#still convinced it would be so much better if the inquisitor did all the arguing though

[sirsagrell]

So I literally created this account just to read people yelling about Veilguard on this website, and I'm predictably getting sucked into participating.

Disclaimer: I've always been the "it's good enough to hook me hard, but now I have to mentally rewrite the story in my head to really enjoy it" BioWare fan. I'm self-aware enough to realize, that when I think something should have been done a certain way to do justice to the story told so far, that story told so far may not have been there in the games that BioWare actually made.

I will, as such, try to stick to the Dragon Age that exists and not the one in my head, when writing about Veilguard. Will I succeed? No idea.

With that out of the way:

There is a lot of valid criticism going around about the sanitized/whitewashed/shallowly inoffensive writing. I agree with a large portion of it, and don't have much to add. A lot of the writing fell flat in a lot of the ways it never did in BioWare games before. Not all of it, though. There were moments of brilliance here and there.

But I think my actual main problem with this game boils down to something that isn't talked about much in the critiques that I read.

Specifically, that Veilguard should have been the ending of this series.

But instead, they tried to make Dragon Age yet another one of those fictional universes that they wouldn't fucking let go of.

I think it is very important to let stories end. It is very important to let go of entire settings, especially the most beloved ones. Because if you don't, they fossilize under the requirements of nostalgia and the need to stay recognizable and quickly turn into this hopeless cycle of increasingly warped self-repetition where everything always comes back to the status quo and engaging with the setting in any way leaves a taste of existential dread in your mouth.

(I'm looking at you, Star Wars. I will insist that KOTOR II was the best thing ever written in that setting because it broke the fourth wall, pointed a finger at this exact phenomenon, and said "look what you're doing to us")

(Or maybe that's just how I remember it, because that's how I overwrote it in my head)

(I think there's a profound point about possessive love to be made here somewhere, but it's late and I'm too tired to look for the right words)

Anyways.

If Veilguard was the ending of the series, it would have at least set itself and all of us free from that.

It could also have attempted to say something more meaningful than world is good and always worthy of being saved. Like, people complain that Veilguard couldn't handle variable world states going in, and I get that, but I think the even bigger missed opportunity is that, having to account for more games in the setting, BioWare couldn't afford having varied world states coming out of it.

We save the world from mad tyrants, and a blind broken man, and that's it.

But there was setup for so much more here. I'm sure I didn't hallucinate it.

We're never asked what it actually means to save this world, and if it means the same thing for everyone.

We never have to wonder if it could possibly be us who are the blind and broken ones here, unable to turn from a dead-end path, because it is the only one familiar to us.

We never discuss what specifically it means for the Veil to go. It just defaults to DEMONS, BAD, and all the interesting foreshadowing for the Veil maybe coming down that we previously had goes completely out of the window.

And so we're never given the choice of what to do with this world. And we can't stop to really contemplate how fucked up it actually is for flawed individuals such as us, or Solas, or the Evanuris or whomever, to have the power to make decisions for a whole world to begin with, no matter how good we think our intentions are.

Just now realized how apt Veilguard is as a name for this game. Makes me wonder what it was, before it got that name.

It will be ironic if, despite all the work they did to make sure there is room for more sequels, and all they had to throw out to get a clean simple world state, this will actually become the last one in the series.

[robotslenderman]

6, 7, 8 and 9 :D

6. Do you have your Rook(s) planned out to any degree? If so, would you share some details or ideas you have?

My Rook is my Lavellan, Liriel. Liriel was not the Inquisitor in my playthrough - Sable Trevelyan was - but she, along with two other Lavellans (Lahariel and Mahanon, who belong to @orodrethsgeek), were headcanon companions instead.

Liriel had a Solavellan "romance" which was very different to the canon romance and was more like enemies with benefits, tho by the end of the game there was genuine fondness between them. (Stronger on Solas's side, due to Liriel's passion for knowledge; Liriel knew better than to get too attached to someone who looked down on her.) Liriel figured out who Solas was but didn't tell anyone other than Lahariel and Mahanon until Trespasser. At first she wanted to kill Solas, but Cole speaking up for him plus her softening over time means that by DA4 she's willing to hear him out, and possibly aid him if it means not killing innocents in the process. But if he goes ahead with it, yeah, she's gonna fuck him up.

She is convinced the Evanuris are the Archdemons.

DA4 actually perfectly lines up with my headcanon post-DAI for her - after meeting Mythal Liriel was bitterly disillusioned and set out on a quest to uncover the secrets of Arlath'an that Solas was keeping from her. The Veiljumpers fit her perfectly bc of that. I think she'd already be great friends with Bellara.

She did have a kid with Solas. Celysel will be around ten by DA4. She knows she "comes from" Solas but doesn't consider him her father at all; she considers Lahariel and Mahanon her dads and is a bit confused that people expect her to be upset that she never knew Solas. She doesn't know he's the Dread Wolf, but she may be told during DA4.

7. Which character from the previous games or other media are you most hoping will make an appearance in DAV?

So Fenris hasn't been Liriel's dad in eight years since I made her Liriel instead of Leandra, but it's still gonna fuck her up if he shows up lmao. (If he does I'm just going to headcanon that her actual dad is tagging along, since their backstories are still p much the same and they'd get along really well). I'm also hoping for Dorian and Leliana, our Divine.

8. What faction are you most excited to learn more about?

Veiljumpers, for obvious reasons!

9. Which romance, if any, do you plan to pursue first?

Liriel won't be pursuing any romances because she has husbands at home.

Altho if Bioware smiles upon me and makes it possible to romance the egg woof again I'd absolutely love to see how that goes purely bc I miss watching Solas and Liriel argue and I'd honestly love to see how the whole "yeah you're an omnicidal maniac" angle overshadows it. It'd be JUICY

also if Liriel brought Solas home it'd be hilarious to picture Mahanon's reaction of "yay! Solas is back!" contrasted with Lahariel's "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BRING THIS ASSHOLE HERE I THOUGHT WE GOT RID OF HIM"

[hamliet]

What do you think of Isayama as a writer?

He has his flaws for sure. Namely:

The pacing wasn't great--even though parts of the story work a lot better read as a whole than monthly, I still think there is some wonkiness to the pacing of certain character arcs. Some things seemed rushed; others seemed too dragged out.

Historia's arc was a nightmare that went from being top tier to something so horrid it seems like Isayama realized it was awful and ignored it as much as possible out of a desire not to make it worse.

The worldbuilding--namely, the Reisses and the Fritzes--is needlessly complicated and doesn't make a ton of sense.

He effed up in regards to the real-life allusions of the Eldians. I don't think he intended to be offensive given the context of where he grew up (not everyone learns the same things), but I do think people can still be offended.

Thematically, though? He's among the best I've read.

He's clearly drawing directly from Dostoyevsky, and y'all know how much I love Dostoyevsky. The entire story is basically The Grand Inquisitor, and it examines the question: but what about the children? What about their suffering?

It also addresses free will versus control, that central question at the center of the humanities. It asks us whether freedom, true freedom, itself becomes another enslaver if we fully commit to it. It asks to what degree we can be free and still be human. It explores the paradox of the human need to be free with the reality that we can't shape the world according to how we want it to be without enslaving others. In other words, it looks honestly at human nature.

It offers no clear answers, either. It asks questions instead.

It offers no clear answers. It asks questions instead. That is, I think, a problem a lot of people struggle with in fandom: the idea that a story wouldn't be morally instructive, and would be more an experiment designed to provoke discussion. But literature has always done that. I'd also argue that it's not morally nihilistic at all--much like, say, Dostoyevsky's works, it suggests love is necessary to balance freedom.

But in extreme circumstances, what does that love look like? To what degree must the individual experience be tempered with the reality of a world of billions? These are the sorts of questions philosophers have wondered for millennia.

Oh, and another trope I think Isayama did very well, but which again I'd say modern fandom seems to struggle with, is that he wrote a good Shakespearean!tragic character in Eren. Showing us how a hero can become a villain but without condemning the reader for liking the hero--in fact, saying that like is a good thing (via Mikasa)--is something not many writers can pull off. And showing how people who are fully convinced of their own rightness can fall is something we would all do well to dwell on in regards to our own actions and how we treat others in the real world.

[dreadfutures]

Inquisitor as a Companion: Ixchel Lavellan

Is your OC a Companion in the Dragon Age series? What would it be like for a player to select them to join their party for quests (or romance them, perhaps? 👀)

Here is Ixchel’s (fake) DA Wiki page, if she were a companion. Meme started by @little-lightning-lavellan​​ , so tag her if you do this!

(Find this on AO3, where I will add Location Comments and dialogue options as I think of them.)

Ixchel is an elven warrior and activist. She is a potential companion in Dragon Age: Inquisition. (WIP Tarot art by me. :) )

Background

Ixchel likely originated in southern Ferelden, but the events of the Fifth Blight drove her northward. She encountered several Dalish clans who did not take her in, possibly due to the limited resources available due to the encroaching Darkspawn hordes, or perhaps because she does not appear to be fully-elven. Ixchel has smaller, rounder ears than normal for an elf, though they are longer and sharper than that of a human. The orphan stowed away on a boat to the Free Marches, where she found no refuge in Kirkwall or the major cities and took to wandering the countryside in search of food and shelter. During this time, Ixchel encountered Clan Lavellan outside of Markham, but she did not remain.

After the Archdemon’s defeat, Ixchel returned to Ferelden, as she felt drawn to the traces of elven history she had found there as a child. There, she encountered a Warden who helped her read a word that she found in a ruin: Ixchel.

Sometime between 9:34-9:37 dragon, Ixchel reappeared outside of Markham, calling herself by this new name. In 9:37 Dragon, a particularly harsh winter drove the Lavellan Clan to seek out the orphan and took her in to teach her to hunt and fend for herself better. She proved to have a keen mind for learning, and a drive to prove her value. She remained with the Clan for two years. In 9:41 Dragon, she volunteered to go to the Conclave in Haven as a spy, due to her ability to pass as human and travel largely unnoticed. She is roughly sixteen years old.

Involvement

Dragon Age: Origins

A Dalish Warden can potentially encounter Ixchel as part of the Lead Her Through the Darkness side-quest in Dragon Age Origins: Witch Hunt DLC. She appears as a precocious, nameless orphan less than ten years of age. She has written a word on her arm in ash and asks the Warden to translate it. It is unclear if the name is Elven or Tevene in origin, but the Warden translates it as Ixchel (ihsh-chEL).

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Ixchel can only be recruited after relocation to Skyhold and beginning the A Fallen Sister side quest in the Emerald Graves. After freeing the prisoners from the Veridium Mine, the Inquisitor will come across Ixchel under attack by a group of Freemen. The Inquisitor will help Ixchel defeat the Chevaliers, for which she expresses gratitude.

A Dalish Inquisitor has the option to call her “da’len” and express relief that she escaped the Conclave. Ixchel explains that she fled Haven after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and went in search of a Dalish Clan (see: The Knights’ Tomb) to take her in. On her way, she saw the harm caused by the Civil War in Orlais. She sees how much good the Inquisition can do and offers her services to help uproot the Freemen of the Dales and fight Corypheus. Her travels and experiences have made her well-suited to consider the needs of elves, both among alienages and the Dalish, as well as humans. Ixchel cannot be recruited if Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts has been completed.

In Skyhold, Ixchel can be found in the center of the courtyard by the main stairway, either near the Training Ring (if Skyhold is upgraded) or near the City and Dalish elven NPCs who often argue there.

If Ixchel and Solas are in a party together, they will develop a fast mentoring relationship as Ixchel asks Solas about his dreams in various locations they have traveled. He will comfort her after she expresses anger at the treatment of elves in Halamshiral and gently encourage her to take action. She will argue with him about his scorn for the Dalish and insist on the merits of their resilience and efforts to reclaim their heritage after centuries of oppression.

After accessing the Exalted Plains from the War Table, Ixchel will approach the Inquisitor in Skyhold and ask to meet with Hawen’s Clan. The dialogue options vary depending on whether the Inquisitor has yet discovered that the Dalish have been killed at Din’an Hanin. Ixchel is worried about the Clan’s proximity to the front of the Orlesian Civil War.

When Hawen’s clan is first encountered, a Dalish scout will address Ixchel as “flat-ear.” Ixchel is deeply upset by this and explains to the Inquisitor that it is because Ixchel does not have vallaslin and that she doesn’t appear as fully elven. A Dalish Inquisitor has the option to reassure Ixchel of her place in Clan Lavellan with or without the vallaslin. If the Inquisitor wins high approval among Hawen’s Clan, Hawen offers to formally adopt Ixchel by giving her vallaslin and initiates the Inner Circle Quest, Inward Glory.

Ixchel hesitates to accept the honor. Ixchel wants to learn the history of the vallaslin and asks the Inquisitor to help her learn how the practice has evolved from enslaved elves in Tevinter, to the elves of the Dales, to the modern Dalish Clans. The Inquisitor must contact researchers in Tevinter, Orlais, and Varric’s contact with the Dalish--Merrill.

Completion of Inward Glory is followed by another Inner Circle quest, Proudly Crowned Withal. Ixchel meets with the Inquisitor and Solas to review what she learned and make her final decision. The Inquisitor can encourage Ixchel to honor her heritage and take the vallaslin, tell her that she can serve her People better as a human-passing spy without vallaslin, or tell her that she has proven that she cares for the elves and belongs to them whether she shows it on her face or not.

If she is told not to take the vallaslin, she will not, but she Greatly Disapproves. Solas will Disapprove of all options. A Dalish Inquisitor has the added option to tell her that the Inquisitor, as well as the Lavellan Keeper, considered her to be part of Clan Lavellan even without the vallaslin. If Ixchel is told to accept, or if the Inquisitor lets Ixchel choose herself, she will accept Hawen’s offer.

A Dalish Inquisitor who has completed their romance with Solas will have the option to ask Solas to tell Ixchel the truth about the vallaslin. A Dalish Inquisitor who removed her own vallaslin has the opportunity to tell Ixchel one-on-one. Ixchel will reveal that Solas in fact told her the truth before the completion of her personal quest, and Ixchel made her decision knowingly.

After completing Ixchel's Inner Circle quests, new missions will appear on the War Table. Ixchel wants the Inquisition to work with factions like the Red Jennies, Briala's spy network, and even members of Celene's court to make reparations for Empress Celene's burning of the Halamshiral alienage, to put an end to the Val Royeaux Chevaliers' tradition of hunting City elves in the alienage streets after dark, and to restore self-governance to the alienage in Denerim, whose freedoms were restricted after the events of the Fifth Blight.

Trespasser:

If the Inquisitor has high approval with Ixchel, the warrior has devoted her time to activism in Orlais’ alienages, potentially allying with Briala. Ambient dialogue in the Winter Palace indicates that she and her movement are reviled by members of the Orlesian court, and the ruler of the Empire is considering a preventative strike for fear of a violent uprising.

If the Inquisitor did not win high approval with Ixchel, she still appears at the Exalted Council to reunite with friends in the Inner Circle. She reveals that she spent the intervening time between Inquisition and Trespasser traveling the world with Morrigan (or Morrigan and Kieran) to continue research in Ancient Elvhen history, as well as sowing rebellion--which she calls mien’harel-- in alienages across Thedas. She is saddened that the Inquisitor has still heard no word from Solas.

In the Epilogue, if the Inquisitor has resolved to kill Solas, Ixchel vanishes. She leaves a note to a high-approval Inquisitor saying that she is sorry but she has gone to find a third option to thwart Solas. If the Inquisitor instead chooses to convince Solas to change his plans, Ixchel remains allied with the Inquisition as she redoubles her efforts to unite elves across Thedas against oppression, and to actively counter Fen’Harel’s recruitment.

Approval

Ixchel appreciates honesty and empathy in Inquisitors. Given her upbringing outside of both human and elven customs, she is skeptical of actions motivated by religion. She is generally supportive of increasing freedom and understanding between groups like Mages and Templars and humans and elves.

She is curious and precocious, and she approves of exploring magic and history without bias. She is unlike other companions in that, if she is met with anger or scorn, her approval does not change. Dialogue options that mock or disrespect other members of the Inquisition and their beliefs, even those she does not get along with outright like Sera, will net disapproval.

Ability Tree/Specialization

Ixchel is a two-handed warrior with access to the Champion specialization tree. She begins with a two-handed greataxe.

Combat comments

Kills an enemy

“Push them back!”

“Move and parry, strike and kill!”

“Did you see that?”

Low Health

“Come and get it!”

“I’m taking you with me!”

“Not sure how much longer I can hold…”

Low Health (Companions)

(Inquisitor) Inquisitor! You must keep fighting!

(Inquisitor) Lethallen, no!

(Solas) I’m coming, Solas!

Fallen Companions

(Inquisitor) Guard the Inquisitor!

(Cole) I can't lose Cole!

Companion comments about OC

Vivienne: She is certainly a quick study, but painfully earnest, that girl. It is too bad the Game is played out in court, not on the battlefield. 

Solas: A childhood free of human or Dalish dogma allows her to see the biases ingrained in many who are older or more experienced. (“She’s young and naive.”) Because she expresses empathy for those who might not appear to deserve it? *sigh* I too have expressed that such openness might only lead to heartbreak. What she told me belies a wisdom far beyond her years: ‘When we ascribe compassion to be virtues of the gods, it becomes impossible for mortals to embody them. But the Fade reflects the waking world, and Compassion, Empathy, and Justice can be found in both.’

Dorian: There are quite the depths in her, despite her stature.

Bull: You don’t see a lot of atheists outside of Par Vollen. Everyone needs to believe the world’s fucked up for a reason, that there’s something waiting for them that’s better than the crap they have to suffer. Then again, people who pick up a sword that big are usually trying to prove something. Maybe that’s it.

Sera: There are two kinds of elfy-elves--people like him [see: Solas], and people like her. She’s been like me before, hungry an’ angry. And she doesn’t want anyone to be hungry anymore, so she gets all angry. ‘Stead of lookin’ back, she looks forward. And both of ‘em forget to look right in front of their noses.

Cole: The lonely traveler [see: Dirthamen] seeks, and finds, and loses again. She is bright, but she cannot see. Where she walks, the flame catches.

Trivia

The names of Ixchel’s personal quests are from various Percy Bysshe Shelley poems

Ixchel can receive the vallaslin of Dirthamen

Ixchel’s face bears heavy scarring that she claims is due to an encounter with dragonlings

Ixchel’s in-game body model is the same height as a Dwarven Inquisitor and Scout Harding.

If Blackwall and Ixchel are in a party together, they will stand near each other. Instead of entering their idle animations, they will draw their weapons as though they are about to spar.

Ambient dialogue in Skyhold implies that she trails after Cassandra “like a loyal hound” and they frequently practice together.

[livia-dovehallow]

Hi! Thanks for answering about requests, may I suggest something ? I was thinking about a scene in Coi timeline of when Gabriel had to deal with Thomas being accused of murder, and maybe adding also Gideons reaction to that, as it was a scene I really wanted to have read in Chain of Iron but sadly wasn't there.

Congrats on your celebration and happy bday!! Would you consider doing a fic when Thomas was arrested please? Like both Gabrily and Sophideon finding out

There were two of you who requested this exact scene so I thought, well I have to do it now! Please enjoy!

CHAIN OF IRON SPOILER WARNING

Family Above All - The Lightwoods

Characters: Thomas Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Maurice Bridgestock

Time: 1903, London, England

Thomas had had better days.

Granted, being arrested and accused of several gruesome murders was not a remote candidate for one of his better days, but he’d surprisingly remained calm. Bridgestock had taken too much pleasure in arresting him for something he had no situational understanding of but for Thomas, he had a long list of people who would look out for him. Of course, when his parents find out, they would jump to his defense in a heartbeat. But Thomas had another advantage as well—Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel were currently running the Institute, and there was no way they would let Bridgestock try him for murder.

Thomas’s hopes were fulfilled when the doors of the Institute flew open and his aunt and uncle stood in the threshold with furious expressions directed at the Inquisitor. “What in Raziel’s name is going on here?” Uncle Gabriel demanded. His voice was thunderous and echoed in the entryway.

“Thomas Lightwood was found with the body of Lilian Highsmith, covered in her blood,” said Bridgestock, much too happily for speaking about a death of one of the most esteemed members of the Enclave. “We’ve caught the murderer and justice will be swiftly served for the families of the deceased.”

“Bollocks!” shouted Aunt Cecily, her voice just as thunderous and threatening as Uncle Gabriel’s had been. Thomas wondered if the Inquisitor knew that Aunt Cecily was not someone you wanted to displease. “Maurice, you cannot possibly believe that Thomas here is capable of something so horrendous.”

The Inquisitor did not flinch. So, he did not know not to anger Cecily Lightwood. “Your familial connection creates a conflict of interest in this case, Mrs. Lightwood,” Bridgestock said, annoyed. “It is best to let myself and the other members of the Council decide Thomas’s fate.”

Gabriel looked as if one of Christopher’s flammable experiments were about to erupt out of his ears. “It will be a cold day in Hell before I leave my nephew in the hands of someone without his best interest in mind,” he said sternly. “Until you come to us with cold, hard evidence of his guilt, Thomas’s name will not be announced to the Clave and he will remain here, in the Institute, is that understood?”

The Inquisitor looked furious, but Thomas had to admit that Uncle Gabriel had a point. There was no evidence other than being found. There was no weapon, no defensive wounds. “All right,” answered Bridgestock unhappily. “He will remain anonymous to those outside of the investigation. But, he will be under guard in the Institute Sanctuary until he can be tried under the Mortal Sword. Fair?”

Aunt Cecily took a step forward looking ready to swing her fist but Uncle Gabriel held her back, though he looked equally unhappy. “It is fair,” Thomas said suddenly. His aunt and uncle looked at him, their expressions easing to concern. “I will face the Mortal Sword. I am innocent and the Sword will prove my innocence. There are worse places to wait than the Sanctuary.”

“Splendid,” Bridgestock announced. He motioned the guards holding him to move toward the Sanctuary and Thomas followed, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long.

.

.

The moment Thomas disappeared behind the hall to the Sanctuary, Gabriel and Cecily went into action. “I’ll call for my brother,” Cecily rushed, her face pinched in worry for their nephew. “Have him bring the Sword from Paris and be the one to question Thomas.”

Gabriel nodded, holding on to her hands tight. She could see the worry and fear filling her husband’s body. “I’ll call my brother, as well,” he said, his voice wavering in his attempt to remain calm. “They’ve been through too much. Damn Maurice for putting them through more heartache but there is no reason on earth Gideon and Sophie should not be here.”

Cecily released on of her hands from his grip and held it against his jaw. He relaxed in her touch, as he always did, and kissed her palm softly. “We’ll protect him,” she said confidently. He nodded without a word. “We are the co-heads of the Institute,” she added, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “We will protect Thomas.”

Gabriel smiled, ever so slightly, and squeezed her hand. “Marrying you was the best decision I ever made,” he thought aloud. Cecily smiled happily.

“Of course it was.”

.

.

The room closed in on Sophie Lightwood.

The words no mother should ever have to hear she had heard too many times. These were her children—her babies. She carried each one of them for nine months and brought them into the world surrounded in so much love. And yet—

Barbara is gone. Thomas has been arrested. Eugenia is ruined.

“Sophie.” Gideon’s voice was urgent in her ear, pulling her back into the present. His arms were around her tight. “Sophie, we must go. He needs us.”

Sophie nodded. Her son needs her. She must go to him. “Where is Genia?” she asked, her throat hoarse.

“I’m here, Mum,” came her daughter’s voice. Eugenia emerged from her bedroom with a fierce expression. “No one is getting to Tom if I have any say about it.”

Despite everything, Sophie smiled in relief at her daughter. Eugenia was strong and it eased much of Sophie’s worries (not all, of course. Once a mother always a mother). And her girls had always been protective of their younger brother, who was not so little anymore. She nodded at Eugenia and glanced up at Gideon. “Let’s go. We must see Tom.”

.

.

Thomas hissed at the sting from cut on his hands from the rough way the guards has fastened him to his seat. “Aunt Cecily, that hurts.”

She clicked her tongue at him and continued to dab away at the blood around his wrists. She insisted on checking for any dirt or infection in his wound—Bridgestock had prohibited any iratzes for him as his injuries were considered evidence. “I’ll hang that man for having you tied to a chair,” Aunt Cecily grumbled. Thomas fought an ill-timed smile but he was comforted with the knowledge that the adults in his life were looking out for him. And the knowledge that Aunt Cecily was fully capable of following through on her threats.

He had heard his father arguing with several members of the Council upstairs, but it was his mother’s and sister’s heels clicking against the stone floors that created the loudest sound in his ears. The door opened and they flooded in. Eugenia looked angry and carried her knife in her hand, which she had likely used to threaten the guard to let her in. His mother, on the other hand, looked as if she were about to cry. “Thomas,” she whispered desperately and rushed to him. Her hands were soft against his face. There were bags under her eyes that had been there ever since they lost Barbara and Thomas knew they would likely never go away. It pained him to see her like that—tired and heartbroken. “They haven’t hurt you, have they? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, Mum,” he assured her in as comforting of a voice as he could muster. “Aunt Cecily is a very good caretaker.”

“With a wicked good right hook,” Eugenia mused. He could almost feel the smug grin their aunt gave her at that comment.

“I’m happy to see you Genie,” Thomas said to his sister suddenly. Eugenia seemed surprised, but pleased. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relieved to see you come at me with a knife.”

Sophie sighed in defeat and kneeled in front of him, still checking him over despite his insistence that he was not hurt. “We know it wasn’t you,” she told him. “Of course, it wasn’t you. You would never do such a thing. Your father has gone ballistic upstairs with your uncle over this and I have half a mind to march up there and join them.”

Thomas smiled. “I’m sure if you and Aunt Cecily paraded up there looking as angry as you do now, the Council will be frightened to tears.”

“As well they should be.” Aunt Cecily stood and wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress. She was still scowling, but her eyes showed her affection for him. She’d always looked out for his cousins with such fervor that it felt strange experiencing it for himself, but he was not surprised. His own mother had always told him that if he ever needed anything and he couldn’t reach her, that Aunt Cecily would help him as if he were her own child.

“Thank you, Aunt Cecily,” Thomas said to her. She smiled kindly at him. He turned back to his mother, who gazed at him with heartbreaking concern. “I’m all right, Mum. Truly.”

Sophie sniffed and tried her best to smile for him. Thomas wished she wouldn’t do that. “Hush,” she scolded him without malice. “Let your mother fuss over you. It is the one thing I can still do for my children that has no age limit.”

“You do plenty for us, Mum,” Eugenia offered in one of her softer tones. Her knife was still in her hand. “Tom is just like you. He’s looking out for everyone other than himself when he should be focusing on himself. Lucky for him, I am like Papa.”

Thomas scoffed, though it came out sounding more like a laugh, and their mother finally smiled ever so slightly. “Your uncle has convinced the Inquisitor to lockdown the Institute until Charlotte and Will return with the Mortal Sword. No curious onlookers will be poking around here. We’ll make sure of it.”

Aunt Cecily clapped her hands, looking pleased. “That man,” she said, delighted. “Reminds me why I married him every day. Come—let us go add fuel to the fire.” She gripped Sophie’s upper arm and lifted her from the floor at Thomas’s feet. She turned to Eugenia. “I trust you to guard the door?”

Eugenia smiled devilishly. “No one will get past me.”

Aunt Cecily winked—she had helped with much of Genia’s training—and tugged at Sophie’s arm. “Thomas will be all right. I promise. Aunt’s Honor.”

His mother rolled her eyes, but she went along with Aunt Cecily after hugging Thomas tight. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he had answered. “I love you, too, Mum.”

.

.

“This is idiotic,” Gideon demanded. He stood in the foyer of the Institute, behind locked doors that he would never be able to thank his brother enough for, staring down the Inquisitor with little hesitation. “You have known Thomas since he was an infant, Maurice. He has never done anything remotely like this in his life. You can’t possibly believe he’s killed all these people!”

Bridgestock was unbothered by Gideon’s outbursts. If anything, he looked simply annoyed that he had heard the same argument from various members of the Lightwood family. “Sentimentality and nepotism have no place in a murder investigation, Gideon,” he said roughly. Gideon thought he was less than a second away from knocking the daylights out of him. “I don’t care if he’s your son or not. He will be investigated.”

Clicks of heels sounded toward them; they were fast, determined. Gideon didn’t need to turn to know it was Sophie and Cecily, but he turned anyway to find her face red with anger. In no less than a moment was she at his side, her hand rising from her waist.

A loud, echoing slap filled the tense air. There was a moment of silence, in which the occupants of the foyer stood gaping, before Bridgestock’s face morphed into anger, his cheek turning a livid red. Nearly as quickly as his hand had come up to return the hit were Gideon and Gabriel’s hands on his wrist with an iron grip. “How dare you shackle my son to a chair and leave him bleeding,” Sophie seethed. She had not flinched. Sophie was hardly livid, but when she was, she was glorious and frightening. Gideon tightened his grip on Bridgestock’s wrist, forcing himself to hold back from snapping the bones into pieces for raising a hand to his wife.

“You arrest my son with no evidence, dare raise a hand to my wife, and now I learn you have shackled him without iratzes?” Gideon roared. He stepped closer to Bridgestock, his wrist still in his grip—Gabriel had let go long ago, though his gaze was thunderous—and hissed through his teeth: “Some man of the law you are.”

“Careful who you threaten,” warned the Inquisitor. He was annoyingly calm, testing even, with a pleased and self-satisfied glint in his eyes. “You may be at the Consul’s side, but it is I who dictate the Law, Lightwood.”

“And how long will that last—” interrupted Cecily. She stood at Gabriel’s side with her chin held high—“when Thomas states under the Mortal Sword that he is innocent? What explanation will you create to guard yourself from ridicule among the Council for being so certain of a case without evidence, dissolved with a single question under the Sword?”

The Inquisitor’s angry glare turned to Cecily, who stared him down right back. Gideon suppressed a smirk.

“Think twice before you say or do anything to my wife,” Gabriel warned.

Bridgestock angrily twisted his arm out from Gideon’s grip and took a step back. His eyes were still full of annoyance and anger. “It would do you both some good to control your women. Loose tongues lead to bad incidents.”

“Is that a promise?” Cecily wondered.

“It would do you some good to learn temperance and manners,” Gideon snapped. “Get out before I do something actually worth an arrest. Do not show your face to me again until Will returns with the Mortal Sword.”

Hope you enjoyed :’) || @tsccreatorsnet

[fallenrepublick]

Hi ! Back again with some ridiculous questions... First , what kind of students would Thrawn, Thrass, Maul, Savage, Vader, Eli, Tarkin, Krennic and Grand Inqui be ?

And then, what kind of teachers would they be ?

And btw, thank you so much for taking the time to answer my dumb questions and for brightening my days. You're such a talented writer, I absolutely love your works ❤❤❤

Ahhh back to the good 'ol school days...

As a student, Thrawn was Mister Perfect. He showed up, sat silently in class, took notes with the most illegible handwriting you've ever seen in your life, and maintained perfect scores. However, what many never saw coming was his tendency to be argumentative with teachers. He finds their strategies boring and obsolete, and is not afraid to tell them as much. He's been threatened with disciplinary action more than once, but only ever replied, "The truth is not equivalent to disrespect."

As a teacher, he's thorough. The goal is not good scores, but rather students who know not only what is happening, but why, whether it be military or art history. People in his class are never afraid to ask questions, as he openly encourages it, and is willing to explain the same concept a million different ways if it means it's helping them.

Student life for Thrass was about as skewed as you'd expect. He excelled at debate, writing, and government, and those teachers loved him. But he's stubborn, and he will not do something that he doesn't want to do. This means that his math classes saw him maybe once a week, and he only barely passed. Perfect he was not, but that didn't stop people from falling at his feet left and right. Which... he never enjoyed either.

As a teacher, he seems like a strict hardass from the outside looking in. People would tell stories about him and how much he expects and how he grades. But really, it isn't nearly that bad. He discusses a lot about how he wants good, honest efforts, but he also isn't uptight about it either. Every so often, he'll look at his lesson plan, say, "I don't feel like doing this, do you?" Which means that they spend the rest of the time playing games.

Maul was the competitive student, the one that had to be the best at everything. He would have silent bouts of anger each time he wasn't at the top of the class for grades. Although... rumour had it that it wasn't exactly by choice. Still, he excelled at languages and anything relating to physical activity. An odd pair, but it worked well for him.

But as a teacher, he's quite casual about it all. At the beginning of the year, the students always dread it, as he makes everything seem like the worst experience they'll ever have. He's got a specific title you have to refer him to or he'll End You, there's no excuse for anything below a 95%, no freebies, etc. etc... He forgets about all of that literally the next day. People began realising it when they mentioned they didn't have time to finish assignments or homework. He'd just shrug and tell them to bring it the following week. Multiple people began calling him Maul, and he would answer as if it were a normal occurrence. The class average on an exam was a 70 once, and he only said, "Well, you passed, at least."

Savage was the student who looked like he could kill you, and could, but also most likely wouldn't. He was the one that followed Maul around everywhere, and was also himself followed by an even smaller sibling. He wasn't competitive, only here for the sake of getting through it at all, and never had much interest in the subjects outside of... geology. Random, yes, but he found it fun.

When he teaches, he's the gentler one, the type that listens to the students' troubles, whether class related or not, and is always there to help when he can. He stays late to give help, comes early for even more extra help, and knows the value of a good sticker on your paper when you scored well.

You know what Vader was like as a student. He was horrendous. Bad. The rules are his rules, and if he doesn't like them, they don't exist. No teacher wanted to deal with him, and when they did have to, they didn't dare try to call him out for the times he was late or ignored simple instructions that he didn't like.

His teaching style is... interesting. It isn't overly suffocating, but it isn't fun, and it definitely isn't cushy. He needs everything in on time Or Else, and yet he takes for heckin' ever to grade. A hypocrite, just as he always has been, but are you really going to try to argue with him? Yeah, I thought not.

Eli's experience as a student was fairly standard. He was a bit in the higher range when it came to grades, he participated enough that he was known but not favoured, he always seemed to have a promising future. He's the master of Hindsight 20/20, though, so much of the issues that he has with scheduling could be fixed if he payed more attention. And yet he always found himself running across the halls to his next class.

As a teacher, he's... the boring one. Well, by the student's standards, anyways. It certainly can be worse, but his students know next to nothing about him, and his tendency to keep to himself means that the students don't feel all that comfortable around him either. But he's good, great even, at teaching his content, his averages always high, his performance admirable amongst his colleagues.

Tarkin's student experience was filled with rich-kid nonsense, extra extra after school study sessions, cram school, high level courses, an unreasonable amount of clubs. Everyone from teachers to other students worried that he worked himself too much. He did, of course, but no one needed to know that.

Now this. This is the ice teacher. This is the teacher everyone warns you about, the one no one wants to be stuck with. He's the teacher that Maul pretends he is. The one with no leeway, the one that runs everything like a damn prison. I shudder at the mere thought.

Ah Krennic, the classic case of believing talent can get you anywhere. His days as a student were filled with one-sided competition with Tarkin, trying to get better grades, one-up him, prove himself superior. Nevermind that their classes were completely different, and that Krennic was actually at the low end of the class rank. He was always so convinced he could do it. When he talks about his old school days to people who weren't there, he will often claim that he did do it.

His teaching is about as good as his engineering... there are a few holes. His descriptions lack sometimes, he tends to leave out info. And after exams, when students cry out that he never talked about something, he will insist that he did, and they were not paying attention. He answers question by repeating the same things he just said.

The Grand Inquisitor was the quiet student, the one that sat in the back, the one that never volunteered to answer, did all the projects by himself, and to many, never existed at all. Students used to say that he was a ghost, and he was actually just haunting the school until he could move on. He never bothered to correct them. Instead, he continued to listen, allowing himself to be both a skilled student and a gold mine for the latest scandals. Truly an inspiration of our time.

As a teacher, he's the type that prefers to show, not tell. Instead of lectures there are videos, examples, real life discussions about where the subject would appear, and how it would be used. He wants his students to hunt for the answer rather than be given it immediately, which he is certain will give them a benefit later on in life, as it's a useful skill. Surprisingly, the students like him, despite how quiet and odd he is.

[anathtsurugi]

So, Star Wars buddies, y’all remember how I wrote that soulmate AU a couple years back...

Well, When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest is finally getting a continuation. The new story will be posted in about a month as part of @kalluzebminibang‘s mini bang event, but the first chapter is available right now on my Patreon. So if you still remember my odd little story, if it touched your life in some way and you’ve maaaaaybe got a few spare dollars lying around for a rainy day, you can hop on over and be one of the first to see the start of the new fic.

But for now, if you haven’t got the spare change but are still excited for the new story, here’s a little sneak peek at the upcoming You Can Take My heart, You Can Take My Breath.

~*~

 Ever since returning from Mandalore, Kanan had been working with him to try and figure out a way to regain his soulmark. Nothing they'd tried had come anywhere close to succeeding. Zeb still possessed amber in his field of vision, and would occasionally report other flashes of color flickering in and out. So it seemed the problem lay not with him, but with Kallus himself.

 These last few days, he had gone out early in the morning to meet with the Jedi, before he had to be on shift and before Kanan would meet up with Ezra for their own regular training. But this was even earlier than he normally woke. He doubted Kanan would even be awake yet. Even so, he would head out, maybe take a little extra time to get into the necessary head space...

 "I know you're not goin' out at this un-Ashla hour," Zeb grumbled from the bunk just as he finished dressing. "Y'should come back to bed."

 Kallus gave a fond sigh as he crossed the few steps back to the bed, dropping to one knee beside it. "I will do no one any good lying here unable to sleep," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to his partner's lips. "Go back to sleep, my love. I'll return in an hour or so."

 "Mm, there's other things we can do if you can't sleep, y'know," Zeb mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

 "Be reasonable, Garazeb," he started with a small laugh. "We can't have sex every time I can't sleep."

 "We could. It's an option. You're just choosing not to."

 Again Alex laughed, placating his lover with one last kiss. "Maybe so, but you at least require sleep, and if you're a good boy and get enough rest, I promise you can kriff me up against the wall when I get back."

 "Promise?" the Lasat grumbled peevishly as he rolled away from him.

 "Promise."

 "Fine. But I'm holdin' you to that. I don't care how late we are for morning shift."

 "Fair enough," Kallus conceded as he got back to his feet.

 "L'ashkerrir an," Zeb mumbled, barely awake.

 Kallus stopped in the doorway at the sound of those words, feeling that same flutter of unbound joy in his heart as he had the very first time Zeb had spoken them. He hoped it never stopped.

 "And I you...my dearest Zeb," he said softly, adoringly, before allowing the door to slide closed behind him.

 Kallus took no weapons with him when he departed the Ghost, despite every instinct he had always begging him to. The very first time they'd gone out into the jungle, Kanan had insisted he wouldn't need any weapons.

 "Are you crazy?" he'd asked, certain the knight hadn't yet been informed about the local fauna. "Do you have any idea what's out there?"

 Kanan had simply given him a shit-eating grin and offered up cryptically, "Only what you take with you."

 Whatever that meant. Still, Kallus had obeyed, and he had not found cause to doubt Kanan yet. This particular morning was no different, if not a touch earlier than even he rose. The sky had barely begun to lighten as he moved through the dense jungle. He'd likely have had trouble finding his way if he didn't already know where he was going. However, much to his surprise, their usual clearing was not deserted when he arrived.

 "Couldn't sleep?" Kanan asked as Kallus stepped into the circle, clearly having been sitting in meditation for some time already. As had been the case on all the mornings prior, he was not wearing his typical mask.

 "I don't know that I've slept properly since Atollon," he admitted, tired of his own stoic front. He had learned quickly that the knight could read him like a holobook. "Though neither, it seems, could you."

 "Call it a hunch," the Jedi said, nodding to indicate he ought to sit down beside him. "Feel up to contemplating your innermost self this fine morning?"

 "As much as one ever is 'up' for such a task," he conceded as he came to sit beside the man he had previously hunted. "Though Zeb did try to argue that it isn't even properly morning yet."

 "And he was right. Unfortunately for those of us with normal biorhythms, the Force says 'jump' when and where it wants to, so we mortals must abide. Let me see your arm," he said, holding out his hand.

 "See, Kanan?" he joked half-heartedly as he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, resting his forearm in the Jedi's outstretched hand.

 "I can see better than you can right now," Kanan returned in a similar tone, caught somewhere between joking and serious. Exhaling, he brought his other hand up to run his fingers over the skin where the soulmark had once been, and when he winced at whatever it was he was feeling, Kallus was once again grateful not to be able to feel it.

 "Close your eyes," the Jedi told him.

 Kallus did as he was bid, easily quieting the skeptical voice in his mind that had grown smaller and smaller since he'd watched the inquisitor burn away a piece of his soul.

 "Quiet your mind," Kanan coached him.

 Kallus knew the Jedi had not found it easy to convince him to let go of the tight patterns of control Imperial conditioning had worked him into. He still didn't find it easy to just...let go. To give up control of his mind and his thoughts and allow himself to just...be. The closest he came was his state of mind when engaged in a particularly fierce fight ― the sort where he had gone beyond gauging his opponent and plotting his own moves and had simply become lost in the rhythm of the moment...the dance of it. He couldn't say how much time had passed when he became aware of Kanan's voice again.

 "When you first realized Zeb was your soulmate...what did you feel?"

 "Relief," he answered without having to think about it. "Even though I had tried- to give it up...I had feared that my partner had died soon after Lasan. There was something...freeing...in finally hearing those words spoken aloud."

 "But...?"

 "That relief was immediately followed by anger."

 "Because he was your enemy?"

 "Because I was his."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I think I had always known...from the moment I was able to understand the words on my arm...that there would be enmity between my partner and I. The older I became, the more I was prepared to hate myself...for all of it. When the moment finally came...all I had left was anger...hatred...for him, myself...for the galaxy and everyone in it. I tried to tell myself I'd done the only thing I could do..."

 "But you knew different."

 "Deep down...I suppose...yes. I didn't begin to consider the implications of any of it until after Bahryn...and then everything was happening so quickly...and Zeb was forgiving me everything...even if he shouldn't have done. I loved him...so fiercely in those days. I clung to it when I was weak...in my darkest moments..."

 "And then you were captured."

 Kallus gasped, any response he might've had slipping away from him as the memories pierced his awareness, sharp and unforgiving.

 Thrawn's red eyes...his cruel sneer...

 The inquisitor's chilling voice...her molten, scorching touch as she-

 "NO!" he cries out in anguish, struggling to pull back, to turn away from the horror of it.

 "No. Don't run from this. Stand your ground, Fulcrum," the Jedi's voice comes to him again, firm but not unkind, guiding him in the darkness. "We're so close now."

 So Alex let the memory play out, trembling, but not looking away as he relived his worst moment.

 "It- broke me...when that bond was cut," he recounted, his voice unsteady. "I had bled for it...killed for it...in a way, I had died for it...and they took it from me. As easy as peeling off a glove...they stole a part of my heart from me...the part that was good...that was true and worth saving...the part that Zeb loved. They stole it from me," he hissed, feeling the sting of tears as they pushed their way through his closed eyelids.

 "Do you really believe that?" he heard Kanan asking him. "That the part of you that's worth saving is lost?"

 "Yes," he answered, voice still unsteady, but certain. "I don't- doubt his love...but why should someone as wonderful as Garazeb Orrelios...be bound to such a broken creature as this?" He had taken comfort in Zeb's promises...after Atollon...but did he believe himself worthy of them?

 No.

 "That's it, then."

 Inhaling sharply, Kallus suddenly found himself blinking his eyes open in the grey pre-dawn light to find Kanan now sitting in front of him, unseeing eyes gazing rather pointedly into his. Kallus had to resist the urge to pull back from him.

 "I...what?"

 "That's why you haven't been able to regain your soulmark. It's because you aren't certain you deserve to have it...that you don't want Zeb to be tied to you when, in your view, he has the chance to be free."

 "It- would seem so. Yes," he said quietly, achingly, as he let his gaze drop to the small patch of dirt that separated them.

 "Then there isn't anything I can do to help you," Kanan told him, reaching a hand up to grip his shoulder. "Until you know what it is that the two of you share, that bond won't return."

 Kallus inhaled slowly before giving a long sigh and looking up at the Jedi. "I understand. Thank you for everything you've done."

 "Don't give it up for lost yet, Kallus," Kanan scolded him mildly as he climbed to his feet. "Zeb's a stubborn one. He'll help you scrub out that Imperial mindset. You just need to give him a chance to prove himself. Go back to him. You two can probably get in a little extra time before the day gets going."

 "Right. I'll...catch up with you," he said, voice still little more than a whisper. Not watching Kanan go, the only indication he had that the younger man had done so was the quiet sound of his footfalls.

~*~

Interested yet? Wanna see some more? Come check out the full chapter over on Patreon.

[potatowitch]

Hawke as Companion

Template by @little-lightning-lavellan

Is your OC a Companion in the Dragon Age series? What would it be like for a player to select them to join their party for quests (or romance them, perhaps? 👀)

I did originally plan on doing this for my Inquisitor but, as always, I've got Hawke brainrot instead, and I figured writing some companion interactions would be so much more interesting with her as a companion than my Lavellan. This got .... very long.

You have selected RIAN to join your party!

Race: HUMAN

Gender: FEMALE

Class: MAGE

Specialization: BLOOD MAGE

BACKGROUND

Marian Elaine Hawke, known also as “Rian”, “Chuckles”, “Champion of Kirkwall” and “Hawke, NO” was born in 9:06 Dragon to Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. Despite having to keep her father's magic a secret, she was never led to believe that magic was anything but a gift. Therefore, she spent much of her younger years experimenting to see if she could produce magic, eventually managing at age 9 to light the fireplace with a tiny fireball.

Growing up, she was attached to Malcolm at the hip - the two of them shared not only their magic but their senses of humor and general chaotic energy.

After the Hawke family fled Lothering during the Blight, Hawke joined Athenril’s smugglers to pay off her entry into Kirkwall. As soon as she met Varric at the start of Act 1, they became inseparable best friends - Hawke often cites Varric as her soulmate and the platonic love of her life. During the Deep Roads expedition, Carver became infected with the Blight, and with the help of Anders, Hawke was able to lead him to the Grey Wardens so he could join their ranks.

Over the years, she developed close relationships with most of her companions except for Aveline and Sebastian. Her friendship with Merrill eventually developed into a committed romance, and Hawke started to practice blood magic after recognising that Merrill could do so without being "evil". The two of them eventually also developed feelings for Isabela, and as such she joined their romance as well.

By Act 3, Hawke had become a staunch supporter of mage rights, a dedicated member of the Underground, and wholeheartedly supported Anders’ choice to destroy Kirkwall’s Chantry.

Following the destruction of the Chantry, Hawke and her friends fled Kirkwall, splitting up despite Hawke desperately wanting them to remain together. Isabela and Merrill chose to remain with Hawke, and the three of them traveled across the Free Marches, occasionally running into Anders and assisting him in rescuing mages from rebelling Circles. Eventually, Isabela managed to acquire a new crew, and her partners were more than happy to sail with her as she established herself once again as the Queen of the Eastern Seas.

INQUISITION

Depending on the player’s choices in Here Lies The Abyss, Hawke can be convinced to stay and help the Inquisition further instead of accompanying the remaining Wardens to Weisshaupt, becoming a full companion. She will move to sit with Varric by the fire in the main hall. Hawke will also be present in Varric’s companion cutscene where he invites the Inquisitor to play Wicked Grace.

Upon first being recruited to the Inquisition, Hawke’s specialisation is not available - when automatically leveled, she will put points primarily into the Inferno and Storm trees. Her unique specialisation, Blood Mage, only becomes available if the Inquisitor has allied with the mages at Redcliffe. At that point, Hawke will initiate a conversation with the Inquisitor about their opinions on blood magic, and if the Inquisitor states that they have no problem with it, her specialisation will open. Otherwise, she will refuse to admit her use of blood magic to the Inquisitor.

At this point, Hawke will also speak more openly about her support of Anders. She will eventually admit that they are still in contact, though she won't tell the Inquisitor anything that could give them an idea of Anders’ whereabouts.

Her specialisation is not open to the Inquisitor, however Hawke can offer to teach a mage Inquisitor "a neat trick", which will give the player the choice to replace their current Focus ability with Hawke's.

BLOOD MAGE

Upon unlocking Hawke's specialisation, she will gain a large increase to her Constitution but her mana bar will become considerably shorter, and conventional healing effects will only operate at 25% efficiency. If she is out of mana, she will automatically revert to using her health pool to power her spells instead.

Her spell tree is very similar to the Dragon Age 2 Blood Mage tree, however it does not include the Blood Slave ability - it is instead replaced with Blood Bomb, which is a variant of Walking Bomb. Instead of applying a damage over time curse to a target, Hawke channels a spell that corrupts the targets' blood from the inside until the target dies - at which point they explode, doing damage to nearby enemies. This spell continually consumes Hawke's mana and health while it is being channeled.

Her Focus ability is Major Sacrifice, a variant of the Knight-Enchanter's Resurgence. Instead of healing the party to full health and providing an ongoing healing aura, Major Sacrifice will instead heal the party to full health but take 25% of Hawke's current health, and will provide an aura of ongoing damage to nearby enemies, converting their health into health for the party.

VARRIC'S PERSONAL QUEST IN VALAMMAR

If the Inquisitor brings Hawke to Valammar, she will be suspiciously quiet throughout the quest - though she will pipe up to complain about the Darkspawn. Following the reveal that Bianca shared the location of the thaig, Hawke will be furious and will argue with her.

Upon returning to Skyhold and speaking to Varric, the cutscene will begin in the middle of a conversation between him and Hawke.

HAWKE: You deserve better, you know. VARRIC: Yeah, you've said that before. HAWKE: It bears repeating. As many times as it takes to get it through your thick head. You deserve so much better. VARRIC: *sigh* Thanks, Chuckles.

APPROVAL AND ROMANCE

Hawke is not romanceable, though she welcomes playful flirting from a female Inquisitor. She will eventually initiate a conversation where she makes sure the Inquisitor isn't expecting the flirting to go anywhere further, as she is already in a relationship.

RIAN APPROVES OF: Supporting mage freedom, open-mindedness with magic and spirits, sarcasm, humor, stealing from nobility, pranking nobility, loyalty to your friends, being nice to Varric, terrible puns.

RIAN DISAPPROVES OF: Chantry rhetoric, the Circles, Templars, Tranquility, authority, betraying your friends, ignorance, pomposity, being mean to Varric.

Hawke will not leave the Inquisition, even if her approval is at Hostile. When questioned about this, she will say:

HAWKE: Did you miss the part where Corypheus is my responsibility? I’m going to fix my fuck-up, Inquisitor. If I have to put up with you while I do it, then, well … I’ve always said the Maker has a sick sense of humor.

TRESPASSER

Following Corypheus' defeat, Hawke leaves the Inquisition to rejoin Merrill and Isabela.

Once Trespasser is started, Hawke can be found accompanying Varric and Bran to the Winter Palace.

During exploration of the Eluvians, if both Hawke and Varric are in the party, they will briefly discuss how excited Merrill would be by all this, and Hawke will say "You'd better be writing all this down, Varric."

She will approve of redeeming Solas, though she won't disapprove if the Inquisitor decides they would rather kill him.

High Approval

If Varric has chosen to give the Inquisitor an estate in Kirkwall, Hawke will pipe up during the conversation saying she's excited to be neighbors, offering to give the Inquisitor the key to her wine cellar - though she will complain that Varric has never given her control of the harbor, to which Bran will mutter "thank the Maker".

Regardless of the Inquisition's fate, Hawke will return to her lovers, occasionally keeping in touch with the Inquisitor via letters.

Low Approval

If the Inquisitor has low approval with Hawke, they will be informed that she left as soon as the Inquisitor stepped back out of the Eluvian following the final confrontation with Solas. The epilogue slides will state that her whereabouts are, once again, unknown.

COMBAT COMMENTS

Killing an enemy

And stay down!

One more for me. We’re keeping score, right?

Have at you!

How’s my hair looking? (COMBAT ENDS)

I wonder what’s in their pockets. (COMBAT ENDS)

Oh, ew. I’m not cleaning that up. (COMBAT ENDS)

Low Health

This is going badly!

Little help, maybe?

Why are none of you healers?

This hurts! This really hurts!

Low Health (Companions)

INQUISITOR: You good over there, boss?

VARRIC: Varric, that blood better not be yours!

COLE: Help the kid!

CASSANDRA: They’re swarming the Seeker!

BLACKWALL: Hang on, Beardy!

IRON BULL: Bull’s in trouble!

Fallen Companions

INQUISITOR: Shit! Trevelyan/Lavellan/Adaar/Cadash is down!

VARRIC: Don’t you dare leave me now, Varric!

COLE: Cole! No!

CASSANDRA: Seeker is down! How did they manage that?

SOLAS: Come on, Solas!

DORIAN: Help Dorian!

SERA: Awful quiet, isn’t it? Oh shit, Sera!

LOCATION COMMENTS

(first time seeing a High Dragon) *laughing* "Oh, this will be fun!" IF VARRIC IS IN THE PARTY: "Hawke, the last time you fought one of these you nearly died." "Yeah, but I didn't die. That's the important thing."

(approaching a campsite) "Well ... I've slept in worse places."

(when collecting a Shard) "Let me guess. We have to collect a stupid amount of these for a really stupid reason, and they're all going to be in really stupid, hard to reach places. *sighs* I love adventuring."

HINTERLANDS

"Have we been here before? Feels like we've been here before."

(upon unlocking the cabin in Redcliffe with the Tranquil skulls) "That's ... fucking Maker. Tranquil have always made me uncomfortable but ... they were still people. They were still... shit, I need a second."

FALLOW MIRE

"Eugh, that smell! Worse than my dog when he's eaten cheese, and that's saying something."

(upon killing Widris) "Something, something, crazy mages ... "

"Oh, walking corpses. That's nice."

STORM COAST

(upon seeing the dragon vs giant fight) *laughing* "Oh, that's brilliant!"

"Not to sound like Varric, but why are there so many bloody hills around here? My legs hurt."

EXALTED PLAINS

"Maker, I hate Orlais."

(finding Valorin's corpse) *sighs* "Might sound a little hypocritical coming from me, but ... blood magic is not for the careless."

(seeing the ruined bridge, if Varric is in the party) "Hey Varric - " "Don't you dare, Hawke." "C'mon, please?" "You are not tossing me!" "Spoilsport."

EMERALD GRAVES

"I've always thought it was beautiful how the Dalish bury their dead under a tree sprout. Like ... I don't know, maybe death doesn't have to be the end."

HISSING WASTES

"There's sand in ... places. So many places."

"Have I said I hate sand? Because I hate sand."

EMPRISE DU LION

(seeing Red Lyrium) "Maybe don't touch that. It'll do all kinds of weird shit to you."

"I'm fucking freezing. When can we go home?"

(seeing Red Lyrium giants) "What the fuck?"

(Elfsblood River rift - near the lady with titsicles) *giggles*

SHRINE OF DUMAT

"I'm getting the weirdest sense of deja vu." IF VARRIC IS IN THE PARTY: "You're not the only one."

DEEP ROADS (THE DESCENT)

"Why do I always end up back in the Deep Roads? Am I cursed?"

COMPANION COMMENTS

VARRIC: "I was worried about what would happen if I brought her here, but ... it's nice to have Hawke around again."

CASSANDRA: "I have to admit, I do admire the Champion. A woman who built herself up from nothing to defeat the Arishok ... there's a certain romance to Varric's stories about her."

SOLAS: "I've been informed that Varric also calls Hawke "Chuckles". I ... don't see how we are similar."

DORIAN: "Hawke? Oh, I like her. She's not as daft as she acts."

BLACKWALL: "The other night, I found her getting teary-eyed in the tavern over how much she misses her dog. Don't quite know what to make of that, really."

VIVIENNE: "She is a powerful mage, I'll give her that, but she's also a naive fool. No wonder Kirkwall fell to pieces around her."

IRON BULL: "She's fun. Got a lot going on in that head she doesn't talk about, though."

COLE: "Fleeing, fighting, falling. Failed father, failed mother, failed Beth and Carver too. Fire and freedom, and she knows it's right but it still feels wrong. Old wounds that never healed, sometimes she can still taste the blood in her mouth. You chose to save her. She wishes you chose differently."

SERA: "Thought she'd be scary, but she makes me laugh. Hasn't let owning a mansion get to her head, either, and have you seen those arms? She's strong."

CULLEN: "I'd ... rather not talk about her, if you don't mind. We've a less than friendly history."

JOSEPHINE: "Lady Hawke is charming, certainly, but I cannot imagine her being popular amongst her neighbours in Hightown. She throws the very concept of decorum bodily out of the window."

LELIANA: "I knew her when she lived in Lothering. She didn't seem to like the Chantry much, but she was always sweet, and her jokes made me laugh. It's a little odd to see the woman she's grown into."

TRIVIA

Malcolm also made sure he trained Hawke in using a sword. She's not very good at it, preferring instead to use her staff as a melee weapon if an enemy gets too close.

She has a mean right hook.

Her and Varric have matching tattoos on their left buttcheeks.

Despite being Ferelden and adoring her own mabari, Hawke has a preference for cats.

She's awful at singing. She sings a lot anyway.

[crossdressingdeath]

@uzunofu:

And, and! The fucking retconning of Dalish mage culture from "mages are extremely valuable and respected, with none of them becoming abominations because they're treated normally" to "my clan kicked me out because we already had too many mages". The Dalish were an example of what happened when you had no Towers. They were the alternative system — which worked! But if there was to be Grey Morality, then that system had to be either very flawed or fail. And I wouldn't mind if they did it from the very beginning, but we got a poor retcon instead and _that's_ what's infuriating.

(From this post, but I figured this would get long and it's off-topic so it gets its own post.)

Yeah, the thing with the Dalish was... a particularly ugly bit of retconning. Like... pay attention to what Velanna says about her clan. Look at Merrill, shipped from her birth clan to another because mages are so rare and so precious to her people. The only thing I can say is that it's entirely possible the people who talk about the Dalish throwing their mages to the wolves are mistaken. If memory serves it comes up with Minaeve (who was... what, seven at the time? How many clear and detailed memories do you have from that age? It wouldn't be hard for the Circle to convince her her clan kicked her out and they saved her; it's not like she'd ever get the chance to ask her clan about it), Vivienne (all she has to go on is what the Circle says and they have ulterior motives in teaching mages that they have no other place to go) and Bull (who's probably extrapolating based off of whatever Dalish told him; we don't know how honest she's being or how much she's told him, it's entirely possible she just said "I'm travelling on my own" and he assumed that she meant her clan kicked her out because it's 'common knowledge' that the Dalish do that and she didn't correct him for whatever reason). And I've seen a couple things that have suggested that maybe in dire circumstances the Dalish are occasionally forced to sacrifice a mage child for the sake of the rest of the clan, which would... really reflect more on the people hunting them than they themselves.

Honestly my main issue is that a Dalish Inquisitor isn't really allowed to... argue? I mean, it's entirely likely that they themselves were moved from their birth clan to Clan Lavellan if they're a mage, and if they're not they likely know someone who moved clans! But if memory serves at most you can say that your clan never did that only to be told that oh, not all clans are the same or something like that. Because it's not like the clans meeting up to share information is a thing or anything, no, this Circle mage who probably hasn't seen a Dalish elf since she was seven knows better than you about your own people. It's just so transparent that it's a desperate attempt to discredit a system that works and has worked and is a much better solution to the "problem" of mages than the Circles and part of the game-long campaign to take a group of people desperately clinging to whatever they can reclaim of their culture after the Chantry stole it from them, who are now understandably wary of outsiders and especially Chantry faithful, and turn them into small-minded ignorant children who just need to learn how to play nice with the imperial religion that doesn't think anyone else should be free to worship their own gods, like it's their fault Orlais and the Chantry tried to wipe them out. I am still not over Cassandra asking Lavellan if their pantheon has room for one more and not considering that maybe the Chantry should remove the ban on worshipping the Dalish gods.

Basically the "Dalish clans abandon their mages to die if they have too many" bullshit retcon is a symptom of Bioware suddenly realizing that they made the Dalish really fucking sympathetic while wanting us to side with the Chantry so (instead of making any attempt to make the Chantry look better) they had to make the Dalish look worse and fast. And... kind of did the opposite, honestly, especially if you headcanon that the people saying the Dalish abandon their mages are misunderstanding the situation and in actuality pursuit by the Chantry/Templars/random Chantry-faithful people means that sometimes a clan has to sacrifice one child to save all the rest and it's awful but not really their fault. But even if you don't subscribe to that theory... the Inquisitor, supposedly the most powerful and important person there, is expected to just stand there and listen to people who aren't Dalish telling them what their own people do and can't even tell them to shut the fuck up. It says a lot about how respected the Dalish are when the Herald of Andraste can't make people stop slandering their culture!

[sinsbymanka]

This is a submission for the @cozy-autumn-prompts​ event, brainchild of the lovely @scharoux​. Thank you for the amazing prompts! @tightassets​ and I submit the following art (belonging to her talented hands) and fic (my doing) for prompt #5: Cold Toes.

Thank you to our friend @jennserr​ for the translation trick. Hover over the Elvhen to get the translation popping up on AO3! Translations are also available at the end of the fic.

Title: Cold Toes, Warm Heart Pairing: Male Hawke/Female Inquisitor, Male Hawke/Female Lavellan, Keaton Hawke/Lilitu Lavellan Rating: M Content Warnings: Flirting, Established Relationship, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Partial Nudity, Innuendo, Idiots in Love, Light Angst

Read on AO3

“Do you know the best part of Kirkwall, Kitten?” 

Lilitu didn’t roll her eyes, but a smile tugged up half her lips while she scanned the words on the page in front of her. It still took far too long to make sense of the familiar shapes forming completely foreign words. It was why she preferred to puzzle them out up here, in her room, in front of the fire. 

And if that happened to come with the added benefits of partial nudity, Keaton, and a comfortable bed, well… she worked very hard. She’d earned some comforts. 

“The tavern.” Lilitu guessed, not looking up from her paper. “With the people who cheered when they saw you because once you outdrank a Tal-Vashoth mercenary while Varric took notes.” 

“The Hanged Man? Andraste, no. I’m still almost sure Corf was watering the ale with his piss.” Keaton laughed. “Although, I wouldn't mind Norah throwing a mug at my head. For old times sake.” 

“Cabot would do it.” Lilitu smirked, shooting him a look over her shoulder. “And be happy to.” 

Keaton crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her from the bed with as much mocking seriousness as he could manage. The expression fit him about as well Varric’s coat would, in that it didn’t manage to hide any of the best parts of him. His mischievous grin sparkled under his dark beard. 

“The best part of Kirkwall was proper temperatures.” 

“If I ask Varric, he will tell me it also had proper roads, better ale, and fewer Orlesians.” 

Keaton’s large hand fluttered up to his thicker throat as if to mockingly grab his chest hair in outrage. “Are you telling me I’m complaining as much as Varric, Lilitu?” 

“I would never.” She widened her eyes in a blatant attempt to look innocent.

Keaton burst into a roar of laughter as warm as the fire she sat in front of. With her pointed chin, she gestured to it. “Come. Sit with me. I will keep you warm.” 

“Oh will you, Kitten?” He growled, very purposefully flexing the taut muscles of his arms in a display that both amused and aroused. “Or maybe you can come to bed and I’ll warm you up.”

“I am working!” She protested, rattling the sheath of papers in her hand. “Wait your turn.” 

“While I freeze to death in this big, empty bed.” Keaton complained. 

Lilitu raised a skeptical eyebrow, pointedly dragging her gaze down the broad form, the thick hair on his chest. There was just… so much of him. And he was acting as if he was in danger of frostbite? 

“You are cold?” She asked.

“My nose is cold. My feet are cold. My ass is cold. My dick is-” 

“Hard?” Lilitu suggested. 

“Going to fall off and then what will you play with?” He retorted. 

She scoffed, hiding her grin quickly behind her papers. “Are all humans so dramatic, or just you?” 

She still saw his wicked smirk. “Only one like me, Kitten.” 

“It will be a shame when you freeze then, ‘ma’iovru.”

With a weary sigh, Keaton swung his thick legs from the bed. She swore she saw him shiver when his bare feet hit the stones. He wore nothing but soft linen pants, low on his hips, and Lilitu took him in gleefully over her papers. 

He was still muttering under his breath when he dropped onto the rug behind her. “My idea was better.” 

“You are near the fire now.” Lilitu tried to focus on the neat shapes lining the parchment. At the very least she could always count on Cullen to try his damnedest to make her life slightly easier. Josephine’s loops still looked like Dwarven runes to her, after all. 

“How are you warm?” Keaton asked. 

“I am always hot.” She murmured, half listening. 

“I won’t argue. Doesn’t change the fact I’m about to lose a toe.” 

“Thank the Creators you have nine others.” 

From behind her she heard Keaton shuffle in an attempt to get next to the fire. She rolled her eyes and began a silent prayer to save her from the foolishness of her handsome man. 

Just as that handsome man slipped his feet beneath the loose tunic draped over her skin, the only stitch of clothing she wore, and the rug.

She nearly jumped out of her shirt, letting out a high pitched squeal, papers flying. It felt as if Keaton had slipped snow from the mountains outside straight onto her bare ass. Keaton started howling with laughter. She whipped around and launched herself at him, knocking the oaf to the rug.

“I told you I was cold.” He protested, sinful lips twisting in a gleeful smile. 

“Cold?” Lilitu straddled Keaton’s hips, burying her fingers in the dark hair on his chest. “And you wish me to warm you up?” 

Keaton settled his broad hands over her hips. “Feeling warmer already, Kitten.” 

“Good.” Lilitu purred. 

Right before she moved her fingers down to his ribs and brought ice magic pulsing brightly to them. It was Keaton’s turn to squeal and buck beneath her, but she simply tightened her knees around his waist. 

“Kitten!” Keaton protested, wiggling beneath her while she traced a line up. 

Lilitu giggled and leaned, pressing a hot kiss to his neck. Just before she summoned the same ice to her breath, blowing out a cool cloud of frost against his skin. “Yes?” 

“Not what I had in mind!” 

She stretched her body over his, running her nose over the cool shell of his ear. “And what did you have in mind?” 

“Carrying you to bed, getting rid of this shirt, and you using that magic a bit more compassionately.” 

“Magic is meant to serve men.” Lilitu twisted the human words of the chant in her mouth with a wicked smirk. “A lesson needs to be taught. About where one sticks cold toes.” 

Keaton groaned, hitting his head back against the rug. “And if I apologize? Beg for mercy?” 

“Lanaste.” Lilitu murmured thoughtfully, running her fingers back down Keaton’s ribs, scratching down the trail of hair that narrowed as it descended south. “Perhaps I could be convinced.” 

“I can be very convincing.” Keaton promised earnestly. 

Lilitu conjured the warmth of fire, swirling patterns over the taut muscles of his abdomen. Beneath her, Keaton relaxed into each touch as she became firmer, massaging the heels of her palms into his chest. His eyes drifted closed while she explored in silence, the crackling fire the only background noise. 

...had she truly nearly almost lost this? The thought clawed at her throat, made her want to dig her fingers into his shoulders and hold him to her, just to be sure he would always be here with his complaints and his jokes. 

Here. With her. Not lost to a nightmare. 

“My toes are still cold, Kitten.” Keaton cracked open one eye. Lilitu swatted his shoulder quickly before finding her feet. 

“Then we should go to bed and I will warm you up.” She stated, holding out her palm. Keaton took it without hesitation, but barely used it to hoist himself up. 

The moment he did she pressed against him, tugging his chin insistently down to her and kissing his soft lips while her hand tangled in his beard. Another traced his shoulder, knowing if she dipped lower she’d find scars, scars she was responsible for. 

“Lilitu?” He whispered against her lips when she pulled away, soft and insistent. 

There was only one thing to say. It was too close to the truth, and not nearly close enough. She looked down, smoothing her palm over his heart. “It was cold in the Fade.” 

A pause, just a beat too long, before Keaton’s forceful cheer broke through the heavy silence. “Only slightly colder than my toes. Thank the Maker we don’t have to go back again.” 

No. No they didn’t. 

Lilitu took a step backwards, pulling Keaton’s arms with her. “Come then. I know just the thing for cold toes.” 

‘Ma’iovru - my baby bear

Lanaste - mercy

[whatapunk]

Holy butts I wrote a second chapter!! I am soooo thankful for everyone who liked or reblogged the first chapter because truly, truly, truly you gave me more motivation than you could possibly realize! 

A couple things: 

I’ve included dialogue from the s02e01 scene where Kanan and Hera have a very Han/Leia hallway argument and I definitely don’t want to take credit for such things (I only wanted to add it to help me with my flow a bit)

Right now I’m firmly trying so very hard to fit it perfectly into canon (it’s just something I like doing, idk) but eventually it might go a lil more AU, I just haven’t decided yet

This shit had me on wookieepedia searching the most random stuff, but rest assured, there is garlic in the Star Wars universe

Enjoy!

Title: Endings

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla; Kanan Jarrus/female OC

Rating: t for now, m in future chapters (I'm guessing) for language and some non-explicit intimacy

Word Count: 2446

Previous Chapters: Ch. 1

Chapter 2

Kanan sat on the step ladder leading up to the Liberator’s control panels. His presence was a silent mark of informality in the middle of the crew’s debriefing meeting with Commander Sato. The rest of the crew, plus Ahsoka, stood around the holo-console in the middle of the floor. Sato was saying something about the Ghost crew- his crew- but Kanan was barely half listening. For one, every other word that came out of Sato’s mouth was some military formality and, thus, not something that interested him in the slightest. But the main reason he wasn’t listening was that Rhia Denley’s image was still burned into his thoughts.

Seven years. When you hadn’t seen someone in this galaxy for seven years, you started to assume you never would again. At least, that’s how Kanan had felt. 

However, suddenly she was here again- she existed again, something Kanan had tried hard to convince himself wasn’t even true. It was easier to convince himself she was something he’d imagined than for him to remember her and the way she’d crushed his young heart years ago. Besides, thinking about that heartache had always made him feel guilty once Hera was in his life. Now, however, he was feeling so many things he didn’t even have room for guilt.

What he did have room for was a hefty amount of bitterness, and for more than one reason. First of all, he was already bitter before Rhia showed up; he’d hardly hidden his feelings and had become almost spiteful about how they had been sucked into a military operation. But even that wasn’t totally separate from his thoughts about Rhia.

Rhia and Kanan had become a “thing” on Gorse, very soon after Kanan had set up what passed as a life there. Their meeting was by chance, but they had run into each other briefly when he was even younger and worked with a smuggler named Janus Kasmir. It was actually Rhia who told him about low-profile jobs on Gorse then, so he wasn’t altogether surprised that she ended up there eventually too. While he wasn’t much more than a kid when they first met, when they reconnected on Gorse, he was older and far more interesting to Rhia. They quickly became infatuated with one another for the better part of four months, which was practically a lifelong commitment to Kanan. Before Hera, Rhia was the longest relationship he’d ever been in. 

Rhia, however, had bigger goals than being a bartender’s girlfriend and working as a miner on Cynda. Rhia, much like Hera, was interested in the Rebellion. She’d made this clear early on, but she didn’t try to preach to Kanan, and he’d liked that about her. However, once she’d found a connection to a group of Rebels on the Holonet, she had tried- more than once- to get him to come with her. That’s what made running into her here, of all places, all the more exasperating and awkward. He’d ended up here anyway, despite his countless protestations- and he didn’t even want to be.

Seeing Rhia again reminded him, among other things, of all of the reasons he told her he didn’t want to join the Rebellion. And that reminded him that they were all still true.

Kanan heard Sato say something about the Spectres being “invaluable,” and then suddenly Chopper burst into the meeting, much to Commander Sato and Hera’s dismay. He was going on about an emergency incoming transmission, and, frankly, Kanan welcomed the change. His bitterness with this situation, this Rebellion- this meeting had reached its peak.

***

Less than ten minutes later, Kanan’s bitterness had already gotten him into trouble, and with Hera, no less. 

After telling Chopper to play his transmission during a “secret debriefing,” Hera had scowled at him for the rest of the meeting. He’d tried to rush out and get out of her line of fire once they were dismissed, but she’d caught him in the hallway and firmly let him know he wasn’t authorized to do that.

“Authorization! Procedure! That’s what’s bothering me!” he’d raised his voice, uncaring of the people that were attempting to walk past them as they argued. 

Hera put her hands up gently, sighing at having finally gotten him to drop the passive aggressive quips about their work lately. It wasn’t hard to guess what had been bothering him, but he was a grown adult who should be able to talk to her, of all people.

“All right. Talk to me,” she said, lowering her voice. Kanan sighed and did the same.

“After this mission, I want us to go back on our own,” he said firmly. “Fighting alongside soldiers isn’t what I signed up for.” At that, Hera frowned at him and shoved him into an open doorway, pointing a gloved finger in his face.

“You seem to be forgetting these soldiers helped save your life,” she said, looking at him with those big eyes that could be both demanding and softening at the same time. After that remark, he couldn’t meet them.

“And I’m grateful,” he started, “but that doesn’t mean I want to join their little army. When you and I started together, it was ‘Rob from the Empire, give to the needy,’ a noble cause. Now we’re getting drawn into some kind of military thing! I don’t like it.” 

Somehow Hera’s voice became more serious and more earnest.

“We are fighting a bigger fight, but it’s still the right fight,” she said, all but pleading with him to understand that they’d been fighting in the name of the Rebellion all along. Kanan wasn’t having it.

“I survived one war. I’m not ready for another one,” he said, turning away from her. She grabbed his arm. “I saw what it did.”

“To the Jedi?” she asked, almost whispering. He looked back at her.

“To everyone.” He left the doorway and continued walking down the hall, hearing Hera’s exasperated sigh behind him. 

Kanan loved virtually everything about Hera, even her flaws. She was incredibly stubborn, but since he was so go-with-the-flow, it never really got in their way. In fact, it practically complimented his own personality. She would get adamant and obsessed over something, and he would follow her anywhere and do anything she asked of him. At least, that’s how things had gone for them for the past seven years, right up until the formal Rebellion had rescued him from the Grand Inquisitor. Now it was suddenly a reality of Kanan’s world that he was part of a military operation and that could only lead to one thing: war. 

Hera had been familiar with war her whole life, but not in the same way Kanan had. He’d fought in battles as a young teen alongside his master, Depa Billaba and seen the realities of it all over the galaxy. Hera’s own world was war-torn, for sure, but her role in that war was far different than Kanan’s. For the first time since he’d met her, he felt like she was incapable of understanding him.

Kanan headed to the only place he really wanted to be right now: his quarters on Ghost. He felt like meditating, if only for the quiet. He lost himself in his thoughts there for maybe an hour, and eventually his sour attitude had at least subsided. He remembered his harsh tone with Hera and his obvious instigation of Chopper in the meeting. He still didn’t care about what Sato thought, but he felt bad for making Hera look bad. Now, it felt like such a childish thing to have done.

He left his quarters and, once seeing the Ghost was still empty, he went back out into the bay. It was less busy now, as most of the cargo that littered the area earlier had been taken elsewhere by now. His eyes scanned for Hera; he knew he should apologize to her. When he didn’t see her, or any of the Spectres, he set off down one of the hallways that he believed led to the commissary. He hadn’t taken the time to get to know his way around this ship (by design) so he honestly had no clue where to start looking for her. He’d gone pretty far without seeing anything resembling a commissary and was about to turn around when an amazing aroma hit him and made his stomach growl: garlic. 

Something told him to follow the smell, which led him down a corridor that opened up to a large galley. Standing in front of a pan sizzling on the stove, as Kanan had expected, was Rhia. She looked up at him, surprised, but then smiled.

“I should have known this would attract you,” she said with a smirk, then turned her attention back to the sizzling pan, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me here,” Kanan added, grabbing a seat at an empty table near the stove. “You know how I feel about your cooking.” She looked up and grinned at him.

“The same way everyone does,” she said, confidently. She left the pan and attended to a cutting board with what looked like an onion and some kind of pepper on it. 

Kanan’s stomach growled again. Rhia was an amazing cook and loved every piece of food he’d ever seen her hold. She only ever ate ration bars or drank nutritive milk when she absolutely had to. Otherwise, she kept her own stock of spices and quality ingredients and went well out of her way (and budget) to get fresh produce. Kanan’s mind drifted back to memories of watching Rhia cooking in her kitchen on Gorse. He remembered breakfast with eggs and some sort of mushroom, watching her move her hands skillfully around knives and pans and the ingredients, often wearing nothing but-

“So,” Rhia started, pulling Kanan out of his memory. “You finally joined the Rebellion.” Kanan’s brow wrinkled.

“What do you mean by finally?” he asked, already feeling himself becoming defensive. Rhia rolled her eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, slicing into her pepper, grinning.

“And no, I did not join anything,” Kanan said, putting extra emphasis on “I” and jabbing his thumb to his chest. She looked back up at him as she scraped ingredients from her cutting board to the pan. 

“That was Hera Syndulla, wasn’t it? Captain of the Ghost? You’re part of Ghost crew, right?” she pressed, confused. Kanan was more than a little surprised.

“You’ve heard of us?” Kanan asked, his vanity getting the better of him and nearly allowing a smile to creep onto his face. Rhia rolled her eyes again and laughed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kanan. I’ve heard of Captain Syndulla, not her first mate,” she joked, laughing more at the fall of Kanan’s expression. Then realization struck her. “Wait, are you the one we just blew up a star destroyer for?” Kanan grimaced.

“Yes, but that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell them to- and it was Chopper who-” Rhia held her hand up, seeing him getting defensive.

“Kanan, I don’t really know anything about what happened. I wasn’t here for it, I just heard about it. I was on a freighter headed to a rendezvous. I don’t even know who Chopper is,” she said, going back to her pan.

“He’s our droid,” Kanan said flatly. “Anyway, my crew performed the rescue. I was aboard Tarkin’s destroyer.” Rhia looked up at him again, this time a little more serious.

“What was that like?” she asked.

“Not fun.”

Rhia didn’t push the topic further. She grabbed a pan of noodles that had been sitting over to her right and mixed them into the skillet with some oil. Kanan was suddenly fascinated by the chipped edge of the table in front of him. 

Satisfied with the meal in front of her, Rhia reached into a cabinet behind her and pulled out two plates and then matched them with two forks. She set them out on the table Kanan was sitting at and then divided the noodles in half. Before she sat down, however, she went back to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses. When she set them down the table Kanan looked up at her, arching his eyebrow. She went to a backpack that sat on the floor behind the counter and pulled out a glass bottle with no markings and a familiar light brown liquid sloshing inside. She poured herself a drink, placed the mouth of the bottle over his glass and paused, looking at him, silently offering the drink. 

“I can’t think of what goes better with your dinners,” he said, and she poured. 

As soon as Kanan took a bite, his memories were triggered all over again. He was pretty sure he’d never even eaten this specific dish before, given her access to such a wide variety of ingredients. But it didn’t matter. Rhia’s meals were memorable for some sort of shared quality that bound them all together, even when they were drastically different. Not only that, but he realized how long it had been since he’d eaten, and how much longer it had been since he’d eaten something of this quality. For a few minutes they ate in silence, Kanan unavailable for any and all conversation. Eventually, Rhia spoke.

“So explain to me how you haven’t joined the Rebellion?” Kanan sighed, but the food had made him quite amenable to discussing just about anything. He did, however, take a drink before he replied.

“I didn’t know we were a cell. I didn’t know there were cells. Hera was the only one who spoke to Fulcrum and knew of the larger operation. I found out when I was… rescued,” Kanan ended quietly. Rhia could tell that being rescued and needing so much from so many, made him uncomfortable. 

“That had to be quite a shock,” she said, sensing the need for a new subject. “So you and Hera, when did you two meet?” she asked. Kanan looked at her, surprised. He could tell by the way she asked, she knew that they were together. Rhia gave him a “give me a break” look.

“Kanan, really- my ‘pilot’? Shit, I’ve seen explosions that were more subtle.” She chuckled and took another drink, emptying the glass. Kanan did the same. Rhia offered up the bottle again.

“Another?”

Kanan looked at it, hesitating. He hardly drank at all anymore, let alone like he did when they were living on Gorse. However, depending on where this conversation was going to go, Kanan felt like he would need something more than blood in his veins. 

“One more.”

[thessalian]

Thess vs Origin Stories

I’ve figured out what DA:I needs and was seriously missing. I mean, besides something that actually links some of the dead, meaningless zones (*coff*HISSINGWASTES*coff*) to the main plot. So, here it is:

Origin-specific quests that aren’t just a little bit of side colour on the war table.

DA2 didn’t have that problem - it was all Hawke, all the time, so it was inherently personal at a core level by default. Hawke’s origin was set in stone from the beginning, so they didn’t really have to worry about it.

But Origins’ charm was always largely about how personal things got. You’re playing a Circle mage? The bit in the Circle Tower was really personal as you saw what happened to the halls you once called home. Love the Circle Tower or hate it, you still knew people there, and your in character reaction to it was really hecking personal. Both dwarven origins got serious character development potential when you got to Orzamarr, given Bhelen’s either patron to your sister or your traitorous brother (though I’d argue that dusters got the most personal shit in Orzamarr just because of the bit in the Carta hideout and Leske). Dalish elves were a little short-changed at the Brecilian Forest but you at least got to see a clan and hear news about your own, and they more than made up for it during the shriek attack, given Tamlen. Alienage elf? Oh, look; Loghain’s selling your dad into slavery. Human noble? Howe. All the Howe. So much Howe.

Inquisition, though ... all you really get that ties the story to your character’s background is a couple of bits at the war table and some dialogue options. Now, maybe this is supposed to represent how your entire life takes a back seat to the Inquisition, but that didn’t hold true for anyone else. All of your companions got way, way more connection to their backstory than you did to yours, and you’re the main fucking character. Hell, even non-companions got more involved on a personal level with the plot than the Inquisitor does - XREF: Morrigan.

When a character you never even see in this game and whose identity you might not even understand if you never played Origins gets more attention at the war table than the main character, there’s a problem with emotional investment with the main character on a base level.

I admit, I’ve only ever played human and elf thus far - I know what I like, and I know damn well that I’m going to have to skip Warrior in general because I find ranged works way better for me in this game because of how they changed the mechanics, so I’m going to have to change a couple of ideas on what I want my dwarf and Qunari to be character-wise - but given that the most you get about your Dalish clan is some extra dialogue, the ability to romance Solas, and a war table questline that, if you don’t handle it just right, gets your whole clan dead... Well, I don’t imagine they did that much better on surface dwarves and technically-Tal’vashoth. And I haven’t heard any evidence to the contrary from anyone else.

I know the entire dev team is working on DA4 and DA:I is basically done, but I would seriously pay money for, in the spirit of ME3′s Citadel DLC, a DLC pack that unlocks a bunch of origin-specific quests. Actual quests, not just war table “pick a solution between diplomatic, sneaky or military” shit. If your family’s using the Inquisition’s name to their own advantage, you should have the opportunity to fucking confront them. If your clan’s getting threatened by red lyrium bullshit, you should have the opportunity to personally handle the situation before anyone gets hurt, whether it’s “I’m the only person who could convince my clan to up stakes and leave”, “I’m the only person who could convince the town sheltering them to stop being assholes”, or “YOU THREATEN MY CLAN AND YOU FUCKING DIE”. A Qunari should be able to join their old mercenary company on a mission and introduce them to the Chargers - maybe even replace the Chargers if Bull’s loyalty quest goes a certain way. House Cadash would be a major asset and it’d be fun to be able to get them out of trouble.

Varric talks a lot about how it’s nice to remember that the Inquisitor’s a person, not just an ideal. It would have been nice if Bioware had remembered that in more than just a throwaway comment or two from one sodding companion.

[beautiesandheadcanons]

For this week’s gaming corner, I kinda wanted to put on my tinfoil hat and talk about a potential conspiracy that a writing friend and I stumbled over the other day when talking about Sten and his reasons for being in Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. (Warning: spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins and Inquisition ahead).

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The reason that Sten gives The Warden is that the Qun wanted information on the Blight, but … how much sense does this really make? For one, Sten is very much Qun-loyal, so how much information would he really be willing to share with The Warden? And he tells them this before his loyalty mission and before The Warden gains any kind of rapport with him, so the fact that he would just be upfront and honest about what concerns the Qunari have seems a little … off. I think perhaps he just used the Blight as an easy excuse and since everything was a bit chaotic, the excuse was accepted and his reasons for being there written off because hey, he was helping, and The Warden needed every ally they could get.

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But the even bigger question is the timing. For one, how would the Qunari even know that the Blight was happening? Keep in mind, the only person in Origins who even thought it was an actual Blight and not just an incursion of Darkspawn was Duncan, the Grey Warden. King Cailan *hoped* it was a Blight, but wasn’t convinced, Loghain and Arl Howe didn’t believe it, and Arl Cousland seemed indifferent and unknowing either way. Even after the Battle, Loghain and Howe still didn’t believe it a true Blight. So while there’s no doubt the Qunari likely had spies in Ferelden, what exactly could they have even sent back? Darkspawn incursions aren’t exactly rare or out of the question, and it seems highly illogical to send a whole unit to investigate the mere possibility of a Blight, so that begs the question … what would have made the Qunari send Sten and his Beresaad? If they weren’t sent because of a Blight, then why?

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Before I go on to speculate, I want to also address a logistics issue, and that is the fact that it is impossible for Sten and his Beresaad to have arrived in the area surrounding Lothering just before The Warden arrives there post-Ostagar. Backing up just a tad, during the prologue of Dragon Age 2, it’s mentioned that Hawke and family took a ship from Gwaren to Kirkwall and that the journey took two weeks. As you can see from the included maps, while there is a fairly significant distance between Gwaren and Kirkwall, it seems dwarfed when compared between Gwaren and Par Vollen, the Qunari homeland. So even *if* the Qunari became concerned about a large Darkspawn incursion – the likes of which were only witnessed at Ostagar – it’s simply impossible for a message to be sent from Ferelden to Par Vollen, a team to be put together and equipped, and then sent to Ferelden in order to make it to the area around Lothering before The Warden makes it from Flemeth’s hut to the same village.

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Of course, Sten’s explanation for what happened to him doesn’t even hold up very well. He told The Warden that he and his company were attacked by a group of Darkspawn and that he was knocked unconscious and later woke up to find his sword missing and subsequently attacked a nearby farmer and his family in a rage, which is what led to him being locked in a cage outside Lothering. Except … that makes no sense. The Darkspawn just so happen to slay the entirety of his company and just … knock him out? And leave him? Its well established in canon that if Darkspawn don’t kill someone, they take them for eating and/or breeding. And if they don’t take the bodies, they typically defile them, similarly to how they strung up King Cailan’s body at Ostagar. So the fact that they would have left one unconscious Qunari behind just seems insurmountably illogical. Darkspawn are not overly intelligent, which is why they require the guidance of an Archdemon in order to properly rally to even attempt to take over Thedas. They operate more or less on certain instincts, and instinct should have dictated that if they couldn’t take Sten’s body for some reason, they would have defiled his body and left it behind as a sign and a warning. That’s not even taking into account that somebody apparently just happened to go through this area right after this huge Darkspawn attack (Beresaad are not easy opponents) and somehow found Sten’s sword … AND the fact that the last place Sten remembers even having his sword is the docks around Lake Calenhad, an area that Darkspawn were not plenteous in (IF such a sufficient force was even able to make it that far to engage a Beresaad with, which *doubt*).

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Which brings me to the original point of this post: Sten wasn’t in Ferelden for the Blight. He was there as a preamble to a Qunari invasion.

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Qunari invasions aren’t unheard of, they had attempted an incursion several hundred years before (and in some spots, still had a lingering influence as of the events of the current games). And, of course, players get to see another attempt to overthrow leaders in an attempt to create chaos that would preempt their action to take over in the Inquisition DLC Trespasser. But what if that wasn’t their first attempt? What if they had attempted before?

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Sten is particularly interesting, having been noted by an Antivan Crow to be curious, a trait that is extremely rare for a Qunari. He questioned people coming and going at the docks on Seheron for three years in order to learn the common tongue. Later on, during a large Qunari assault in Tevinter, he was present and noted to not only know the common tongue but also Tevene, again another rare trait for a Qunari (and would be even rarer outside the Ben-Hassrath, the organisation of Qunari spies). It should be noted that after the failure of this particular assault, Sten was later overheard *arguing* - ARGUING - with the Arishok, something that shook the Tevinter spy to the core because Qunari just simply did not argue. Sten’s reason for arguing against someone as important and high-ranking as the Arishok himself, the leader of the Qunari military? Because after the failure of the recent Qunari incursion he’d been a part of, he was convinced that it would be impossible to take over southern Thedas by force, that they needed a more subtle touch … one similar to what we get to see in Trespasser.  It’s said, of course, that his reasoning and ideas are why the Arishok sends him and his team to Ferelden to investigate the Blight, but … what if he sends them for another reason? What if he understood and came to agree with Sten and later appointed him to take charge of a small force to infiltrate southern Thedas and take advantage of the recent Darkspawn incursions to ensure the death of King Cailan and anyone else of importance to throw the relatively young nation into chaos. Their company couldn’t have been attacked by Darkspawn … perhaps instead they were somehow intercepted by a company of the king’s men, and while they were successful in wiping out the rest of the Beresaad, they themselves fell to Sten who was left standing. And after he took care of the rest of the bodies, he was discovered by an innocent farmer and his family, who Sten *had* to kill in order to cover up what he’d done … and afterwards, realising that he was stuck in a strange land all alone with no back up and no way to complete his mission, turned himself in for the murder of the farmer and his family and waited for the end … (which, depending on the actions of The Warden, may not have come at all).

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Again, we can clearly see how the Qunari have started to plan their invasion by the time the Trespasser DLC occurs (2 years after the events of Inquisition, 12 years after Origins, 8 years after Sten becomes the new Arishok). Instead of brute force, they’re resorting to utilising their spy networks and operating far more quietly and in the shadows than they have in the past. Of course, they’re still caught by the Inquisitor and brought to task, but it’s a far different approach than what they’ve done previously. And while the Qunari disavow any knowledge of the Viddasala and her actions, that seems particularly out of character for the Qunari who typically move as one, as a single unit in thought and purpose, for whom rebellion is out of the question. It seems almost strange that a high-ranking Ben-Hassrath would just turn on the wishes of the rest of the Qunari, and particularly strange that it happens while our former companion, Sten, is the Arishok … the one in charge of their military … the same person who insisted that southern Thedas could not be conquered by force and instead needed far more subtly to accomplish …

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It just seems too convenient, doesn’t it? I can’t be the only one to see all the holes, all the neat little coincidences. Granted, this very well could just be explained away by the fact that Origins was Bioware’s first game in the Dragon Age series and they hadn’t really worked out all the kinks of their lore (they’ve backtracked and retconned before, so the behaviour of Darkspawn and the distance between Ferelden and Par Vollen could have very well just not been properly established yet). But I prefer to look at these plot holes and instead see an over-arching Qunari conspiracy to take over southern Thedas, whose attempts were simply thwarted by a Blight and by an Inquisitor respectively. Partly because it feels better than “oh, it’s just plot holes” and partly because this would really help set up and implement the Qunari as the next opponent in DA5 (Yes, 5. Not 4. Lemme at the Egg first in 4, then we can deal with the Qunari later). And since Bioware does tend to hint at big bads in previous games (Corypheus appeared in a DLC in DA2 and became your main opponent in Inquisition, Solas appeared at the end of Inquisition and is highly hinted to be who we’ll be fighting against in 4 …) this would fit their MO quite well at weaving in future storylines in previous games.

[echo-bleu]

straight through the smoke (2)

Summary: After Magnus breaks up with Alec and chooses to align with the Seelie Queen, pulling the Downworld Cabinet with him, Alec is arrested by the Clave for high treason. Will Magnus find out in time to save him from a death sentence?

Chapter 1

On AO3

Alec waits.

The cell is lit with violent neon tubes that hurt his eyes every time he opens them. The bench he’s sitting cross-legged on is hard, and he can’t find a comfortable position with his hands locked in front of him in heavy, runed cuffs. Guards from Idris – not Alec’s own people – watch his every move through the large, glass wall, and he wants to squirm under their gazes.

It’s all made to be as uncomfortable as possible. Alec knows that. He was thirteen when they last renovated the underground levels and his mother and Hodge came up with the glass cells, instead of the prison-like cells they had before.

And now he’s locked inside his own Institute’s cell, awaiting trial for crimes he didn’t commit.

By his estimate, it’s been about four hours. The Clave guards took his watch on top of his stele, so he has no way to tell the time except for his internal clock. He’s been turning things in his head over and over, trying to find a way out of this.

Magnus choosing to ally with the Seelie Queen hurt more than it should have – Alec feels like he should have expected it. Magnus is doing what is right for his people, and Alec’s own feelings about it don’t matter. Working with the Shadowhunters, being with Alec, has only brought him and his loved ones pain and heartbreak, and Alec lying to him about the Soul Sword was just the last straw. Alec can’t forget the pain in Magnus’ eyes after he tied him up in Valentine’s body, in this very cell. His grief when he opened up about losing Ragnor, his oldest friend, because of Shadowhunter involvement. Every hurt, every trauma of the past few months, all because of his relationship with Alec. His anger is justified, and however much it hurt when he gave Alec the cold shoulder this morning, Alec understands.

The Clave’s arrival in force, two hours later – and less than a minute before Alec got a text from Luke that wards were going up around the city – was unexpected. The Inquisitor’s presence told Alec immediately that it was bad news, but getting handcuffed and read his rights in the middle of the ops center, in front of dozens of his own people, isn’t how Alec expected his day would go.

High treason. That’s what they’re calling it, the heinous crime of loving a warlock. They’ll wrap it up in a convincing package, but that’s what it boils down to. Alec has become a monster in the eyes of the Clave because he dared to fall in love with a Downworlder, and to want Downworlders to be treated as equals to the Nephilim.

They’ve resisted his advances from the start, the very idea of a Downworld Cabinet, but Alec never expected it to go this far. Especially in the middle of the Valentine debacle. If this gets back to Magnus’ ears – and if Alec is deruned or executed, it will, there is no doubt about it – what will he do?

If the word gets out before his sentencing, will Magnus come for Alec? Is Alec worth it in his eyes, worth risking his people?

Alec already knows the answer to that. Magnus made it clear, the other day, and again this morning. He’s not worth it.

Besides, the Clave’s numbers are too great. Here in the Institute, there is no way out. If Magnus tries to free him, he’ll get arrested and executed too, if he’s not killed in battle first. Or he’ll start a war that neither side can afford.

And if he doesn’t come…

As selfish and horrible as it is, Alec doesn’t think he can handle knowing that Magnus knew, that he could have come, and chose not to. No, it’s better if Magnus remains ignorant and safe in his loft, or in the Seelie Realm, or wherever he is now, taking care of his people. Alec can only hope that he’ll escape the Clave’s wrath.

He looks up when the elevator opens and reveals two Shadowhunters he doesn’t know, framing Jens, his second-in-command. Or his former second-in-command now, Alec supposes. Jens takes out his stele to open the door of the cell on the side, then steps back to let the other two through. Alec meets his eyes as they roughly manhandle him into standing up and check his cuffs. Jens bows his head apologetically, clasping his hands behind his back – I didn’t find any way around this. I’m sorry.

Alec nods back. It’s okay. Just do as they ask. “Will you at least tell me where you’re taking me?” he asks as the men lead him out of the cell.

“Your trial is starting, Lightwood,” one of them answers.

“Shouldn’t there be an investigation first?”

The man shrugs, unconcerned. “The Inquisitor says she has a fool-proof case against you. You’ve had it coming for a while, Lightwood. You’re done.”

Alec swallows. This is going too fast, none of it makes sense. Why do this now, when the search for Valentine should be taking all of their resources?

He’s led to the ceremony room, where Max received his first rune just a few months ago. A sweep of the room tells him that the Inquisitor recalled nearly every single Shadowhunter to the Institute. They’re standing in close ranks, whispering amongst themselves. Alec forces himself to hold his head up high as he’s led to the platform at the front of the room, even as he feels the stares burning into his back.

Imogen Herondale sits in a straight-backed armchair facing the audience, with two Clave officials on each side. Alec doesn’t know any of them. His guards lead him to a simple wooden chair to the side, beside which Alec awkwardly stands, his hands still cuffed in front of him, the two Shadowhunters staying one step behind him.

Jace, Izzy and Clary are standing at attention in the first rank. Well, Jace and Izzy are, because Clary still hasn’t perfected her posture. Alec makes a note to talk to her about it, before he remembers that there’s little point to it.

His parabatai bound pulses gently with worryfearcomfort, even though Jace’s face is blank. Izzy meets Alec’s eyes and conveys all her sorrow and her dread, as Jens comes to stand beside her. She leans in to whisper in his ear. Alec shakes his head at them, trying to tell them not to try anything. If he can’t protect himself, then he at least needs to keep them safe.

The rest of his family isn’t there. His parents have gone back to Idris as soon as Max was transferred to the Alicante hospital, and they probably don’t even know that anything is going on. Even if they did, the warlocks’ wards over the city would prevent them from coming.

Alec refocuses on the “court”. It’s a sham of a trial, nothing like the real ones in Alicante that he’s been to – and yet he knows that this is all perfectly legal. They do it to Downworlders all the time, after all. An assembly of as few as two people, as long as it includes the Inquisitor or a member of the Council, can decide the fate of anyone if evidence of wrongdoing is presented to them.

Imogen stands up, and the whole room falls silent. “As the wards currently around New York do not allow us to transfer prisoners to await trial, I have convened this martial court in order to judge Alexander Gideon Lightwood, who stands accused of high treason.”

She goes on naming her court, while Alec’s guards make him sit down. He doesn’t resist and answers the factual questions he’s asked for the record – full name, date of birth, position – without protesting. If he has any chance at arguing his way out of this, it won’t be by disrupting the process.

But Imogen’s face is set and determined, and Alec knows that arguing won’t lead him anywhere. There’s some whispers in the room when she simply skips the step where she should have asked him if he wished to name someone to defend him.

The realization descends onto him like a ton of bricks. He’s kept it at bay so far, the knowledge present but distant, somehow, dissociated from his emotions, but now it suddenly hits him. There’s nothing to be done, no avenue to find, no escape. He’s going to be convicted. Even if by some magic – no, he can’t think of Magnus right now – he were to escape, he would live the rest of his life as a fugitive, hiding from the Clave. His job, gone. Everything he’s achieved in the last few years, evaporated. His family and his friends will become pariahs, and his Downworlder allies will be shunned or worse, hunted.

And Alec will be executed.

Alec blinks, almost stunned, and then blinks again when he sees Magnus right behind Imogen’s chair. Magnus smiles at him faintly, almost like an apparition, but he seems solid and not a figment of Alec’s imagination. He points a finger toward Alec, and a swirl of blue magic runs to connect with Alec’s chest. No one in the room seems to notice.

Alexander, Alec suddenly hears in his head, over the noise of Imogen, still speaking. Magnus hasn’t moved his lips, but it’s indubitably his voice.

Magnus, Alec thinks as loudly as he can. What are you doing?

Don’t worry, no one else can see me, Magnus answers. Clary came to get me.

Magnus is really there. Alec feels a strange mix of relief and dread, the tension almost bursting out of his body. He wants to apologize, to thank him, to tell him he loves him, to—

You shouldn’t have come, Alec projects. Now they’re going to get you too.

I’ll be fine, Magnus says firmly, still only in Alec’s head. They don’t know I’m here. You’re the one we need to worry about.

Has Valentine been found yet? Alec asks. He hasn’t had any news in hours, and Valentine knows that the Mortal Mirror is Lake Lyn. If he reaches his goal, this trial won’t matter anymore – the Downworld will be gone. They’ll have other things to think about than convicting a single Shadowhunter.

And if Magnus is not in the Seelie Realm when it happens, then Alec won’t care much what happens to him, anyway.

But Magnus doesn’t have time to answer before Imogen stands up and starts reading from a file. “Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you have been accused of the following charges,” she starts, her voice carrying through the room. Alec shivers despite himself.

“On January 30th, you sought services from a warlock named Iris Rouse, who has since been convicted of kidnapping mundanes and forcing them to carry warlock pregnancies. When you arrested her several weeks later, after she attacked Shadowhunters in Magnus Bane’s house, you failed to report your purpose in going to her in the first place, and failed to signal the warlock children you found in her house to your superiors. One of them was later found working for Valentine Morgenstern and she killed thirteen Shadowhunters in this Institute.”

Alec widens his eyes and looks at Magnus wildly. Is the Clave looking to go after Madzie? Magnus makes a reassuring gesture, she’s safe, but frowns at Imogen in anger.

“On March 6th, you failed to prevent Valentine Morgenstern and his followers from entering this Institute and killing a total of forty-two Shadowhunters and seventy-one Downworlders, while you and Victor Aldertree, who has since received sanction for mishandling resources, were mysteriously spared,” she continues. Alec swallows, the pronouncement hitting the nest of guilt inside him he’s never been able to shed. Aldertree may have been the Head at the time, but it’s Alec’s Institute, and he couldn’t protect it.

“On March 10th, you had Magnus Bane summon a Greater Demon, who then allowed Valentine Morgenstern to escape custody with a body-swap spell. You failed to report this fact to the Clave until several days later.”

Alec closes his eyes, unable to even look at Magnus. There is some glee in Imogen’s voice when she sees him bow his head, and he digs his cuffed fists into his lap to keep himself calm.

“On June 19th, you refused to carry out orders from the Clave to protect the New York Downworlders from a serial killer with the help of GPS chips. Only days later, as soon as you were named Head of the Institute, you started a group you called the “Downworld Cabinet”, clearly showing your allegiance to the Downworld. You also failed to report that a werewolf intruder tried to enter Valentine Morgenstern’s cell, even as he was in your custody.”

And that’s the real crime they’re accusing him of, isn’t it? Trying to treat Downworlders as his equals, to involve them in his decision-making? Alec opens his eyes again and stares defiantly back at Imogen. This isn’t something he will be shamed for.

“On June 25th,” Imogen continues, “you were in charge of transferring the prisoner Valentine Morgenstern to the Guard in Alicante, and you used the services of warlock Magnus Bane to do so. The prisoner never arrived in Alicante. On June 28th, it was revealed that you allowed Jonathan Morgenstern to work in your Institute under a false identity for several months, while he kept Shadowhunter Sebastian Verlac prisoner and attempted to murder Max Lightwood. You claimed that you had no knowledge of his identity.”

Alec gapes at the implication that he might have let his little brother get hurt on purpose. He hears Izzy make a noise, and whispers flood the room. His own guilt notwithstanding – and he feels plenty for not recognizing Sebastian as an imposter – the way Imogen formulated it is designed to humiliate him, but it riles him up instead. How dare she imply that he would let people die on purpose, let alone his own family?

Magnus looks equally incensed, but Alec can’t focus on his, the edges of his vision blackening from the pure tension of his body. Someone went to the trouble to make a lengthy case against him, including things that couldn’t have just been found in his reports. This is bigger than he thought, and Imogen hasn’t even gotten to the crime he was actually arrested for.

“Finally, on July 25th, the members of your so-called Downworld Cabinet, including the warlock you have declared as your partner in the last close-and-continuing form you filed, made public their decision to stop following Clave order and, instead, and I quote, ‘take matters into their own hands’. They announced their intention to hunt and kill Valentine Morgenstern themselves, without waiting for the proper justice system. They raised wards around New York that have been confirmed to instantly kill any Shadowhunter attempting to breach them. You did not oppose them, nor attempt to arrest them.”

There. A shudder goes through the room, almost imperceptible. Alec resists the urge to look at the audience, at his Shadowhunters, and see what they think about this trial. They are trained not to show emotions.

His own emotions are almost detached now, like he’s feeling them through layers of clothes. He still feels Magnus’ light presence in his mind, shaking in anger, and the pulse of his parabatai bond, downright furious, but he can’t bring himself to feel the same.

Whether the charges against him are just or not will not matter to the Clave, not when they are really an excuse.

“That is honestly so many violations of the Law that I fail to even discern a pattern,” Imogen pursues her lips. “It almost appears as if you are working for the warlock one day, and for your own advancement the next day. Those violations come on top of numerous failures to maintain discipline in your Institute while you were Acting Head, for which you received internal sanctions.” Alec winces as he feels the question in both Magnus’ mind and Jace’s bond. Neither of them know how many times Alec covering for his siblings’ disregard for the rules or Downworlders’ mistakes resulted in pay docks and extra patrols.

“What is evident,” Imogen keeps going without interruption, “is that you are not doing your duty and working to uphold the law of the Accords. In fact, you have frequently violated it without thought of the consequences. And by allying yourself with rogue Downworlders, you have committed a crime against the Clave of the highest gravity.” She pauses. “The wards raised over the city by the warlocks have killed two Shadowhunters. They still currently hold all of us hostage away from our homeland. This is an act of terrorism.”

Magnus gasps, as Alec fights not to react at all. Imogen’s use of that word, borrowed from the mundanes to name one of the worst possible crimes, is the equivalent of declaring war on all the warlocks – or it would be, if any of them were officially present.

“You will be tried as a member of a terrorism group as well as as a rogue Shadowhunter,” Imogen pronounces. Alec swallows.

Magnus looks stricken, his face open in horror.

Has Valentine been found? Alec repeats in his head – he needs to know.

Magnus blinks at him and shakes his head, eyes wide. They’ve called off the search for Valentine and Jonathan.

Alec struggles to keep a neutral expression. This is bad. This is beyond bad. Why would the Clave do that, unless they’ve somehow allied with Valentine?

Imogen Herondale isn’t working with Valentine. Alec is certain of that. Valentine killed her son and daughter-in-law, and stole Jace away from her, and even when their ideals align, she’d rather kill herself than ally with him. Which means that her orders are coming from above.

But there’s only one body above the Inquisitor, and the Council hasn’t had time to gather to make decisions. Imogen’s orders have to have come directly from the Consul himself.

Is it possible that Consul Dieudonné himself is working with Valentine?

Is he still in New York? Alec asks silently.

Magnus doesn’t answer for a moment. No, he finally says, sounding defeated. He got past our wards. He made a deal with the Seelie Queen. Luke just found out.

Fuck. Alec almost swears out loud, but he reigns himself in just in time. The lake. He’s on his way to Idris. He’s going to raise the Angel.

Won’t the Shadowhunters in Alicante stop him from entering? Magnus asks.

If I’m right about this, there will be no one to stop him, Alec answers. Malachi Dieudonné is part of the Circle.

And this changes everything.

Magnus seems at a loss for words. Alec refocuses on Imogen, just as she looks up at him. Her eyes bore into him, hard and accusing. She opens her mouth.

“For the crime of high treason, Shadowhunter, how do you plead?”

Alec takes a breath and stands up.

He could draw it out, make them build an actual case, defend himself. It’s a losing battle, but he’d at least have a little more time to figure out a solution, a way to escape this.

But if he does, while all the eyes are turned here on the New York Institute, Valentine will reach Lake Lyn unimpeded and raise the Angel. Wipe out the Downworld.

It isn’t a prospect that Alec can live with.

I’m sorry, Magnus, Alec projects. He lifts his head and looks Imogen in the eye, his gaze calm and strong. “I plead guilty,” he says.

The assembly of Shadowhunters is well-trained to reign over their emotions, but even then, there are a few gasps. Alec spots his siblings, Isabelle with a hand over her mouth, Jace pleading at him with his eyes. Clary looks like she’s itching to move. Jens, Alec’s second-in-command, remains expressionless, but his fists tighten. Young Kara Svec, who Alec has taken under his wing the past few months, looks up at him with wide eyes full of tears.

Magnus lets out a wordless cry of anguish in his head. Alec doesn’t think that he’s meant to hear it, but it tears him apart all the same. I have to, he thinks. You need to stop Valentine. I’m already out of the race, but you can still get to him. Take Jace and Clary with you.

“Alec Lightwood,” Imogen announces. She doesn’t look gleeful, or even content. Just another soldier doing their job. “You are hereby sentenced to death by immolation. You will be taken back to your cell until your execution. It will take place tomorrow at 08:00 in the Institute’s main courtyard.”

Even if he expected it, it still feels like a punch in the gut. Alec fights to stay perfectly still, his head held high, but he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. He can’t take their reactions.

The betrayal churns deeply in his gut. He’s always expected to die young, in battle, but not...not like this. Hung out to dry by his own people, after dedicating his life to this Institute, executed for a treason he didn’t commit…

He’s not afraid of death, but he’s not ready to die, either.

I’m not abandoning you, Alexander, are Magnus’ last words before he disappears again.

[wootensmith]

Harellan

He hadn’t sought out the Lavellan clan members who’d arrived before the Inquisitor. He’d longed to, wanted to ask them how she was, what had happened when she came home bare-faced and bringing strange tales with her, how she’d convinced the few of them who came to make the journey on her word alone. But after a brief conversation, the same he had with all new arrivals, he’d let them go and they seemed to be grateful to be out of his line of sight. He resisted prying and left them to Abelas’s care.

Months later, a few days after the Inquisitor had found him, he caught sight of her speaking with a clanmate near the gates of Andruil’s waste. She appeared troubled as the man spoke. When the clansman noticed they were being watched, he said, “I’m sorry, Hahren, I can’t.” He slipped quickly away, hurrying toward the training yards. The Inquisitor looked after her clansmate and then turned and caught sight of Solas standing just beyond the stone owl and smiled uneasily. He met her, feeling he’d accidentally interrupted something vital. He wished only to wipe the discomfort from her mind. “It makes me glad to hear him call you ‘hahren’. You have more than earned their respect,” he said. A bitter laugh burst from her and she shook her head. “He calls me ‘hahren’ because he refuses to use ‘lethallan’ any longer and he’s too frightened to call me ‘harellan’. Especially here. It is not a compliment.”

He watched the man scurrying between the small watchfires for a few moments before he disappeared into the city. “They think you have betrayed them?” “Is it such a surprise, fanor?” she asked gently. “The stories that guided us— our whole history, our place in the world, our hopes for what was to come— they have endured centuries. You tried yourself to change them. What hope did I have of succeeding where you and the world have failed? Deshanna was kinder. She just believed I’d gone mad. The others think the Andrastians sent me to poison them with lies.” She touched her cheek as if to trace the absent vallaslin and then flushed and dropped her hand, embarrassed. “I’m not certain which is worse,” she admitted.

“Ir abelas, Vhenan. I never wanted you to lose them. I wish that you had not told them.” “I had to try. I thought— they were my home, Solas. My family. If anyone in the world should believe me… but I asked too much of them.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the sorrow in her voice like a blow. “What did you want from him? Whatever he refused, perhaps I can do it in his stead.” She shook her head and her eyes filled. “I asked him to send Deshanna a message. To beg them to go to Skyhold until the end. But he does not trust me, even now, even seeing this place and you. For all he calls me hahren, he thinks I mean to harm them. Deshanna sent him to watch me, to shield me from the madness she thought I would succumb to. She told him that what I’d done in the Inquisition obligated them to protect me in my hour of weakness. That is why he came. And he stays because she orders it, not for love of me. I am a traitor, after all. To them. To Sera. To you.” She broke into a sob and fled before he could respond.

He was uncertain how to help. A message to Deshanna was easy enough. Whether she would believe it or the dream he constructed that evening would be another question. But if the Inquisitor’s clansmen would not do it themselves, he would make the attempt. What to do about her loss was something much harder. What betrayal could she possibly believe herself guilty of? She had been a kind and loyal friend to Sera. And to him— she had kept his secrets better than he had kept them himself. Brought him another way. Was trying to save them all. Harellan. How can she think herself so? The eidolon was dark and cold when he returned. He thought her still absent, somewhere in the shattered library or with Abelas in the training yards. But he heard a rustle from the crown before he could leave to search for her. She was in Vhemanen’s small room. It had been emptied when Vhemanen left for Skyhold. Solas had packed everything movable for her himself, wishing the riches of Elgar’nan’s foolish vanity had any use for his friend. It was chilled and barren. The Inquisitor sat on the cold carven tile, staring at the wall. He could just make out the soft sparkle of unlit veilfire, but the lamp sitting beside her was dark. He wanted to offer to light it. To show her what she obviously longed to see, though he had no idea if Vhemanen had left them or someone who was here centuries ago. He folded himself into a seat beside her instead, stared at the shimmer on the wall and wondered what she thought she could see in it. “I sent Deshanna your message,” he said. “I hope she will listen to it. I fear my cousins have already sent her dark rumors of you. She will think you are using me. Or that you, too, are mad. Or both. But perhaps— perhaps she’ll save them somehow.” She didn’t turn to him and he glanced at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She had been crying a long while. He looked back at the veilfire traces. “If she does not believe the written message, then I will find her in sleep. And each of your clan. Until they believe or flee to Skyhold to stop the dreams. I am sending Loranil to lead them there.” “Thank you. I think. Your method may be— a little harsh, emma lath. But if it brings them to safety— thank you.” He brushed her swollen cheek with his fingertips. “I do not feel like being gentle today,” he admitted. “Not when they dismiss you so easily.” She shook her head a little but did not argue with him. “I admit I can see how it happened, that they think of you as a harellan, as false as that may be. Because it was the same when I tried to tell the clans what they’d forgotten. But Sera? And I? How could either of us believe you betrayed us, Vhenan?” She finally looked at him, the glow of the mark flashing over the veilfire for an instant as she turned and then gone again. “Because all of me is a betrayal. From the very beginning. It was— simpler to ignore in the Inquisition. We were all far from home, from our peoples. Except— except I had the two of you. And it was easy to forget, in my clan, that there were other ways of being. Because I was enough to them. Then. I was right. Dutiful. Part of them. And then I tumbled from the Breach and into the human world.” She rubbed her knee and stared at the wall again. “They’d never want me. The humans. I was a necessary tool for them, and I always will be. For as many statues and parades and treaties they have about me, I’m just a thing. Not theirs. It didn’t matter so much to me, because except for our friends, none of them needed to know me. It wasn’t worth the energy to persuade the Empress or those like her that I was more than the anchor. I do not mean our friends. Cassandra and Dorian, Vivienne and Blackwall— they might not ever understand everything I do or am, but they accept me anyway. Love me anyway. The same for Bull and Varric. But you and Sera— I had to be more. And I failed. Every day, I failed.” “No,” he protested, reaching for her. “Yes. There is no way for me not to fail you both. Sera— wanted me to blend in. Because that’s how she survived. To cut out the parts that struck the City elves and the humans as odd. It was safer that way. The invisible elf is the perfect elf. The invisible elf gets things done. Strikes in the perfect moment. Betters the lives of all the others in quiet leaps when no one is looking. Sera is good at that. But me— everything I know, the way I speak, the paths I choose, the way I move and see and breathe— are not her ways. And no matter how I tried to bend myself into her shape, it was always just a matter of time before I did the wrong thing and the lie fell apart.” He caught her hand in his and pressed it tightly. “Sera loves you anyway, too, you know.” Her eyes filled again. “That makes it worse,” she said. “That I can never be what she wants. Or what you want. That I am and will remain undeserving. And outside. Ever outside.” “Tel vindhru. You are exactly what I want.” “I’m not, though I have tried harder with you than any other. I wanted to be part of you and yours before we even met. All of my clan did. We chased old stories and repeated rituals we did not understand. Because we wanted to be you. But even now, after learning all that I have, it escapes me. I cannot pretend anymore. For a while, when it was just you and I, I thought I might be sufficient. That maybe I could learn enough to get close to what you missed. That I could be your home, even if I was not the same as the family you remembered. But then, when we met the Sentinels— then I knew how very far I was from anything familiar. The way Abelas saw me… I realized it was the same way that you did when we first met. That I was— alien to you. That I would never be…” She trailed off. “Hare—” he cried and stopped himself before he could make a worse mistake. “This is false, Vhenan. I do not wish you to be anything but what you are—” “You did. For a long time. Maybe— maybe you stopped. Or maybe you gave up. I know you loved— love me anyway. But I’m not enough.” She let go of his hand and waved at the wall. “It is always like this. I find only the edge, the shimmer of things. The bare shape of letters and words and stories, but I will never catch their meaning.” He waved his hand and the lamp sputtered to life. “It is only because the world has become so dim and muddled. A little light and—” “No,” she said and her tears began again, glittering in the aqua veilfire. “It doesn’t matter. Because I was raised in the dark. These things you show me, that I dig up— they are corners. Fragments. I’m so far from seeing. You tell me it just takes a little light when I’ve only just realized I don’t even know how to open my eyes. I always feel I am pretending. Play acting. Not real. There will always be this— rift between us that I cannot close. How can I? My life is just a flicker to someone like you. A season. Lost among so many others.” She wiped at her eyes, suddenly drawing herself in again. “But it matters not. There are not many days left to fail you. And you are home, back among your people. More at ease than I’ve ever seen you. That makes me happy.” “You have never failed me.” He turned her face toward him, away from the cold, dead veilfire remnants in the wall. “Never. A flicker? No. If you had been only a flicker, that would have been enough for me to adore you. More than enough. I know my life must seem— terrible and vast to you.” He sighed, pressed his forehead to hers. “At certain periods, it has been. Time— does not move the same for me. There were decades of uselessness. Frustration. Boredom. And then ages asleep, just watching. Uthenera can be what you wish it to. Fantasy. Learning. Oblivion. There were entire centuries that I chose the latter.” He traced the fine web of the anchor at her temple. “I would not lie and tell you that you were my first or only love. There have been others. Just as I know there have been others in your life before me. Though they had many times your number of years, they all fell away. Made their quiet impressions upon my life and then moved on to other lives. They were flickers. None of them made me wish to alter my path the way you have.” She shook her head. “They were on your side. They wouldn’t have wanted you to change.” “They did. A few of them. You told me once, that you would always be on my side—” “I am, I try to be, but I can’t be, not the way you want. If I hadn’t been able to find another way, I couldn’t have joined you, Solas, though it would break my heart.” “Ar eolasa, Vhenan. But what I couldn’t speak then, what I desperately craved, was to be on your side. You are not a flicker. A tree of lightning, a searing comet, perhaps. Something that illuminates the world and lays plain everything that was hidden or wrong. You truly did change everything. I’ve seen eight ages, my love. Civilizations rise and collapse and rise again. Forests dwindle or march across vast plains. You think you aren’t important because of your brevity? I spent all those thousands of years trying to make the world worthy of someone like you. And yet you speak of failure. When all of mine steals your breath, your faith, your clan—” She covered his mouth with her fingertips. “I wish to belong to your people, emma lath,” she whispered, “But without those things you mourn, I would not exist at all.” “I know. I told you, you change everything, even how I think of my past.” He grasped her shoulder. “A rift does not flow in one direction, Vhenan.” He pulled from the anchor and the Veil trembled, slid open. “Solas! This is perilous,” she cried. The Fade slid around them, enveloping Vhemanen’s small room. He could feel the terror pulsing from the Inquisitor. “Have no fear, fanor. The Evanuris sleep still and I can still hold the anchor. I would not bring you here to harm you.” She was not soothed. He released her shoulder to hold her. “Do you remember when we were here together?” he asked. “We were whole, both of us. Not just the way I remembered before the Veil. Utterly whole. Did you not feel it then?” “I— yes, of course. But it was— a moment only.” He shook his head. “Bellanaris. All of my thoughts live inside it. This is our home. This is where we are most real. Soon, your clan will learn the truth of what you told them. Perhaps I am a fool to think the Fade will reveal what has so long remained out of your— our reach. That we will all, at last, be wholly who we should be. That there will be no rift between the people of the waking world or the spirits who inhabit the Fade any longer. But if the breach between us remains, I would leap into it to meet you, Vhenan.” He slid his hand around hers and loosened his control, let her again feel everything. “I cannot replace your family, nor do I wish to. They will want you back sooner than they realize. No matter what happens, you belong with me. How could we not be one people? You are my heart. You belong with me.”

[tyrantlavellan]

A little Drabble I made for @lindsmorr because I owe her a lot. We miss our disaster sons.

(I know I promised no plot, but I had to think of somethingggggggg 🥺)

The bustling of the infamous Orlais market filled the air. Merchants crowded around the Inquisition company just for a glimpse of the Inquisitor.

Mahanon ignored them, waving his hand to his bodyguards. Inquisition soldiers shoved the crowd aside. He heard Taavi scoff as they made their way through the city, vast buildings with rich architecture and lavish gardens stretched out on either side of them. But Mahanon didn’t pay any attention. His mind was elsewhere.

Divine Victoria was trying everything in her power to lessen his grasp. Trying to change the ways of the Chantry was not going well for her, and with most of her own followers squabbling like over privileged children, she was not getting the support she needed. Her first few months as Divine was not going well. She wished to do what she believed was right, a noble deed Mahanon had to admit.

One that he was inclined to prevent from happening.

What she didn’t know was that he was the reason she was elected the new Divine in the first place. She would have lost her nomination to Leliana, had Mahanon not intervened. He gave himself a pat on the back for that one. The Chantry would have been a chaotic mess if Leliana was chosen.

He encouraged Cassandra to reinstate the Seekers to ensure the circle remained intact and well guarded. He definitely wasn’t taking any chances with the mages. He had seen the catastrophic damage they were capable of too many times.

The Divine might have successfully stripped him of his influence, were it not for the support of the Emperor, forever indebted to Mahanon for replacing Celene, and the majority of the noble houses supporting his title as Herald of Andraste. Mahanon smiled smugly to himself.

“This place reeks of dirty money, selling stuff that is not even worth half their price,” Taavi interrupted. A disgusted look wrinkled his face. “It’s like they dip their shit in gold and call it a fashion statement.”

Mahanon chuckled.

“This is Orlais, anything can be fashion if you’re rich enough, and have a lot of influence.”

“Whole place is a nightmare…” Taavi said, narrowly avoiding a group of chevaliers standing in the middle of the street. “The size of their egos definitely makes up for their lack of size down -”

Trumpets blasted cutting him off.

They made their way into the courtyard of the Chantry, where Divine Victoria awaited them atop a giant flight of stairs. Her rigid expression could make anyone tremble, but Mahanon knew better.

A crowd of Orlesians had amassed behind them and they cheered, singing chantry songs and praising the Herald of Andraste. Mahanon couldn’t help but smirk.

“Stop doing that,” Taavi smacked him.

“Ow! What was that for?” Mahanon shoved him back.

“You look like an idiot, smiling and waving to the crowd like you're some sort of idol.”

“In case you forgot, I did save the world from certain doom. And this is how they like to thank me,” Mahanon said, waving back at the crowd again.

“Oh that’s right. My bad, your highness,” Taavi mocked.

“Well now it’s sounds cringe when you say it,”

“Why did they have to build so many steps? And why is she so cross looking? What did you do to make her upset, we just got here,” Taavi grabbed onto Mahanon’s arm instinctively as they walked past the Seekers. He eyed them suspiciously.

“She is still upset about that whole Empris du Lion situation. Apparently the Chantry doesn’t condone blowing up Chevalier estates, despite blood mage cultists squatting inside,”

“That doesn’t seem very - ”

“I also may have slept with her a bunch and maybe kind of lied about a lot of things to convince her to become the Divine,” Mahanon said quietly, biting his lip.

“Oh, so now that makes more sense. Wait you slept with the Div - ”

“Welcome Inquisitor!” A clergyman yelled so the crowd could hear. “Our beloved Herald of Andraste has descended from his throne to grace us with his presence, may the Maker bless him always and continue to shine his light on all his children!”

The crowd cheered loudly. Mahanon waved, avoiding Taavi’s intensely disapproving gaze.

“Again with the waving, you look like a fool.”

“Why can’t you just have fun with me and let these peasants worship me,” Mahanon said, now blowing kisses to the courtiers.

“You are insufferable.” Taavi sneered under his breath.

“Enough with the attention seeking,” the Divine suddenly cut in, standing right beside them, arms crossed, still unimpressed. “Inside. Now.” She snapped, swiftly walking inside the giant looming doors of the cathedral.

“She seems nice,” said Taavi.

“Just let me do the talking,” Mahanon whispered back. “You just keep your eyes out for anything suspicious.”

Taavi rolled his eyes, but followed Mahanon inside the lavish building.

The Chantry spared no expense in their decorations. Images of Andraste, the Maker, and any other revered patron were scattered on every surface possible. Even the door handles had depictions of Andraste and her followers. The clergyman and the chantry sisters walked around, muttering chants and bowing as they passed.

Mahanon tried not to laugh at Taavi’s horrified expression.

“If I hear someone call me ‘your grace’ one more time…” Taavi hissed.

They entered the Divine’s council chamber. Every seemingly important person in Orlais was already waiting for them.

Josephine had arrived days before them, in an attempt to smooth things over with the council beforehand. She glared at them as they walked in.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mahanon called out, making sure the entirety of the room could hear. “I got lost in this giant labyrinth, so many unnecessary buildings.”

Josie stood in bewilderment as he stopped next to her.

“Inquisitor, glad you could finally make it,” she hissed through her teeth as she forced a smile.

“Glad to be here too, dear Josephine. I’m sure you entertained these people just fine. It is your job after all.” Mahanon said as he patted her head. She stiffened and took a very deep breath and muttered something in Antivan.

“I see things haven’t changed much.” Divine Victoria said, glaring in Mahanon’s direction as she took her seat.

“Hello, Cassandra,” Mahanon smiled at her. She gritted her teeth in disgust.

“She shall be addressed as Divine Victoria, Your Holiness, Most Holy, or the Holy Mother!” a Cleric snapped.

“My apologies,” Mahanon said, bowing out of mockery. “The name hasn’t really stuck so well. She wasn’t quite so ‘holy’ from what I remember.”

“You little -”

“Enough,” the Divine, raised her hand to silence them. “This is getting us nowhere.” She straightened her shoulders, making sure to appear taller, her outrageous hat towering above everyone.

“Inquisitor, despite your blatant lack of respect, we have called you here in an attempt to salvage the relationship between the Inquisition and the Chantry. There have been far too many disputes, and it is in your best interest to help us remain united.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Most Holy of Holiness.” He sneered, crossing his arms dramatically. “Last I looked, the Inquisition was doing very well working with the Chantry.”

“What he means to say, Your Excellence,” Josie cut in. “The Inquisition has been successful to maintain and utilize resources graciously donated by the Chantry, in the name of the Maker, of course.”

“I am aware, Ambassador.” Victoria said, nodding in her direction. “The Inquisition has been quick to dive into the Chantry vaults. But I disagree. Your Herald of Andraste has done terrible things, to both friends and enemies of the Inquisition. I cannot pretend you have the Chantry’s interests at heart when he seems to only take what he pleases.

“But what the Inquisitor fails to realize is, the title ‘Herald of Andraste’ can only go so far. Should the Chantry denounce the title of Herald, the Inquisition would not be entitled to anything regarding the Chantry.”

Mahanon snorted loudly.

“Let me see if I remember this correctly,” Mahanon said, clearing his throat. “But was it not one ‘Cassandra Pentaghast’ that insisted on defying Chantry order and encouraged the Inquisition’s inception in the first place?”

“The Chantry was leaderless,” she snapped, hands clenched into tight fists, making her knuckles white. “You cannot compare what happened then to this current situation.

“The Inquisition has done what it was meant to do, which was to stop the immediate threat of Corypheus. You have already done so. In continuing to expand the Inquisition and gain military prowess, you are going against everything that Andraste stood for.”

“So what would you consider the Templars and the Seekers, if not a military extension of the Chantry?” Mahanon argued. “The Inquisition is just more independent with how we function.”

“Not exactly true,” the Divine said coldly, challenging him. “The templars have one purpose, and that is to protect the Circle from threats both inside and out. The Seekers ensure the templars don’t fall out of line.

“The Inquisition has done neither of those things. And as of late it’s hard to say exactly what the purpose of the Inquisition is in its current state.”

Murmurs from the council members crept around the room. Mahanon could feel his face getting hot. But he still had some leverage.

“Perhaps we should ask our beloved Emperor Gaspard,” Mahanon said calmly. Gaspard squirmed in his seat as all eyes fell on him. “I’m sure he would have single handedly kept the country from being torn apart by the Civil War after Celene’s tragic death,” Mahanon eyed Gaspard. He could see the sweat dripping down his face even from where he stood.

“ And Ser Chaplain,” he continued, now staring at a retired Chevalier, one of his most generous donors. “His company would have totally been able to keep mercenaries and Venatori from overtaking his very financially successful mining operations in the Frostbacks.”

The Orlesian noble cleared his throat nervously.

“And of course,” Mahanon continued. “The general population of Thedas would definitely agree with denouncing the very force that saved them from the very demons of the Fade and the remains of the giant tear in the sky that would have ripped the world to pieces.” Mahanon stared the Divine in the eye.

“Because of course every single threat to Thedas died with Corypheus, and no city ever had to be rebuilt, no village ever faced a food shortage or threats from thieves or natural disasters.”

Nobody said a word.

“But I suppose the Inquisition doesn’t do any of those things either.” Mahanon looked across the room as the council whispered to each other.

The look on the Divine’s face was a mix of pure anger and defeat. Mahanon just smiled smugly. The council continued to whisper for several minutes.

“I feel like the council may lean in our favour,” Josie whispered.

“The Emperor and his bureaucrats owe us too much to not come to our defence.” Mahanon replied. “If the Divine thinks that her way is the only way, she’s going to be very disappointed.”

Finally the Divine raised her hand and the whispering cut off.

“We are calling a recess. We will return in an hour,” she said abruptly. Then she left the room just as quickly.

“Well then,” Josie sighed. “Time for some sightseeing?”

Mahanon turned to leave, but stopped short. Taavi was missing. He immediately became alert. He briskly walked out into the grand hallway, shoving a chantry brother out of the way. He could feel panic rising.

He opened doors, intent on searching the entire building until he heard laughing from a shadowy corner.

“You should see your face just now,” Taavi laughed as he casually walked out of his hiding spot. “Concern is such a cute look for you.”

Mahanon’s face went red. He crossed his arms as Taavi tried to pull him close.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, pushing Taavi away. “I didn’t think you’d ditch me like that.”

“I don’t consider the squabbles of the Chantry to be important, actually,” Taavi retorted. “But what I do find mildly entertaining,” he continued, slowly walking towards Mahanon with a sly look on his face. “Is you, pretending like you don’t care about me, when it’s very much obvious that you do,” Taavi lightly pushed Mahanon against the wall behind him. His towering frame kept him from going anywhere.

“Really, Taavi?” Mahanon said, looking around at the busy traffic going to and fro around the cathedral. “Right now doesn’t seem to be the best time or place for this,”

“Since when do you care about the when and where?” Taavi laughed. He gently turned Mahanon’s head to expose his neck, and kissed him softly, breathing heavily in his ear.

Mahanon felt his body get hot, and closed his eyes as Taavi gently grazed his ear with his teeth.

“I just…don’t…” Mahanon forgot what he was trying to say. “We are in a hallway….”

“You didn’t think I planned ahead? Where did you think I went off to?”

Suddenly Taavi lifted him up, wrapping Mahanon’s legs around his waist, their faces inches away from each other.

“I have you right where I wanted you,” Taavi said with a smirk as he kicked the door they were leaning against open.

He carried Mahanon into a small chapel, only furnished with a few wooden benches and a small altar table. He kicked the door shut behind them.

“Of all the rooms you could have chosen, you picked a closet?” Mahanon scoffed.

“I think it’s some sort of servants’ chapel, actually. Guess the rich don’t like mingling with commoners when it comes to chantry shit,” Taavi plopped Mahanon onto the tiny altar, knocking over Andraste paraphernalia, shattering them on the floor.

“And besides,” he continued. “Most of the servants are busy catering to all the snobby guests, don’t have time to come pray, or whatever they do in here.”

Taavi started kissing and sucking on Mahanon’s neck again, making sure to press their bodies together.

“You know,” Mahanon said quietly, now completely helpless as he could feel Taavis hands slowly unfastening his belt, lingering a bit before disappearing underneath the fabric. “They’re not going to be too pleased if I’m late again.” He bit his lip, trying to hold back a moan.

“Well I guess I better hurry then,” Taavi smirked, working his way down, throwing his own pants behind him.

Mahanon didn’t have time to object before Taavi pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him. Taavi clasped his hand over Mahanon’s mouth, muffling the sound of him moaning in pleasure as Taavi fucked him.

Whether it was the sacrilegious nature of being absolutely pounded on top a sacred altar, or Taavi wrapping his fingers around Mahanon’s neck as his breath came out in ragged gasps, or more likely the combination of both those things, it did not take long for Taavi to make Mahanon finish.

Taavi squeezed his hand around Mahanon’s delicate neck as he trembled with pleasure, leaving a mess all over his own hands. A few more thrusts and Taavi joined him. Both now breathing heavy, they let the last of the pleasure flow through them. Eyes closed, they lay in silence, both smiling.

“You’re getting too good at that,” Mahanon chuckled, stroking Taavi’s hair.

“What can I say, I’m a natural,” Taavi replied, taking Mahanon’s hand and kissing it gently.

Mahanon sighed, looking around the tiny space. He didn’t think they’d make such a mess in their brief moment, but he laughed as Taavi fished their pants from the other side of the room.

“Better get going, before Divine Victoria decides to go searching for us herself,” Mahanon grumbled, trying to clasp his belt properly. Taavi shook his head.

“I’m getting a headache just thinking about going back to that council disaster,” Taavi rubbed his temples dramatically. “I’m gonna go outside for some fresh air.”

Mahanon just rolled his eyes.

“You’re going to miss all the fun,” he replied. “But if you insist. Perhaps we can go for round two later,” he placed a kiss on Taavis lips.

“Perhaps…” Taavi said quietly. “If you don’t take forever…”

“I’ll show you what I can do later, I just need silk, some candles, and a couple of apples”

“What are the apples for?” Taavi asked, confused.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” Mahanon teased, pushing the door open and disappearing down the hall with a bit of a spring in his step.