#sten: Leave the Hero of Ferelden to me.

[griffonsong]

not realistic mayhap but the image of battlefield Sten going "Kadan your latest letter was delightful it reminded me of this plant of Seheron I must tell you about" while in the same breath trying to pin the HoF to the ground with his sword lives rent free in my head

i love the potential dynamic the HoF can have with Sten after he's become Arishok. it's like yeah we disagree on everything from politics religion culture etc and if we ever came into conflict neither of us could morally back down, so we'd have to kill each other if we met on the battlefield, BUT. i respect that, and i love you

[flowersonpebbles]

Thursday Week 2: Legacies 10. Friendship

@elfroot-and-laurels

TW: angst, character death, a lot of emotions

word count: 1 925

Jowan – A scribbled note found in the Circle tower of Ferelden, where an apostate had stayed and slept – paper covered with smeared blood and tears, discovered 9:30 Dragon whilst cleaning the tower after the horrific happenings. “I am afraid for what will happen today… Dallas I know will trust me, will help me… but I feel awful for having to lie to him and Lilly. But he will forgive me if he is to ever learn the truth, maybe not immediately, but eventually… I hope… I cherish our friendship too much to not work for his forgiveness…”

Alistair – An official letter, written with careful handwriting but there are stains looking akin to tear drops here and there, discovered in Vigil’s Keep 9:38 Dragon. “Respected Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander, I hope this letter finds you well. I also hope you can forgive me for being such a selfish man many years ago… I let grief color my judgement. But I think I am happy, trying my best to make a difference where I can, with influence to actually achieve it sometimes. And I owe it to you. Anora and I even grew to love each other… it is very bitter sweet sometimes, albeit. But we fill in each other where one lacks skill, it is… fulfilling. I know the Inquisition is in search of you, for what I do not know but I am cautious for you, I can only hope this letter reaches you in time, or that you’re already gone from where they can find you. Kindest regards, King Alistair Theirin.”

Morrigan – A neatly written first page in an otherwise empty journal not accidentally left behind in a worn, familiar backpack, discovered after killing the archdemon, “My dear friend, as we had discussed, I am gone now. But I hope your thirst for knowledge like my own can be documented in this journal I leave for you… I cannot thank you enough for the journey and our friendship. It will all stay precious to me.”

Lamb – A worn blanket left behind in an inn’s room, smelling strongly of embriums and lotuses for the friend who stood beside him til the end and who should now protect his soulmate in his stead, 9:49 Dragon.

Leliana – A book well loved and filled to the brim with songs, poems and stories, all written with utmost care. A last page entry of it though – end of 9:31 Dragon: “We finally part ways. I am saddened to do so but he wishes to venture far and I have a new duty. Something to help the world even further. Our memories together will always be dear to my heart, I was lucky to have met such an amazing person who let me help!”

Sten – Orders written in qunlat, page neatly folded and writing perfect, signed by the Arishok found in 9:44 Dragon. “The Warden-Commander of Ferelden, infamous Hero of Ferelden, should not be harmed in any manner if he is to be found among places to be conquered. If he wishes to protect any dwellers in a location, rather fall back. Highly dangerous – do not engage. Inform me immediately if he comes into play.”

Wynne – A journal entry in well keep book, the last page having tear and blood drops upon it, but is later ripped out and sent to Vigil’s keep, the entry was on 9:39 Dragon, “I feel weary, I think my time is nearing. I think fondly of our journey together, your questions always so odd to me. But I’ve grown to question more and more things myself, all thanks to you, Dallas. I am not sure if I’ll have the pleasure to see you again but I wish you well. I hope and Zevran have found happiness by each other’s sides.”

Zevran – A letter sent in desperation, hurried writing with inked smudgings indicating tear drops, sent and received 9:49 Dragon, “Dearest Leliana, or should I address you as Divine Victoria now? My dearest, I beg with utmost urgency aid in searching for our friend, Dallas. You see, he left in the middle of the night, Lamb is still with me. But even he is struggling to find our Dallas… I was hoping maybe you could help with that… I must speak plainly. He holds my heart; my very soul and I do not wish for him to perish alone. I owe him more than that. Yours kindly, Zevran Arainai.”

Oghren – A solemn journal entry in an old journal, dated 9:35 Dragon, “Little Dallas is grown and running around, belching like his pa. He even got red hair like me and the Warden-Commander! Felsi ain’t looking too great lately, got me worried. But I myself haven’t slept great, maybe that’s why she looks so tired all the time? Damned darkspawn… never thought a dwarf could have nightmares. Yet here we are. Hoping to report back to Dallas when he gets back so I could maybe ask for some help. He’s a smart cookie, after all.”

Loghain – A letter written in haste even though the neatness is tried to be kept, sent 9:41 Dragon after the Grey Wardens were welcomed by the Inquisition, “Warden-Commander Dallas, I am unsure where to send this to. I entrust our old ally, Leliana to send it to you along with all the other letters I have been meaning to send but I did not know where to reach you. She might know where – or when she does learn where they’ll be sent. We have broken free of Corypheus for the most part. We are aiding the Inquisition in rebuilding what we can to help atone for what has transpired… I know well how trying to help in exaggeration can be too extreme… I hope only to be of a soothing hand to their shame. Yours faithfully, Loghain Mac-Tir”

Bethany – A panicked last journal entry in a beloved diary of Bethany Hawke, 9:30 Dragon, “I worry for my siblings. They left to fight against the darkspawn, to help the King in the battle… Emikka will look after Carver though. I fear still… and I have a bad feeling for what has yet to come for us all… I know Emikka will help us through it all though. Wait, is that her I’m hearing outside? Did the win already?” ink is then spilled on the rest of the blank page, also ruining other mages, obviously the book had been shut whilst ink was still wet.

Carver – A letter sent in response to his sister’s request to be sent away, 9:41 Dragon, “Emikka, I left Ferelden as you requested. I just think it unfair that you let Loghain stay back and I’m made to leave. But I have safely arrived in Antiva City… Sister, you need to see it. Its bloody gorgeous and I think I could’ve even taken Merril on a date here. Please stay safe, I’m not sure why you even trust this Inquisition. But I do trust you. Write back soon, you better stay alive too. You still have your piece of the jade, yeah? Keep it close. I have a bad feeling… Nug has also been restless lately, he misses you. Your brother, Carver.”

Nug – 9:39 Dragon a well-loved stuffed tug toy was given to a brother to look after his sister’s mabari until the three of them can reunite again.

Aveline – 9:38 Dragon a letter was sent with a copper coin with marigolds on it, “I hope this finds you well, Hawke. I know you’re on the run, I know you’re trying to help people who need it. I just wanted you to know that Leandra is born. And I hope… now more than ever, the world she grows up in will see her be free of demons and a tower for her whole life. I will keep our city safe until you can return. Remember we miss you. And Hawke? Thank you. Aveline.”

Varric – 9:41 Dragon six different letters were sent out after the siege of Adamant Fortress written with great dread, grief and many tear stains and ink smudges. “Little Hawke, your sister was glad to have gotten your response before we left to siege Adamant Fortress… She only started writing a response but I’m still sending it with my letter. I think it only right you have it… I’m so sorry… It was all my fault. I should have never asked her for help… She… she stayed back in the Fade to let others escape… to let others live. Loghain also sends his deepest regrets to you, Junior. Varric” “Aveline, what I’m about to tell you… tell Gamlen for me too, if you could so kindly. Hawke was left behind on a mission to let others survive that were… necessary in her eyes. I wish I was there… I wish I could’ve stopped her… It’s a big mess, I’m so sorry… Send my regards to Donnic and Leandra, my regrets to Gamlen. Varric Tethras.” “Fenris, Emikka died on a mission. I don’t even know if you’ll be able to read this, hopefully you get someone who can read it to you then. I was such an idiot… I’m so sorry… Your friend, Varric” “Daisy, I’m telling you this with great caution. Hawke was left behind in the Fade to let others get out alive. Don’t go doing something stupid though, you hear me? She would want us all to go on living. Who knows, hopefully she can get out on her own… that’s possible, right…?” “Rivaini, I’m running out words, at least the ale is stopping the tears. Hawke… Hawke stayed back for others to live… I’m… it was my fault for asking her for help… Varric” “Blondie, by Andraste… you and Daisy, I don’t even wanna tell either of you but… Hawke was left behind in the fade… It hurts so much… it was my fault... again… how can we even begin to fix this, Blondie…?”

Fenris – A shakily written letter sent 9:41 Dragon, a few drops of blood at the corner. “Do not trust this new thing trying to recruit you. Listen to Varric and do not go where I cannot follow, Emikka. The jade piece I have will miss yours. Your love, Fenris”

Merril – A letter covered in scribbles, runes with elfroot leaves attached was sent on 9:39 Dragon, “Hawke, I hope this fighting ends soon. The elves following me grow weary. The Templars grow more aggressive. I fear our fates, but I do not know what to do other than hide in forests I know well, it is much more defensible. But it grows too cold for them… I hope you and Anders are fairing better than we are. Merril.”

Isabella – A letter written neatly with a pretty blue feather attached to it, sent 9:41 Dragon, “Hey, beautiful. Heard some kind of Inquisition has you roped in? Varric said he needed your help, right? Just behave yourself and come back with some shiny trinkets of theirs, alright? My jade has been missing yours too. Stay safe, pretty. Much love, Isabella”

Anders – A crumpled piece of paper with singes at the edges and a torn edge was sent 9:40 Dragon, “Hawke, I know we split up to try and get the Templars off my back, and the other apostates. But I fear for what is yet to come. I will die for our freedom. But not everyone wants to, I know that now… Have I doomed us all, or was it going to happen without me nether the less? Stay safe, old friend. Anders.”

[howlingday]

I come here with an AU idea that's been on my mind for a while. The Dragon Age AU with Jaune as The Hero of Ferelden and Cinder as Morrigan, Sun as Alistair,Pyrrha as Leliana. If you don't know Dragon Age you should look it up, you'd like like it. If you do know it then picture this:

The scene is set in a ruin present in the midst of the Kocari Wilds, Jaune, Sun and two other recruits are present to retrieve documents from said ruin when they hear footsteps approaching

Cinder: Well, Well what have we here? Are you scavengers perhaps? Vultures here to claim that which belonged to those who came before? If so then turn back whatever you're looking for is here no longer.

Sun: "Here no longer"? You stole it didn't you? You- you sneaky... Witch thief.

Cinder: Well then? Which are you? Scavenger or intruder?

Jaune: Neither. The Silver Huntsmen once owned and protected this tower.

Cinder: But it's not a tower anymore, is it? The Grimm have already claimed this desiccated corpse. However, I will admit that I have watched you and your party for some time. "Where will they go?" "Whatever will they do?" and my personal thoughts "Why are they here?" And now here you are, touching the ashes of a place long gone. Why is that?

Sun: You don't need to answer her. She looks marked, which means there could be others nearby.

Cinder: Ooh! You fear there will be barbarians who will swoop down upon you?

Sun: Yes, because swooping would be bad.

Russel: She's a Witch of the Black, she is! She'll turn us into Grimm!

Cinder: Witch of the Black? Well, don't you have an imagination on you? But only because they are stories you've been told before. Like good, little sheep with no minds of your own. And what of you, Ser Knight? Tell me yours and I will tell you mine, as all civilized people do.

Jaune: My name is Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you.

Cinder: Well, now there is a civil greeting, even here in the wilds of the Black Woods! You may call me Cinder.

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

This was a fun idea. I'm thinking of ideas for who's who in this scenario, since Dragon Age Origins was my first and thus far only interaction with the franchise, and it was a good one.

Jaune - Hero of Ferelden

Sun - Alistair

Cinder - Morrigan

Pyrrha - Leliana

Adam - Sten

Mercury - Zevran

Penny - Shale

Zwei or Juniper - Mabari

That just leaves Ohgren, Wynne, and Loghain.

[wulflynn]

The Darkspawn Chronicles— why has nobody talked about it?! I’m sure people have, I just haven’t seen it lol.

I knew of its existence but never played it until last night. I was going to start a new game of Origins but was like I’ll go see the DLC and maybe do one of them.

Spoiler alert, if you’ve not checked it out yet but would like to.

I don’t know if the devs were being cruel or clever (perhaps both), giving us a canonical(?) alternative ending in which our Warden failed their joining, leaving Alistair to do the conscripting and decision-making. Clearly, he did the best he could, but maybe it only enhances the meaning of our Warden’s Hero of Ferelden title, seeing as without them, Ferelden really was lost to the Blight despite anyone else’s efforts.

Not only did you have to kill Alistair, Barkspawn, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, Oghren, Wynne, and some other familiar faces, but since Alistair sided with the Templars, f*kin CULLEN was there, too! Bless my poor fiancé’s heart as he heard me pterodactyl-screeching from the other room. It was bad, y’all 😂

All in all though, it was a fun DLC. Broke my heart, but it was still interesting to play.

[heniareth]

A letter from the Hero of Ferelden to the Arishok dated somewhere around 9:49 Dragon, found in the Arishok's private war tent:

Dear Sten,

Hi, it's me. An interesting message has reached my ears. Don't ask how, I won't tell. Apparently, your army is set out to Antiva? Is that true? Sten, I fucking live here, and by the amount of qunari coming into town I'm sure you know that. And no, they're not Tal-Vashoth. I know the difference by now.

I really want to keep this friendly, but I will not have an invasion. I already had to leave Amaranthine. I have kids now, Sten. I swear, if anything happens to them, I'll have you pay tenfold.

I hope the courier delivers the cookies. I hope you like them. For old time's sake, yeah? I consider you a good friend and I really don't want to lose that friendship, but if your people invade Antiva... well. Just don't do it! It's not so hard!

Zevran sends his love and his own threats. If you don't invade us, we'd love to see you again. If you really want to see Antiva so bad, you can come over any time, you know? Without your army.

Lots of love,

Astala

It is unclear whether the Arishok ever responded to the letter, but the paper looks like it has been crumpled and then smoothed out again several times.

[vigilskeep]

sorry if you've gotten an ask like this before, but imagine your hawke and warden (any of your choice) got flipped, how do you think they would get along w the companions from the other game? and in general how would they do and feel in the position of the hof/champion, hypothetically?

i just love hearing about your characters ngl i really want to put them in situations

LOVE asks like this pls put my guys in situations

keir as the hero of ferelden... i guess not totally unreasonable, he did fight at ostagar, duncan could’ve picked him up (read: pried him away from his family with the right of conscription.) he’d get along with alistair well enough, though it might take him a minute to warm up to him for near-templar reasons. wouldn’t get along too well with leliana or wynne, and wynne would leave the party after he defiled the sacred ashes, leliana only staying via an intimidation check which is a thing you can do if she’s hardened iirc. fuck the chantry he’s gotta get them reaver powers. not much patience for oghren. would do well with sten, shale, zevran. would kill loghain, no doubt abt that. and honestly, i’ve said before that they maybe had a thing in lothering, keir would romance morrigan and do the dark ritual with her (suddenly just realised the hilarious implication that kieran’s name is loosely inspired by keir possibly in the normal worldstate as well). keir would be fairly bitter about the whole thing and abt the wardens, and his priority would still be finding his family and (if only by virtue of stopping the blight) keeping them safe. he would put alistair on the throne alone, not hardened

it’s harder to see how minerva would become the champion, but if she wasn’t the hero i guess she could end up as an apostate and maybe wind up in kirkwall fleeing the blight like everyone else. if she had the relationship hawke has w varric they’d get along like a house on fire, i’m trying to find a normal way to say she loves when people are obsessed with her AGHASJSKSKK. i cannot imagine her talking to sebastian. minerva and aveline in a room would not go well. she would rival fenris but like still a close important relationship but that means even more tension. friendship with anders but she wouldn’t distract the grand cleric for him even if she would support him in the end; she doesn’t act if she doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t appreciate being asked to let alone what she sees as the attempted emotional blackmail. easily friends with isabela and definitely sleeps with her regardless of romance choice, that happens in dao anyway lmao. friends with merrill, would be such an interesting way to explore minerva’s growing confidence in blood magic. i’m honestly undecided on romance—isabela hits a lot of the same beats as zev’s and thus makes sense for her to go for, merrill would be incredible for her as dalish love interest for minerva makes me insane conceptually let alone a fellow blood mage, fenris would be kind of an unhinged choice for, you know, noted blood mage, but also it’s a different flavour on fen rivalmance because of the shared heritage and i know she’d be into him and like... the drama of it all... anyway minerva would love gaining power in kirkwall as the champion and would lean ambitious, maybe even try for viscount even if it was impossible because of who she is. and in the last straw would be mad at anders for going behind her back—significantly more mad than she is in the canon situation where she is generally highly supportive, actually, because she was right here anders we could have fucking talked abt this and planned ahead—but she’ll support him when it comes to it and she’d never let anyone lay a hand on him

[anneapocalypse]

Ilana Tabris

Dragon Age OC Masterpost

Tag | Fics

City elf rogue. Pickpocket. Scrappy, will stab.

Will not let anyone forget she is an Elf.

Bangs the assassin sent to kill her (and then catches feelings).

Dodges an arranged marriage and then maneuvers her friend into one.

Kinda selfish tbh.

Soft spot for kids and dogs.

Warden-Commander for life.

More than you ever wanted to know below the cut!

How it started:

Ilana looking unimpressed about the wedding she’s trying to weasel out of.

How it’s going:

Alistair might be big mad that she conscripted Loghain and is marrying him off to his daughter. Oops.

Ilana Facts!

Full name: Ilana Adaia Ineria Cyrion Tabris. They’re all family names.

Titles: Warden-Commander, Arl of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden, the Dark Wolf of Denerim

Origin: City Elf

Class: Rogue

Specializations: Assassin, Duelist, Shadow

Faith: Andrastian

Life motto: “Fuck it, right.”

Signature look: Ancient Elven Armor

Dog: Sorin

Romance: Zevran

Best friends: Leliana, Morrigan

MVP Party: Zevran, Sten, Morrigan

Major Decisions

Kills Vaughan. Stabs him real good. Like dogs, Shianni.

Accidentally gets her second favorite cousin thrown in prison with her big mouth and then fucks off to be a Grey Warden and literally forgets about it until she finds him in the Arl’s dungeon months later. Oops.

Spares Avernus. No more torture and blood sacrifices please. Also let her know anything new you find out.

Ends the werewolf curse (though she’s very sympathetic to Zathrian’s story).

Defends Redcliffe Village.

Saves the mages.

Saves Connor and Isolde.

Kills Father Kolgrim, does not defile the Ashes, shares them with the world.

Sides with Caridin, destroys the Anvil of the Void, supports Bhelan for King.

Wins the Landsmeet vote, duels Loghain herself, and conscripts him to the Grey Wardens.

Alistair and Anora marry and rule together.

Loghain performs Morrigan’s ritual; Ilana kills the archdemon and lives.

Saves the City of Amaranthine.

Spares the Architect.

In the Brecilian Ruins

Career Highlights

Ilana spends most of her wedding day refusing to put her fancy clothes on and trying to figure out how to weasel out of it. She’s proud of who she is and where she comes from but this is one tradition she’d like to toss straight into the river.

She truly never intends for Soris to wind up in prison. She knew they’d both been seen in the estate anyway, so she just blurts out “It was me and Soris” without thinking. She figures they’ll turn themselves in to avoid retribution against the whole alienage and they can figure out an escape plan later. She has no idea Duncan is about to recruit her as a Grey Warden and leave Soris behind. She doesn’t understand why Duncan wouldn’t recruit him until she sees Daveth die, and realizes that Duncan didn’t think Soris would survive the Joining.

Despite having little choice in the matter, Ilana embraces her new life as a Warden and takes it seriously. One of the first things she does is retake Soldier's Peak, where she chugs Avernus's blood magic potion after reading his notes for five minutes because fuck it, right.

It's probably fine.

Her skill with daggers comes from her mother; she picks up archery after she becomes a Warden, with some help from Leliana, and it's a skill she's particularly proud of.

All her life, Ilana has been curious about the Dalish elves, though never enough to leave her family and seek them out herself. So when her quest to stop the Blight brings her into contact with a Dalish clan, it's exciting. A part of her even hopes that she might find she belongs among them. She learns quickly that they do not welcome her just because she's an elf, and it's a bit of a rude awakening, though she grudgingly understands.

Her time among them teaches her that she is not Dalish and not meant to be. And that doesn't make her any less an elf. It's just not who she is. She does really enjoy exploring the Brecilian Ruins, doing mysterious ancient rituals, and wearing ancient armor she found in ruins, though!

Yeah, sure, she'll drink from this magic pool of water in an ancient ruin. Fuck it, right?

Had it been anyone else possessed in Redcliffe Castle, Ilana probably would have run them through and not thought twice about it, but she has a soft spot for kids and she’s willing to risk traveling to the Circle if it might save Connor.

I'm glad we decided to take this route. This is really the best option.

Finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes is a really profound experience for her, made especially meaningful by seeing Shartan represented in the Gauntlet. She might even shed a tear, though her friends are sworn to secrecy on that point.

"Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?" "Yes, I should not have let her be taken in the first place."

She will always find it hard to describe to anyone who wasn’t there.

The Ilana who returns to Denerim both is and is not the sharp, scrappy girl who left the alienage. She is still herself, and she has not forgotten where she came from, and her experiences have only strengthened her elven pride. She feels the weight of her duty as a Grey Warden, and returns hardened by her trials, yet also in some ways softened by her experiences and by the friendships she's found. But above all else she is determined to succeed in stopping the Blight, and that means getting an ass on the throne and the nobles to play ball. Even as she's doing a crime wave across the city, she's formulating her plans for the Landsmeet, and she means to play to win.

Ilana enters the Landsmeet with Alistair, the heir to the throne; Leliana, a lay sister of the Chantry; and Wynne, a loyal Circle mage. She's very deliberate about the image they present to the Landsmeet. But she also deliberately sets herself apart, wearing the signature elven armor that makes her look just a bit otherworldly, and unsettles humans in a way she likes. She will let no one forget who she is. Even though a lot of people call her "my lady" now, Ilana is still uncomfortable being treated as a noble, especially in contexts where it seems that her elvenness is being overlooked rather than honored. She is an elf, and a Grey Warden, and that's what she wants people to see.

Victory brings her a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities: rebuilding the Wardens, ruling Amaranthine, dealing with noble politics and all the humans who now have to deal with the fact that their elven hero didn't have the grace to lie down and die and instead has power and influence and won't let them forget it. It's a lot, but Ilana remains as stubborn as ever and she's not about to back down now. (She could really use a nap, though. Maybe a vacation.)

In Amaranthine, Ilana is so focused on rebuilding the Wardens that she recruits (or conscripts) everyone she can get. While a few of them prove dedicated in the end, the disappearances of Velanna and Anders (the latter leaving more dead Wardens in his wake) convince her that maybe "take whoever you can get" isn't the best tactic.

While she is aware of the power that comes with the title of Arl, even in the provisional sense by which she holds it, Ilana ultimately prefers being the Warden-Commander, and she chooses to learn from the lesson of Sophia Dryden and continue most of her work out of the public eye—though she certainly doesn't hesitate to exercise her influence over the Crown behind the scenes.

Relationships

Family: Ilana was close to her mother, always took after her, and took well to her secret lessons on fighting. Her father worked long hours in those days and wasn’t home much, but spent as much time with Ilana as he could, and they bonded even more after Adaia’s death. Cyrion tries hard to walk the line between respecting Ilana’s “adventurous” spirit and keeping her safe; he tries hard to find her a match she’ll accept, without much success!

Ilana and Shianni are thick as thieves pretty much from the moment Cyrion brings her home. Soris has also lived with them and grown up with Ilana like a brother, as he was orphaned young, but he often feels like a bit of a third wheel after Shianni arrives and the two girls become joined at the hip. Still, the three of them get in plenty of trouble together. When she has to leave the alienage, Ilana misses Shianni more than anyone.

With Ilana conscripted, Soris is taken and thrown in the Arl’s dungeon, where he remains for months. Even after Ilana eventually rescues him, he never quite forgives her for it.

Cousin, you're amazing. Which I shouldn't say to your face, because it'll go to your head. But it's true.

Dog: Ilana names her mabari Sorin, after her cousin Soris. For some reason Soris is not amused by this.

Alistair: Ilana gets along with Alistair pretty well from the start; she thinks he’s funny, though her sense of humor tends to be a little too cutting for him. They bond as Grey Wardens and over the losses they’ve experienced, and become friends.

She also notices pretty quickly that Alistair is very sentimental about the Grey Wardens. He seems convinced that Duncan saved him out of the goodness of his heart, which just doesn’t line up with her own experience. She likes Duncan, but he said himself that conscription was not charity, when he refused to recruit Soris, leaving him to his fate. After Ostagar, Alistair seems more preoccupied with whether things will ever feel the same again than with the importance of rebuilding the order. Over time, this becomes a wedge between them. Things come to a head when Ilana convinces Alistair to marry Anora… then duels Loghain herself and conscripts him to the Grey Wardens, denying Alistair his vengeance and to his mind, justice. They have a knock-down drag-out fight about it back at Eamon’s estate and scare the servants away from the whole wing.

Loghain surviving the final battle doesn’t do much to repair their falling-out, and Alistair remains angry at Ilana for many years, though as King and Warden-Commander they have to behave civilly in public. Maybe they’ll get over it in a couple decades.

"At least the Hero of Ferelden is still here, and alive. That's something, right?" "Don't sound so disappointed.

Morrigan: Ilana takes an immediate liking to her, their senses of humor play well together, and while they disagree on some things and Morrigan finds Ilana a bit sentimental, over time they become close friends. Ilana convinces Loghain to perform the ritual with her, and will always be grateful to her friend for saving her life–and Alistair’s, though she never tells him about the ritual. When they meet up again, Ilana tries to persuade Morrigan she doesn’t have to go it alone. Morrigan still leaves, but one day perhaps they’ll meet again.

And… thank you. For helping me. No one has ever… thank you.

Leliana: Ilana is a little put off by her at first but it doesn’t take long for them to bond, once Leliana explains more about her vision and her beliefs; Ilana is intrigue by her unorthodox view of the Maker. She loves Leliana’s stories, and having a friend with whom she can indulge in some good old petty gossip. They kill Marjolaine and Ilana encourages Leliana to embrace her bard side. They remain in regular contact after the Blight.

Sten: He’s baffled by Ilana at first, of course, but over time they develop a deep respect for one another. When he tells he cannot go home, Ilana understands that in concept if not the details, and readily tells him he can stay with them, which cements their friendship. Ilana doesn’t hear from him after he goes back north, but she will always think of him as a friend. She hopes, as he does, that they never meet on the battlefield.

That one of the bas… a foreigner… would become known as kadan to me? Unthinkable. Yet here it is.

Oghren: He’s a great drinking buddy. Oghren is a friend Ilana can turn to when she doesn’t feel like talking about feelings. After her fight with Alistair, they sit and pass a jug of Oghren’s Special Brew back and forth and don’t talk about it.

Bottoms up.

She's genuinely really happy to see him again at Vigil's keep, and the feeling is mutual.

Wynne: Wynne likes to play the wise mentor to Ilana and Ilana likes to roll her eyes and play the rebellious teenager, but it’s an affectionate relationship.

Shale: They like to talk about girlish things, like crushing their enemies into a paste.

Loghain: Ilana spoke to him briefly at Ostagar and he addressed her with surprising respect when he didn't have to. It stays in the back of her mind, but is mostly overshadowed by the whole "trying to kill all the Wardens" thing. Ilana doesn't care a fig for a dead king, but she cares about stopping the Blight and Loghain is an obstacle that needs to be dealt with. It isn't until she discovers what's happening in the alienage that it gets personal. She duels him before the Landsmeet herself--while wearing her signature elven armor--in part to show him and everyone else present what the people he sold out are capable of.

She wouldn't shed any tears for him, but Ilana has worked hard to maneuver all her pieces into place for this moment--the alliance with Anora, winning the nobles' favor, Anora's marriage to Alistair so the nobs can have their precious Theirin bloodline and a competent ruler. She's politically-minded, deeply pragmatic, and most of all, stubborn to a fault. Loghain is of more use to her alive than dead. And a part of her wants the satisfaction of making him face the Blight he's been downplaying. When Riordan suggests conscription, he seems like he has good reasoning. Ilana has never seen conscription as an act of mercy; it seems like a fair sentence. He could very well die in the battle anyway, and when Riordan explains how they must kill the archdemon, it seems certain he will.

But then Morrigan makes her offer. And Ilana's well aware that you can't predict the tides of battle. It could very well end up being her, forced to take that final blow herself, and she really would rather not die. And despite their falling-out, it's not as though she wants Alistair to die either. The choice seems obvious. She convinces Loghain to undertake the ritual, and thanks Morrigan for her help.

I should never underestimate your capacity to do the unexpected, but this seems a stretch even for you.

And that's how Loghain ends up a Grey Warden and survives the final battle.

Ilana loses a friend for it, but she refuses to back down. She gains another Grey Warden, and the gratitude of Ferelden's queen besides. The gratitude of Ferelden's queen earns her a boon, and Shianni becomes the new Bann of the Denerim Alienage.

Ilana doesn't exactly forgive Loghain for his crimes against her people, but at the same time she can't help seeing a bit of herself in him, the stone-cold ruthlessness to get the job done at any cost. They develop a working respect for one another, and she doesn't regret her decision.

I see you are back among the Grey Wardens. Leadership looks good on you, I think.

Morrigan's ritual saves Loghain's life, and after serving the Wardens faithfully for a decade, one day he will save another.

Romance

The flirting starts like, minutes after the ambush. Ilana’s friends cannot believe they are witnessing this.

It takes stupidly little time for Ilana and Zevran to jump in bed with each other and if either of them were actually trying to kill the other at that point they would be dead. Ilana and Zevran just can’t help hitting it off instantly: they’re both city elves, both rogues, both here through circumstances beyond their control. They spend the first night in camp and many more talking and laughing and flirting around the campfire and trading stories.

I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?

It goes from talking around the campfire to casual fuckbuddies in about the time it takes for them to travel around Lake Calenhad from Redcliffe Village to the Circle docks. They’re also very much the obnoxious couple who grossly underestimate how loud they’re being in their tent and annoy the crap out of everyone else in camp with their carrying-on.

O-ho! Why, aren't you the saucy little minx, then? I've been used, and I wasn't even aware of it. A masterpiece!

Again? What must the others think?

Well! That was bracing! There's nothing like a good racking, is there?

Despite how close they've grown in their travels, it’s not until they’re in Denerim for the Landsmeet that both of them really admit to themselves that they’ve caught feelings. Zevran gives Ilana his earring while they’re in the Arl of Denerim’s basement, covered in blood. It’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to her.

Back at Eamon’s estate, Zev’s the first to admit his feelings, but Ilana readily fesses up that she feels the same. They make no promises or demands on each other; knowing they feel the same is enough.

After the Blight, they remain in an open relationship, never marrying considering each other life companions. After saying her final goodbyes to Morrigan, Ilana meets Zevran in Antiva City where they have a happy reunion, start some wild rumors, and then spend some time traveling together, including a visit to Weisshaupt, before returning to Ferelden.

Naturally. You caught me and now you're stuck with me, I'm afraid. Sad, I know, but we'll manage somehow.

While Ilana maintains command of the Ferelden Wardens, Zevran with the help of the Drydens heads up a side order called the Friends of the Grey, based at Soldier’s Peak. The Friends of the Grey do not take the Joining (as Ilana is more reserved with recruitment now, and doesn’t wantto waste lives in peacetime), instead maintaining a standing force and supporting the Wardens’ efforts in other ways.

No matter where their travels take them, they always find their way back to each other.

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Until the End

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: M

Word count: 2,505

TW/CWs: Major character death, violence, angst, saying last goodbyes, all that awful stuff.

This is a No Cure for the Calling story, an Alistair and Cousland go into the Deep Roads together story, and I never thought I would write this but Silhouette by Aquilo got stuck in the angstiest part of my head and I sobbed writing it down, but I still did it. Forgive me.

Until the End (read on AO3)

The moment Alistair found her sitting up in bed one morning, staring at the wall with her expression perfectly blank, he knew. Nalissa Cousland was vibrant and intense, whether her emotions were good or bad, and Nalissa Theirin was no different. If there was something too intense for her to feel, that made it too much for anyone in the world, because she was the strongest person he had ever known. And the only thing she couldn’t be stronger than was the Calling.

They had both thought they heard it once, years ago. The Inquisition—or more accurately, Leliana—had told them not to worry, that it wasn’t real, that the Inquisitor would handle it. And she had, somehow, however she had killed a darkspawn magister that kept him from being reborn into the next available blighted body. They had wondered, but not even Leliana had really known the answer beyond some combination of Rift magic, a dead red lyrium-corrupted dragon, and the power of an ostensible elven god. And so it had been yet another thing that wasn’t an answer, just like Avernus’ research had been a dead end, just like Nalissa had never been able to cobble together a cure from the Wilds flowers that had saved Ash warriors’ hounds or get a straight answer out of Grand Enchanter Fiona about whatever had cured her all those years ago. Finally when the mage had broken down into tears, she had admitted she didn’t know, couldn’t give an answer even to save the king and queen of Ferelden, no matter how much she might want to. And that had been the last lead before the trail had gone cold.

So when Nalissa looked up at Alistair, her eyes sunken and shadowed but still the same heart-wrenchingly beautiful sea green he had fallen in love with, he had read it on her face. The dreams were returning, she was hearing the whisper of the song, and her time had come.

It should have been him first. Why wasn’t it him? He had taken his Joining months before she had, he had been the one to perform that Void-forsaken ritual that had saved them at a cost that all these years later they still didn’t fully understand. It should have been him.

But it wasn’t, and he wept as he pulled her into his arms, even if she didn’t. Even if she locked everything away behind the mask of nobility that even after two decades on the throne, he had never learned to wear like she did. She was indomitable, his Nalissa, in everything except the Calling she couldn’t escape.

She very nearly physically fought him when Alistair told her he was coming with her. It was her Calling, not his, she had insisted, had shouted it at him in their bedchamber in a bout of hysteria he had never once seen her give into before. She had pleaded, threatened, tried to give him an order as Warden-Commander, but he had only smiled sadly and offered to travel to Amaranthine with her for trial if she wanted to bring him up on charges of insubordination. Only then did she cry into his chest, not for herself but for him, when she realized there was nothing she could do to talk him out of it.

He had promised her once, when they sat together in the grass on an early spring day during the Blight. He had promised her he would be with her until the end, and he meant it. An archdemon couldn’t keep him away. The fact that he didn’t hear the Calling yet wouldn’t either.

The preparation, that was almost worse than the realization. The landsmeet was a debacle, full of angry lords terrified of more instability so close on the heels of everything else the Age had brought upon Ferelden. But Nalissa hadn’t faltered, and she had given them the best solution she could: her brother, the man with the highest standing and the most experience in the country, even if he had balked at her suggestion. It felt like a repeat of history, Teagan had said, watching another Cousland put forth to the landsmeet as a potential king just like the teyrn’s father had been, only this time with no Theirin heir to dispute it.

But it was the sensible solution, they all had to admit. Couslands had ruled in Highever since before Calenhad himself was born, and the teyrn’s oldest child with his second wife was old enough by then to handle the teyrnir. Eleanor was a bright girl, as stubborn and dutiful as her father and her namesake put together, and she would take Fergus’ place well. Nalissa smiled with something like pride when the landsmeet voted in favor, even if her eyes shone a little more brightly than usual from unshed tears.

The Wardens were even more difficult. Alistair hadn’t stepped foot in Vigil’s Keep in years, but he refused to let her go alone, terrified she would leave for Orzammar without him. When the constables and senior Wardens began shouting and grappling for the Warden-Commander’s seat, he almost wished he wasn’t there to see it. The order, without Duncan, without Nalissa, wasn’t half so virtuous as he remembered. But she stood her ground as she always did, naming a stern-faced woman younger than half of them as her successor until Weisshaupt saw fit to replace her officially. Alistair didn’t know the girl, but he recognized the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes, because he saw them in his wife every day. She would lead the Wardens well, if they allowed it, and he could only hope they did.

They returned to Denerim before setting out. Nalissa wouldn’t miss her brother’s coronation, even if it hurt to brave the noise of the crowds with the song ringing in her ears, even if she had to wear gloves to hide the mottled bruise-like marks on her hands that neither of them could pretend not to see any longer. She hugged Fergus goodbye for the last time on the steps of the palace, and both she and Alistair tried to pretend they didn’t see the pedestal at the gates, prepared for a statue that hadn’t yet been carved, with both of their names and dates etched into the stone.

Alistair Theirin, 11th King of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Hero of the Fifth Blight

Nalissa Theirin née Cousland, Queen, Warden-Commander, and Hero of Ferelden

9:10 Dragon - 9:52 Dragon

It was already written in stone, the end of both of their lives. The hardest parts were done, all the decisions that mattered had been made. But Maker, did that still not make it easier to set out on their final adventure.

It felt like a hollow echo, walking through the gates of Denerim and knowing they would never do so again. Camping along the Imperial Highway, like when they were young and free, now just the ghosts of two thoroughly overwhelmed new Grey Wardens tasked with saving the world. They had said their goodbyes to Oghren in Amaranthine, to Leliana at the coronation, written letters to Antiva meant for Zevran and to Par Vollen meant for Sten. Nalissa had even sent one to Morrigan, though who knew if that would ever be read. To their friends, to Ferelden, to Thedas they were already dead, but at least what little time they had left was theirs alone.

They spoke often of the similarities, of the differences, of what Wynne might have said to see them walking into death together one last time. Leliana would write a tragic ballad for them she would never share, Nalissa was sure. Zevran would have pointedly declared it was their last chance to join him in bed for the night, Alistair decided. But though they laughed and leaned into each other and drew every moment of pleasure they could from these last few moments of peace, both marked them for what they were: a collection of lasts.

When they finally made camp in the foothills of the Frostbacks, that final night before beginning the descent, they didn’t sleep. They made dinner together, joked how neither of them had gotten any better at it since the first time Morrigan had tasted the gray dreck they had boiled to the point of a tasteless paste and swore she would do the cooking after all. They danced around the fire, watched their shadows on the mountainside seeming to stretch into infinity. They looked up at the stars and whispered together how beautiful they were, without mentioning they would never see them again. And they made love slowly and tenderly, until they were too tired to do more than lie in each other’s arms sharing I love yous and every moment of the last half of their lives they wouldn’t trade for anything.

When the sun rose, they didn’t pack up camp. They put out the fire and left the tent and bedroll where they were, for whoever might find use for them, without ever quite discussing it. They wouldn’t need them again. There was no return journey to look forward to.

And they stopped at the entrance to Orzammar, drinking in the sun and the sky and the fresh air that didn’t smell of nothing but earth and taint. Nalissa hated the underground, hated caves and tight spaces, and her last breath before they stepped into the dark shook as she drew it, but she would not shirk this path and did it anyway. Alistair would have taken everything from her if he could, the corruption and the pain, the fear and the duty, but all he could do was squeeze her hand tightly and assure her again that he was with her until the end.

The end, he kept thinking, as they passed the guards of the dwarven thaig, as they were allowed past into the Deep Roads, as the great doors swung shut behind them with a final clang that rattled in his bones. His end would be lonelier than hers, he knew. As much as he feared it, as much as he wanted to never see those beautiful eyes empty and unable to smile back at him, he had to see her sacrifice made before he could allow himself to fall. That was another promise he had made, down here in the dark what felt like a lifetime ago. He would never allow her to become what the women taken by the darkspawn were twisted into. She would die a Grey Warden, full of fire and wild roars and singing blades. And he would die however he had to after that, even if it was on his knees at her side.

The sob that passed her lips as they paused in the shadows didn’t even sound like her. It was hopeless, shattered, things Nalissa had never been, and she clung to him desperately with tears spilling between them and soaking their armor. One last moment of fear. One more last.

When she dried her eyes and he did the same, he held her as he always did, tight against him even with the barrier of the armor they hadn’t worn together in years. Her head on his chest, his chin on her crown, their arms holding tightly to keep from shaking. Then he took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones that were now too pronounced, and told her that she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And she laughed, a laugh like they were young and foolish again and could still count years together ahead of them instead of hours.

She was fearless again, at the end. When they sensed the darkspawn moving through the tunnels and planned their intercept course, she was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, daggers whirling in each hand, giving him that reckless grin full of confidence and battle high that still took his breath away just as it had the first time. His shield was heavier from lack of use, his blade slower, but hers were so fast they were almost invisible as she cut through a wave of genlock assassins. And it twisted his heart in a way that he would never have recovered from anyway to see her so brimming with life and so close to death at the same time.

When Nalissa fell, she had downed an ogre, a hurlock emissary, and more genlocks than Alistair could count. Even the blade that finally slipped between her ribs was almost a matter of luck, a hurlock whose sword had clanged off a blade she had already parried and back toward her quicker than she could counter. And even though he knew it was what they were here for, that it had to happen before she became something unspeakable she would never want to be, the sound that ripped itself from Alistair’s throat was pure agony.

His sword and shield suddenly weren’t heavy at all, they were feather light and full of lightning as he crashed through two other hurlocks to the one that still held the blade and removed its head in one clean stroke. Nalissa had already hit the stone beneath her but both daggers were still in her hands and she stabbed viciously into the back of another hurlock’s calf. Blindingly beautiful even soaked in blood, fierce and deadly to the last. The last.

Alistair cut down the darkspawn she had injured, looked down to see her chest heaving, and dropped his shield. She looked straight at him even as she struggled for breath, shook her head, but he knelt beside her anyway. And again, even at the end, he could see the tears that streaked her face were for him.

She couldn’t make the sounds, but her mouth formed the words. I love you. And he sobbed it back to her, pressed his lips against hers, one last time, one last time. Her hand tried to raise to the back of his head as it always did, but it made it only halfway before it dropped and she went still.

Miles away in the deep roads, surely there were darkspawn or very unlucky dwarves that could hear the sound of Alistair Theirin’s anguish. Certainly more of them seemed drawn by his roars, bore down on him as he fought like a man possessed, with no shield but a dagger in his left hand that had fallen from hers. And it fell from his too at the end, when a viciously barbed pike caught the gap in armor on his left side. It should have hurt, but nothing hurt more than he did already. Nothing hurt more than falling beside her at last, seeing the faint smile still traced on her lips even as her eyes shone empty into the distance. Not seeing him. Never seeing him again.

But his hand found hers, before the last blow that turned everything dark. One last time.

(Also posted on AO3).

[melisusthewee]

Can you tell us more about the WIP called "Rowan's Rose - 9th Vintage?" Please and thank you!

I'm really glad you asked about this one! Thank you! It is... um... it's a weird one.

"Rowan's Rose" is a half-finished drabble which was originally intended to be the conclusion of "Bottles of Thedas". It takes place during my Qunari War timeline and is a conversation between the Inquisitor and the Hero of Ferelden - one of the first and few times they interact with each other. It was intend to conclude the series as the midpoint (Dragon Piss) had ended with the following:

But then there’s the Iron Bull, hauling him to his feet and out of the trough. And to Quinn’s surprise, the Qunari straightens his tunic, as if it wasn’t wrinkled and sopping wet with horse water. More surprising is that Quinn lets him, standing bleary-eyed in the afternoon sun as Bull knots the empty sleeve and leaves him smelling like a wet mabari but looking slightly better than one for the first time in days.

“One step at a time, Boss. That’s all you can do.”

Quinn isn’t sure he believes him. But he knows he wants to.

"Rowan's Rose" was intended to be Quinn passing on that advice to someone else who clearly needed it now. One of the central conflicts in my Qunari War drabbles/concepts/ideas/what-have-you is my Warden Cousland's struggle to face the Arishok. Sten meant a lot to her and while he did warn her this day would one day come, she thought their friendship meant more than the Qun. She is afraid of meeting him in battle because she isn't certain she can make the right decision if facing him - and she isn't even certain what the right decision even is.

As I wrote it, however, I began to realize that despite being written from Quinn's POV it wasn't really about him or how far he'd come. And while there are pieces of the writing that I do like, it felt like the wrong thing to end the series on and that I'd sort of forced this comparison into the story.

I thought of maybe salvaging it and turning it into a proper Qunari War drabble, but every time I try to visit this scene between my two protagonists, I can never settle on whose POV the story should come from as both characters would offer interesting examinations of the other. So it sits in its own little separate space belonging to no fic or series at all, but with dialogue I wrote that I like too much to get rid of. Hopefully it will one day find its way into a drabble somewhere, especially as it's one of Quinn's kinder moments... which is a rarity.

Quinn: “Hurts, doesn’t it? The betrayal. It cost me my arm. Years later, I swear I can still feel my fingers sometimes…”

Briana: “Did they get away with it?”

Quinn: “No. But in the end it didn’t really matter. Arms don’t grow back, do they?”

Briana: “But you survived.”

Quinn: “So far. It’s all we can really do. One step at a time, Your Majesty. The Arishok will wait for you.”

(WIP Meme!)

[greyvvardenfell]

“Nightmare” // Zevran Arainai/Reyja Brosca // Rated T (suicidal thoughts, angst with a happy ending, slightly-worse-than-canon-typical violence) // 1239 words

——————————————————————————————

A simple slab of marble and a carved inscription. She deserved so much more than that. 

Reyja Brosca 9:06-9:31 Dragon The Hero of Ferelden

How cruel, to reduce her to three lines engraved in the stone from which she came. No likeness of her stood nearby; she had so despised her appearance. Zevran, as much as he disagreed, swore to her memory he would honor that. She lived only in his thoughts now, as a shy smile and the ghost of strong arms around him. Every rustle of aspen leaves reminded him of their first night together, on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. Every flash of sunlight from a windowpane or guard’s cuirass reminded him of her sleek black dragonbone plate, a constant presence at his side. 

It wasn’t meant to end like this. They’d prepared. They’d agreed to Morrigan’s deal and Alistair, Warden-Commander now, had done the deed. Reyja had wept in Zevran’s arms that night, allowing her fear to show, and he had promised everything would be alright, hiding his own tears in her neck as they clung to each other. 

More fool him, for trusting that his love would be enough.

Every night, he saw the mangled wreck of her body, fused to that signature platemail from the heat of the Archdemon’s mouth. Every night, he smelled the singed hair, the flesh, the coppery bite of blood. Every night, he remembered how empty her eyes were when he fell to his knees next to her, braving the fire and death throes of the creature she’d ended to be with her one last time. And he thanked her Ancestors that, at the very least, she could no longer see him cry.

He sought her first in dreams, before the sparkle of lyrium in a potion-seller’s stall reminded him that dwarves couldn’t feel the Fade. Any remaining piece of her would be barred from his own shattered remains, no matter how desperately he searched. Then he sought her elsewhere, in the savage pleasure of a Crow’s dying gasp and in the silence of the moonlight glimmering on fresh-fallen snow and at the bottom of a bottle, and another, and another. He had tried to seek her in soft skin and clandestine kisses, but she was further from him than ever when he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar face.

She wouldn’t have wanted him to stumble like this. She wouldn’t have wanted him to give in to the hopelessness that sucked at his every thought, beckoning him deeper into the promise of peace at last. Don’t waste your time on me, she would’ve said, like any of the time he’d spent with her had been wasted. 

And he would laugh, again, a cruel sound, and tell her that people couldn’t always get what they wanted.

The first year passed in a blur. The second and third were worse. By the fifth ascent of those tower steps, eager to sleep at her side once more, he wondered why he bothered climbing down when the fall would be so much easier. By the tenth, he cursed how quickly they forgot, how the moss grew over her name and obscured her sacrifice to the few who even remembered where her grave stood. He brought Rica and Endrin the year after that, hating the echoes of her he could see in the way her sister moved and spoke. He choked on his tears when Endrin called him “Uncle Zevran.”

She wouldn’t recognize him now, he thought. He’d aged for her and himself. They called him the Black Shadow in Antiva, for the darkness that leaked from his heart into the lines of his face. The Crows were gone. Rinna and Taliesen, gone. Alistair, gone, lost to the Fade to save Inquisitor Lavellan. Leliana, lost to the infighting of the Inquisition. Wynne, for all the prodding she’d done to prevent him and Reyja from getting close, lost in another act of selfless sacrifice. Morrigan, Sten, Shale… Zevran hadn’t heard from any of them in years. Whether they remembered her or not, he couldn’t say. But no one would remember her like he did.

How much could one man be expected to lose, he wondered, running his calloused hands over the marble as he had countless times before. How often can a heart rebuild itself before it is no longer a heart, but a scar? How long would he have to push on before he could rest, finally sink beneath the waves that had been licking at his heels since the moment he let go of her smoking, molten hand?

“At least one more, mi amora,” he whispered, kissing her name. “At least one more.”

-----

In the quiet of pre-dawn, Zevran stared past the ancient, gnarled olive tree that stood guard over their cottage. Beyond it, the plains rolled up to white cliffs, then dropped into Rialto Bay. Midway to the horizon to the south, Antiva City began to light up with the first fires of the morning as bakers reached their shops and heralds met to learn the announcements of the day. 

The last of the night’s stars fractured into orbs, unfocused by a fresh wash of tears. He did his best to stifle himself: it was only a dream. It had been so clear, so exquisitely sharp and cruel and painful, like a knife between his ribs, but it was only a dream. He still felt the carved letters beneath his fingertips, gaping like wounds in the unfeeling marble. He heard his own voice, grown harsh over harsher years, make another promise he couldn’t keep to a memory that couldn’t hear him. The weight of all the lives he’d watched flicker out, as surely as the sun set, rested on his shoulders, in spite of the cheerful letter open on the desk on the other side of the room, penned by Divine Victoria herself and signed with news of the rest. 

“Zev?”

His name, murmured in a voice he never thought he’d hear again, clouded by sleep.

“Oh, Reyja…” He turned back to her, away from the window and the early morning beyond. 

“What’s wrong?”

Perhaps she could sense his strain in the roughness of his words, the constriction of his throat. But he crawled into bed again, curling himself into her warm, plush body, and only sighed in response.

“Again, huh?”

She knew. She always knew. “It was worse than the last. Rica was there, this time. And little Endrin.”

“Zevvy…”

“He called me ‘uncle.’”

Reyja wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek, his eyelashes, the side of his nose. “You are his uncle.”

“I wasn’t, then.”

There was nothing to say to that. Zevran stroked her hair away from the vicious scar across the right side of her face, bisecting her casteless brand and sealing her empty eye socket. 

“I love you,” Reyja said softly, pressing another kiss to his neck.

More tears dripped down the bruise-dark crescents his sleepless night had grown beneath his eyes. But he smiled and pulled her closer. She did love him. And she’d had over thirty years now to tell him so every time he awoke with a nightmare still holding his throat closed. The Fade could only threaten him so much before, as she always had, Reyja would step in and free him. 

If there was such a thing as peace, he had found it. At long last.

[elvhenahhh]

Sketch of Zevran and my Soufei Mahariel done by the wonderful @pegaeae

He drew this eons ago, and I kept putting off posting it cuz I wanted to write a fic, but... Life kept finding a way to fuck with me. 

Thanks again, Logan, and I hope y’all enjoy the fic!

-----------

To Touch (aka FUCK.png cuz that’s what I named the file as soon as I got it)

The first time Mahariel did it, Zevran was confused as to why.

It was after the debacle at Kinloch Hold. She had seen him in Fade, stretched out and being trained – being tortured – by the older, initiated Crows. She hadn't said anything then as focused as she was on rounding up the rest of their companions and getting out as quickly as possible.

Afterwards, he could feel her gaze on her, heavy from across the campfire. When he could no longer stand pretending not to notice, he finally looked up and shot a grin and cheery wave in her direction. To his surprise, she rose from her seat next to Alistair and moved to sit next to him instead. He was also next expecting to hear her next words, “Tell me about Antiva.” So he did.

As he regaled her on Antiva's treasures and beauty, he could see the lines of her shoulders start to relax and a soft smile spread across her face. It gave him some joy to be able to relieve the Warden of her burdens even for a few moments though he would admit this thought to no one. It was as he was describing living in the apartment by the leather-making district, packed in like rats with the other prospective initiates that the heaviness began to re-enter her gaze.

He flirted with her at the end as is his habit and received nothing but warmth from her end, but the heaviness didn't seem to leave her. At a loss, he ended with, “Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.” She nodded absently but didn't move away from him.

Then, moving slowly enough to telegraph her movement, she laid one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his chest, and drew him to her. For a fleeting moment, he thought they were to kiss, and he licked his lips in anticipation. She gently pressed their foreheads together, noses bumping as well, and then just... stayed there. Eyes closed, breathing softly.

And Zevran... Zevran was even more tense than the day he had his first kiss. Or when he first slept with another. Or his first kill. He could feel his face flushing, and he couldn't stop flexing his hands on his own lap. What was he supposed to do now???

They held the position only for a few moments, but it felt like hours. Her thumb swept a few times across his nape. His face was so close to her hers that he could see little flecks of dust on her eyelashes. Her hand was gently flexing and relaxing, and he suddenly realized that she was getting his breath to align with hers.

Finally, she pulled away. The hand on his chest returned to her lap, but the hand on his neck moved to his cheek. She paused to look at his face, and whatever she saw there caused her to smile brilliantly and pat his cheek.

Then, she was gone. Moved off to talk to Alistair again or Sten or... whomever. Leaving Zevran with the ghost of her touch and a lot of confusion.

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

It was afterwards that Zevran remembered that it was called “donking,” a term coined by Alistair, of course.

Zevran had witnessed it was after a particularly difficult battle in the Brecilian Forest involving a revenant and several annoyingly active undead. Alistair had made some depreciating quip as he was wont to do. Something about nearly dying or living to die a different day instead, etc. For a moment, all the Warden did was stare at her companion with a furrowed expression for long enough that Alistair put up his hands and chuckled awkwardly. Then, she strode forward, clasped her hand on the back of his neck, and pushed their foreheads together. From where he stood, Zevran could see Alistair's wide-eyed and cross-eyed look though the Warden had closed her eyes. He couldn't hear, but he saw her lips moving. As she spoke, Alistair's expression went rueful then smooth as he also closed his eyes. She pressed their heads together for a moment more before stepping away, nodding curtly to Zevran and the scowling Morrigan, and continuing the way through the forest.

Whatever it was, it was an act of fond companionship... he guessed?

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

The second time...

The second time was after Taliesen.

Zevran was standing over Taliesen's dead body, and... it was good. Zevran was alive, and Taliesen was dead, and the Warden was alive, and all this was good, but.

A touch to his arm finally drew his gaze away from the corpse. Mahariel's golden eyes scanned his face though she said nothing. Zevran just smiled wryly and shrugged. She exhaled, loudly, a quick puff of air through her nose, a gesture that Zevran was quickly recognizing as fond affection based on how many times she reacted the same to Alistair or to any of their companions' antics.

Keeping one hand on his arm, the other went to his neck to reel him in again, their foreheads colliding with the softest 'donk.'

This time, he closed his eyes. In the dark, his world was reduced to the hands on his body, the breath against his lips, the face so close to his own. He reached out and placed his hands on the Warden's hips, and she responded by taking a step closer, bringing her warm body all the closer to his. Fingers scritched at the base of his skull causing him to hum tunelessly.

The sound of Wynne coughing “politely” and Sten's silent but palpable judgment finally drew them apart once more. With a final pat of his cheek, Mahariel stepped and turned away to regroup with their companions. At the last moment, Zevran caught her hand, tangling their fingers together. She turned back to him, golden gaze meeting his once more. This time, she was the confused one.

He brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Better him than you, my dear warden,” he murmured against her skin.

They had slept together a few times at this point, but neither spent the whole night in either's tent, nor had they kissed, but. It was building. Something was building between them even if Zevran wasn't exactly sure what.

Mahariel exhaled fondly again and squeezed his fingers before finally drawing and turning away.

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

And now.

Now it is the day after the Archdemon's defeat. Denerim is still rebuilding, but for now, it is quiet in the room they share. Zevran stretches out across the bed and is vaguely disconcerted to find himself alone. The movement of the curtains quickly draws his attention, and he can see the distorted outline of his love standing out on the balcony.

Despite the apparent sunshine, he still takes a few minutes to get fully dressed. The day he trusts the appearance of Ferelden weather is the day he eats his leather boot. He can hear faint tittering outside, no doubt his love, mocking him for his sensitivity. (“It's not that cold, Zevran.” “Says the barbaric Dalish woman who has had all her life to adjust to this horrible weather.” “Ay, come here then, you baby.” “My, what a soft body you have. “All the better to warm you with, vhenan.”)

Fully dressed, he rises and makes his way to the balcony. As expected, Soufei is there, waiting for him, elbows propped against the railing. Gone are the heavy, enigmatic gazes; now, she greets him with a smile, bright and beautiful. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers trail along the braid she's started weaving into her hair and gently press against the gold earring in her ear, not the prince's that he once gave her, but a new one that they chose together whose partner he now wears. (“Gold like your eyes,” he whispers. “Gold like your hair,” she replies.)

Stepping in close, he cradles her jaw with both hands. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her as they've done before, as he's done the dozens if not hundreds of times since they've affirmed their love for each other.  Already, he regrets the time lost, the time wasted pretending when they could've been kissing instead.

Indeed, he's paused for long enough that her gaze has turned into curiosity. Her head tilted slightly to one side, brow arched. She raises her hands to grasp the V of his collar, but she does nothing more than that.

Finally, he decides and uses his gentle grip to draw her closer. Forehead against forehead, noses bumping, soft breath against open lips. He doesn't look away, nor does she, too busy taking in all of her beauty. The black of her vallaslin, the flecks of deeper gold in her eyes, the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks.

Sharing the same space, breathing the same air, reveling in the intimacy of it. Now, Zevran understands why she did it so long ago.

“I-” he hesitates. He knows what he feels, but to say it...

She smiles, granting him mercy. “I know,” she says. She understands, and this is one of the reasons why he loves her so. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. You can say it when you can.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat and nods against her.

Later in the day, there will be a celebration honoring the Hero of Ferelden.

Later, there will be boons and nobles and politics.

Later, there will be an order to rebuild and a guild to answer to.

But for now.

Holding each other close, reveling in the mere fact that they will live another day to live, to laugh, to love.

For now, this is enough.

[metatiki]

Tales from the Scrap Pile

Tagged by @ramonadecember​. This is something that is truly a blast from the past, from a writing project I’m not sure I’ll resume writing: a glimpse into the latter part of my long-in-hiatus Blight fic of my Canon Grey Warden, Kalindra Tabris. I miss her immensely, and I love sharing unseen glimpses of her story.

Due to the length, I’ll be using a Read More below. So, before then, I’ll tag @bh-chaotic and @lathboraxviran. I’m also welcome to be re-tagged with a specific request, but for this one, I’ll be a little self-indulgent. Thank you!

So, without further ado, Kalindra Tabris on the way to the Landsmeet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was at a distance as she walked through Denerim, Alistair and Sten at her sides. Zevran had not returned, as she had suspected, Leliana was too Orlesian, and Morrigan was... well, Morrigan. Beautiful, powerful, and unsuitable for political maneuvering in the Fereldan court. Fen’len was, naturally, unsuitable, and Wynne...

She pushed the tears away. She would mourn the old mage later. 

As they approached the entrance of the hall in which the Landsmeet would take place, Kalindra paused and took in the contingent of forces awaiting her. Cauthrien. Of course.

Before the woman warrior could do more than step forward and put her hand on the long blade sheathed at her back, Kalindra said quietly, “I wanted to thank you.”

The comment obviously gave the woman pause. Kalindra felt Alistair’s incredulous gaze on her as Cauthrien tilted her head and replied, “I’m sorry, what?” Her hand remained on the hilt of her weapon, but the puzzled look on her face indicated that Kalindra had gained her attention.

“For saving the servants at Ostagar,” Kalindra explained, her green eyes not wavering from the (brown) ones of the warrior of such misguided loyalty. “I was told it was you who set aside a contingent of warriors to guide the non-combatants from Ostagar and set them on the path to Lothering. You saved the life of a friend of mine with those actions.” She put her hands together and bowed slightly, holding it as she continued. “No matter what may come to pass, no matter how we may disagree with each other regarding the necessity of the deaths which need not have occurred, I am yet grateful to you for taking those actions.”

“The code of the knight dictates that as many lives be saved as possible,” Cauthrien answered automatically.

“Pity not all at Ostagar followed it as assiduously as you did,” Kalindra replied, keeping her tone soft and soothing. “Perhaps I would not be here if he had done so.”

A sussuration of sound filled the room as the warriors with Cauthrien drew their swords, but Kalindra kept her position, her peripheral vision telling her that Cauthrien’s greatsword was still in its scabbard. After a few tense-filled seconds, Cauthrien said in a terse tone, “He devoted his entire life to Ferelden, and done more for it than you can possibly imagine.”

Kalindra finally looked up. “Then let me help him keep his honor. History will condemn the man who let the country be devoured by darkspawn more than they will acclaim the Hero of River Dane.”

For an instant everything else faded away, and it was just two women staring at each other, the fate of Ferelden in their hands. With a shake of her head, Cauthrien’s hand tightened around her hilt. “You have torn this nation apart to oppose my lord, and never once tried to understand why he is a hero to Ferelden.”

“He is a hero for some of Ferelden,” Kalindra said, acid in her tone. “Ask the people of the Alienage whether or not they felt his recent actions were heroic. Ask those who were assured that his forces would back them up at Ostagar whether his flight from battle without warning was heroic. Ask your Queen whether his support of Rendon Howe was heroic.”

“You killed--”

“--a rabid animal who deserved to be put down. I’ve done it before, and it seemed appropriate to do it again.” Kalindra took a step forward, ignoring the knights around Cauthrien as they stepped closer. “Seems you shem can’t keep your own houses in order.” She took another step forward, keeping her eyes locked with Cauthrien’s. “Look me in the eye and tell me you have absolutely no doubt of any of his actions, that never for an instant did you doubt his honor, and I will turn around and walk out that door.”

“Kalindra--!” she heard Alistair protest, but she held up her hand.

“Tell me he is the same man to whom you swore your oath as a knight, and I will walk away. Otherwise, let me stop him.”

The clear brown eyes across from hers widened, the brows pinching together above them. When she saw the traces of moisture gather along the bottom lid, Kalindra felt a surge of triumph roll over her. She had read the woman correctly.

The warrior removed her hand from the hilt of her weapon and bowed her head. “I never thought duty would taste so bitter.” The knights around her shifted uneasily on their feet, but at a gesture from Cauthrien, their swords returned to their scabbards. “Stop him, Warden. Stop him from betraying everything he once loved.” When she looked up, her eyes gleamed brightly, but there was no sign of tears or that they had once threatened. Instead, she dropped to her knees, retaining her dignity even in that position. “I beg of you, however, to please show mercy. Without Loghain, there would be no Ferelden to defend.”

Kalindra stared at her, trying to see history through a perspective where that statement in any way made sense. For the Alienage, the changeover from Orlesian to Fereldan kings had meant only that those who abused them spoke with different accents. Before she could respond directly, however, Alistair declared, “And because of him, there is almost no Ferelden left to defend.”

Cauthrien flinched, but kept her gaze on Kalindra alone. “Please... show mercy,” she repeated softly.

“His fate is in his own hands,” Kalindra replied.

The warrior bowed her head, then stood and stepped aside, waving her fellow knights away from the door. “Enter, Warden. May the Maker guide your path.”

Kalindra closed her eyes, remembering the tingle of ashes heavy with the price of faith and the gaze of one who had remained true to his own path for centuries. “Prepare yourself for war, Cauthrien. The time for battle against Fereldans is over. The darkspawn await.”

And then she moved to the doors. Two of Cauthrien’s knights hurriedly reached for the door and swung it wide, bowing to her in the process. The now constant pain in her abdomen grew more intense, and she took a moment to steady herself. Behind her, she knew, Alistair and Sten stood ready for her command. Fighting the urge to turn and run, to leave it all behind, she forced her spine to stiffen and her foot to make that first step forward.

Never had fighting the darkspawn seemed so simple... 

[mik-arts]

Shianni,

I’m sorry I’ve not visited since the end of the blight. How are you? How is my father? I’ve missed you both terribly. How are things going as Bann of the Alienage? I’ve done what I can to make sure the King and Queen keep their word on improving it, but I worry that things are slipping my notice while I stay here at the palace.

It’s strange to be here now that the blight has ended. I’m surrounded by so many elven servants, cousin. I’ve even been mistaken for them several times. You’d think the bloody Hero of Ferelden might get a little more respect, but the shems I don’t like it here. It’s far too similar to the arl of Denerim’s estate. Do you think of that day often? I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner Shianni. I’m sorry I let them take you. I failed to protect you.

I’m beginning to think I’m overstaying my welcome. Eamon dismisses me often. Noblemen give me these… looks. They think I’m swaying Alistair’s opinion, but it’s Eamon they should be wary of

It’s no matter. Zevran and I leave for Tevinter with Sten soon. I stayed because Alistair asked me to, but with Anora’s help, he’s becoming a fine king.

I miss climbing to the roofs of the Alienage with you and looking out across the lights of the city. Do you remember when we promised to see the world together, cousin? I’ve seen it. So much of it, it seems, and yet I’ve never even left Fereldan. I can’t imagine how long it would take to see the rest. I wish you could see it with me.

I will try to

I will see you before I go. I swear it.

Your favorite cousin,

Kat

- An unsent letter scrawled on a piece of old parchment. Found balled up under the wardrobe of Warden Commander Tabris’s chambers at Denerim Palace, before her departure to Tevinter

[slothssassin]

OC introduction - Ashera Mahariel

I thought it would be neat to have a single post that summarises the most important facts about an OC, so I made this meme. 

@everyone: Feel free to use it to introduce your OCs, and tag me in it!

I’ll specially tag @briarfox13 (thanks for your help with this!), @occorner, @marvilus73, @wastelandwandererstuff, @wolfsmist, @sternenstaub28, @eluvisen, @liaorban and @overboss this time, in case you’d like to do this too!

Fandom: Dragon Age Origins

Role: Grey Warden

Class (if applicable): Rogue

Specialisation (if applicable): Ranger | Duelist

BASICS

Full Name: Ashera Mahariel

Nickname(s): Ash

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Straight

Occupation and Titles: Hero of Ferelden, Grey Warden

Birthday & Age: 5th day of Wintermarch, 9:08 Dragon, 23 in DAO

Physical description: 1,65m (5' 5"), slim and muscular, long silvery white hair, dark red eyes, dark skin

Clothing style: Tunics, leather corsets, wide blouses, fur and leather. Mostly green, brown and blue tones.

BACKGROUND

Ashera grew up amongst the Dalish Elves of Ferelden. She was born to a small clan and grew up with her parents. Her father Ahlber taught her the art of hunting, until he died while protecting her from a wild bear. Ashera never forgave herself for losing her father in that way, always blaming herself. 4 years later, her mother disappeared without trace, when Ashera was 15. Countless hunting parties set off to find Anisha Mahariel, yet all they were able to find was an amulet Ashera’s mother used to wear. Losing both her parents was hard for Ashera until she found her own way to deal with the anger inside her: She learned how to fight properly against enemies, also mastering the art of stealth and lock picking.

Leaving her clan behind when Duncan recruited her in 9:31 Dragon wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been for Ashera, and on late evenings she often felt guilty about it. Being with the Grey Wardens meant one thing to her: Going on an adventure, finally seeing more of the world than only her clan. She neither expected to find herself in the middle of the Battle of Ostagar nor did she think she’d be left as the leader of the Grey Wardens so soon. Gathering her party taught Ashera to be more courageous, to say what’s on her mind and that not everybody has the same worldview as Dalish Elves. While she got along very well with all of her companions, she found a mother figure in Wynne and grew very close to her. It didn’t take much to fall for her fellow Grey Warden Alistair either – in him she found exactly the comfort she was looking for.

After the Blight Ashera and Alistair used all their connections to reestablish the Grey Wardens. For months they were looking for new recruits, teaching them how to fight and sharing their knowledge of Darkspawn. They also got married in a private ceremony, having their old friends as guests. A year after her coronation, Queen Anora was killed by a mad supporter of her father Loghain though and the burden of ruling Ferelden now fell into Alistair’s hands, although he still didn’t feel comfortable with it. After a lot of heated discussions, Alistair agreed to be king, but only under the condition that Ashera could live with him. Officially, she’s not the Queen and King Alistair never got married - but every attentive Ferelden learnt sooner or later that their King was secretly in love with a Dalish Warden.

COMBAT & SKILLS

Preferred fighting style: Sneaking up on enemies while her party distracts them, then facing them in a duel

Favourite weapon(s): Double daggers

Magic abilities: None

Special skills: She can summon animal companions. Also has a knack for finding her enemies’ weak spots

RELATIONSHIPS

Family: Clan Mahariel. Her father Ahlber is dead, her mother Anisha missing. No siblings or other relatives.

Love interest: Alistair Theirin

Best friends: Wynne, Sten, Morrigan, Leliana, her dog Brutus

PERSONALITY

Positive traits: Perceptive, helpful, caring, ambitious

Negative traits: Guarded, taciturn, over-thinking, critical

Likes: Books, jewellery, new recipes, soft blankets

Dislikes: Arrogance, lies, spicy food, big cities

Fears: War, failure, loss of control, crowded spaces

Guilty Pleasure: A cup of red wine, chocolate, a soft bed

Hobbies: Cooking, reading, spending time with her friends, wood carving, enjoying nature

[tamlenlovedmahariel]

Eshalinjune ‘Shalin’ Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden, and main protagonist of my Origins rewrite with the question: “what would change in the story if Tamlen and Mahariel had a child before the events of the prologue?”

Read it here and follow #eshalinjune-mahariel for updates and art

finally done! ouf, took me so long but i’m super proud of it. Eshalinjune ‘Shalin’ Mahariel is the dalish main i’m writing a story about. it’s a rewriting of origins, but what if mahariel and tamlen had a child prior to the prologue. given who the dalish are and the importance of children, she would never leave her child behind. so there you have it, a tale of parenthood and learning to love people you never thought you would ever stop hating. shalin loves her companions deeply, becoming fast friends with oghren who is her best friend throughout her adventures, then falling in platonic love with sten, who she often jokes is the husband to her soul. both she had no problem forming lasting, meaningful relationships with, but her hatred of shems is like a second skin. she will never know how to do more than care for wynn, shale and leliana,  too estranged from reality to truly grasp the struggle of the dalish or endear themselves to shalin. but, defying all her own morals, she finds herself begrudgingly more fond of alistair by the minute, eventually finding in him a man she wants to see profoundly happy. morrigan, once realizing shalin has suffered greatly, all her life, and yet came out stronger and revengeful, opens herself to the dalish. when shalin isn’t sleeping with zevran, she alternates and shares morrigan’s furs. late into the night, they whisper secrets to each other, eyes deep into the other’s, and in each other, they’ve found a sister they won’t ever let go of. her mabari’s name, ici, is the only private joke she has with leliana, and an essential emotional support for shalin. with his almost people-like intelligence, shalin never hesitates to have him babysit ishal while she takes a nap or smooches zevran in the bushes (his words, not hers). she adores this dog to pieces.  this is the tale of how eshalinjune mahariel found a clan away from her clan.

oc templates from @eerronblack​ (here) @windupzenos​ (here)

photos & art are either mine (shalin & ishal in template 1 ; pictures 2, 3, 4 and 5 in template 2) or from pexels, which is a free resource and stock pictures site which i cannot recommend enough if you want to make aesthetic boards without stealing someone’s pictures

if you wonder why i format my posts, using and abusing of italics, bold and lists, it’s because i’ve noticed, as someone with adhd, that i’m much more able to read long blocks of texts if they have ‘breaks’ in them, in the form of formatting. so i’m doing it both for myself and for other people who might find it useful. sorry if you dislike it, but this is the difference between your aesthetic preference and my comfort, so you’ll have to deal with it, and i’m genuinely sorry if that makes you leave

[dimancheetoile]

Eshalinjune ‘Shalin’ Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden, and main protagonist of an Origins rewrite with the question: “what would change in the story if Tamlen and Mahariel had a child before the events of the prologue?”

Read it here and follow the #eshalinjune-mahariel for updates and art

finally done! ouf, took me so long but i’m super proud of it. for those interested, Eshalinjune 'Shalin' Mahariel is the dalish main i’m writing a story about. it’s a rewriting of origins, but what if mahariel and tamlen had a child prior to the prologue. given who the dalish are and the importance of children, she would never leave her child behind. so there you have it, a tale of parenthood and learning to love people you never thought you would ever stop hating. shalin loves her companions deeply, becoming fast friends with oghren who is her best friend throughout her adventures, then falling in platonic love with sten, who she often jokes is the husband to her soul. both she had no problem forming lasting, meaningful relationships with, but her hatred of shems is like a second skin. she will never know how to do more than care for wynn, shale and leliana,  too estranged from reality to truly grasp the struggle of the dalish or endear themselves to shalin. but, defying all her own morals, she finds herself begrudgingly more fond of alistair by the minute, eventually finding in him a man she wants to see profoundly happy. morrigan, once realizing shalin has suffered greatly, all her life, and yet came out stronger and revengeful, opens herself to the dalish. when shalin isn’t sleeping with zevran, she alternates and shares morrigan’s furs. late into the night, they whisper secrets to each other, eyes deep into the other’s, and in each other, they’ve found a sister they won’t ever let go of. her mabari’s name, ici, is the only private joke she has with leliana, and an essential emotional support for shalin. with his almost people-like intelligence, shalin never hesitates to have him babysit ishal while she takes a nap or smooches zevran in the bushes (his words, not hers). she adores this dog to pieces.  this is the tale of how eshalinjune mahariel found a clan away from her clan.

oc templates from @eerronblack​ (here) @windupzenos​ (here)

photos & art are either mine (shalin & ishal in template 1 ; pictures 2, 3, 4 and 5 in template 2) or from pexels, which is a free resource and stock pictures site which i cannot recommend enough if you want to make aesthetic boards without stealing someone’s pictures

if you wonder why i’ve been formatting my posts a lot recently, using and abusing of italics, bold and lists, it’s because i’ve noticed, as someone with adhd, that i’m much more able to read long blocks of texts if they have ‘breaks’ in them, in the form of formatting. so i’m doing it both for myself and for other people who might find it useful. sorry if you dislike it, but this is the difference between your aesthetic preference and my comfort, so you’ll have to deal with it, and i’m genuinely sorry if that makes you leave