mage, and has little experience with them beyond what they're told.

Apparently the Black City is supposed to be the only constant in the Fade, visible on the horizon from any point in that realm. I will have to keep an eye out in the games from now on and see if it actually is.

This book (and The Masked Empire which follows it) makes a point of describing elves as having "strange alien eyes." It seems like the books are really leaning into DA2's redesign to make the elves look Different.

You're going to see the word "conclave" thrown around a lot toward the end of this book so I think it's important to note that we're not at any point here talking about the same Conclave at Haven that is destroyed at the beginning of Inquisition. A conclave in this context just refers to a gathering of mage leadership.

Final Thoughts

Asunder is a complicated story, but all of its threads really do come together in the end and I think it offers a great prelude to Inquisition as well as fascinating exploration of how magic and spirits work in this setting. Most important, I think, is the theme that Rhy's speech at the end highlights: there is so much the characters of this world do not yet understand about magic, spirits, the rites and rituals they have come to depend on, and the very nature of their world. Most of the major characters in this story have their beliefs called into question in one way or another, leading many of them to admit that they know far less than they thought they did.

It was a great read, and I really enjoyed it.

#dragon age #dragon age asunder #dragon age wynne #dragon age rhys #dragone age cole #dragon age evangeline #dragon age fiona #anne does dragon age #blunders of thedas #dragon age meta

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thedinanshiral · 2 years

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Dragon Age and side media.

Yes, this is about the Netflix animated series and why I think it'll be worth it.

Dragon Age lore is in large measure about patterns. I've explored this many, many times. So this is no different. And Dragon Age has plenty material to work with.

Often times people see side media (comics, books and anything not officially aligned with the main story) to be its own separate thing and not, well, canon. But that's not always the case with Dragon Age.

While not strictly necessary to follow through, DA's side media is not entirely inconsequential. Far from it, the novels, comics and series either give insight into known characters and conflicts, or introduces future companions and relevant NPCs, simultaneously setting the stage for future developments.

With the exception of DAO as it was the first installment of the series, the following games always had side media in between to prepare us for what was coming next. Let's see (mild spoilers ahead)

DAO got two prequel novels, The Stolen Throne and The Calling, with the former exploring Maric and Loghain's past and the latter introducing Duncan and, in a way, Alistair.

A bit after DA2 we got the Alistair comics (with Isabella and Varric as King Alistair's companions on a quest to find the truth about King Maric's fate), and Dragon Age Redemption, a sort of officially approved fanmade? low budget web series, with Felicia Day playing as Tallis, a character that would later appear in the DA2 Mark of the Assassin's DLC.

Then in preparation for DAI we got Asunder, The Masked Empire, Last Flight (novels) and Dawn of The Seeker (the Cassandra cgi movie i haven't seen yet). These novels introduced just about everything: new companions (Cole, Cassandra), relevant NPCs and bosses (Michel de Chevin, Gaspar, Briala, Felassan, Imshael and even Fen'Harel), and conflicts we'd have to deal with in DAI (the Orlesian civil war, the fall of the Seekers, demons). Curiously enough, the only pre-DAI side media that had no repercussion in the game was Last Flight, arguably one of the best DA novels (shh, I'm biased); it takes place in the Anders at the Grey Wardens HQ, and jumps between the past during the Fourth Blight and the present shortly after the Mage Rebellion. Is in Last Flight where we learn what happened to the griffons, and there's a revelation that i think will play out in DAD. The DA4 trailer and BTS video with concept art gave me some hopes for this as some of the scenery was clearly set in the Anders and Weishaupt.

So far DAD has had 5 comics to prepare us all: Mage Killer, Knight Errant, Deception, Blue Wraith and Dark Fortress, introducing new and recurring characters with strong in-game companions potential, and setting the quest for the red lyrium idol and the hunt for Solas. There's also the amazing Tevinter Nights anthology introducing new characters, taking us on a tour around the yet unexplored regions of Thedas like Tevinter, Nevarra and Antiva. Some of these new characters would later be appearing in several short stories published on the BW site, and also have tons of companion potential.

And now, we have Absolution. Or will have, soon enough. A Netflix animated series. The trailer tells me this is where some of the DA4 concept art ended up in. Now I've seen and heard enough about this: that it's generic Netflix anime, that it has nothing that says "Dragon Age" and oh what's that? Me taking you to the optometrist for new glasses. Granted, the general public won't be pausing on every frame, but I have issues so i kinda did.

From what I gather we'll be following an elven rogue and their friends/associates on a quest to stop an (drumroll please)...evil Tevinter mage set on unleashing something terrible using magic and a mysterious magical artifact.

What are their personal motivations, their sad backstories? What will be at stake? I mean, Solas is about to set the world on fire, what could be worse than that? This new artifact looks like a bracelet with two serpents eating each other's tail, and is that red detail something like a ruby...or is it red lyrium? If this is Tevinter, there's dragons and serpents everywhere, Old Gods stuff, and two serpents made one reminds me of the twins Falon'din and Dirthamen... Is the evil mage summoning something terrible or restraining it with a barrier?

What cities will we be seeing for the first time?

And most importantly, what's my new wife's name?

Yes, it seems the Netflix series writers are not the DAD writers. But neither are the 5 comics' and nobody's questioning the canonical value or lack thereof of, say, Blue Wraith.

I think Absolution is part of the side media meant to prepare the terrain for DAD, and not some random executive's whim, so even if Weekes themselves aren't holding the pen, it'll be fine. I imagine Absolution has at least two goals: 1) to gather new fans of the series and hype for the next game, and 2) to add something (companions, lore, foreshadowing) to the next game.

Redemption is a fine example of why not to underestimate side media, no matter how low budget and lore unfriendly it seems because this is the side media that introduced the Mask of Fen'Harel, an artifact that is activated via blood magic and used to open portals into the Veil to cross over to the Fade. Yeah, as simple and unofficial as it may look Redemption foretold Fen'Harel's relation to the Veil and it's manipulation. It wouldn't be until DAI (and for many, until Trespasser) that Fen'Harel would be revealed as the creator of the Veil and the dots began connecting that he's the OG rift mage for that reason.

So yeah, I'm excited, and I'll watch it and dissect it. I'm equal parts starved and excited for DA lore/content, it's been A VERY LONG TIME.

A VERY LONG TIME

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age: Dreadwolf #Dreadwolf #DAD #Dragon Age Absolution #DAA #this post has been brought to you by my twitter drafts at 2am

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technoturian · 3 years

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After finishing the Wheel of Time’s first season yesterday and thinking on it, I have come to the following opinions:

- Love Nynaeve.

- Nynaeve’s “Fight me!” energy is everything. The coolest moments in the series were her two rage blasts of magic. YOU’RE DOING GREAT, HONEY.

- Love Egwene and Moiraine and Mat and Perrin and of course my boy Lan.

- Hate Rand.

- Thank goodness they made the show more of an ensemble because the actually interesting characters are able to distract from Rand’s utterly cliche and uninteresting Chosen One story. Yawn.

- His ONLY PERSONALITY TRAIT is that he literally spends the majority of the show sulking about a girl not loving him enough and punishing her for it when - according to the book spoilers I read - he’s not even going to end up with her, he’s going to end up with a literal h a r e m of women who all agree to share him because he’s just that awesome? UH, GAG. Rand is the worst, I’m sorry. I hope he develops a personality but from the things I’ve read it doesn’t sound like he will aside from “Generic Chosen One”.

- Egwene and Rand’s relationship is very unsatisfying. It started with him being like, “Stay with me and have my babies!” and ended with him realizing she has her own hopes and dreams, which would be good, but Egwene on the other hand went from “I love you Rand, but I have other priorities and a calling beyond that.“ to a soppy-eyed, “Whatever you want, Rand!” which kind of undercut his big moment of growth there...

- Egwene’s interactions with Nynaeve were ten times more interesting, more satisfying, more complex than any scene with either of the two boys who were in love with her. What’s that, Egwene? You’ve got a tempermental redhead with sharp cheekbones and a wolf boy with rage issues and a one-sided crush fighting over you? Is it still a better love story than Twilight?

- Perrin’s cool though. If I were writing the story I’d make him Egwene’s warder. I hope we see more of his wolf friends because puppies make all shows better. Also it would stick it to Game of Thrones and their “we can’t show the dire wolves because it costs to much” excuses. ALWAYS SHOW THE WOLVES.

- I totally misread the first scene with Perrin’s fridged wife as an indicator that she was pregnant which made the end of the episode WAY darker due to that misconception. Still dumb that they fridged her, though.

- All the gender essentialism stuff makes me feel a kind of way. Red ajahs don’t take warders because they hate men? Okay even with the conceit that only women can be channelers why can’t women also be warders??? Because that would mess with the very delicate and subtle metaphor for heteronormative gender politics, obviously.

- Moiraine wasn’t that interesting in the first couple episodes but was the most interesting by the end. It’s the wlw effect.

- I don’t know why everyone is calling this “The New Game of Thrones” when it’s more like “The Higher Budget Legend of the Seeker”.

#Wheel of Time #Wheel of Time Spoilers #anti Rand #Nynaeve al'Meara #Egwene al'Vere #Perrin Aybara

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space-lynn · 3 years

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Helluva Boss Episode 6: Truth Seekers was amazing. I'd recommend watching the episode first before any of you start reading this snippet. SPOILER ALERT!!! since someone inspired me to write this based off of a scene.

(TW: Blood)

The world around her was barren, distorted and drained of color. The sky above her head, the ground below her feet, the SJMS uniform she was wearing and the chair she sat on were nothing more than different shades of white, black and grey. Sasha looked around, wondering where the hell she is. She stood up bewildered and stepped away watching, as the chair she sat on started to sink into the ground. Screeching noises could be heard above, and her head tilted up, watching streaks of color fly around. One colored in olive green smacked her head, dripping it's color all over her.

What the fuck? she thought.

She examined the goo staining her hands, before shaking it and getting it off. The green thing hit her again with enough force for her to land on her behind in mud. She groaned, hauling herself up. In the corner of her eye, she watched it land on the ground and take the shape of... Grime.

Only it wasn't him. It was a weird crudely drawn version of him.

"You're dangerous," he spoke, turning into the real Grime for a second. "Quick to please and charm others with lies."

"Grime, wh--"

"With a silver tongue, too. Never learned how to get what you want on your own, human? Do you always rely on others? Pathetic," he continued, interrupting her and still changing between the drawing version of himself and the real one.

"What are you talking about?"

Grime opened his mouth to talk again, but the words were unintelligible, a high-pitched ringing sound stopping her from understanding.

A shriek sounded above and her head snapped back up to see three other streaks whirling over her, one colored blue, another a mix of light green and light purple, and the last an emerald green.

She looked back at Grime, opening her mouth to speak, to tell him she'd changed but the blue streak wrapped around her right arm and tossed her away from Grime. She coughed, looking up to see it take the shape of Anne.

"You're a liar! A manipulator! Did you honestly think I would forgive you? You don't deserve it, Sasha. You never deserved it."

The green-pink mix barrelled into her next, coming up from the ground underneath her. It lifted her up into the air, taking the shape of the narwhal worm she had taken Barrel's warhammer from.

"You promised. Promised!" the narwhal shrieked in Percy and Braddock's voices. She watched it's face morphed into a horrible mix of her close toad friends' faces. Four eyes peered down at her as she floated for a moment.

"You promised we'd leave when things got dangerous! But we didn't, because you're selfish. You'll lie to get what you want, without caring for the safety of OTHERS!"

The narwhal-Percy-Braddock thing swung its tail onto her, smashing her into the ground on her stomach. Spitting out mud, she tensed up when the third streak, the emerald one, made a squelching noise behind her. It took the shape of Marcy, glaring down at her with orange irises shaped like a cross in the middle of bright red eyes.

"Running again, Sasha? Are you that much of a coward to face your damn problems? Because you're afraid that other's will think you're weak?"

"I-I..."

Sasha noticed stairs made out of mud behind her and she moved back from Marcy. She flipped herself over, pushing herself to stand up and run towards it, no longer caring for the words spoken to her. She dashed up the stairs, subconsciously noting the mud giving way to reveal blue. Her foot caught on one of the steps in her haste, making her fall forward. She placed her arms forward, trying to brace herself, but the once solid blue stairs liquified into a dark red and Sasha slammed into it head first. She pushed herself up, looking down at herself to notice the fluid slide off, revealing her in her old toad armor.

A deep voice chuckled at the top of the stairs, compelling Sasha to look up. Two guards stood in front of a throne made out of corals. Their halberds crossed in front of the figure atop the throne, concealing their face.

"Losing control, Sasha? You deserve it. After everything you've done."

When the guards moved themselves and their halberds to the side to reveal the figure on the throne, Sasha froze and the stairs below her glitched, switching between royal blue and crimson red. Upon the throne sat her father, dressed in the garbs and royal armor of a tyrant newt king that she'd killed before. He smirked down at her.

He lifted his hand. Red strings shot from his fingertips and stabbed her. One on each ankle, one on each wrist and one on her neck. The man closed his fist, pulling her forward. She tumbled down, struggling, but it was futile.

"Haven't you learned, dear," her father spoke, grinning at her. She watched as he glitched, his face flickering to look like her.

"Waybrights always--"

The ashen world distorted and glitched to feature a war-torn battlefield full of weapons and corpses, both metallic and flesh. Then it switched back.

"--always--"

Flames flared up around her, bringing with it the stench of death, rotten and pungent and sickly-sweet.

"--fuck up."

Now within his reach, he grabbed her neck, slowly choking her.

"We can't love and we'll never be loved. One way or the other."

His face melted, replaced by hers, replaced by 13 year old Sasha.

"Especially you, not by those friends of yours," her voice said.

Sasha had tears in her eyes. She whimpered, "No..."

"We no longer need you," Grime spoke from behind her.

She tilted her head slightly, just enough to look at those she was trying to escape from. They look at her in disgust, in anger, in hate. And in one voice, mixed with every other human or Amphibian she'd ever met in her life, including her own, they said,

"You're going to die alone."

"STOP!" she screamed. "Please! All of you, stop talking!"

She watched Grime and the others narrow their eyes, fading in a royal blue color. She then watched her 13 year old self and the throne fade in that royal blue and join the mismatched vortex swirling behind her. She watched it come down and spin around her in crimson. Drops of it rushed towards her, sticking to her skin. More came, this time with shards of metal that went through her armor and clothes and pierced her skin. Blood dripped from her wounds, joining the still-swirling crimson whirlpool. Globs of her blood wrapped around her wrists, pinning them together. Metallic shards drenched in red stabbed at her throat, making her choke and cough up blood. More of the red liquid hit her head and dripped over her eyes, before solidifying and effectively blinding her. The blood spilling from her lips crawled up her face and wrapped around her nose and mouth. She struggled against her binds, lifting her hands to her face and clawing at it. She grasped it, pulled it off and with a choked gasp, opened her mouth to scream, only for more to--

Her eyes snapped open, inhaling sharply as her body tensed up and her heart pounded in her ears. She lay there frozen, stopping herself from gasping or breathing loudly for fear of waking up the other two occupants of the bed. Once she calmed down, she slowly turned her head to see Marcy and Anne still sleeping beside her, clutching one another. Sasha sighed, then carefully extracted herself from the bed. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, years of experience allowing her to avoid the creaky floorboards.

She escaped into their living room, sitting down on the couch. She placed her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.

She whispered, "It's okay. It was a just dream. Just a nightmare. You'll be fine. It was just a... nightmare."

Sasha sighed. Looking up to see the clock on the wall read 2:47, she wished that it was already 7:00. She doesn't think she can go back to sleep after something like that and she'd rather be productive to take her mind off of it.

She stared at their bedroom door, frowning. She'd talk to her girlfriends about ner nightmare soon. Not when they wake up, not that day, not later in the morning, afternoon or evening, but soon.

Another sigh escapes from her. She stood up and walked into her study, turning on the lights, sitting at her desk and starting on leftover paperwork from the day before. If she can't sleep, she might as well get some work done.

----------

My ending did not come off strong, but I couldn't think of anything else that did not give Sasha some sort of comfort from Anne and Marcy.

Well, I hoped you enjoy reading! Have a nice day!

#amphibia #amphibia fanfic #sasha waybright #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #sashannarcy #fanfic snippet #helluva spoilers #sashannarcy is just background here

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years

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Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #king alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #f!cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #queen cousland #the falcon and the rose #the mysterious falcon sequel #smoke and mirrors #guys it's happening

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