#she was made for me and all the cleric lovers everywhere.

[mono-blogs-art]

Listen I've always thought Cleric was the coolest D&D class because of their insane versatility (and I also just like healer classes!) and I'm so glad Shadowheart BG3 is getting the love she deserves. And that they went against the classic healer stereotype and made her an Evil Cleric

[azuremosquito]

Something to Drink

It's been a while since anything inspired me to write, but have a Baldur's Gate ficlet. My OC Shae, whom some of you may remember from my DA:I fics, has made a return. Hope you enjoy!

The air was chill and clammy inside the ancient mausoleum, the fetid stench of dust and decay filling the nostrils as their little party came to a weary halt in front of a sealed tomb. Oddly, it was the only tomb that appeared not to have been disturbed in any way, and commanded a position of honor in the very center of the Thorm family crypt. It was also the most recent, as far as they could tell, and Shadowheart squinted as she bent to wipe aside the dirt and grime to read the epitaph.

Before she could speak, however, a bored, faintly whining voice cut through the oppressive silence. “Bodies everywhere and not a drop to drink,” Astarion complained, gazing around the desecration with a look of annoyance. 

Shae couldn’t help himself. In spite of their solemn surroundings, he snickered. 

“Is that really all you can think of at a time like this?” Shadowheart demanded, clearly irritated with their companion. 

“I don’t know,” Karlach interrupted with a grin. “I could go for a drink right now. Might liven this place up a bit. Though,” she added with a glance at Astarion, “I don’t fancy what you’d be drinking.”

In the depths of his hood, Astarion’s red eyes crinkled above his mask. “More for me, then,” he quipped back. 

“All right, let’s take a break,” Shae spoke up before they could start bickering. He could see Shadowheart bristling and he held up one hand to forestall her complaints. “We’re all exhausted and this place is weighing heavily on all of us. There are traps everywhere. I don’t want one of us to lose a hand or worse because we were too tired to spot it in time.” 

The cleric deflated unhappily, but she didn’t argue, shooting a sullen glance further into the mausoleum. She clearly itched to delve deeper- the secrets of her Lady Shar were so close- but at last she turned away and nodded. “Just a short one, then,” she announced, chin lifted as she marched past the others back toward the foyer.

Shae caught Astarion looking at him, one pale eyebrow lifted in a hopeful arch and the elven sorcerer gave a subtle nod. “Astarion and I are going to scout around,” he said, ignoring Karlach’s knowing grin. “We’ll be back shortly.” 

The tiefling snorted, hefting her massive, two-handed ax over one shoulder and tossed Shae a casual, two-fingered salute. “Have fun, soldier.” She winked and sauntered off after Shadowheart, leaving the two elves alone.

Shae felt a presence at his back and a voice dripping with honey murmured in his ear. “Did you arrange this little break just for me?” Astarion looped an arm around the sorcerer’s waist and pulled Shae back against his chest.

“You know I did,” Shae retorted with a grin, turning his head to gaze into crimson eyes. He could get lost in those eyes and all the secrets they held but he shivered as Astarion’s free hand rose and brushed Shae’s dark hair away from neck, the leather gloves brushing tantalizingly across his sensitive skin. He could feel his own pulse quickening and knew Astarion could feel it, too, the vampire’s pupils blowing wide with lust. 

Filled with an aching need, Shae reached up to pull Astarion’s mask down but the elf was suddenly coy, drawing away and turning his face. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore, with that big, bull of a druid always hanging around camp these days,” he said, petulance coloring his tone. 

Shae snorted with laughter and tried to draw Astarion back into his arms. “What? Are you jealous?”

“Of course I am!” Astarion pouted, though he allowed Shae to pull him close again and lower his mask. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.” The pale elf’s bottom lip protruded slightly, and his eyes wavered, watching Shae with a thinly concealed fear. 

Shae’s laughter faded as he realized his lover was truly afraid and he reached up to caress the other man’s cool skin, stroking his cheek with a calloused thumb. “Of course I still like you.” There was another L word hovering around his lips that he daren’t give voice to just yet, but it hung heavily in the air just the same. “Just because I wouldn’t mind climbing that big ox like a tree, doesn’t change how I feel about you.” 

Scarlet eyes searched emerald for a long moment before a faint smirk curved up the corner of Astarion’s lips. “He is rather delectable, isn’t he?” The vampire gave an enticing little shimmy with his shoulders and draped his arms around Shae’s waist again. “Who knows,” his voice lowered to a sultry purr, “perhaps we can ask him to join us some time…” He nuzzled close and Shae stretched up to steal a long kiss, sensing the relief behind Astarion’s playful quip. 

Drawing back slightly, enclosed in the privacy of Astarion’s hood, Shae whispered, “Let’s get you that drink.”

[rratman]

Hmm~ Idk your characters too well~ But how about A1 for Tommy~? :0

I'll post the image soon & coincidentally I planned for him in A1 too! I'm going to go over everyone's story here since I've never posted anything here other than a drawing of Lozoll. It's long as fuck, sorry.

So Tommy's (He/Him) story is that he's a Highland cow type minotaur who was cursed by our dragonborn druid (Luna, they/them) because everyone called him ugly with all the hair & so they were joking & said to make him bald, thinking they could change him back after.

Luna rolled below 15 & failed, cursing Thomas (Tommy) to have tiefling blood in him (it's a thing we made since we don't necessarily play by all the rules, players usually have it for 24 hours to a month, NPC's forever). So now Tommy is our sweet highland Minotaur that has tiefling powers now. He almost killed Luna's NPC lover, a gnome (Eilisys, they/them) & now everyone hates him & is trying to get rid of him

Lozoll (he/they) is our Barbarian Orc who left his tribe to find help because a sickness was killing the children, heartbroken after losing his niece. He was wandering the trail my players were going down & everyone tried attacking him since orcs are known to be terrible beings in this world. The cleric (Llindé, she/her) got everyone to stop & asked Lozoll why he was out this far seeing as orcs never left the forest unless there was a raid or something.

Lozoll told them & they went to get medicine for him. Lozoll tagged along because he knew a place.

Maybelle's (she/her) shop was in a city of mainly Altmer (high elves, they're the bad people in our campaign), The group needed to pay 5,000 gold to enter & had to leave half of the party behind since the entry fee was expensive as fuck, Lozoll & Eilisys not wanting to be left behind. Meeting Maybelle was a mistake since Lindé had a wife & Maybelle was her character's exact type, independant, motherly & sarcastic. Maybelle didn't have what they needed so they had to go find the Witch that lived in the mountains, Relalis (they/them)

The party went to the mountains, finding what seemed to be a witch's cave. It turned out to be Aseris' (she/they) home & she had to lead the party to Relalis's cottage.

When the party gets there the door is open & there's blood everywhere along with torn clothes making Lozoll afraid that there's been a murder of the only one close enough who can save the children, the party leaves the NPC's behind so they don't die. they all go about the house in a group so they don't get ambushed.

when they reach the top floor they hear sounds of pain, it ends up being Relalis being fucked by our werewolf player (Wolfe 'Zeeb', it's my player when I'm not the DM) who ran off (got sick, told me what was happening & they (the DM at the time) said they wanted to surprise everyone)

Relalis is a pretty chill witch, they just dress really thotty & so everyone mistook them for being a prostitute even after they told them they were Relalis, nobody had seen Zeeb in their werewolf form (full fuckin werewolf babey, not just a human with ears & a tail) so they thought that he was a criminal. I'll post more on Zeeb later

[smutnug]

Day 10: Surprise kiss

Owen Trevelyan had always been fascinated by magic: as a boy he pored over illustrations of griffons and dragons, devouring folk tales of witches and enchantments and talking animals.

"You shouldn't let him read that nonsense," his mother said. "He'll turn into a mage."

Bann Trevelyan peered over his spectacles - the finest in dwarven craftsmanship - and blinked mildly. "I'm quite sure that's not how it works."

"How will he ever be a templar? He won't know which side he's on."

"I don't think it's supposed to be about sides, dear."

Lady Trevelyan sniffed. "I see where he gets it from."

Thankfully for his mother, Owen's sense of adventure extended to a love of swords and rough-and-tumble play. A dutiful but indifferent Andrastian, he was considered too old at ten for templar training, but utterly unsuited to clerical work.

"We'll send him out to squire. It will do him good to be around boys his own age."

Owen had been a late addition: a surprise, or an accident, depending on his mother's mood. She looked at her youngest son doubtfully. "I just don't want him to be bullied."

"Stop bullying him then, dear." The bann returned to his book.

Squiring agreed with Owen exceptionally well.

"The duke is happy with his progress," said Bann Trevelyan over his morning letters. "Very popular with the other boys, evidently."

Lady Trevelyan choked genteelly on her tea. "Not too popular, I hope."

Her husband peered over his spectacles. "You're a hard woman to please, dear."

Owen returned home to Ostwick in his eighteenth year. Described variously as strapping, honourable to a fault, affable, and a host of other complimentary things, he had distinguished himself in tourneys and skirmishes alike. He was, everyone agreed, a credit to his house.

Lady Trevelyan looked her son up and down. Tall and broad with a mop of straw-coloured hair and a radiant grin, he was already gaining a reputation as the handsomest youth in Ostwick.

She pursed her lips.

They held a ball to celebrate his homecoming. Owen danced every dance, no more than once or twice with the same partner. People seemed drawn to him.

"I wish you wouldn't lead those poor girls on, Owen."

He looked down at his mother with a mock-wounded expression. "What makes you think I'm leading them on, mother dear?"

"Oh, Owen."

He laughed and kissed her on the cheek, and she couldn't help but smile.

Owen Trevelyan loved magic. He walked the streets of Haven with a grin, his cheeks ruddied by the cold. Mages, real mages, everywhere he looked! Some were half-starved, some surly, many too nervous to look anyone in the eye, but to him they may as well have been exotic butterflies.

"Is it true a dragon used to live here?" he asked the tavern keeper.

"That's what they say, ser," she said with a shrug.

"How wonderful!" he said, and tipped her richly enough that she forgave him for being a bit strange, and wondered if he were single.

He was. Lady Trevelyan had farewelled him with a kiss, a thick woollen scarf, and a murmured, perhaps you'll meet a nice man over there.

For you, mother, I'll try, he'd answered, and swept her into a bone-crushing hug.

He hadn't spent the past five years idle. He'd served in his father's guard, with such distinction that any suggestions of nepotism were quickly abandoned. He'd helped strengthen trade agreements with Markham and Ansburg, and turned down half a dozen marriage contracts with such charm that nobody felt any offense (but more than one young lady was left a touch disappointed). He bested some of the best fighters in the Free Marches at tourney. And, of course, he read.

None of this entirely prepared him for what was to come.

Owen Trevelyan loved magic - that didn't mean he wanted a mysterious, sometimes bad-humoured magical mark embedded in his hand. He loved the idea of dragons, but there was nothing exciting about having one attack his home. The novelty of demons wore off at his first encounter.

He loved magic; and while it didn't cross into fetish, it wouldn't be true to say he'd never thought of having a mage lover. There was a certain exotic, star-crossed romance to it after all.

Dorian, though…Dorian was something else altogether.

Smooth, flashy, witty…beautiful. Every visible inch seemed perfectly sculpted. His voice was richer than mead, his skin almost seemed to glow with warmth. For all Owen's romanticism, he didn't believe in love at first sight. But his first sight of Dorian…well, it took a man a while to recover from something like that.

Every ounce of charm Owen could throw at him was returned with double the force. He slashed, he parried, but it seemed Dorian didn't even know he was part of a duel. The mage shielded himself in sarcasm and cast wit like fireballs, all without so much as a sheen of sweat forming on his perfect brow.

A lesser man might have given up. Not Owen Trevelyan. He believed in magic.

"New books?" Dorian exclaimed. "Just when I thought my brain was about to wither and die."

"Our budget has allowed for some arcane study," Owen said, nearly dropping an armful of priceless tomes.

"Stop right there," Dorian ordered, "and let me help you. Why?"

"The advisors thought it might help me to have more knowledge of magical…things. I was hoping you might help me choose some good starting material?"

His eyes lit up like a glutton at a feast. "If you promise to take better care of them. I absolutely forbid you to carry more than three at a time."

"As you wish," Owen said with a winning smile.

"Dorian." Owen slid into a seat at the Herald's Rest. "I've been meaning to ask you - just how closely related are we?"

The mage took a sip of his drink, wrinkling his nose in elegant disgust. "I'd hardly say closely. Barely at all, and even then only by marriage."

"Oh. Good."

"Good?" Dorian swivelled in his chair. "I suppose you're right. The shame of being linked to a Tevinter mage, and all that."

"Dorian." Owen drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I've travelled, you know. I've fought in battles. I've made love. I know you think I'm some over-excited puppy, but I want you to take me seriously."

"Where did this come from? I do take you seriously, dear boy."

"Dorian," he said a third time. "I'd like you to take me seriously. Because I take you seriously." Rising from his chair, he gave Dorian a backslap that soaked his mustaches in sour wine. "Good talking to you."

When the Inquisitor had gone, Sera stuck her head over the railing.

"Oi!" she called. "You, Dorian, are a frigging idiot."

Owen found Dorian leaning against the wall of the Gull and Lantern, staring at his finely tailored boots.

"I suppose you think I should forgive him?"

He joined him, tilting his face towards the sun. "I think it's up to you. Say the word and we'll leave now, and I'll never talk of it again if you don't want me to."

"But…?"

"But if you want to talk, even to say goodbye, I'll wait here."

Dorian looked at him for a long moment, then clasped his arm. "I won't be long."

"As long as you want."

"Thank you," he said softly, and straightened his spine. Then he opened the tavern door, and closed it quietly behind him.

The kiss came as a surprise to nobody but Dorian.

"You have to fight for what's in your heart," he said, and Owen couldn't help but take those two steps and kiss him.

The setting was perfect: Dorian's little corner of the library, filtered afternoon light streaming through the windows. Softer than Owen had dreamed of, gentler (although harder kisses were to come, later; rough, savage, stolen-in-the-midst-of-wrestling kisses) and sweeter by far than his imagination could conjure. He captured Dorian's small sound of surprise with his mouth, then Dorian caught his bottom lip carefully between his teeth, and only one word crystallised in the back of his mind as they melted together, two halves finally whole.

Magic.

[selemina]

Also you mentioned you have a campaign of your own, meaning you DM it right? Who of your buddies has your current favorite player and who's your favorite NPC you voice?

Well, I don’t do voices and I don’t do favorites, so... XD But I can tell you a bit about the world of the First Casters Campaign! ;)

France, current times. There is a thing called the Synchrotron near paris, which is a big scientific building that essentially curves light and throws it at objects ; depending on how the photons scatter and how deep they go before they bounce, we can learn a lot about said analyzed object.

A nearby math teacher is VERY into science, and manages to organize a visit to the place for his students and a few others. However, things go wrong in a very flashy, but harmless way... Excet people start hearing voices. Seeing symbols, hearing balads they never heard before, having hallucinations... And what about this person that suddenly appeared in a nearby sub-lab, and was immediately covered up and brought out by security?

First Caster is about a group of college students suddenly discovering powers as magic wakes up in our world. Gods come back to life, monsters and creatures come forth, and unexpected travelers ask for help. Turns out this world is somewhat linked to a new one, where magic is very present, but for both worlds, this is first contact... With all the government panic and cover-up that it entails. ;)

Meet the cast! :D Glaire, a trans woman with faulty top surgery and a phoenix ancestry (now happily retired with her BN lover, the group’s tech wizard NPC now that she can maintain alter self all day! :D) Lyn, a reluctant divine soul sorcerer, and newly found aasimar, which a guardian angel she could honestly do without! Damiana, modern artificer and low key psychic, but if she is fully aware of the first part, the second one still remains to be adressed, along with her newly formed tiefling traits! Alexia, Warlock of the grey painting, linked to the central statue of the school’s funder. Her patron was probably one of the last magical adept on this world before the magic went extinct, and they are slowly becoming one as she becomes more and more powerful. Isa, adorable black bard, the moral compass of the group, ultimate soft girl, carrying the spirit of her dead father in her flute for aditional emotional support! Basically she baby. :) Dr. Ivan Standon, no-nonsense cleric of the group, with his.... evolving relationship to the Omideus. Essentially, all the gods have merged into an ever shifting deity, but, well... having a direct line to Gods is not as easy as it seems... ;) Permid, a soft boi Wizard trying his best, and VERY much here to learn more about magic and the other world! If only things could stop being grim and stressful for 5 minutes... And Saka, a “magic cop” from the other world, Looking very competent and professional, but deep down missing his kidnapped brother so freaking much, someone hug this poor dragonborn, please!

A few of my favorite NPCS : Loki : yes, nordic god of mischief, but also the dominant face of the omnideus whenever Ivan is involved. Likes to cosplay other gods for fun. Teasing Ivan is a national sport for him. ;) Damien : Rough district brawler, the kid is actually a repressed softy. Tsundere prime. Loves pastries Alexia make for him. Would kill for anybody of the group, gets siblingly bullied by Damiana. Also a tiefling in desguise. Peter : Yes, hi, did someone say vampire gentleman? :) Yes, I did, and I’m the DM, get a vampire gentleman. Likes to flex on people that believe themselves to be clever, like the next NPC in this list. Special Agent Dylan Ross : Look at this absolute Bastard. Bastard man. Appointed by the government to figure out what the FUCK is going on around Saclay, he’s clearly in over his head, but hey nobody knew magic was a thing, so... He’s a plotting asshole with a tired attitude and sass in every word for anybody antigonizing him. Determined to get to the bottom of this, he’s met with both compliance and held back secrets... Recently got threatened by a 15ft statue! :) Oni : When you make a villain all around a storm theme. To challenge one of your player characters. You overlevel him a bit to be scary but fair-ish, to be able to beat the player character without feeling unfair. You nail the dramatic entrance. Everyone is scared. You down the mouthy cleric with one backhand (Ivan going down was an accident to be fair) and injure half the group to underline that yes, THIS GUY MEANS BUSINESS. You get a hardcore, awesome duel between him and the player character he’s made to be the nemesis of... And then he gets his shit kicked in, doesn’t manage to escape as you had planned, gets actually executed, leaving the group shaken of what they had done. Nobody liked that. Emotions everywhere. You give the cleric one free use of a resurrection spell as an option because fuck, that got dark (amazingly dark, don’t get me wrong, that was good shit right there! Top RP, character development, the whole deal!) So now Ivan has a newly resurrected, naked young adult at the back of his car, driving straight to the hospital, because fuck that noise, let’s not be murderers! And that’s how my latest villain got adopted, after getting killed and resurrected, by the players! :D He’s a loud mouthed bastard, but his japanese demon ancestry also comes with a code of honor : Ivan saved his life, he has a life dept towards him now. Ivan of course won’t let him become a servant, leaving him in a limbo of trying to be useful in any other way, all while rubbing it in everybody’s face all the time that HEY GUYS REMEMBER THAT TIME WHEN YOU KILLED ME? :DDD YEAH ME TOO!

[elusetta]

Dedicated to my loving ex-mother @sharky-broshaw and my beloved musketeers.

Read here on ao3.

My Leliana:

Life at Vigil’s Keep has been demanding, and I am loath to deliver to you the news that I cannot yet return home. There are matters here that still require me. If you could, I would beg you to come here, to cut short our separation, but I will understand if you cannot; this place is dreary as the Fade, and the sun never seems to shine. It is hardly the place for you, my love.

But it is not all bad. The rain is one thing; my companions are another. I am happy to report to you that here, I have found companionship I did not think possible outside of those I had known during the Blight. Sigrun, although distrustful of my actions with the Architect, is the most delightful dwarf I have known since Dagna; I think you would get along with her. Velanna- who I am sure you will remember from the letters I sent you during my time in the Wending Wood- has grown on me, and I believe I have grown on her, even if she would never admit it until the day she dies, shem that I am. Anders is quite like Alistair, full of jokes and lively banter. As for Justice, the spirit who possessed a corpse, I do not quite know what I can say of him- of it?- but, regardless, he is part of us. Oghren, of course, you already know.

And then there is Nathaniel Howe. I will admit that I was not prepared to forgive him for the crimes of his family, but he has made it impossible not to. I have grown exceptionally fond of him, despite the dark circumstances that I met him in, and I certainly hope that I will remain friends with him until the Calling takes us both.

The only thing missing from this keep is you, Leliana, and your absence is dearly felt. I cannot expect you to give up whatever it is you’ve been doing these past months, but if you have the chance and the will- if your Grand Cleric business is entirely completed- come be with me. Schmooples can sleep in our room. (And I’m certain that my companions would adore your stories, if you would tell them.) I hope I do not sound too pathetic, but it is still hard to be without you. I fear I rely on you- you and Alistair- too much for my own good. It is undeniable that I have not been at my best, even with all these people who I care for, and it has been… difficult to sleep.

And in case you forget it while I am away: I love you.

With all my heart,

Iseult Cousland.

The last lines of ink dried on the paper, turning from glossy to matte under the insistent warmth of her firelit bedchamber, just as footsteps faded into Iseult’s awareness. She turned, a smile already encroaching at the edges of her lips.

Nathaniel. A presence she’d once been cold around, but as time had worn on, had become a comfort. His blue eyes took in the room with only an archer’s, a ranger’s, alert interest, before landing on her letter. “Am I intruding, Commander?” Her smile grew. She turned in her chair, the movement so much lighter than what she was used to, her body for once bereft of the silverite armor that weighed down every step. “No, I had just finished. And Nathaniel,” she added, meeting his eyes gently, “we’ve been over this. You can just call me Iseult.”

“If you insist.” He walked closer, his height towering over Iseult- already small, and even smaller seated- and glanced at the letter. “Who are you writing to? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Iseult rolled up the letter, sealing it with wax imprinted by the Cousland heraldry. “My wife.” Wife; the word was still pleasantly unwieldy, perhaps not official but full of everything she couldn’t say.

He smiled, a subtle thing that would have seemed insincere to anyone who did not know him. “Will we ever get to meet that woman, I wonder?” Iseult let out a small laugh. “Oh, I do hope so.” Examining him again, something called to her in his stance, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “Did you come to see me? Or is this a patrol?” He’d taken to pacing the keep; whether from habit or as a way to combat his thoughts, she couldn’t tell. This seemed different, but then again, despite her attempts at understanding him… he was not exactly the easiest person to read.

“I meant to ask you something,” he said almost nervously, sitting down on her bed with eyes that darted everywhere.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Of course, Nathaniel. Anything.”

He let out a sharp breath- of relief? Of preparation?- before opening his mouth and letting out a stream of words much too fast for Iseult to understand.

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” “The elf. I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I want her to like me, I think,” he replied, only slightly slower than before. “How do I make her like me?” Iseult’s eyebrow quirked. “Well…” She trailed off for a second, then stifled a giggle. Of course. All the ‘my lady’, the compliments, the way his eyes followed the woman when he thought no one was looking. She’d been right. “In my experience, you’re usually supposed to tell her that you like her.”

He gave her a look that was something like nerve-wracked exasperation. “But what if she doesn’t like me back?”

Iseult pursed her lips. “Then you give her things until she does.”

“That seems immoral,” he protested.

Iseult shrugged. “Velanna’s prickly. Show her you like her, and- wait.” She suddenly stood up, pacing back and forth in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back. “You did mean you like her in the ‘you want to kiss her’ way, right? Not just as friends?”

He nodded, and Iseult echoed the movement. “I see. Maybe you could tell her that. I think most people like to be kissed, even the prickly ones.”

“But I’m a human. Didn’t you hear her talking to Anders the other day? She said she found most humans physically and morally repulsive.”

“That’s true,” Iseult conceded, “but didn’t you hear her apologize to you?”

He made a noise of consideration. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Well, we don’t have to be,” Iseult pointed out. “Just go talk to her.”

“Come on, Iseult,” he sighed. “Was I being too forward? When I called her lovely? You have a wife. You should know this.”

Iseult frowned, slowing to a stop. “Nathaniel, Leliana and I met while attempting to stop an archdemon, and we only became closer because I was forced to kill someone who looked exactly like her while in the Fade. We are hardly an example of a normal couple.” Studying his face, she added, “But I do not think you were being too forward. She told you to stop that time, and you did. I would call you the picture of chivalry, but…”

“But what?” “Well, you did try to kill me once.”

He scoffed and looked away, then sighed. “Thank you. I suppose I should try... something.”

“That is, generally, the better option.”

He got up and left the room, and Iseult followed at his heels, letter in hand.

--

My Leliana,

Most likely I will not send this letter; it has been only a day since I sent my last one, but I feel compelled to write down the events that have transpired since then, and I am unsure of how else to do it. Perhaps, if you do come to the keep, I can give you them then, as a primer on the dynamics I have discovered.

Did you know that Nathaniel Howe likes Velanna, in a kissing way? He came and asked me about what he should do. I’m very flattered, since I am eight years his junior, that he would seek me out for advice, and seeing as I am at least a little bit sure that she likes him back, I have decided that it is my duty to make lovers out of them. Is this what you mean, when you say you serve the Maker?

(I’m joking, my love; I know it isn’t.)

I will update you as developments continue.

Yours,

Iseult Cousland.

With a small snort of withheld amusement, Iseult put down her quill and stood up, quickly maneuvering to hide it behind her when someone kicked through her door. Immediately, a violent urge surged through her. Darkspawn? Or worse, a betrayal from inside the keep? Her hand flew to the sword leaning against her bed, but when her visitor appeared- a brightly-colored, flushed Velanna- she relaxed. The look in those eyes was panic, yes, but Velanna didn’t panic when faced with a fight.

So Iseult could only conclude that Nathaniel had acted, as she had advised him to.

“Walk with me, shem,” Velanna demanded.

Iseult smiled wryly, slipping the letter into the drawer of her desk. “Okay, my lady.”

Velanna froze, her eyes wide and her cheeks quickly coloring, and she grasped Iseult by the sleeve, dragging her through Vigil’s Keep to the bemused stares of many of the soldiers. “How-did-you-know-that!” she hissed under her breath the moment they were alone.

Iseult blinked at her innocently. “Know what?” “You shem are so infuriating,” Velanna growled. “I need to speak with you.”

Iseult smiled, trying not to look too pleased with herself, and nodded.

Velanna sighed, producing a squealing chicken from Maker knew where. “What is the meaning of this?” Iseult choked on a laugh. “What?”

“Nathaniel gave it to me yesterday, then started saying something about how chickens were sort of like me, and then he got distracted and left.” Velanna searched Iseult’s eyes. “What does it mean? Is this some sort of shemlen custom?”

“Oh no,” Iseult mumbled to herself. “Oh, Nathaniel.”

“What does that mean?” Velanna was practically shouting with frustration, and the chicken squawked, flapping away from her and back to the ground. “What does any of this mean?”

It would probably be easier to take the metaphorical bull by the horns, but thinking of Velanna, and thinking of Nathaniel, Iseult quickly determined that this was a matter best left to them. During the Blight, Alistair had been the only one who knew her feelings about Leliana before Leliana did, and Iseult knew she would have killed him if he’d told. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“You- you can’t just-”

Iseult was gone before Velanna could finish her sentence, and judging by the chicken that ran out, terrified, after her, she could only assume it was for the best.

--

My Leliana,

It has been almost two weeks since Velanna’s surprise meeting with me, and I still worry about what has happened between her and Nathaniel. They have been especially cold toward each other whenever I have brought them out together. I think that Velanna may have considered his attempt at an advance an insult, and Nathaniel has taken that as a rejection. I am going to have to wait for another opportunity to attempt to put them together, and as it is, my attentions are better focused elsewhere, at least for the moment.

Vigil’s Keep is currently having its first sunny day since I arrived. While not as warm as some places I could mention, it is undeniably pleasant, and I am at last able to write outdoors. I wonder if your suggestion about roses around the Keep would work. We do need some morale to spare. Our soldiers are hard at work repairing the Keep, and we have taken heavy losses; a flower or two might be just the thing to cheer them up.

Yet, even as the sun shines and I spend my days in no danger, extracting help from various nobles and guarding the Keep, I find it bittersweet. The sun reminds me of you.

Suddenly, a voice cut into her concentration, and Iseult dropped the quill, sending splatters of ink across the page. She cursed softly and looked up to see Anders, his ever-faithful Ser Pounce-a-lot draped sleepily over his shoulders. “Commander!”

She set the letter aside and smiled up at him. “Hello, Anders.”

“What are you doing sitting against the wall? Shouldn’t you be out doing Warden-Commander things? Come on, let’s go find the nearest darkspawn and beat them to death with your sword.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, as they always did, and Iseult only gave him a half-smile in response. “You’re awfully quiet today. Something got you down? Is it Nathaniel? I keep telling him, his whole brooding thing is going to put people off.”

“Nothing in particular,” Iseult replied. “Not Nathaniel. Well- not entirely Nathaniel, anyway.”

Anders must have taken the wistful sigh that she released after that in a way she most certainly did not mean him to, because he gasped comically loudly, his hand flying to his mouth fast enough to startle Ser Pounce-a-lot, whose blue eyes flew open. “Warden-Commander, are you in love with him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s handsome. I know I would go for him, if he weren’t so dark and dismal all the time. But didn’t his family kill yours? That’s a little scandalous, don’t you think? A little bit spicy? Just a tad? Ooh, or maybe the forbidden love drives you to him?” He wiped away a fake tear. “Go to him, Commander. Follow your heart.”

Iseult watched his performance with amusement, and when her silence finally caught up to him, he paused, giving her an opportunity to interject. “Anders, I trust that you know I’m married.”

“You’re what?”

“To a woman,” she finished. “And I do not care for men, not in that way.”

He stared at her, then slowly began to nod. “So what is it, then?”

She shook her head, trying not to let too much melancholy show. “Many things, really. Our soldiers flag, our Keep is still damaged. And, on a more personal note-” she pretended not to notice his eyes lighting up at that- “I miss my wife, and despite my efforts, Nathaniel and Velanna seem destined not to be together.”

“Oh, wait. If you’re married, does that mean we might finally have an explanation for the woman no one’s seen before in the courtyard?” Iseult’s heart leaped into her throat. “I’m afraid I have to leave you, Anders.”

“Oh no! I feel so betrayed,” he called after her as she raced to the middle of the Keep. “Never forget me, Commander! I love you!”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she glanced around the dull stone exterior of the Keep. No red hair; she breathed out.

Then a pair of hands covered her eyes, and she shivered in barely-contained joy, the feeling of those fingers so familiar. “Did you miss me, Issie?” Leliana’s beautiful, beautiful voice murmured into her ear, and Iseult could not reply with any method other than whirling around, cupping Leliana’s face in her hands, and kissing her deeply.

The soldiers around her took notice. Some laughed, others cheered. One particularly unruly recruit yelled “Get it, Commander Cousland!” from the back, but was quickly hushed by her peers.

They separated, and Iseult pulled Leliana into a tight embrace. The recruits collectively aww-ed, but she was only aware of the woman in her arms, the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Iseult exhaled deeply, her breath tangling in her wife’s hair. “Oh, my love, I’m so glad you came.”

“How could I not?” Once again, they drew apart. Many of the personalities around them had lost interest by then, a development that left Iseult some measure of relief. “You were so very convincing in your letter. Can Schmooples really sleep in our room?” “Anything to keep you here,” Iseult replied.

Leliana cocked her head with a devious smile. “Now, I believe you had some companions to introduce me to.”

“Oh, I most certainly do.” Iseult smiled back at her, intertwined their hands, and set off for the keep with a new spirit in her step.

--

Dear Fergus,

Thank you for your letter, dear brother, and I trust that you are doing well. As for me, well, you know that your baby sister has been up to her eyes in work ever since that fateful day that I became a Grey Warden; that has not changed with the end of the Blight, nor with the defeat of the Mother. I am not sure what I hoped for. Heroism, I suppose, is a lifelong profession.

I must confess, though, that I am happier now than I have been since the night Rendon Howe the night all this began. I am surrounded by friends, Leliana is here with me and seems to be enjoying herself immensely, and the Keep is finally beginning to become itself again. Perhaps even stronger than it was.

I hope that Highever is prospering, and I do hope to return to it as soon as I can. Do not worry; soon enough, I am sure that you will wish me once again out of your hair.

Love,

Iseult Cousland.

With a last swell of effort, she heaved the stone into place. Sigrun glanced at her approvingly. “Hey, nice job, Commander.”

Iseult grinned at her. “Iseult, Sigrun. Just Iseult. And thank you.”

“You know, you should do this more often. We might actually get somewhere.” The dwarf’s tone indicated that she was only half-joking.

“You’re a skilled rogue, Sigrun,” Iseult responded, putting her weight behind another stone. “I will admit that I don’t quite understand why you’ve taken such an interest in restoring these walls.”

“Eh. Brings me back to my roots, I guess,” Sigrun answered with a shrug. “Anyway, get that last thing in and I bet we can call it done for the day.”

In response, Iseult shoved with all her might, feeling several protests from her body but still managing to place the stone. She stepped back and shook out her arms, admiring her handiwork. “I’ll be feeling that for three days.”

“Just three?” Sigrun laughed. “Some of these noodle-arms still haven’t recovered from their first day.” She slapped Iseult’s bicep appreciatively. “Good to know not all humans are just weak sacks of blood.”

“And what would you consider yourself, Sigrun?” Iseult tapped her chin in false thought. “I seem to remember that you were the one who fell down a flight of stairs and got approximately a hundred bruises.”

“Hey, no fair! I died and didn’t complain about it,” Sigrun protested.

“You died metaphorically,” Iseult answered, ruffling Sigrun’s hair. Despite their differences in race, Iseult stood only a few inches taller than Sigrun, a fact neither of them let the other forget- Iseult because she was, at last, taller than one of her friends, and Sigrun because Iseult was the smallest human she had ever met.

Sigrun sniffed the air around Iseult and made a face. “You need a bath.” “So do you,” Iseult replied. “This isn’t exactly a leisure activity.”

A soldier bounded up to them, and Iseult quickly straightened back into her Warden-Commander’s posture. “Commander, there’s been a darkspawn sighting to the northeast. You may have to head out and take care of it.”

Iseult nodded. It was bound to happen eventually; what few darkspawn there had been, the patrols had taken care of, but they were ordinary soldiers, and they had their limits. Perhaps this larger party would point her toward wherever they were coming from, too. “I’ll take Velanna, Nathaniel, and Leliana.”

Sigrun caught her eye. “Aww, you’re leaving me behind?”

Iseult smiled apologetically. “We do need someone to defend the keep.” She whistled sharply, catching the attention of Nathaniel, who she waved down. “Get Velanna! We’re going hunting.”

He immediately gave her a look of excruciating pain, but did not argue.

Smiling to herself, Iseult tracked down Leliana, and by the time the party left, the air was fraught with a certain sort of tension she had never quite experienced before.

The lands around Vigil’s Keep bustled with activity. Merchants towed their wares toward the Keep in a variety of methods; hunting parties pursued herds of animals through the wilder parts. Still, there was very little sign of darkspawn. The party plunged into the forests around it, deeper and deeper, fast approaching the mark on the map.

Examining the map again, she turned her horse to face Nathaniel’s. “Nathaniel, you’re a tracker. Do you see any signs of darkspawn around here?” “None,” he answered. There was a tightness in his face, his knuckles white around the reins of his steed. “It’s quiet.”

Iseult went still. The only sounds around her were Leliana’s humming and the whickers of the horses. The trees seemed to hold their breath around her.

This was all wrong.

“Ambush,” she found herself saying. “There has to be an ambush.”

“You’re right,” Velanna responded. “The forest is never this quiet.”

Iseult urged her horse into moving, but before it could, it dropped to its knees under her with a pained noise.

A massive hurlock raged toward her. Iseult reached for her sword, only to find that it was gone. Nathaniel leaped off of his horse, taking aim and firing at the monster, but his arrow glanced off of its thick armor, and he fell back, taking aim again.

Leliana darted toward Iseult’s fallen horse as Iseult herself stood frozen, preparing for the impact of the hurlock, and sure enough, it slammed into her within seconds. If anything less than her silverite armor had stood between them, it would have caved in her chest. Breathless, she looked up at its towering height, her nerves steeling, and with all the power in her body, she kicked it in the groin.

“Hey, that’s one of my tricks!” Leliana beamed, slipping Iseult’s sword into her hand in an instant before rushing for the hurlock.

Still staggering from her attack, it roared. Vines whipped around it, crushing its throat, and it fell to the ground. Iseult nodded appreciatively in Velanna’s general direction.

More hurlocks and genlocks poured from the trees. “Fall back!” she called to Leliana. “Protect the support!”

They retreated to the aid of Nathaniel and Velanna, themselves overrun with darkspawn, and remained in tight formation. Leliana’s flashing knives, Iseult’s flaming sword, Nathaniel’s flying arrows, Velanna’s booming fire. It was a thrill she could never forget.

Claws assaulted her armor. One particularly hardy set carved two messy lines through the breastplate, and Iseult swore under her breath, thinking of the look Wade would surely give her when he saw it. In retaliation, she sent her sword plunging into the offending darkspawn’s chest, and it crumpled to the ground with a hiss.

The tide began to thin. “Come, my brethren,” growled an impossibly low voice. “Kill them all.”

“Creators, I thought we were done with these!” Velanna said in a strangled voice from the back.

In the darkness of the trees, a glimpse of sharp teeth and black eyes far too intelligent for its kind.

Iseult turned to Leliana as the wave of enemies broke for a moment. “Can you handle this alone?” “What? Why?”

Iseult glanced at (presumably) the leader. “Let me cut off the dragon’s head.”

Leliana smiled wildly. “Go get him, Issie.”

Iseult breathed out, and in a rush not unlike the one she’d taken toward the Archdemon a year ago, her feet pounding on the soft dirt of the forest floor, she aimed herself toward the darkspawn-shaped shadow in the foliage. Everything she had, everything she was poured into her veins, lighting her nerves on fire. “Come here, you wretch!” she shouted. It barely turned toward her, but in the seconds it had taken her to speak, she had already run her sword entirely through its body.

It hissed and crumbled, reducing to nothing. The darkspawn surrounding the other three of her party fell back with confused sounds, and from the rear of the party, Nathaniel and Velanna picked them off one by one.

Iseult breathed in and out, and in again. It was over.

And something was wrong with her chest.

She hadn’t been paying enough attention.

The pain made itself known. She scraped at her breastplate, managing to get it off despite her shaking hands. Blood seeped through the fabric of her tunic, rapidly staining it red, and when Iseult lifted it to examine the wound, it was deeper than she could have expected. Stretching from her right collarbone to her left hip curved three slashes, clawed into her by one demon or another. She honestly could not remember which one it could have been.

Either way, as her hands came away from the wound stained with blood, Iseult’s attention was fixed on them. How long had it been since she’d last bled like this? Her legs weakened, and she sat down, feeling more blood drip from them with every movement.

“Issie? Are you-” Leliana’s eyes caught the gouges, caught Iseult’s bloodstained hands, and immediately, the color drained from her face. “Oh, Maker.”

“Not… that bad,” Iseult said, voice straining. “Just need a… poultice.”

Leliana turned around. “Velanna! She needs healing! Please!” The elf walked over slowly enough that Leliana was nearly crying by the time she finally arrived. Iseult sighed, her breath too shallow. “It’s not that bad.”

Nonetheless, Velanna’s hands glowed green with healing magic, and when the light diffused into Iseult’s body, the bleeding stemmed, and the pain went from a lashing knife to a dull ache. “Don’t die on us now, Commander. We still need you to keep those darkspawn at bay,” the elf offered, her words surly but her voice touched by a hint of worry.

“Yes, I love you too, Velanna,” Iseult responded with as much of a voice as she could muster.

Velanna scoffed and walked away.

As soon as Leliana had checked that the wounds were no longer quite so vicious, she leaned down, kissing Iseult almost ferociously for a lingering moment. The warmth of her, the undeniable softness, grounded Iseult, as it always did. “I am not losing you to something like that,” Leliana whispered when they broke apart.

Iseult laughed weakly. “You won’t.”

Leliana helped her to her feet, and with the strength she had left, Iseult made her way to the other two members of their party, the ruined breastplate dangling by its straps from her hand. It was so inconsequential, the simple ability to have someone to literally lean on, but as Leliana continued to cast gentle, worried looks at her, Iseult could not help but let some of the glowing incandescence in her chest form into a smile.

All this luck… she could hardly comprehend it.

A soft rustle in the trees broke her train of thought, and she glanced around the surroundings just as one last hurlock broke through the greenery, heading straight for her. Before she could even open her mouth to sound a warning, a form separated it from her.

The monster’s claws tore open Nathaniel’s arm. Only a second later, it was dead, strangled by a mass of vines thicker than Iseult had ever seen them. Velanna’s teeth were bared, her hand outstretched, the last vestiges of mana still shimmering around her fingertips.

“Nathaniel!” Iseult immediately cried out. “Are you-”

He nodded as if it were just a scratch, even as the blood poured down his arm. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” Velanna snapped. Sweat beaded on her face as she dredged up, somehow, enough power for another healing spell, but nonetheless, the flow of his blood thinned.

“Let’s get back to the keep,” Leliana said, helping Iseult onto her horse before mounting her own. As impersonally as she could, Velanna did the same for Nathaniel, and the half-smile he sent her did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Iseult urged her horse into a run and barely felt the pain in her chest.

--

Dear Alistair,

I was injured today, and it made me think of you. Oh, that doesn’t sound right. I mean that it made me think of the time we had together, during the Blight. Despite everything, I must admit that I miss it sometimes.

Do you remember all of our escapades? Wynne sitting us down and giving us a long talk about the dangers of a man and a woman making love, only to realize that us sleeping together was sleeping and nothing more? The time you made me hide bugs in Zevran’s shoes, and my confession of it mere minutes after the fact? The adventures with the dog?

You make it easy for me to miss you, my dearest friend. I know that I am partially to blame for that, what with putting you on the throne, but not a day goes by that I do not wish you were still here with me, with no other complications.

If you can, come and visit Vigil’s Keep. It will do you some good, I’m sure, to see the rebuilding of the Grey Wardens. Really, though, I am only being selfish: I long to see you again. Besides, I am sure that there is a diplomatic, kingly reason to visit the Keep. Or there will be, if you look hard enough. There are a few people I think you would like to meet.

With love,

Iseult Cousland.

The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing along the walls. Iseult smiled softly to herself, folding and sealing the letter before placing it carefully on the desk.

“Come to bed,” Leliana coaxed.

Iseult slipped out of her everyday clothes and obliged, curling into Leliana’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. “It has been a surprising day.”

Leliana hummed in agreement, running her fingers through Iseult’s hair. “I worry for you, Issie.”

“Why?” Iseult replied, a bubble of laughter in her voice. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yes, of course you can. I just…” She trailed off. “I find myself thinking about the future. Our future. I know we’ve discussed it before, but- what about children? And what about after that? What happens if you get injured, and Maker forbid it, what if you die?” The laughter in Iseult’s voice evaporated, replaced with soft sincerity. “Leliana… we aren’t facing a Blight. Whatever tries to kill me now is almost definitely going to be less dangerous.”

“But swords are swords,” Leliana interjected. “I was a bard. I have seen the nobles and warriors alike killed by simply turning their eyes away at the wrong moment.”

That night ran through Iseult’s head for the hundred thousandth time. Her mother, strong and unyielding. Her father, brave and wise. Both of them dead by a sword in the back. A chill ran down her bones, and she let out a defeated breath. “I know, my love.”

“Just be careful, yes?” Leliana’s voice was softer now. “I don’t want to have to say goodbye. Not ever again.”

Ah, yes. The archdemon fight, when no one knew if they would make it out alive. Iseult’s body tensed just thinking of it. If the Maker had mercy, nothing like that battle would happen again.

But this was here; it was over. She let out a breath and allowed herself to relax. “I promise you won’t have to.”

A moment passed in silence. It was a moment poised elegantly between peace and sleep, covered with the gauze of approaching fatigue, yet still entirely lucid.

Then, Leliana let out a giggle. “So, that boy and his elf friend?” Iseult grinned into her wife’s shoulder. “You noticed?” “He rather reminds me of you, with all those stares.”

“I was never that obvious,” Iseult objected. Or at least, she’d thought so.

Leliana’s smile widened. “Oh, please. You and your poor, pathetic puppy eyes. I swear you turned pink every time I so much as spoke to you. You were anything but subtle.”

Iseult blushed, and ignored how it completely proved Leliana’s point. “And how did you pick up all of that?” “It was part of being a bard, remember?” Leliana pressed a kiss to the top of Iseult’s head, leaving a spreading warmth. “Besides… I loved you too.”

Iseult began to drift, but still caught the “and still do” that Leliana added.

She slept with the warmth of arms defending her from the shadows of the past, and she dreamed of a future full of stars and old friends.

--

Alistair,

I am unsure as to why I am writing this letter at all, because the impetus for my writing it was that I heard you were undertaking a journey here. I will see you soon in person, I am sure, so there is truly no reason for this letter to exist. Still, it calms me to write to you. I can imagine your face, what you would say to me, every time I do.

Leliana likens me to a mabari; she says she can practically see a tail wagging in excitement as I watch for you from the battlements. Nonetheless, I am certain that your journey will take you a while. An insufferably long while, actually. So, in the meantime, I must busy myself with work around the keep, of which there is thankfully more than enough of. Two weeks since my last letter, and every day has been a wait.

Until I see you again,

Iseult Cousland.

The sun shined down upon the keep, catching the silver of Iseult’s armor, stained only slightly with darkspawn blood from the hunting earlier, as she once again stood in front of the ever-challenging Velanna. “All I’m saying is that you two should work something out. If you continue to-”

“Dance around each other,” Leliana interrupted her.

Iseult pushed back a grin. “If you continue to have such heated arguments during our outings, then it does pose a risk of interrupting our dynamic, yes?” “Then perhaps you should not put me in the same company as such an infuriating shem!” Velanna practically bellowed, shooting Leliana, who was still wearing a little teasing smile, with a look that could have cut glass. “If he persists with all of his my lady and his… enraging little compliments I swear on the Creators I’ll-”

“Velanna,” Iseult said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “will you at least talk with him? If it truly upsets you so much, I am more than certain that he will back down. He is a good man. He may be just trying to show you respect.”

“It doesn’t upset me! That’s what upsets me about it!” Velanna’s ears immediately turned bright red, and she stormed away without another word.

Leliana tilted her head at Iseult. “That went well, I think.”

“She certainly revealed a few things I think she didn’t mean to,” Iseult agreed.

They nodded at each other. “I say another week,” Iseult added.

“A week? You’re mad. I say it takes them three days.” Leliana’s eyes suddenly drew to the gates. “Oh- Issie! Look who it is!”

Iseult squinted at the gate. A glint of gold, a shimmer of blonde. A thrill immediately pushed itself through her. “Alistair!” As quickly as she could, she began to take off her armor, Leliana’s gaze only growing more amused as her movements became haphazard.

“Do you really have to greet him like that every time you’re apart?” Leliana said, one eyebrow raised.

“Commander, I-” Nathaniel froze upon seeing the scene. “Commander?”

“Yeah, what is she doing?” Anders appeared from behind him.

Leliana smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see.”

“Is he wearing armor?” Iseult asked from the depths of her own.

Leliana took a moment to make it out. “He is. And it’s his fancy King of Ferelden armor, too.”

After one last moment of fumbling with straps and metal, Iseult finally extricated herself from the enormous pile of metal. “Oh, this is going to hurt.”

Three gazes followed her as she took off in a whirlwind sprint across the courtyard: two utterly bewildered, and one extremely amused. “Alistair!” Iseult called to the man across the courtyard.

His head snapped around to see her, and he opened his arms, grinning widely. “Sei!”

With one final sprint and a mighty leap, she jumped into his arms, embracing him tightly. Sure enough, the impact of her body on his massive, superfluous armor- or rather the impact of his armor on her- pushed all of her breath away, and she had to wait a moment to regain it. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you! I’ve missed you so much!”

“And I you. Why did I let you talk me into becoming king, again?” He returned the embrace with as much vigor, until suddenly his grip loosened. “Ooh, people are staring. Do you think it’s acceptable for a king to-”

“Alistair Theirin,” Iseult said, only partially joking, “I haven’t seen you for far too long. Let them stare.”

“Oh, all right.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose that getting to hug my best friend after an eternity away from her isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

She laughed, then caught the eye of a nobleman who was somehow horrified, disgusted, and confused at the same time. “Although if you don’t put me down soon, those rumors will start up again.”

“Ugh.” Reluctantly, he placed her back on the ground, and they both assumed their authoritative postures once more; hers of a Warden-Commander, his of a king. “Commander Cousland, I believe you owe me a tour of the keep?”

She bit her cheek to stop herself from beaming. “I believe I do, your majesty.”

--

“So this is important business, hmm?” Anders asked, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow significantly above the other. “I’m not complaining, but…”

“Do kings do nothing but sit around and drink?” Velanna snapped.

Iseult raised a finger to hush them. “This is important business. Raising morale.”

Nathaniel laughed from behind a mug of ale, then covered it up with a cough.

Oghren just burped loudly. “You kids don’t know how to have fun.”

“Oh, I think I know something that’ll raise morale.” Alistair, much less imposing without his golden armor, shot Iseult a dangerously playful look. “Want to hear the story of how your Warden-Commander once climbed into a tree and wouldn’t come back down because she had seen a snake? In her full set of armor, by the way. The tree could barely hold her.”

Anders looked at Iseult in disbelief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he took in the fact that she’d turned bright red. “Now this I have to hear.” He sat at the table, chin resting on his fist. “Please, go on.”

“It wasn’t even a snake,” Alistair continued. “It was a rope that her dog had chewed up.”

Velanna scoffed and sat down too, pretending not to be interested. Iseult buried her head in her hands.

“Aww, you were so stupid,” Sigrun cooed, slapping Iseult on the back with surprising force.

Leliana chimed in from the other side of the table. “Ooh, or the time that a nobleman asked you two how long you’d been married.”

Alistair guffawed, ruffling Iseult’s hair. “She had no idea what was going on.” He remembered something else, perking up again. “Or the time Wynne tried to give us the baby-making talk.”

“Or the time she fell asleep standing up in her armor, and no one noticed until she tipped over,” Leliana added.

“Or the time she-”

“Haven’t you damaged my reputation enough by now?” Iseult groaned, half-serious.

Alistair shoved a drink in front of her, stronger-looking than anything she’d seen in weeks. “Here, this should make you feel better. Leliana, do you remember the time you put a fake spider in the corner of her tent, and she broke a sword trying to kill it?” Iseult removed her head from her hands, picked up the drink, and downed it all.

“Woohoo, Commander!” Oghren shouted. “Look at that, she can drink.”

“Speaking of drinking, did she ever tell you about the time she drank too much and cried because, and I quote, ‘snakes don’t have legs’?”

Iseult poured herself another drink and downed that one too. The fuzz of a tipsy stupor began to rapidly descend on her.

“What about the time she sent the mabari to get a stick, and instead, he came back with Sten’s blade?” Leliana giggled.

Nathaniel patted Iseult on the shoulder. “I’m so glad I didn’t kill you, Iseult.”

“If you were really my friend, you would distract them by telling everyone here about your feelings for Velanna,” Iseult responded.

She realized too late that she had said that at full volume. The table fell silent.

“I’m beginning to regret not killing you, Iseult,” Nathaniel said, his jaw tightening.

“Your what?” Velanna squeaked, her voice going suddenly high.

Sigrun began to laugh hysterically, sliding from her chair to underneath the table.

Leliana broke into a broad smile, getting up from her seat to drag both Nathaniel and Velanna out the door. “It sounds like you two have some talking to do.”

The door slammed behind them. For a moment, the room was completely silent. Anders peered through the window. “Give them a minute… and they’re kissing. Well, that was fast.”

Iseult sighed. “He’s never going to forgive me. Now who am I going to ask to be my surrogate?”

“Your what?” Anders yelped.

“What’s a surrogate?” Sigrun mumbled from under the table.

Alistair let out another loud laugh. “That reminds me of the Morrigan incident. Leliana, did I tell you how she-”

Half of Iseult wanted to sink into the ground and never be seen again. The other half of her was too happy, surrounded by friends and firelight, to even consider it.

All this luck…

[thaneirstaer]

“At least it wasn’t fruitless”

Story put under a read more cause I dont wanna spam

Our battles throughout the war torn country were bloody, they were exhausting, they were costly.  

"At least they're not fruitless."

We kept repeating, battle after battle, friend and comrade after brother and sister in arms fell, whispering names on their lips for a final breath, a lover, a spouse, child, parents, God. It all became white noise by the end. I am no paladin, no cleric, no savior of the sick and injured. I could only give the solace they did not die alone. Hand gripped in hand until theirs's went lax. But it was worth it.

We glared upon the mighty Wall of Fallen, impossible in scale it took those of us whom never seen it before's breath away like a mighty gust of wind blowing into us, pushing out all strength. In unison we stepped forward, spear and sword, shield and forward, banners of all our lands in unison, a rainbow of tattered cloth, mud and blood. Beasts of war adorned armor and shield, battle scarred they'd seen the worst of this we thought. The King's Guard, more a band of brigands, ransacking farmsteads and small towns for gold to help fund his campaign. Our captains spoke of worry, the raids continued but our enemy had never grown stronger. Swords were still tarnished, horses malnourished, did Fool King Edmund think he could win but sturdy walls and ballistae alone?  

We cared not, marching turned to sprinting, the mud underneath us caused every step to be taken with increased haste, throwing ourselves to the walls as great ladders were thrown up them. We had to get the gate open; a smaller detachment snuck around to open the gate at our signal. The torches flared, horns sounded and battle cries were given but no movement at the gate. The few archers and spearmen atop the wall were overrun. They were trained, but so were we. And we had numbers. Dozens of women and men, soldiers and outlaws, all who banded together to see the Fool King fall. We made our way to the guard house with reckless abandon. We just needed the gates open. Consolidate our forces into a spear tip and drive it through the heart while archers rained hell upon our foes from above. Five of our own were ahead of me, sword and daggers, spear and pitchfork in hand screaming bloody murder. And as quickly as our advance began. It ended.

One strike as he burst from the guard house. One swing of his mighty sword arm and they were thrown from the walls, a bloody outpouring of gore as pieces fell to the slick mud below and atop our troops. A helmet of crimson red, horns adorning like a dominant bull, a thick black cloak, furred edges and armour thicker than the walls he stood on. This figure gave us all pause, he raised sword and shield to the air and bellowed out louder than any mortal sound could be as fire rained down across the other side of the wall and the part behind us. Like slamming fists from the heavens of molten flame and ungodly power they crushed down, troops wiped out as the King's Guard's true force rallied and marched up the walls as the gates opened beneath us. And he marched forward.

My hands were clammy, my helmet obscured my vision as I ducked and dipped, I found myself closest to the wall to our side of a body of men, holding with grim resolve behind our captain Benedictus.

"Foul spawn of the North! We are unbo-"

No glory was given, in a single strike he crushed through the captain's breastplate, splitting him like a log for firewood. Benedictus' sword found it's mark, pierced straight through the mighty juggernaut's chest. Where the heart should be. It acknowledged it with passing annoyance before cutting through us. Lifting his sword high he cut through Emilia like she wasn’t even there, Tobias' throat was slit before he could even scream, Sebastion's greatsword was shattered, piercing him as the Monster of the Wall threw us with terrible force. I lunged forward at the Monster. He was towering over me, larger than the largest orc, more akin to a troll for sheer gait and bulk. But as deft as an elf, his gargantuan form dodged me as if I were a stumbling child I lunged deep, piercing his side to the hilt I shouted then I saw his shadow, the blade arching down to me. I released my blade and raised my shield, it was like paper to a butcher’s knife, his sword struck at my shoulder, I felt cloak and chain shatter, steel piercing my body as he lifted me on his blade.

The first the wind took me as a boot made contact with my back, before secondly the ground embraced me, darkness then took me thirdly. I could taste the blood, I could hear their voices, an unjointed chorus screaming my name, screaming “my lord” desperate, they needed my help, they clawed at me.

"Get up"

A soft voice like a candle in the abyss of darkness, a hearth flame in the freezing depth of winter. A gauntleted hand reached down to me, it took all my energy to lift my right arm up to Them. And I was pulled from the pile of bodies. We were in route, screams were everywhere, camp was in the woods, we had to flee their and flee further. All my energy turned to run as agony sank deep into my bodies, clinging to me like hot tar. My left arm, like a festering conflagration, barely hanging from my torso. The noise, subtle but massive drew my gaze, I saw him atop the walls. Cutting swaths through us all in a gory conquest. And there were nine others, marching on terrible flaming horses through the gates, the retreat horns were sound. A voice rang into my head in that moment;

"At least we could save some. At least it's not fruitless"

[peakyblinders-au]

Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

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Character Full Name: Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

Nicknames/Alias: Kassie

Backstory for nicknames/alias/names: you don’t have to add anything here if its unnecessary

Gender: Female, she/her

Gender Role: housewife & mommy

Sexual Orientation: straight (unless may carleton shows up)

Age: 27

Birthday: November 26, 1892

Deathday: please don’t kill me i need to make sure my son is ok

Birthplace: Sparta, Greece

Ethnicity: Greek-born but raised in England (Greek English??)

Family Members: not related to any of the Shelby’s or their friends by blood but by marriage/child through Tommy

Children: Tommy and I have a son together, little James Rokko Shelby. I met Tommy while he was in France as a tunneller, I was a nurse in the army and had to bandage him up fairly often. We understood each other well and fell in love and had a baby. Jamesy was born in France and is only a few months old when we get to go home

Face shape: oval

Eye colour: green

Hair colour: brown

Hairstyle: Long and wavy like a goddess

Skin tone: light olive skin (that tans easily)

Complexion: like a goddamn porcelain doll (not really but i wish so yeah make her beautiful!)

Body type/Build: thin with proportionate features

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 125 lbs

Breast size: 34b

Facial Hair: no thank you except for eyebrows

Scars/Birthmarks/Prominent Features: septum piercing (does that count?)

Preferred hand: Rightie

Health: able-bodied

Phobias: drowning, James losing his daddy

Addictions: whiskey and cigarettes because of Tommy (but she enjoys them responsibly because mom)

Mental Disorders: Has severe daddy issues from a messed up childhood, only Tommy knows the truth about it and knows how to comfort her and help the nightmares. She just needs to feel loved and taken care of and Tommy does that for her.

Attitude: SPICY very spicy, but also very loving and compassionate and friendly to those she trusts. She’s an actual Spartan so no one messes with her. She has resting bitch face (much like Tommy which is why they understand each other). She would literally take a bullet to the head for her son.

Expressions: lots of angry eyebrows, she bites her lip when she’s nervous or worried, lots of shrugs and “idk” when she is annoyed

Residence: She lives in Tommy’s mansion. She shares a bed with him (on the nights he actually sleeps) She’s the Wifey™

Political Affiliation: She grew up dirt poor so she probably secretly admires commies but she would never join herself. She tends to take Tommy’s side on politics whatever it may be at the moment

Friends: She is close with Arthur, Ada and Finn, but tends to butt heads with John. She’s friends with mostly everyone as she is known as Mrs. Shelby and likes to keep her acquaintances in good standing. Childhood friend of Alfie Solomons. He was her older neighbor growing up in Camden Town and she spent hours playing with him to get away from her dad. She is very good friends with Ekaterina, she took her in because she saw a tiny part of her younger, wilder self in her. And also probably Nikki and Denise’s characters- if that’s okay?

Enemies: She’s a Shelby now so anyone who crosses them is dead to her. She doesn’t like Kimber, Sabini, or anyone else that takes a stab at her husband/baby daddy.

Boss: Tommy is her boss, she is an integral part of the business because she handles ALL of Tommy’s paperwork

Pets: James has a small white dog that follows him everywhere and protects him at all times (You can name him)

Finances: She works for and with the Shelby family so she’s a Rich Bitch™

Marital Status: married Tommy in France by the river after she told him she was preggy

Sex Life: HELL YEAH smut this bitch up!

Lovers: she’s only ever fucked Tommy and isn’t tryna get with anyone else YET

Turn-ons: omg all the dommy!tommy stuff pretty much: choking, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, nipple tugging; when Tommy comes home covered in blood

Turn-offs: Creepy old men, she is very wary of men who remind her of her dad

Dom or Sub: sub but can definitely be dom and take control of the situation when asked (or hinted at)

Fantasies: I’m gonna aim high and say a threesome with Tommy and Michael…

Occupation: she manages all the clerical work for Shelby Company Ltd. so she’s at the office most days, but she’s with her little boy every minute she’s not working

Income: Shelby money

Work Experience: she took care of the wounded men at the Somme

Religion: I’m with tommy on this one: ALL RELIGION IS A FOOLISH ANSWER TO A FOOLISH QUESTION

Criminal Record: A baddie at heart and when no one’s looking but never on paper

Morals: morals because she has to teach her son to be a proper gentleman but also no morals because she deals with the Shelby’s and their enemies

Main Goal: Main goal is just to support Tommy and his terrible decisions, and raise their son and try to steer him away from the family business and send him to school to become a scientist or something

Ambitions: really just wants to be a good wife and mommy, set a good example for her son

Regrets: never going to school for a proper career

Secrets: Her dad was a real piece of shit and molested her throughout her infancy and childhood hence her severe daddy issues- Tommy is the only person alive who knows about it and can soothe her

Best memories: when she told Tommy she was pregnant and Tommy looked at her wide-eyed as a single tear started to fall down his cheek and the biggest smile come over him, he took her face in his hands and put their foreheads together “so you’re havin’ my baby eh?”

Worst memories: the last few months in France were akin to torture because everyday as she sat rubbing her growing belly, she hoped Tommy would come back at the end of the day. She was so afraid of seeing him go into the tunnels and never come back out.

Hobbies: She loves to knit little hats and gloves for Jamesy, she also knits Tommy some hats and he’s been seen wearing them only to be made fun of my his brothers. She also loves to have a few whiskeys with Tommy at the end of a long day ;)

Skills: she was an army nurse so she is a first aid expert and is the one everyone runs to when they’ve gotten hurt in a fight or an accident

Likes: rainy days by the fire, dark colors, flowers, laughing, being a mommy

Dislikes: blatantly rude people, people who overstep their boundaries, know-it-alls

Superstitions: the only thing she believes in is science

Quirks: she’s weird and clumsy but also very knowledgeable about certain things

Guilty Pleasures: talking back, getting people to admit they’re wrong

Strengths: charming, good with money, loyal to a fault, organized, she just loves to make sure her people feel supported  

Weaknesses: JEALOUS, a little vain, argumentative, doesn’t like to give in, can be childish

Languages: Greek, English, and French (learned it to talk with the soldiers)

Accent: from Camden Town so ?? Londony i guess

Speech Impediments: none

Voice: kinda on the low side but gets increasingly higher when she’s excited about something

Reputation: she doesnt really have one she’s just known for being Tommy’s wife/secretary and baby momma

Backstory: She comes from immigrant parents with 4 siblings so she was always kinda scraping what she could for herself and always very independent. She had a tumultuous relationship with both her parents and at the age of 18 she left to join the army as a nurse. She didn’t care what she had to so as long as she got to get away from her awful father. She ended up breaking off all contact with her family. During her time as a nurse she saw it all: broken bones, missing limbs, and strained spirits. That is where she met Thomas Shelby. He had been shot when he was brought in. She had never seen a soldier look so handsome and perfect while lying there bleeding. That was the first of many times she bandaged Tommy up and sent him back out to the battlefield. They became very close and eventually she became pregnant. It was shock all around at first and then instant excitement and love and hope for the future. They were married by the river in front of all their friends and Tommy’s brothers. Their baby boy was born in France but soon after they were able to come home and Tommy brought his new family back to Small Heath.