#the dwarves are cut off from the fade. cut off from magic. they are eating themselves alive.

[greywardenmonkey]

ohhuuguhh solas admiring dwarven architecture. telling a dwarf inquisitor to their face he doesnt see them as people. you are made of the same blood you idiot! you goober! you have more in common with the dwarves than you do the elves!!!!

[theharellan]

To Feel Another’s Woe

Set in early Inquisition, in the heart of the Mage-Templar War. Featuring Thora Cadash from @ourdawncomes​. Content warning for gore, descriptions of battle, and mild illness.

Now available to read on AO3!

He counts the battle in heartbeats. Every rush of blood through his veins is another spell from his fingertips, every sixty seconds counted it another sixty seconds survived. Minutes count more in this Veilless world, where the tide may turn in an instant.

Everything is different, even war.

Bowstrings slap the air, signalling a fresh volley of arrows. “Shield yourselves!” the Seeker cries. Solas blinks to Varric, stopping short of his shadow to draw a barrier over them both. His magic resists his dwarven companion, drawing more mana from his fingers before the spell completes, and with little time to spare. Arrows skirt by them, falling harmlessly to the earth, cutting only magic upon their descent. Varric wastes no words thanking him, vanishing in a cloud of smoke to retreat to a safer distance.

Tangled in the midst of half a dozen Templars, their Herald draws every last eye on the battlefield to her. Every blow is preceded by a shout, often followed by another torn from their enemies’ throats. Swords point towards her back, posed to pierce the gaps in her armour. Their wielders hesitate to join the fray, uneven grips a telltale mark of fresh recruits, but they will not wait forever. He seizes upon the moment, hand gripping his staff and grinding it into the dirt, its focus drawing his intent into the world. A thin orange line burns in the grass, smoke heralds flame which bursts to life at Thora’s heel, a harsh curtain drawn between her and half her enemies.

She does not flinch, nor shrink from the flame. Solas watches as her leg hooks around a rogue Templar’s ankle and trips him. He falls headfirst into the fire, inhuman shrieks silenced by a killing blow to the head. As she lifts her hammer from the bloody pulp of a skull, another soldier lunges. Solas slams his staff against the earth, calling winter to a warm August day. Ice crawls up his target’s leg, erupting from the damp grass stamped down by war. In an instant it claims him, sword aimed at their Herald’s heart now suspended harmlessly in ice. Cassandra arrives, blade red with archers’ blood, and slams the tapered end of her shield against a weakness in the ice. It shatters, the boy’s body falling limp in the grass, joining his fellows.

The hairs along the nape of his neck stand on end, an uneasy premonition answered by an unseen force reaching across the Veil. It parts the fire, reducing it to a ribbon of smoke that coils in blue Fereldan skies, and through the ashes steps a Templar, his shield held aloft. Spells glance off him, rolling ineffectively over his armour. Thora’s hammer fares better, shield straining against its face as they come crashing together. Sparks fly from where their edges scrape together, forcing his guard down for an instant. Long enough for the Herald to find her advantage.

She strikes her with the heel of her hammer and he staggers, stumbling forward with the grace of a drunkard on his sixth tankard of ale. “Now, Solas!” she shouts. He stops, stares. There are only seconds to discern her meaning, no wisdom floats to him from across the Fade to deliver her meaning. Visions of a war long since finished return to him, memories of dwarves that cleaved dreams. He decides, then acts. Solas stretches across the Veil to find his own truth, a different reality than the one these Templars seek to reinforce. The air around the Templar expands with dreams, then dissipates.

The effect is instant. Beneath his helmet he heaves, lungs flooded with magic like water in the lungs of a drowned rat. Thora brings down her hammer on his breastplate. Metal made brittle by magic crumbles at the impact, leaving a hollow crater in the center of his chest.

From a distance his eyes meet Thora’s, her head nodding in his direction. Behind her, the remaining Templars gather their strength and prepare their onslaught, but her attention remains divided. Her gaze darts to his left. Brown eyes widen in their sockets, alerting him before she can cry out: “Look out, Solas!”

He catches the greedy glint of steel against sunlight from the corner of his eye, thrusting towards him. In the space of a breath he surges backwards, Fade carrying him from the Templar’s reach. All the air rushes from him, back crashing against the trunk of a tree, stealing the air from his lungs. Skull cracks against the bark, vision blurring as the Templar advances. Dark words seethe from bloodied lips, cursing him in the name of her fallen brothers and sisters.

Solas’ grip tightens around empty air, realising only then that his staff was lost in his retreat. It matters not. Energy pools into his palm as easily as through a focus, but stutters in the presence of the cleansing aura. Sparks fly, grazing the Templar’s breastplate, earning him nothing but seconds. Once the task of dispatching her would be as trivial as crushing an ant beneath his thumb. Now, his magic wanes, flying further from his reach with every step the Templar takes. What a cruel joke his life would be if this is its final note.

But he has been backed into tighter corners than this by worthier foes. Undeterred by the fear which lays claim to his heart, he grasps desperately for more power, summoning every last scrap of ambient magic in the air. A hopeless thought eats at him as he wonders how it came to this, shooting cinders from his fingertips like a child conjuring their first flame. They fly from his hands, aimed at the dull human eyes which blink out at him from behind a helm.

Every muscle in his body tenses, unsure if he had missed. A shout of pain tears from her throat, and he has his answer. Gloved hands yank her visor back to reveal red-rimmed eyes, tears already streaming down her face to fight the ashes suspended in her eyelashes. “You’ll regret that,” she spits. The glow that wreaths her sword bursts, and he braces against the tree. Blinding light tears the colour from the grass and magic flies from the Veil to places beyond his reach. She purges the song from the sky, all the weight of the world seems to fall around his shoulders. He grips the bark at his back with white knuckles, until the grooves bore into his skin. If not for it, he might have collapsed. His lungs ache as though they are new, throat closing around unyielding reality.

The Templar sloughs off the dispel from her blade, now trained to kill. Somewhere beyond his field of view, Solas hears a shout. “You wasted precious time taunting me,” he says, words straining against empty lungs. Amusement flickers in his eyes, lips too tired to form any semblance of a smile. “I would be dead were it not for your pride. Now it is too late.”

He sees the question in the soldier’s eyes. Solas counts the seconds. He hears his rescue upon the wind.

Bones crack with a sickening crunch as the Templar’s knees snap backwards, crumbling from the force of Thora’s hammer. She falls like lead weight at Solas’ feet, legs bent at an unnatural angle. A feral cry chokes her, whimpering like a wounded animal which has not yet accepted its end. “Mercy,” she moans, the plated hand which moments ago reached out with violence now stretches imploringly towards his feet, desperate for the healing touch of magic. “Please.”

It isn’t Solas’ mercy, but Varric’s, which ends her life. The bolt pierces her helmet, puncturing it like paper, killing her instantly. “Poor bastard,” he hears the dwarf say, but in the heat of the moment Solas cannot find his pity. His heart hardens as the Templar’s life oozes onto the grass, and he thinks to himself that her blood and bones will do the world more good than her deeds ever had. The bitter thought goes unspoken, Varric’s remark remains unacknowledged.

In an instant, the chaos of battle is over. As he recovers his breath, he looks out over the field to see it riddled with fresh corpses, all of their making. Cassandra stoops in the dirt, wiping her blade in the grass as Varric retrieves his ammo from the bodies of their enemies. Thora’s hammer stands alone by the Templar’s body, its face crusted with a thick layer of blood, its handler nowhere in sight. In the grass beside it lies his discarded staff, its crystal focus shining dully, unaware the danger has passed. Solas bends to claim it, magic coaxing it the rest of the way to his fingers. The exertion proves more taxing than he envisions, the back of his head throbbing with the memory of his collision with the tree. He winces, nursing the back of his head, capping his fingertips with ice to soothe the growing ache.

“You alright there, Chuckles?” Varric asks, concern overshadowed by the hint of amusement which laces his question. “You hit that tree pretty hard.”

“I will manage, thank you,” he says. “Were it not for our Herald’s intervention, however…” He looks for her again, eyes darting around the area. This time he sights her in the shadow of a tree, one arm supporting her against its trunk. “Excuse me a moment.”

Solas steps out of the reach of his would-be killer’s corpse, winding towards the battlefield’s outskirts where their intrepid Herald lingers. “You fare better with a hammer than a sword,” he remarks as he nears her. Thora’s shoulders tense at the sound of his voice so close, and he stops short, uncertainty tinges his words. “After Haven I was unsure what experience you had in battle. I see now I was too quick to judge.” She had been clumsy in the snow, swinging at demons as though she had never held a sword in her life, and maybe that was the case. What she’d lacked in skill she more than made up with strength. The demons fell, though she made quicker work of the Templars today. 

Thora doesn’t answer, and for an instant he wonders if she’d taken offense. Dwarves of old were proud warriors, it may be that not everything he remembers of them has been bled from them by the Blight. She turns her face an inch towards him, the rest cast in the shadow of the tree. “I—” One hand flies to her face, fingers pressing against her mouth in anticipation. He watches, uneasy, as she swallows thickly and fights back whatever had threatened to escape. “Sorry.”

Before he has a chance to reassure her, Cassandra’s voice rings out behind them: “We should press on if we want to reach Redcliffe Farm by nightfall.” She stands where he last saw her, sword sheathed and shield shining, bearing no mark of the battle that came before. He does not linger on her, eyes returning to Thora whose attention has shifted as his had, allowing him a glimpse of her face. An ill look haunts her, grey tinges her usual warm complexion with dark lines drawn beneath her eyes.

A sharp intake of breath pierces the air as Thora readies her answer. He reaches out, hand brushing her shoulder before he interjects. “Another moment, Seeker,” he says. “I believe it best I examine the Anchor first. There is no telling what influence a Templar’s abilities have on it.”

The Seeker looks at him, her mood impossible to discern from beneath a dark, drawn brow. A small sigh that sounds like frustration escapes her lips. “Very well. Do what you must.”

“Thank you,” he says, inclining his head towards her. As he turns to the Herald, he sees emotion shining in her eyes as she looks up at him, perhaps trying to decide what to make of his diversion. Solas is not certain what to make of it himself. The easy answer is that it is in his best interest to protect her image, even if only from their companions, but it would be a lie to insist it’s the only answer. In her discomfort he saw a glimpse of the familiar, recognition of a feeling he had once grappled with himself— or so it seemed. He did not know. The Veil mutes all emotion, from the most fervent passions to the most tender sentiments. It may be a reflection he sees in her eyes, his own hopes and fears echoed back to him.

Whatever he sees in her he pushes aside for the sake of their present problem. Cassandra could not be held off forever. Lowering himself to one knee to accommodate her height, Solas extends one hand towards hers. “Give me your hand, please.”

She peels the glove from her left hand, offering it forward to Solas as she did on the day they first met. This time it lands in his waiting reach, rather than being yanked forcibly towards a Rift. He’d studied it well while she lay motionless in her cell, and then again in bed, but conscious it is a different creature. Her fingers flex and bend, clearly unaccustomed to the careful attention afforded to them. He strokes his thumb across her palm, smoothing them back to allow him an unobstructed view of the Anchor. It runs like a fissure in the earth across her skin, an otherworldly green occasionally flashes in the center, and through it he catches a glimpse of the infinite. “Does it pain you?” he asks. This examination is a façade to buy them a moment’s respite, but there is no telling what effect the Mark will have on her in the coming weeks. Already he fears there will come a day where his knowledge of it will fail him, powerless as he is now.

“No. At least not since you last looked at it. I... don’t think the Templars could touch it if they’d tried.”

“Curious.” Although he ought not be surprised, the Anchor and the Templars share more than a few similarities, tied together by a Titan’s heart and blood. “Regardless, I would advise caution. This may have been an anomaly.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had it described to me by mages before, doesn’t sound like something I’d want to invite on myself.”

Her comment sparks a question, one which has plagued him since she called out to him in the midst of battle. “You’ve fought alongside mages before, have you not?”

“Yeah,” her response is strained, and punctuated by a second heavy swallow, “how’d you guess?”

“You signalled for my intervention when handling the marksman. The uninitiated would not have thought to ask.”

The observation catches her off-guard, eyes darting from his face to her hand before she remembers who she’s addressing. “The Carta’s been known to hire apostates. Some jobs just needed that magic touch, you know?” A small smile turns her lips, weary eyes shining with a hint of mischief. “I’ve, uh, been known to smuggle a mage or two out of the Circle, too. Back in Kirkwall. Don’t... don’t tell Cassandra.”

He blinks, surprise registers upon his face as no more than a mild arch of his brow. “You believe she would be displeased?” Solas asks, working a barrier into the surface of her skin. It accepts the magic more readily than Varric, the Anchor glittering like an uncut peridot, recognising the spellcaster.

Thora shrugs. “They’ve got enough to deal with from me being Carta.”

“True, but there is more than the Chantry to consider,” he says. From his perspective (and in his experience) there will be little pleasing them, presenting an obstacle to be worked around rather than through. Even Cassandra seems to realise that. “The rebel mages may look favourably upon someone who has helped them in the past.”

“Maybe.” 

A frown tugs at his lips, her dismissal rankles despite telling himself she is not at her best. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in their employ?” He imagines the children of families blessed with the fortune to be born into money and magic, with coin enough to make the Carta think it was worth the Templar’s scrutiny. “I cannot imagine it is work you find yourself in by chance.”

“It’s not. I volunteered. I ran the same tunnels as the Mage Underground, and it— well, it seemed like the right thing to do.” She pauses. “It was the right thing to do.” 

“I see.” He doesn’t see, at least not entirely. Like the many lies he has told since walking into the Inquisition’s midst, it is woven with truth. Solas knows well the impulse to do good, or try to, whatever the cost to oneself may be, and he’d seen it in Thora before. Thanks to her, the people of the Crossroads will sleep with full bellies and warm blankets, but the world will thank her for helping them. The same cannot be said of the mages. Suddenly the promise made to him in Haven does not seem so empty. Her oath to guard his freedom from those who sought to take it no longer rings as a hollow platitude. “Whatever Seeker Pentaghast may think, I believe your conviction is admirable.”

She shifts self-consciously, the hand in his grasp straining against his gentle grip. “I’m glad you think so.” The simple effort it takes her to accept his praise seems a laborious undertaking, he wonders to himself if the sweat on her brow now shines fresh from the endeavour. Her acceptance is punctuated by a sharp inhale. “Listen. I… I wanted to thank you, you know, for this.” She looks pointedly at their joined hands. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It’s…”

“A natural reaction.” Their eyes meet, but it’s her gaze which falters first. “They were our enemies, but where we saw a threat to be eliminated others would have seen friends, family.” He does not look back, but his mind returns to the felled Templar behind him. No pity nor guilt moves his heart at the thought of her passing, she laid in a pool of her own violent choices. Still, he spares a thought for the woman her family will mourn. A woman who undoubtedly bore little resemblance to the one Solas briefly knew. “Our duty to ourselves and Redcliffe’s people demanded we face them, but it is not weakness to be affected by their deaths.”

A weak smile spreads over Thora’s lips, thin and touched by lingering unease, but it shines true in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says for the second time. “For understanding, I mean.”

He acknowledges it with a mild bow of his head. “Does it bother you, knowing that I have seen how this affected you?”

“A little,” she admits. “Better you than—” Her head nods towards the others, brow arched in their direction.

Solas looks towards them, catching sight of Cassandra as she paces aimlessly around the field, throwing glances towards their destination, always mindful of their journey’s end. Varric shows no such concern, reclining upon a rock, an unfamiliar tune whistling from his lips. He turns back to Thora with a question upon his. “And what have I done to earn the distinction?”

“Nothing.” The confession is quick, as though speaking it without hesitation will spare her his offense. “Cassandra’s put such faith in me, I’m just counting the breaths until I let her down somehow, and Varric…” She pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “I’ve read one or two of his books. I’m not sure I like the thought of making into one of them.” Thora at last looks up at him again, searching for something in his face. What quality she seeks, he’s unsure, though he is reluctant to grant it. Every piece he surrenders is a piece he cannot get back. “You? You’re just… odd.”

A surprised laugh chokes him. He does not need to look behind them to feel the Seeker’s head whip in their direction, discerning eyes measuring their progress. “An honest assessment, and perhaps well-deserved,” he says, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Should I take offense?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare and smiles, though this time the gesture spreads her lips wide, revealing two rows of white teeth. “I suppose that depends on if you think being normal is something to be proud of.”

To his surprise, he feels himself smiling back, her playful grin reflecting in his own. “I suppose it does.” He looks down at her hand, ears angling back as he realises any pretence of examination had since been forgotten. Seconds counted for more in this world, true, yet it remains remarkably easy to become lost in conversation. “Do you feel ready to move on?” Solas tries to discern the answer for himself from her expression. The long, drawn-out look has faded, forgotten as the excuse which kept them here a moment more. Recognising that settles uneasy in his stomach, raising questions better left for dreams.

“I think so.” She takes her hand back from him, flexing her fingers before she fits them into her glove. “I don’t know how much longer Cassandra will buy that excuse of yours, anyway.”

“You underestimate me.” There is a humour in his remark that surprises him, a wry twist to his words which he did not expect to find in the company he keeps. “Were I less adept at wasting the Seeker’s time, I would not be stood before you now. Still—” He rises, mindful of the wet patches of mud which now darken his knees. “We would not want to keep her waiting.”

She gives him a knowing look, the faint smile creasing the corners of her eyes fades as she turns back to the rest of their party. Varric is the first to notice their business concluded, or the first to acknowledge it, behind him he hears his voice call out, “Hand treating you any better?”

“Never better, actually,” she replies in a chipper tone, a friendly veneer which masks the unpleasantness of a moment ago, but Solas notes how she averts her gaze from the carnage they left in their wake. The shadows of war still seem to haunt her steps. She tilts her head towards Cassandra, deference clear even from behind. “Sorry for the hold up. I’m ready to go now.” Deference aside, it is at Thora’s word that their party picks up and moves, mere moments passing between her signal and the resumption of their journey. Solas alone trails behind, forgetting his feet beneath him. Only his eyes follow her, mind wandering, wondering, doubting if the Mark upon her hand is the most remarkable thing about her. She senses his absence, looking over her shoulder with a question upon her brow, saying nothing, but somehow he hears. Questions pile like snowflakes on a rooftop, building around him with no easy remedy to relieve their mounting pressure, but he picks up his feet and follows the answer into Ferelden’s hills.

Surrounded by the voices of his companions in the thick of conversation, the seconds lose their urgency, the minutes slip by without notice. As a joke in the air draws a new smile to his face, sixty seconds starts to resemble not another minute survived, but rather another minute lived.

[planesofduality]

The Story Behind Solas with Dragon Age Lead Writer Patrick Weekes - Dialogue Wheel (Part 3 of 3)

The final piece of the interview!

Here is Part 1, Part 2

Time: 25:35

One of the most beautiful scenes I think in Dragon Age Inquisition is the scene that you get with Solas if you play as a female elf Inquisitor. Talk a little bit about that choice to have this romance option very, very specific. It’s race- and gender- specific. Why that scene - what that scene meant and a lot of the subtext, because it is a very rich sequence of scenes, not just one. And, I think it’s really one of the most interesting romances in the game.

I love that scene because that scene for me shows how far we’ve gone past - not the make myself irrelevant anymore - but how far we’ve gone with the digital acting. Jonathan Epp the cine-designer for that scene put it together and when you take everything that Gareth David Lloyd - the voice actor - everything he did on his lines. And just putting so much tragedy, and making it clear in every line that he wants to say more than he can. And with Jon Epp the cine-designer, just in the wordless scenes: showing the tragedy, showing the heartbreak, showing how much he does genuinely care against his better judgement, and how he finally forces himself to step away.,

You know how I said when we were talking about the Iron Bull - everything, every major moment we do, is there for a specific type of player fantasy fulfillment. And you know, not all types of fantasies are the happy ones. There’s a reason why The Phantom of the Opera was on Broadway for so many years and it’s not because it has a happy ending.

The Phantom of the Opera isn’t exactly the theme for the romance -  the razor was something closer to almost professor and student in some ways. He definitely comes across as a mentor in some ways. When he finally steps back it is him beating himself up, not you, saying “Wow what I have done here is actually really unfair to you, and you, player, at the time don’t know that I’m beating myself up because I’m actually  1000s of years old and not the person you think I am and it’s disrespectful to you for me to continue this relationship.” So it’s a very moral perspective for our ancient, quasi-evil, trickster god to come with.

Time: 28:41

And it’s amazing because it’s another instance of content that so few players would actually get an opportunity to see. When it comes to making it that specific, I guess, why was that choice made? Because usually a lot of your content - most of the Dragon Age content - it’s very easy to get really rich, wonderful characters right in your face and have those wonderful “eat-em-up” experiences, why for this one was it such a steep price to get in?

You know, I won’t lie, a lot of it came from some of our designers. Some of the women in the design department really, really loving his voice and saying, “You are absolutely fools if you do not make him romance-able in some capacity.” And, really, his story overall is - and, you know, I think we’ve only hinted at that but I think we have hinted at it enough that I can at least say this part of it - his story isn’t a happy one. His story is one, where, if you look at him and Mythal, there is clearly some grief, there is clearly some tragedy. And, adding in the option - even for players who don’t take it - on my end as a writer,  knowing that some players will have this as a star-crossed, forbidden romance, you know, it makes him more sympathetic. It’s important to me as a writer because when you’re writing about someone who, according to Flemeth, is at least somewhat responsible for the bad guy getting the magical item that he used to blow up half a mountain in the prologue, it’s important to have something in there that you can always have, as a writer, look at as your touchstone and go “This is a real person. This is someone who experiences sadness. This is someone who falls in love.” Even if he doesn’t do it with that Inquisitor on that playthrough, this is always someone who can be like that.

Time: 30:58

Where do you see a character like Solas ending up?

(Big sigh) Musical theater.

(laughs) Right when we reach those beautiful moments, Patrick!

I think that it is fantastic that people have emotionally engaged with Solas and I hope we get a chance to explore that in some future content.

Alright and that’s the most that we’re getting right now.

Time: 31:37

Oh, and here’s a little tie in: Here Lies the Abyss, the demon that spoke to Solas - what was all that about, what was that going on?

Oh yes - the demon who speaks perfect Elven!

Yes perfectly to him, and if you remember any of that - did you have anything to do with that?

Yes, Here Lies the Abyss was mine. It was a fun plot. It was a terrifyingly difficult plot, because - I’m not sure how clear this is to players that have one done one playthrough or with one import state - but your key characters throughout the events at Adamant Fortress and then the events of the Fade, it’s a customizable Hawke. Which means it could be a male Hawke or a female Hawke and within that, Hawke from Dragon Age 2 is characterized by one of three different attitudes: friendly, grim, or sarcastic. So, that’s three attitudes times two genders, that’s six different Hawkes and three different possible Grey Wardens: Alistair, Loghain, or Stroud.  So, the process of going through Adamant Fortress and then going through the Fade was a crazy juggling act of trying to keep track of “Okay, now one of these five people, these five Schrodinger’s cat quantum people, will say this line, and then another of these five Schrodinger’s cat quantum people will respond with this line.”

It’s important to remember that as we went through everything in Adamant Fortress and the Fade was taking place in that contest. There was a long period time when we were looking at that really going, “Okay, I just have to hope this actually makes sense when it’s nothing but Alistair and my sarcastic female Hawke.”

But, to actually answer your question. As I recall, the Nightmare, who as a friendly, chipper guy was basically - I do basically two types of villains: I do the villain who thinks he or she is the hero, and is misguided and has opposed goals, and is kind of tragic and tortured in that way. And then I do the mean-girl villain who says snotty high school insults.

That’s it - that’s the gambit.

Well, just about, yes. I’m looking forward to see who writes the villain in the future Dragon Age games - so get ready for either tragic pathos or really, really good high school mean-girl zingers.

As I recall, he was speaking Elven to Solas and if I remember right, he said, “Your pride is responsible for everything that has gone wrong” and I think he said “You will die alone.” And then Solas said something that translates to either “Nothing is known for certain” or “Not necessarily.”

And what does all that mean?

Well I think it’s fascinating that people are emotionally engaged, and I hope we have the chance -

It was a very asked question - it was a question that was asked a lot. Specific to that.

Oh, I’m not surprised, and I hope one day that we can tell you. But, obviously, that demon knows that Solas is hurting and Solas feels guilty about some stuff and really wanted to dig in there, and Solas was shouting back.

Literally just describing what happened (laughs). All right, so something that will clearly be talked about in other games.

TIme: 36:22

Dealing with this particular quest I really think that this was one opportunity to involve the Grey Wardens in a story, and a world, that kind of progressingly, after the first game had less and less of a need to exist - let alone in the world - but in the main characters arc. Talking to David I remember initially there was some idea for this particular mission they would just fall into the hole and be hanging out in the Deep Roads, and having out with the dwarves, so tell us a little bit about this creation.

A lot of the process of writing these large plots, like I talked about the razor, you figure out what the core concept is, you always start with a lot of things, and in most cases what you then end up having to do is cut. And if you’re not someone in the studio, talking about having to cut things sounds like you’re losing awesome content, you’re ruining what would have been clearly the best part of the plot. Inside the studio though, most cases what you’re cutting is the stuff that didn’t actually help tell the story you wanted to tell.

So yes in the original version, in a very early draft, actually this was before I was actually on the plot - this predates me - there was, yes, going into the Deep Roads, and when you fell in instead of ending up in the Fade you ended up down in the dark. And finding out what the Grey Wardens in this version of the story had been involved with the Architect from Dragon Age: Awakening. It was an interesting direction, and it was, I think, a very cool direction, but it did not help tell the story of the Inquisition. It was more a story of “Hey, if we wanted to do more with the Hero of Fereldan, here is an interesting place we could go” and it did not help tell the story of “What is the Inquisition doing?” “What is Corypheus doing?”, “How do these two organizations bounce off each other and who’s caught in the middle?” So trying to come to terms with the Grey Wardens in this game not being the protagonists, not being the group that is in the center of the action but being the group that is caught in the middle of this power struggle was something that led to us having to eventually do the re-jiggering that got us to the plot you saw.

[virlath]

Alas so long as the music plays, we dance

The references to music and song in dragon age is important.

Cole:

He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same.

and then Cole, to Varric:

Do you write to reach across? To hear the song that was sundered?

Dwarves don’t dream or use magic because their connection to magic and dreams was severed for some ~mysterious reason~. However, dwarves are the only race that can mine lyrium effectively, and lyrium is a substance essential for the creation of magic. Therefore it’s clear dwarves did in fact have a strong connection to magic in ancient times, before a ~significant event~ happened that altered the course of their culture and race.

It’s funny to note, even though dwarves don’t dream, Varric is renowned for his creative works of fiction. I think even Cole questions this in Trespasser (can’t remember the specific dialogue).

Things we know

Dwarves have no gods, instead venerating the stone.

Some dwarves have a sixth sense for the stone and are able to detect lyrium veins easily. Some also hear lyrium “sing”. Since it was revealed lyrium is the blood of the Titans in the Descent, we can assume the song blue lyrium gives off is the “song of the Titans”.

We also know dwarves are the most methodical race in Thedas to document their history, however their memories don’t record the history of the Titans and the Sha-Brytol.  

We all know lyrium sings in some sorta way, be it blue or red lyrium.

Lyrium is often referred to as a source of magic and creation (people use lyrium to literally create magic).

If Leliana dies in DAO, the epilogue for Leliana Inquisition states: “The lyrium sang thought into being. Now time is stale, and the melody is called elsewhere.”

Varric is so opposed to red lyrium because not only is it tainted, he constantly asserts how he just feels like there’s something evil and unsettling about it. Even though he doesn’t know a thing about magic, he knows it should be destroyed.

And finally, we know the elves lusted for more power, and we also know Mythal had already defeated one titan to harvest lyrium (to sustain the elvhenan empire?) in the times of ancient Arlathan.

Major thoughts I have:

It is implied lyrium can be used to create beings.

How did the dwarves lose so much of their history if they are so adamant about preserving it?

Why does the lyrium sing?

Valta, in the Descent:

Its blood now flows through me, and its song fills the gaps in our history. I close my eyes and see glimpses of the world that was, before everything changed and the dwarven race broke in two. Something caused the Titans to fall, and the fate of my people fell with them. The Titan wants me to know. No, more than that. It wants me to understand. There is a loneliness to its song.

The Titans are lonely because many of its children (modern day dwarves) are no longer connected to it.

============

Some theories on the history of Dragon Age

*puts tin foil on*

In the elves’ civil war and lust for even more power, could the evanuris have inadvertently created the taint and resulting blights through the killing/sacrifice of Mythal?

Mythal was one of the most powerful beings in ancient Arlathan. Combining her power with blue lyrium would be unprecedented and likely result in some extremely powerful magical abilities.

The evanuris got the power they wanted, but their plot also resulted in red lyrium- a corruption that was extremely powerful, weakened/infected titans, and eventually infecting the Sha Brytol and turning them into the first darkspawn.

It is important to note, the Primeval Thaig contains magical items, rock beings, and of course the red lyrium idol, all of which seem to have a mind of its own. That was the inate power of red lyrium - it could be used to create and animate inanimate objects like stone. For spirits like the elven who were already powerful, this would have been useful- much like how a demon army sounds like a good idea to mortals.

Dwarves could have also used this red lyrium to perform even more powerful enchantment or magic. The dwarves seemingly revered the red lyrium idol- perhaps for Mythal’s sacrifice in creating some sort of higher form of lyrium?

Once Solas learned of how the red lyrium was corrupting the evanuris and being used in the fade itself, he locked the gods up, sealed up the primeval thaig in hopes it would stop spreading, then went to sleep. Unfortunately during this time, the first blight started as the taint spread through the Titans and Sha-Brytol, and then onto the Forgotten ones who were sealed deep underground. That’s why red lyrium sounds “angry”, and why it gives off a heat. The song in red lyrium contains the voice of the titans as well as the old gods who are trapped down there.

Cole, on red lyrium:

The red lyrium is different, darker. Daggers under the skin. It eats you inside until you're nothing. They hear a different song. The song behind the door old whispers want opened. They are dead and dark and done.

It is important to note, Solas’ next plan of attack in DA4 involves heavy use of red lyrium through the idol, and through some sort of “ritual” as described in Tevinter Nights. His use of red lyrium is also implied through the teaser murals, and the wolf’s red eyes.

He needs to use red lyrium because it’s either extremely powerful, he’s desperate, or maybe it’s the only thing powerful enough to destroy the veil now that his orb is broken...but, there’s not much info to go on at this point. It just seems very...odd to me that his character would resort to using red lyrium to destroy the veil.

The Idol

The red idol represents the sacrifice (or blood ritual) resulting in the death of Mythal and perhaps other unidentified sacrifices or elven slaves. Notice how it looks like the people are being pulled into the stone, featuring very prominent red lyrium veins.

Could Solas have severed the dwarves’ connection to the fade and magic through the actual creation of the veil? It’s implied he collapsed the primeval thaig that had the red lyrium idol in it, and considering the enormous implications it has on dwarven history with magic, he had to have had a good reason to do so.

I’m still not entirely sure about the dwarf/elf relations at this time, but the elves may not even have seen the dwarves as “people” back then because they were simply a collective hive mind joined to the Titan. The only reason the Sha-Brytol attack you in the Descent is because they are acting as an “immune defense”. Maybe it was the construction of the veil itself that allowed the dwarves free will, the caveat being they would be cut off from magic altogether.

Since the dwarves of that time were intrinsically tied to the titan’s magic as a whole, the creation of the veil would mean they lost their collective memories and abilities to use magic altogether.

Solas on dwarves:

"Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood, undirected, whatever skill at arms it had gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream."

The blood may reference the blood of the titan, but it could also represent how their race came to be the way they are- through red lyrium and elven blood magic.  Maybe they used the red lyrium in the primeval thaig, not knowing it was corrupted until it was too late.

[xaphrin]

Abuse My Love a Thousand Times

“A clean bill of health.” Shirayuki placed the form in front of Obi for him to sign, making notes in his file. The pen scratched almost loudly against the pristine paper, her handwriting looking like awkward, loopy swirls. “As always.”

“I’m not entirely sure why we’re made to have these weekly check-ups. It’s not like I can even get human diseases.” Obi sighed and handed the paper back to her, his eyes flashing a bright gold before he adjusted the cuff on his ear. The spell flickered for just a moment, before settling back into place, showing his olive skin and dark, almond eyes. He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “It’s just costing the house more money to keep having you come out here.”

“It’s the law for human and fae. Fairness across the board for any redlight workers.” She paused and made another note, glancing back into his face with a stern expression. “And you aren’t immune to magic diseases, you know. Don’t forget about the outbreak of Dark Dust two years ago. Two of your workers ended up at the clinic and it took them nearly a month to treat them.” Shirayuki checked off her notes. “Besides, it’s not just illness we’re worried about. Mental health is just as important, and you’re not one to admit when something happened, or something is upsetting you.” She glanced over at him, a heartbeat’s pause resting heavily between them. “I worry about you. You need to take better care of yourself. Let me know if you need… help. I’m here for you.”

“I take care of myself just fine. I’ve been here two years, and I’m all together - as far as I know.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug and looked away, pretending to be more interested in a faded picture on the wall. “My job could be worse. At least I’m not working in the docks down by the river, and I have my own money and my own place, and sometimes I even have friends. Which is way more than I had two years ago. Plus, I get to eat my fill every single night… no more prowling around university bars looking for sorority sisters blasted out of their mind. People come begging for a taste of paradise.”

Shirayuki watched him, her eyes wide as he spoke. It felt like he was trying to remind himself that there were good things in his life, and that the darkness he worked so hard to conceal wasn’t real. Standing there, she felt like she was trying to discern who he was before this moment. She could hear strange notes infiltrate his voice, almost like a longing, but also a bit like a pep-talk. It sounded almost as if he was reminding himself of all the things he did have, just to make him forget about the things he didn’t. He adjusted the cuff on his ear again, and the spell flickered. Shirayuki found herself questioning whether it had been damaged during a particularly rough client, but then realized it was none of her business who he slept with. It was his job. 

“And what about you, Mistress?” His voice dripped with curiosity, to the point it nearly stung her. “What about taking care of yourself? You could work in any of the fine human hospitals in the rich neighborhoods, and yet you’re over here slumming it in the fae redlight for pennies - checking cocks and pussies for Dark Dust.” He let go of a cynical bark of laughter. “Honestly, you’re much better than this, and I’d have thought you’d run far away by now.” He pitched forward and rested his chin in his hand, as if expecting a secret. “Come on now, tell me that you’ve finally found somewhere more interesting to go? Tell me you finally caved and signed that big contract for Wilant Memorial.”

“I haven’t and you know that, so stop teasing me about it.” She gave him a tilted smile. “Besides, you’re the most interesting part of my day.” She glanced at her phone, checking the time. Yuzuri had another twenty minutes left on her tab with Suzu. 

“She’s still upstairs.” Obi cocked his head to the side as if he was listening through the walls. “They’re finished if you want me to go grab Yuzuri?”

Shirayuki flushed and shook her head. It was unnerving how adept fae hearing was. “No. Absolutely not. Let them have their time together, she doesn’t get to see him as often anymore.”

“Not since she transferred to a human hospital?” His voice held a low, questioning lilt. “Like you should?” 

Shirayuki ignored the jab. “Your shift doesn’t start for a bit, right?”

“Mm…” Obi checked his phone and nodded. “I have an appointment in an hour or so. So, i’ve got a bit of time I can kill.” He offered a broad, teasing grin. “My first client is a half-orc with-”

Shirayuki held up her hand, her heart dropping into her stomach. She hated when Obi teased her like this. “Please don’t. Spare me the details. Besides, you know I’m not supposed to know about your clients. You have an NDA, and I… I don’t want to hear about it anyway.”

“I’m only teasing.” Obi Shrugged and stood up, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “A human, actually. Some kind of bachelorette dare, I’m sure.” He pitched his voice high, a pantomime of a girl. “You just gotta try an incubus at least once. They’re the best.”

“People do not say that.”

Obi scoffed. “Mistress, you can’t tell me that when you were all stressed and tensed up from studies in med school that there wasn’t at least one girl suggesting you head down to your local redlight and take a tumble with an incubus?” His grin widened and he pitched forward, resting his hand on the table. “I’m told it’s better than really good weed. High for days with a nice, slow decline back to earth.” 

He… actually wasn’t wrong. There had been one of the girls in her undergrad class who spent her all her free time with an incubus a few grades below them. She ended up flunking out of pre-med, and Shirayuki had vowed never to come within ten feet of an incubus. Her eyes flicked to Obi’s playful stare, and she flushed. That resolution hadn’t exactly worked out in her favor. Now, she spent time with him every week, and it was getting harder and harder to remember why she shouldn’t get involved with him. Especially when he gave her that tilted, knowing smile. 

Shirayuki rolled her eyes and closed his file, pretending to ignore his comment. “Well, you’re free and I’m waiting to walk home with Yuzuri, so… let’s do something together. Let’s get out of here for a bit then. I’ll buy you a drink?” Shirayuki placed the file in the cabinet in the back of the office, locking it. “It’s been awhile since we talked… outside of the house. And as friends.” 

Obi gave a dramatic gasp, pressing his hand against his chest. “You’re looking to talk with me? Outside of the house? Be still my heart.”

God. He could be such a drama queen sometimes. She started for the door. “Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Hold your horses.” He chased after her, and Shirayuki turned around to see his cuff fall from his ear. Obi cursed and he snatched it up from the carpet with a low growl, examining it to see how he could jerry-rig it together for a little longer. “Dammit. I’ve been having the worst trouble with this stupid thing since last week. I’m going to have to ask Ryu if he can make me a new one. The spell is getting testy too.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Shirayuki rested her hand on his wrist, stopping his movements. “Leave it off. We’ll go to a fae-friendly bar. You don’t need to wear it, I know the spell itches anyway.”

“You’d be willing to go out with a fae?”

“Obi, we’ve been friends for years now.” She leaned closer to him and rubbed her thumb along the pointed tip of his ear, as if she was trying to smooth out the indent the cuff had given him. “Besides, you look fine just the way you are.”

Beautiful, actually.

“You’re one of only a handful of people who think that, you know.” Obi looked down at his forearms, his skin a dark blue-gray and flecked with the same shimmering gold that matched his eyes, like freckles masquerading as constellations. He glanced back at her, lifting an eyebrow in a low tease. “Typically I charge extra to take the cuff off. My skin isn’t the only thing that changes.”

Shirayuki flushed and turned away, knowing that he could never let her live it down if he saw the embarrassment in her face. “Now you’re flaunting like a peacock.”

“Exactly.” He snapped his fingers. “My cock.”

Ignoring him, Shirayuki made her way down the street, feeling him follow her, his steps nearly silent on the pavement. His eyes darted around them both, as if he were expecting someone to come out and make some kind of off-handed comment or slur. In the few years since Shirayuki had known Obi, he had been overly cautious of going out without a glamor spell. There was a history behind him that she tried to understand, but he kept himself as closed off as possible. It was easy to fuck someone and drain them of their sexual desire, but opening to a friend seemed damn near impossible for him. 

She’d only seen him without his cuff a few times, but he was beautiful. His skin reminding her of a dark night in the mountains, galaxies painted onto his skin. He was just so… otherworldly. Which, she realized, was a bit of a slur. 

“You’re deep in thought.” Obi’s voice cut through the noise in her mind, a low rumble of noise running down her spine. “Anything interesting going on in that head of yours?”

She forced her own mind up for air, pushing a few locks of hair from her eyes. “Mm, just thinking… about you.” She followed him into the bar a few doors down from the house, taking in a diverse crowd. Two dwarves were playing a card game in the back, yelling at each other about rules, and a tall, graceful elf was unfolding herself from a booth. A sign above the bar noting Sirens not allowed to perform on karaoke night! “You never take your cuff off. I was just thinking about it.”

“Ah, Mistress. It’s probably best if you just leave that particular thought be. You know as well as I do that there are stories you shouldn’t ask.” He settled them down into a small table tucked in the front corner, by the window. A gorgon waitress wearing ultra-dark sunglasses took their order, and she stared at Shirayuki as if she was trying to place her from somewhere. 

“She’s the girl on the bus benches,” Obi supplied helpfully, his grin widening. “You might have seen her with a sharpie mustache of some kind. Or big glasses.”

Shirayuki flushed, giving Obi a sharp stare. That was not what she wanted to be known for, to become some kind of token in the mayor’s campaign for more robust human-fae relations, but Zen had talked her into it. He said it was good to place a non-political face with their campaign, but Shirayuki had doubts. Putting her face on their campaign made it political, and that was not what she wanted. She didn’t want to be a token character just to make the Wistalias look good, she just wanted to help out the neighborhood. 

“Ah.” Thankfully, the gorgon seemed completely disinterested, took their order and turned around, leaving them without another word. 

“You don’t have to point that out to every fae.” Shirayuki sighed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, glaring at him. “It’s not that big of a deal, you know. And I didn’t even really want to be a part of it. Zen is just… persuasive sometimes. And it’s hard to say no to him.” 

Obi looked like he wanted to point something out, but managed to keep his thoughts to himself. “Ah, come on, Mistress. You’re like a local celebrity around here - brilliant doctor with ties to political royalty, but who spends her time in the fae neighborhood clinic, working for chump-change and checking the redlight district for STIs.” He propped his chin up on one hand and smiled at her, as if he knew a secret no one else did. “And yet somehow keeps her purity.”

Shirayuki burned and nearly choked on her water. Color curled up her neck and she looked away. “Obi!”

His grin widened, almost playful, and his white teeth practically shimmered against the darkness of his skin. He pitched forward, the playful glint in his eyes brightening. “Incubus, Mistress. You can’t keep anything from me. Not when it comes to sex, anyway.”

Shirayuki sniffed, suddenly feeling indignant. “I’ve… been with people before.”

He lifted an eyebrow, as if he didn’t quite believe her, but knew better than to press. “Oh, I’m sure, but… not for a while, right? Not since… mm, let me guess…” He took a deep breath, as if tasting something on the air. “...undergrad?”

Her cheeks burned darker, her stomach twisting. He could be a real jerk when he wanted to. She looked away and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about having sex with someone, she wasn’t completely oblivious to her body’s needs, it was just that she hadn’t really met the right person. She’d get back at it when someone interesting came along. Her eyes flicked to Obi’s angular face for just a moment before looking out the window. It would be better not to travel down that path. 

“What I don’t get…” Obi’s voice turned conversational, and the gorgon returned with their order, placing it on the table. He waited until she had left before speaking again. “...is how you spend all this time at the house, examining up learning our ticks and preferences, and yet you’ve never once… sampled the wares. I mean, we’re literally there to be used. Come in, pay your dues, and get a ride. That’s how it works, Mistress.”

“That’s not true, Obi. And, I wished you wouldn’t it say it like that.” Shirayuki’s face scrunched up and she gave him a firm look, letting him know that his self-deprecating attitude needed to stop. Her heart ached when he talked about himself like that - like he was just a thing. And not for the first time, she wished she knew more about it, if only to understand him a little bit better. “You’re not just some kind of tool meant to be used and then tossed aside. You’re a person, with your own feelings and emotions, not just a thing used for sex.” 

Obi made a face as if there was something to her words that might have hit their mark. He glanced away, letting silence slide over them as he tried to control the conversation again. “That still didn’t answer my question though.” His eyes darkened a shade and he leaned forward across the small table. “Why don’t you sample the wares?”

She sighed, her eyes lifting towards his again. “I’m your doctor, Obi.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “Yuzuri left the clinic, and she still returns to tumble in the sheets with a frost elf.”

Shirayuki’s face fell and she laughed. “She likes Suzu, you know.”

He looked out the window, pretending to be interested in something on the other side of the street. There was a heavy silence that settled over them before he spoke, his words muffled by the sound of the dwarves arguing again. “You could find someone to like too.”

“I like you.” That came out far too breathy and wistful. But if Obi noticed, he chose not to point it out. It was a small kindness.

“Ah, Mistress. That’s not what I mean. Friends are different than lovers.” His smile tilted to the side and he paused, as if running through a few scenarios through his head. They were likely the kinds of things she had seen shoved on corner store shelves - My Daring Incubus had been one she bought on a whim, but couldn’t find the nerve to crack it open. He met her eyes and hummed. “Though I’d be happy to show you around the depths of my room, if you ever get curious.”

Shirayuki shook her head, giving him a flat stare. “You’re just looking for a free meal.”

“You’re not wrong.” His smile never faltered, but Shirayuki noticed the flecks of gold along his skin turned an iridescent silver, and she stared at them watching the thin light of the bar catch the change. 

It was with a strange and sudden clarity that she realized why he wore his cuff at all times - his skin was a tell. Under the cloak of the spell, Obi could charm and lie, and make everyone believe whatever he wanted. But without the spell, there was nothing to stop her from reading the bioluminescence flickering along his skin. She blinked and stared along his forearm, watching as the silver turned pale yellow, and then back into bright gold. When she glanced back into Obi’s face, he was looking away from her, pulling the long sleeves of his t-shirt over his arm. 

“We should finish our drinks and head back.” His voice was soft, as if he knew that she figured out his tell. “I’m sure Yuzuri is almost done, and I should wash up before my client shows. You know humans, they like a clean boy.”

“Right.” Shirayuki muttered and swallowed most of her drink in one gulp, if only to avoid looking at Obi and talking. What did all of that mean? Did he not think of sex with her like a meal? It should have been. She was just his doctor, and barely his friend - although that wasn’t due to lack of trying on her part. In all the time she’d known him, he had never quite opened up to her. She thought that he just wasn’t interested, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe there was something else. Maybe he really was trying to guard himself from her.

The walk back to the house was awkward and tense, but Obi did his best to try and fill it with some kind of conversation. Shirayuki felt as though her world tipped on its side, and she watched him from the corner of her eye, chattering away like nothing had happened in the bar. Of course something had happened, and now it felt like it was changing everything between them all over again. She didn’t want that, not when she wasn’t ready.

She’d be damned if she let him throw up walls again. It had taken nearly two years to get him to feel comfortable around her, and she didn’t want to lose that connection. “We should go out again.” 

Obi jerked, stopping mid-sentence. There was a long moment as he turned toward her, obviously trying to understand her meaning. “Like, on a date?”

Yes. But maybe she shouldn’t admit that yet. Shirayuki gave a thin smile and shrugged. “As friends. Your whole life doesn’t have to be the house, and our relationship doesn’t have to revolve around the clinic.”

He blinked, still surprised. “Wouldn’t the mayor and his brother… not like that? That you’d be out on a date with a redlight incubus, and not just checking his cock at the clinic?”

Shirayuki reeled back a little, surprised at the question. Her mind suddenly felt tangled, as if she was trying to find the reason behind that question, but her thoughts just kept getting tied up in knots. What did Izana and Zen have anything to do with her personal life? “They’re the one campaigning for better fae-human relations. Besides, I don’t see how it matters. I’m not even in their immediate thoughts most of the time.”

Obi’s eyebrows knit together, as if he didn’t quite believe her. “Aren’t you dating Zen?”

Shirayuki jerked back, her heart falling into her stomach. “What?”

“Dating Zen.” He kept staring at her, as if waiting for her to admit this whole thing was a joke. “I mean, that’s what the whole city thinks, you know.” He paused outside the side door to his house, shoving his hands in his jeans to search for his cuff. It was like a security blanket to him, and he and shoved it on his, his blue-gray skin instantly glamored by magic - and masking his tell. “It’s the whole, beautiful prince saves sweet human princess from an attack, and she returns by healing his injuries. I mean the whole city has been talking about it for months. That’s why the neighborhood thinks you’re going to close up the clinic and head out to Wilant hospital. We’re all talking about it.”

“You are not. And that scenario is ridiculous.” Shirayuki gave him a flat stare, shifting her purse on her shoulder. “I doubt that anyone really thinks that, and I can’t imagine that anyone would be all that interested in my personal life. Zen is just a friend, and this whole campaign is so Izana can score a few more points in the polls.”

Obi just shrugged, but there was a tension sliding under his skin, as if he didn’t want to talk about Shirayuki and Zen together. “Suit yourself.” 

“I’m not dating Zen.” Frustration bubbled up in her chest as she repeated herself. “I’m his… his token human.” She flushed, fidgeting again. Saying it out loud made it even more awkward, but it was the truth. “I’m just there to make him and Izana look good.” 

“Mm.” Obi’s response was noncommittal.

That made her angry. Obi was never at a loss for words - unless he wanted to be. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just an mm.”

Shirayuki sighed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “With you, it’s never just an mm.”

“I just think that based on the way Zen dotes on you, he probably thinks there’s more to the two of you than you do.” Obi shrugged. “Besides, think of how good it looks - his mother was a charming wood-elf socialite and philanthropist, his father a human from a political dynasty, and now he’s got a brilliant human girlfriend who helps the poor, disenfranchised fae. It’s political gold. Even if he doesn’t have feelings for you - which he probably does - you’re the perfect little campaign accessory.” 

Her lips twitched, and her eyes narrowed. His words hit too close to her heart, and it nicked something inside her. She could feel her emotions start to bleed out, mixing with poison, and she took a slow breath, hoping he didn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Now you’re just being a jerk. I don’t even know how you come up with these dumb ideas.”

“Yeah? A dumb idea?” His anger spiked and he glared at her, his eyes dark. “Any idiot can see this for what it is, Shirayuki.” He reached up and adjusted the cuff on his ear, as if worried the spell would wear off and she could see his tell. “At least I’m not the one wasting her brilliant life by being a white savior to the poor fae.”

Shirayuki stepped back, feeling a bit like she’d been slapped. Her ears burned with the force of his words and she wasn’t even sure if she heard him right. Obi couldn’t… couldn’t really think that. Could he? His words cut deep, and a tear roll down her cheek before she could stop it. She rubbed the heel of her hand over the trail, blinking and swallowing his words as if they were poison. “Is that… is that what you really think? That I’m just in this to try and save you? From what?”

“Why else would you be here? You have a million other opportunities outside of this hellhole.”

“I’m here because it’s the right thing to do. Because this neighborhood needs help and care just like the rest of the city.” She glared at him, feeling another tear roll over her cheek. She wiped it away and glared at him. “Because I care about you.”  

Obi winced and turned away from her, clenching his fist at his side. There was a long stretch of silence and she started for the door, ignoring the mess he’d left in his wake. Shirayuki wanted to chase after him, to demand he apologize, but she didn’t. She just stood there hoping that maybe he’d realize what he’d done before he crossed the threshold of the house. 

He didn’t. 

“Look, I’ve got to get to work, and Yuzuri is waiting for you in the lobby. Go home.” Pause. “Or, better yet, go back to your socialite not-boyfriend and leave.” It was a command for her, a warning that he was upset and angry and hurt, but like her. They had both said things that had a painful amount of truth, and Shirayuki was left guard her suddenly tender heart. Without another word, he disappeared into the entrance, but Shirayuki didn’t follow. She knew better than to chase him when they were both mad. 

And right now, they were both furious. 

[purplecloaks]

Custom Made, Part Fifty-Six

Bjorn x OC, Ubbe x OC, Hvitserk x OC, Ivar x OC

Everything tag: @squirrelacorngliterfarts @kawennote09

Custom made tag: @kingbouji3 @maybe-a-winchester @sdcyumyum

           “Ivar, Ingrid, and Hvitserk Lothbrok. Why did you not return to Kattegat?” King Harald says when we join him in his Great Hall. Hvitserk and I sit at one of the tables and Ivar stands in front of Harald to talk.

           “You don’t need the seer to know that Ubbe and I fell out. We disagreed about many things. But in the end, Hvitserk agreed with me, and Ubbe sailed alone to Kattegat. And that is why we’re here.” Ivar says.

           “A good choice. A good choice. Surely you all remember Astrid? She is my queen now.” Harald says.

           “I am happy for both of you.” Ivar says.

           “Oh, thank you, Ivar.” Astrid says.

           “So, do I understand that you and your warriors will support me when I attack Kattegat?” Harald asks.

           “Straight to it. I like it. Yes, we will.” Ivar says.

           “But only if Ivar is made king.” Hvitserk says. Ivar looks at Hvitserk like he did something wrong. I hold Hvitserk’s hand.

           “You know that I have my own plans for that kingdom.” Harald says.

           “Of course, of course. And that is why we are here. And what I think my dear brother is trying to say is that, in the long term, what is to stop you from ruling Kattegat when I am dead and gone? How long can that be?” Ivar says. I shift uncomfortably. “I’m not a healthy person. I’m a cripple.”

           “Ivar.” I say softly. He waves me off. Hvitserk rubs my arm.

           “But your brother Hvitserk?” Harald says.

           “All that matters to the both of us is to reclaim the kingdom that was torn from us by that murderous bitch, Lagertha. We want to be in an alliance with you, to make that happen. And soon.” Ivar says.

           “You have a prisoner. I have heard of this man. Where is he?” Harald says.

           “Bring the Christian!” Ivar shouts. Two men bring in Heahmund. “On his knees.” They force him to fall onto his hands and knees. “Bishop Heahmund.” Ivar smacks him with his crutch.

           “What’s the point of him? Why don’t you just kill him?” Harald asks.

           “Because he is a great warrior. I’ve seen how he fights with my own eyes. And I admire great warriors.” Ivar says.

           “He will fight for us?” Harald asks.

           “Maybe. If he doesn’t want to get crucified.” Ivar says.

           We all laugh.

           “The Lord rules me: I shall want for nothing.” Heahmund starts. Ivar grabs the back of his head to silence him.

           “No, no, no. Let him continue.” Harald says.

           “And He has set me in a place of good pasture. And fed me by the water’s shore. He led me over the ways of righteousness for His name. Yet I now go in the midst of the shadow of death,  I fear no evil, for You are with me, Lord. Your rod and Your staff have comforted me.” Heahmund says.

           “What did he say?” Harald asks.

           “Ah, he is praying to his god.” Ivar says.

           “A fat lot of good that will do him!” Harald says.

           We all laugh.

           Later, Ivar and I walk through the town. He takes out the Bishop’s sword and cuts a shark in half.

           “That’s a fine sword.” Harald says from a little ways away.

           “It is the Bishop’s sword. He must have paid the dwarves a great deal to make it because it is a magical sword. The metal is much stronger than ours. I saw him kill many men with it. And yet, never blunted, but continued to bite. And now, it’s mine.” Ivar says.

           “To have such a sword gives you great advantage. Think of Odin’s spear.” Harald says.

           “And now think of Ivar’s sword.” Ivar says. I giggle. We start walking again.

           “What is it you really want, Ivar Lothbrok? Hmm?” Harald asks.

           “Revenge. I dream of the many ways that I can make Lagertha suffer before I kill her. I want revenge because…because she killed my beautiful mother.” Ivar says.

           “What of the kingdom? What of Kattegat?” Harald says.

           “It is not so important to me.” Ivar says.

           “But surely your brother will…” Harald starts.

           “I said, it is not so important to me. What is it about the word ‘king’ that makes even reasonable people behave like idiots, huh?” Ivar says. He turns and walks away. I quickly follow. “A, how is married life? You are married to Astrid, Lagertha’s lover. I hope she’s worth it.” Ivar says before we get too far away.

           “Love can we speak?” I ask.

           “Of course.” He smiles at me. “What is it?”

           “Do you really think you will not live long?” I ask.

           “Eh, I don’t know. Only the gods know.” He says.

           “I didn’t like it when you said that.” I say.

           “I’m sorry.” Ivar kisses my forehead.

           “What of our children? They will never rule Kattegat?” I say.

           “Who knows.” He says mischievously.

           Later we are in Bishop Heahmund’s prison cell again.

           “There is going to be a war. A war that will make me the King of Kattegat, my father’s kingdom. A war against the usurper, Ragnar’s first wife, Lagertha, who killed my mother in order to be Queen. And, of course, a war between brothers.” Ivar says. I shift uneasily at that. “Bishop, you have a choice. Fight alongside me, or I will kill you.”

           “What are your wars to me?” Heahmund asks.

           “A way of staying alive.” Ivar says.

           “I’m not afraid to die for my faith.” Heahmund says.

           “But you are not being asked to do that. I am not asking you to renounce your faith or to fight against Christians. All I’m asking you is to kill more of those you call heathens.” Ivar says.

           “Why do you offer me this choice?” Heahmund asks.

           “Because I am jealous of you. I would like to be like you. Strong and whole. A great warrior. That is why I saved you. And that is why I want you to fight alongside me.” Ivar says. I wrap my arms around him.

           “My love.” I whisper.

           “Shh…it’s okay.” Ivar says.

           I’m sitting with Ivar outside when Hvitserk comes up to us. He hugs me from behind and I cup his cheek.

           “Will he fight with us?” Hvitserk asks.

           “I have really no idea.” Ivar says.

           “You didn’t discuss with me the arrangement you made with King Harald.” Hvitserk says.

           “What arrangement?” Ivar asks.

           “That you would be king, but that afterwards the crown would pass down to him first, and not to me.” Hvitserk says.

           “That is because, Hvitserk, it is not really an arrangement. It is just words, huh?” Ivar says. He pours Hvitserk a drink and Hvitty takes it. “Who is to say that he will not try to kill me? Or that I might try to kill him? Or that you might try to kill the both of us, for that matter?”

           “Then why even pretend there is an arrangement?” Hvitserk asks.

           “It suits everyone. For the moment. But then again, everything can also change in a moment. Right?” Ivar says.

           “I don’t know, Ivar. I wish I could believe you. I wish I knew who you really were.” Hvitserk says. He starts to walk away.

           “Ah, you know who I really am, Hvitserk. I’m your crippled brother. You used to pull me on a sledge through the streets of Kattegat. Remember? Nothing has really changed except though were only childish games.” Ivar says.

           “What is it you really want, Ivar?” Hvitserk asks.

           “I want to be the most famous man who ever lived.” Ivar says.

           “Even greater than Father?” Hvitserk asks.

           “Much greater than Father. In time, the name of Ragnar Lothbrok will fade and be forgotten. No one will ever forget Ivar the Boneless.” Ivar says.

           “Am I to be your Queen?” I ask when Hvitserk leaves.

           “Of course. You will always be my Queen, Ingrid.” Ivar kisses me.

           Later that night, we are all in the Great Hall, feasting. Hvitserk stands up.

           “To the overthrow of the witch, Lagertha, and to the liberation of Kattegat!” He yells.

           Everyone cheers.

           “Skol!” Harald raises his cup.

           “So, when do we attack?” Ivar asks after everyone is settled.

           “I will summon my jarls. And my ships still need to be repaired and made ready, as do yours. But when all this is done, we should have a fleet of at least 70 ships.” Harald says.

           “There’s a full moon tonight. Let us say that we will attack in two moons’ time.” Ivar says.

           “I agree.” Harald says.

           “Skol.” Ivar says.

           “Skol.” Harald says.

           “It will be strange for you to return to Kattegat as a queen.” Harald says to Astrid. “Skol.” They clink their cups together. Harald stands up. “And here is to our sacred agreement! Which if any man breaks, he will deserve to die! Skol!” He starts singing.

           I lean into Ivar. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

           “Calm, my love.” He kisses my cheek.

           I sit with Ivar outside while he is eating. They bring Heahmund to us. Everyone’s shouting at him. I feel bad for him even if he is Christian.

           Ivar shushes everyone. “Now we decide whether you’ll fight with us, or whether I kill you.” He picks up a knife and points it towards Heahmund. “Nothing is keeping you alive but me.”

           “Why don’t you give me the knife?” Heahmund asks.

           My heart stutters.

           Ivar hands him the knife. Heahmund takes it. He turns towards the crowd with it pointed at himself.

           “Die!” A man screams in Heahmund’s face. “Are you afraid? Do it. Coward.”

           Heahmund grabs the man and stabs him in the neck with the knife. He spits on him. He throws the knife on the body.

           Ivar laughs. “I think he will fight with us!” Everyone cheers.

[feynites]

Works in Progress

Tagged by @fadedforyou, I have some of the next part of LG I’m finally feeling confident in - so here, take the WIP offering. Consider it a preview of the long-overdue next chapter!

Tagging - whoever has some WIP’s they’d like to tease.

The dwarves lead them away from the hunters’ camp. They prompt their party to bunch together, and bind their wrists with shackles she can recognize as lyrium-laced. Pride and Curiosity aren’t entirely surprised by this development, but Thenvunin gasps outright and goes ashen-faced, and Uthvir looks like they’re going to be sick to their stomach.

After a moment’s consideration, the dwarves settle for looping a chain around Banathim’s neck, and seem to take her for some kind of pet. The bear obligingly keeps silent. She thinks she detects a note of dark amusement glittering in her eyes, before she turns away.

Haninan keeps close, though not conspicuously. It’s rough going through the terrain in the dark. The dwarves move strange-looking visors over their eyes, and seem to see well enough. But the rest of them are left stumbling as they cross out of the range of the camp, and into the tangled wilds beyond. Only Uthvir and Banathim seem relatively unbothered. Banathim, she supposes, is using some hunter’s spell or another to see.

Uthvir is more of a mystery. Though, she can admit, she has a fair few questions about their nature, now.

She thinks of their fight in the Fade, and shudders, and wonders if it’s really a curse or a blessing that they’ve been interrupted before any further confrontation can happen between them. Her feet stumble across roots and twisting vines, and the hunter feels perilously close by as they dwarves make them walk, and walk, and walk. Past blooming night flowers, and the drifting motes of wisps and fireflies, before the trees begin to thin.

The wind whips through the surrounding foliage with increasing force, as the greenery thins enough that the multitude of trees are no longer blocking it. Bit by bit the sprawling jungle is once again replaced with rockier ground, and the view of the sky becomes clearer; until finally the dwarves push them out onto the edges of broad, flat expanse of barren terrain.

She stares for a moment.

The ground is an empty stretch, all the way up towards the furthering peaks of the mountainous landscape. A dwarven door stands in the distance. But ahead of it, someone has set up some kind of outpost and campsite. Stone pillars that look hastily erected support canvases and tarps that struggle to block the wind, as moonlight filters down from where the dark clouds range overhead. Passing across its face, and scattering light over the windswept plateau.

The fate of the other hunters is revealed as their escort urges them none-too-gently closer. Haninan tuts and the dwarf who seems to be in charge glowers, and they are prompted over towards the main section of the outpost.  The other hunters are already there. Bound similarly, a few of them injured but none too badly, by the looks of it. The light from their lyrium cuffs casts eerie shadows across their features.

The dwarves shove them all into the group, keeping their prisoners clustered together. She nearly topples into one of the hunters before Haninan reaches out and catches her elbow, and steadies her a little bit.

Banathim’s chain is tied to a nearby pillar, but the bear is otherwise left with the greatest range of mobility.

“These dwarves speak,” one of the hunters hisses to them, wide-eyed and disquieted.

“Yes, we know,” Uthvir snaps back at him.

He subsides almost immediately, and the red hunter all but radiates tension as they settle into their little part of the ‘prison section’. Again, Haninan looks at them, and while he’s not broadcasting his emotions the way that elves are, she can read the disquiet on his face pretty easily.

“Watch that one,” he tells Hildur, and the dwarven woman in charge; though she gets the impression that he might also be trying to address herself, Pride, and Curiosity, too.

Yeah, thanks, kind of stumbled into that realization already, she thinks.

“They that are them will be kept. No speaking,” the dwarven leader announces. “When doorways shut be open in more, down we go.”

Thenvunin clears his throat.

Oh no, she thinks.

“Who. Taught. You. Speaking?” he asks, very slowly, in a manner that reminds her painfully of how some nobles would address their elven servants. Particularly the ones who insisted that their mabari’s intelligence ranked higher than an elf’s. “Where. Is. Elf. That. Did. This?”

“No speaking!” the dwarven leader snaps at him.

Thenvunin frowns, and somehow manages to look even more disquieted than before as the dwarves set up a silent vigil around them. They look stony, and unyielding.

It’s cold and dark and uncomfortable, with nothing to soften the space between them and the rocky ground. The wind howls. Haninan gives them one last look before he and Hildur are summoned off by the dwarven leader, who leads the pair to a different part of the outpost. Some place easier to confer, she supposes. Banathim wanders, a bit. Testing the length of her chain, and drawing close to a few guards. That is, until they level weapons towards her. Then the ‘bear’ backs off.

She glances towards Pride and Curiosity, and the three of them share a moment of unspoken understanding. It would be just fantastic if they could actually talk about this. But the dwarves speak dwarven, and the elves speak elven, and there are parties they wouldn’t want to be overheard by in both camps, and she doesn’t suppose that suddenly breaking out common would garner a good reaction. And only Curiosity would understand any of that, really. Poor Pride would still be left in the dark.

Plus, the dwarves might object, of course.

“I do not understand,” Thenvunin says, softly.

“Oh, right,” Curiosity whispers, and then reaches over with her bound hands and pokes at his shoulder. “Dwarves are people,” she tells him.

One of said people moves and raises their weapon in warning, and the group obligingly falls silent again. Pride nudges Curiosity until she’s sitting a little close to them, and a little further from the hunters. The stones they’re on are still damp from the recent storms, and after a while, that damp begins to seep into their clothing. Along with the stray currents of the wind.

She wonders what Haninan is thinking, as bit by bit she and Pride and Curiosity and, well, Ghilashim, huddle closer to one another, and the hunters band together; and Uthvir remains alone at the front of the group, with Thenvunin more or less beside them.

Banathim lets out a huff, after a few moments, before settling down as well.

Things fall into a lull after a while. Not enough so that anyone can actually sleep. Not under the circumstances. But enough so that most everyone has fallen into a resigned, drowsy sort of state by the time the first few hints of dawn begin to make themselves known. She and her group are all leaning into one another’s warmth, and Thenvunin has slumped into what looks like a meditative pose, and Uthvir is sitting in the same rigid position that they’ve been in since the dwarves dragged them here.

So it’s really something of a shock when Banathim leans over, negligently snaps the chain around her neck, and then surges forward and tears through the dwarven guards as if they’re made of wet tissue paper.

The nearest dwarf never sees her coming. There is just a rush of movement, and then he no longer has a head on his shoulders. His companion turns, as shocked as anyone, but he doesn’t get a cry out before Banathim’s jaws stretch horrifyingly wide, and she closes her entire mouth around his helm, and wrenches his head off of him, too. Blood flies through the air, and the bodies slump. The third dwarf tries to shout, but there’s a barrier, she realizes. A barrier that’s been steadily growing and growing around the little circle where they were put, and it eats the sound as Banathim’s claws rip into his armour, and turns the cry of alarm into a pained scream instead.

She’s on her feet, then. On her feet, and not even sure what she’s going to be doing, but the dwarves have weapons on them and clearly – the ‘sit and wait it out’ situation has just taken a dramatic turn.

The remaining guards attempt to flee, but Banathim is quicker. And bigger, too. The bear’s bloodied jaws snap as she grasps one guard and uses them as a weapon to bludgeon the other, knocking both off of their feet and into a painful tangle of limbs, before falling onto them. As their cries are swallowed up by the faintly-shimmering wards around them, she sees an opportunity and lunges for one of the dwarves’ fallen swords. Her bound hands close around the hilt, and she lifts it, and turns, and swiftly sets about using it to cut through the bindings on Pride’s wrists. They’re heavy, but they crack with a firm enough blow; strong enough to leave bruises, but better the bruises than the chains, really.

Curiosity goes next, as Thenvunin catches on and makes a grab for another of the swords.

Uthvir stands up, and calmly breaks their bindings with a dark flash of what looks like blood magic, to her eye. Then they move to pick up the weapon that Thenvunin is reaching for, and haul him up to his feet alongside them instead.

Banathim is… still… attacking the dwarves.

She glances out of the corner of her eye, and stills for a moment as she sees a lot of red, and the bear’s jaws working against dwarves who are most definitely not alive; cracking open their armour like it’s the shell of some over-sized crab, and…

She moves hastily in front of Ghilashim and Curiosity, blocking their view.

“Do not look,” she says.

“Banathim!” Thenvunin snaps, appalled. “Uthvir, that is too much – stop her!” his voice wavers, sounds ashen and horrified, but the red hunter only shakes their head.

A moment later, the sounds of snapping bones do stop, though.

“Such delicate constitutions,” Banathim drawls.

Blood and gore drip from her jaws, as her fur ripples. Her eyes gleam.

Oh no, she thinks, as a dark recognition sparks in her; and a moment later the great bear shifts shapes. A dark-haired woman takes form; tall and regal and vicious in her bearing. And familiar, chillingly familiar. There is blood on her jaw and a bear fur mantle thrown across her shoulders. A smirk, curling her lips, as she takes in their collective shock.

Andruil.

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “They Lived”

Rating: T (which feels awful and weird and where is the smut? Hint: I’m saving it for other projects.)

A/N: This is 1.2k of pure wedding fluff, because I wanted them to have a little more fun at their reception this time.

When the dust all settles, including that of Mr. Gold’s late, evil fairy of a mother, they call a do-over on the wedding. The nuptials stand, but other than a single dance, Emma and Killian never got to have a reception, so they try it again with less chance of interruptions.

 Since the weather decides to cooperate, they once again set up on the rooftop overlooking the clock tower, and at 6:01pm, two days after everything has gone back to normal, Leroy is given the honor of announcing.

 He's not given a microphone, but everyone can still hear him easily enough as he says, “They’re here! The bride and groom are here!” And to an equal amount of applause and laughter, Emma and Killian emerge from the stairwell, hand in hand, with matching smiles. “Now announcing, the newlyweds!”

To clapping and whistles and cheers, they make their way back to the little stage to address the crowd.

 “We want to thank you all for coming back since we really didn't think we got enough of a party the last time,” Emma says. “More than just having this as a celebration for us, though, we want it to be a celebration of Storybrooke. So please, eat, drink, dance, and let's all enjoy our happy living.”

 “Thank you, everyone,” Killian adds, “enjoy!”

 They step down, moving to the middle of the rooftop as several of the dwarves angle spotlights on their position. With the help of a little magic and a decent set of speakers, a slow song clicks on from the jukebox. It’s something timeless, full of the love and happiness they’re finally able to feel without the looming threat of a curse hanging over their heads. Emma grins at Killian as they come together in a loose hold for their second official dance as a married couple.

 It's much less extravagant than their first waltz, and there's no singing involved this time, but they still reflect their happiness back at each other as they slowly sway in the light.

 Killian takes a moment to gaze at his wife, with the rest of the crowd fading away from around them. They left the veil at home, and Killian suspects the lace jacket will only last for a portion of their evening. Instead of the carefully styled up-do she wore the first time, her hair is pinned up with just a few stray strands left curling around either side of her face. He reaches up to tuck one of those behind her ear, his fingers grazing over the simple pearl in her ear, and lets his thumb trail down the side of her neck until the collar of the lace.

 If possible, Emma’s expression softens further, and her arms wind around his neck to bring them closer together. It’s with this new proximity that he can hear Emma humming the song under her breath, and he’s almost positive she could’ve been a siren in some other life, and he knows he would’ve always been powerless to steer away from her.

 “What’s that look?” she asks quietly, her skirts rustling softly as their feet barely move.

 “Just enjoying gazing at my beautiful, brilliant wife, is all,” he says just as softly.

 “Well then, gaze away. I’ll just stare at my incredible husband while you’re doing that.” She presses her lips together before pulling him to meet her for a kiss. “Wanna know something great?” She asks it as the first song is ending, and he’s still only vaguely aware of the other couples edging onto the dance area around them.

 “Of course I do, love. What is it?”

 A new song starts playing, this one just slightly more up-beat, but still they sway in the center of all the other people, embracing more than traditionally dancing.

 Her voice lowers further, as if she’s sharing some conspiratorial wisdom that no one else should ever learn, but only two words leave her lips when she finally speaks again. “We lived.”

 Killian lets those two syllables sink in, letting them swirl around his brain and whispers them back to her as it fully settles into his bones. They’ve both technically died, at this point, although his stuck a little longer. But through curses and battles and realms, through years and miles and against every odd they never thought they’d encounter, they’re still standing here together.

 The words escape him once more, breathed back to her reverently and with every ounce of gratitude he can pour into them, before he bends to kiss her again. This one is just a tad harder, with a sudden hunger to deepen it rolling through him before he pushes it to the back of his mind. There will be plenty of time for that later. Henry has already informed them that he plans to stay with Regina tonight. And Emma has agreed to magic the locks so that no one will be able to barge in until they say so.

 “Save some of that for later, mister,” Emma tells him, her voice holding just the right amount of salaciousness for him to get her full meaning, and he chuckles as he places a kiss on her forehead.

 “As you wish, my love.”

 As the evening continues, they circulate with everyone else, with David twirling Emma around as she laughs, and Snow dancing with Henry. Killian manages to ply Regina for a dance with a generous wiggle of his eyebrows. She scoffs, even as she smiles and takes his hand and lets him lead her out towards the festivities. When Henry politely cuts in for the next song, Killian gives him a small bow and a companionable hand on the shoulder as he wanders to steal his wife away again. He gathers that they’ve both managed to dance with most, if not all, of the other guests.

 The sun has long since set, and while he was right that the lace top got discarded at some point during their dancing, he also sees a slight shiver run through Emma as she stands off to the side talking to her mother. Without breaking his stride, Killian shrugs out of his velvet jacket and slips it over Emma’s shoulders as he moves to stand next to her.

 Snow frames her daughter’s face for just a moment, smiling at her with tears in both of their eyes, before she informs them she’s off to dance with her own husband as they get closer to the last dance of the night.

 Instead of moving him back to the middle of the dance floor, Emma once again loops her arms around Killian’s neck and chooses to just dance where they are, off to the side.

 “Dad has promised to take care of the station for the next two days,” Emma tells him. “Which means you and I have nowhere to be for at least forty-eight hours, and Henry not coming back until tomorrow at dinner.”

 “Will we make pancakes in the morning?” he asks, his eyebrow quirking up as he splays his hand across her back.

 With a look in her eyes that says their time at the party is quickly dwindling, Emma looks him straight on as she tells him, “To hell with the pancakes.”

[seasannaisling]

Rewatching Disney Animations (1)

okay so i'm watching Snow White and i already have SO many problems with this. if you're interested everything will be below the image & i will also be tagging this as /spoilers.

so starting off we have the book part—there's no narrator to read what's on the screen. the text on screen is in a ridiculous font that i can barely read. they definitely could have used a narrator.

next we move onto the opening scene. the water doesn't look like water and it made me kinda queasy. though that's just me nitpicking. the camera fades into the castle where we meet the "Evil Queen".

EQ is standing in front of her mirror and summons the soul that is, in fact, canonically imprisoned within it. she asks the usual "Who is the fairest of them all" drama, and is shocked when the mirror says, "Snow White."

instead of giving us time to digest this with EQ, we IMMEDIATELY cut to Snow White, who is dressed in rags and cleaning the steps with birds around her. it's very apparent that this girl can't be much more than 12 or 13 years of age.

her voice (which i personally find fairly grating) is quite high and we are taken into the first song of the movie. she's singing to birds. Snow is minding her own business when the movie's Prince shows up and sneaks up on her.

the prince (who from this point onward will be PC, for Prince Creep) starts to sing along and we immediately are hit by his very adult voice. he is AT LEAST 20, probably more.

Snow (understandably) runs away from PC, who calls after and tries to follow her. he begins singing again, as if that will coax her out. this is a classic case of an older man enticing a young girl with things such as sweets.

it works. Snow comes out to watch him from the balcony, and PC approaches on the stairs. we see EQ again, and she is furious.

EQ orders the Huntsman to kill Snow, stating to bring back her heart. this is a grown woman ordering the death of a little girl. he almost does it, but can't.

he warns Snow and tells her to run. she does so,getting attacked by trees. she is scared out of her mind. this is a LITTLE GIRL. alone in a forest, terrified because her guardian ordered her death.

Snow collapses and sobs, because everything is far too much. the animals attempt to comfort her. the birds convince her to sing because, when things go wrong! you should sing, right??

this poor little girl has only the animals as her friends. oh, and she pets bambi! that's nice. they then take her to the Dwarves' cottage, because they like her. little girls and animals, huh?

"oh, it's adorable! just like a doll's house!"

she is barely twice the height of a baby deer. what the heck.

oh, look, now she's breaking and entering. Snow, kiddo, that's illegal. she assumes that seven children live there. she gasps at the mess and cleans it up. yet another song. this is at least the 3rd song.

whistle while you work! the animals do basically everything while she sings. squirrels are apparently extra good at removing cobwebs.

the poor deer becomes a clothing hanger. the turtle is a washboard. fade to black and, oh my! we're meeting the dwarves who immediately go into another song.

poor dopey has already been smacked. he's doing his best please let him be. aaand they're going home. this isn't going to end well.

snow and her gaggle of animal pals are still snooping around the cottage. this turtle and chipmunk are the best duo though.

all the animals and snow fall asleep until they hear the dwarves. the animals run to hide. the dwarves are upset to see someone broke in.

doc has a speech impedement, which is very interesting. especially for such an early disney film. though it's meant to be a joke.

the birds are playing a prank now. cruel. this is the dwarves' HOME, ya nasties.

wow, so cruel to dopey.

poor dwarf can't even speak.

dopey enters the bedroom where Snow is sleeping soundly, only to be terrified. they decide to kill it while it's asleep, unaware that "it" is a little girl.

they're about to strike when they realize it's a GIRL. grumpy wakes her up. she proceeds to guess who everyone is and then introduces herself.

grumpy tries warning everyone. they all decide that Snow can stay because she can cook. they all freak out over the soup.

Snow acts like a strict mother. yikies. still adore Dopey and Grumpy though. "hEh. WoMeN." they all are in love with Snow.

well they're bathing now. oh no they're scheming. here goes. pretty sure this is assault. and the soap went down dopey's throat.

sUpPeR!!

oh no, here we are with the queen again. mirror is a bitch. now EQ knows and she's SCHEMIN'. gotta say this is one of the coolest scenes in the movie. the magic and transformation is wildly impressive.

THE POISON APPLE! honestly such an iconic movie staple.

the dwarves are singing for Snow, now. holy crap dopey is in an incredible drummer. Snow kicked the cymbal, wholesome. she's like their daughter now.

oh hey, the animals are watching. this is a nice, cute scene. everyone can dance and play an instrument. this is actually really nice!

aaand sneezy launched dopey onto the ceiling.

SNOW STOP THAT YOU MET HIM ONCE, AND HE'S AT LEAST 8 YEARS OLDER THAN YOU. PLEASE QUIT THIS. fuck, i'm with Grumpy.

she's gonna sing em to sleep. holy shit. i mean me too. dopey is a cutie— oh my god, she's praying. well that's not alienating at all.

OH NO DOPEY HAS NIGHT TERRORS HOW HAVE I NEVER NOTICED THAT BEFORE??

fade to black and and we're back with EQ. all this to be the prettiest. oh man. just her shrieking "BURIED ALIVE" will be engrained in my brain for eternity.

APPLE DELIVERY!! apples for Snow White!! Princess Snow?? i got you some APPLES!! want some APPLES?? promise they're not POISON or anything.

mAkIn pIeS??!

animals out here bein scared. oh hey they're attacking EQ. aaand Snow stopped them. Snow they were TRYING TO PROTECT YOU.

man EQ really wants to kill this 12 year old girl. and the animals are trying to warn the dwarves. they aren't listening. oh hey Grumpy to the rescue. ho boy

the switches between creepy quiet and intense music is giving me whiplash.

Snow is officially dead. EQ is fleeing. the dwarves are about to become murderers, holy shit. EQ just fell to her death. holy shit.

FUNERAL TIME! the dwarves are in mourning. so are the animals. everyone is sad. it's raining.

oh good, more words on the screen with no narration—and here comes PC! guess consent isn't a thing here, i guess. not that Snow is even past the age of consent. plus PC is an adult and she's a kid— ah, jeez, she's awake.

everyone is having a grand old time— WAIT WHAT? YOU'RE LEAVING WITH THE PRINCE YOU'VE ONLY MET TWICE? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING—

oh, great. a golden castle. and it's over. wonderful.

well i can safely say that that was not as bad as i expected. there's a lot of problems but it's still enjoyable. but i'd stick with some of the other movies. all i got was "Run away from your problems" and "Don't eat fruit from random strangers."

if any of you feel like watching it and giving your opinion of the movie, you can watch it here. this was long, hah.

[scurvgirl]

Queen of the Stone, Part 6

Read on AO3,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

She has been a Grey Warden for eleven years, and the taint is beginning to consume her. She needs to find a cure soon. So Elodie Amell sets out in search and finds herself in the city thought long-lost, Kal-Sharok. There she discovers something much bigger than just a cure for the taint running through her body.

A companion story to my other story, In Your Gaze I Wish to Stay, but this can be read separately!

First Light

Elodie makes her way back to Denerim and to Alistair. A note - Katra is my Hawke, she romanced Fenris, she's been staying at Skyhold helping the Inquisitor (Miriel Lavellan).

The final installment!

A month later and she made it to Skyhold, dirty and exhausted but still riding her high of relief. She greeted Fiona with a broad smile, breaking down in tears on how she had been released from the taint and how she could finally move forward with her life. The woman held her close, her own eyes turning glassy and wet. Elodie didn’t know if they had been freed of the taint in the same way, but she was the only person (so far) who truly understood what this meant.

Freedom. The truest taste of freedom she had ever had.

Fiona smiled kindly back and wished her well, eyes gleaming brightly.

Unfortunately Inquisitor Lavellan was not at Skyhold, she had ironically descended down to the Deep Roads to answer Orzammar’s call for help about devastating earthquakes. But it was no matter, Elodie stayed with an amazingly pregnant Katra Hawke and they rested against each other, both basking in the futures that awaited them. Elodie told Katra she should name the baby after her, which made Fenris scowl with a firm “no.”

She spent the next week with Dagna, reporting most everything. She explained her interactions with the Titan and left out Kal-Sharok and the precise location. Dagna seemed completely preoccupied with the rest of the tale to really notice those peculiars. Elodie told her about the part with the elven woman reaching her hand out with blood magic, the lyrium turning red and the Titan being forced to her will. Elodie told Dagna what the Titan said and the spirits that had buoyed up the Veil, veritably isolating the Titan from the dwarves.

Dagna’s eyes lit up as she took it all down, scribbling madly. They wound up in a long magical theories discussion on all the potential implications of this. The Blight, lyrium, blood magic, the Titans, Stone, the Fade.

The conversation lasted for days, until Elodie was sure that Dagna had all the necessary pieces to begin her own speculation and research. And as tempting as it was to show Dagna the cutting of the Titan, she knew better. Some things…some things had to remain secret until it was their time to be revealed. So she kept the box close and sealed, shielded in her own magic.

She wound up staying two weeks, delivering her information and tales to those it would best serve. She kept the robes and other trinkets away from prying eyes, however, doing her best to keep her word to keep Kal-Sharok’s secrets. Not that it was easy, Skyhold was full of people, nosy people at that.

The new Spymaster, in particular, was the nosiest sort. But a sort she was undoubtedly familiar with.

“Zevran Arainai! Exactly how did you manage to take over as Spymaster?” She asked, hugging her old friend close. He chuckled and patted her back.

“Ah, if I gave away my secrets I would not be a very good spymaster, no?”

“Pish! What are secrets between old friends?”

“Old? Oh you wound me!” He teased, guiding her to his office, er…roost? It was in an alcove above the library of which Dorian haunted. He smiled at Elodie in passing, quickly getting distracted by his book on antique spell weaving patterns.

“Now what is all this business of you no longer being a Grey Warden?” He asked, leaning back in a chair. He looked good, rested, his hair was longer and there were lines at the edges of his eyes, but the whole “aged” part of his look only seemed to enhance his handsomeness.

Elodie grinned, “I am no longer a Grey Warden, it is true. And soon, neither will Alistair.”

Zevran chuckled again, not seeming the least bit surprised.

“You were never one to simply let things lie.”

“Certainly not, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He laughed more freely and they fell back into a long conversation, catching each other up on what’s happened in their lives. He regaled her with tales of hunting the Crows and ending up in the service of the Inquisition. She told him of the Deep Roads, of her investigations, and her plans, of which he whole heartedly supported.

She spent her remaining days in Skyhold with Zev and Katra, bouncing between the two with only a few appearances to Josephine. She was going to enjoy her time with friends rarely seen, particularly Zevran who had dropped off the map about a year ago.

It was odd in a sense, to see Zevran like this, to be like this herself. Older, wiser, in these positions of great power. Shit, Leliana was now Divine and Alistair King of Ferelden. Maker knew where Morrigan was, but she had been in the Orlesian court. Elodie could scarcely believe it, they barely had it together while facing the Blight and now…now they were some of the most influential people in Thedas.

As she saddled the Nugalope in preparation to leave for Denerim, Zevran promised to send gifts of her most likely impending pregnancy. She smacked his arm lightly, badgering him not to jinx it. They wished each other luck in their endeavors and then she was off, heading back to Denerim on the plump Nugalope, Daffodil, with a securely fastened box of a cutting of a Titan.

It was another month before she reached Denerim and all the tension left her body as she guided Daffodil into the city and to the palace. She had sent a raven at Skyhold to the palace, informing Alistair of her imminent return but she…she was actually here now. Standing before the palace gates, taint free and ready to great the future.

The gates were opened quickly, the guards immediately welcoming her home from her journeys. They eyed Daffodil warily but the horse master seemed unsurprised by the newest addition to his stables. Her things were taken off Daffodil, a servant by the name of Riari hurrying them into the palace while Elodie strode to the back of the palace, to the gardens where the king of Ferelden was sparring with his son.

Their son.

Duncan, now seven and a half, lunged and parried with his father, blonde hair bright in the sun. There was laughter and an ease in the boy learning how to fight. And she couldn’t feel them. There was no tether she felt to Alistair other than the love in her body, there was no odd hum she felt with Duncan – the darkness was gone, leaving only the love.

Elodie closed her eyes for the briefest moment, reveling in it, before stepping into the light.

“You’ve improved a great deal, little one,” she said. Both Alistair and Duncan dropped their practice swords and turned to Elodie, their faces in the same awe struck expression.

“Mum!” Duncan yelled, running towards her. Elodie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the boy, holding him tightly to her. Her eyes squinched closed, heart burning with relief and happiness to have her son back in her arms.

Alistair rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around them both, all of them creating a heap of smelly, sweaty bodies, happy tears streaming down dirt streaked faces.

“You’re home – I did not…I saw the letter but it was almost too much to hope –

“I will always come back,” she whispered. Alistair shivered and leaned heavily on her, a welcome weight that reminded her how far she had come.

But suddenly he pulled back, eyes wide in an incredulous expression.

“I don’t…but you’re…Elodie??!” His voice pitched.

She grinned, “I was successful, yes.” She didn’t want to go into detail with Duncan present but Alistair clearly understood, his face changing from awe to happiness to awe again. His eyes shut and she knew he was thanking the Maker for it, for whatever role the He had in this. Elodie closed her own and clutched Duncan to her.

Thank you.

**

As much as she wanted to continue to hold Duncan, Elodie was filthy. She had a bath drawn and sank into it with a long moan. The water was hot and prickling with bath salts she was certain that one of the castle staff had imported from Rivain. Bless them, she had missed such luxury. She lingered for a moment, simply enjoying it before setting to work. She scrubbed and scrubbed, removing all traces of the Deep Roads and the surface roads from her skin. She wanted to smell like a flower and a lady by the end of this.

The door creaked open as she dumped a small bucket of water over her head.

“It’s just me! I wanted to talk when I knew we wouldn’t be overheard,” Alistair announced and she nodded, rubbing the water and soap from her eyes. She pushed her hair back to smile at him while he took a seat by the tub. He had gained a bit more weight, most likely from stress eating, but he wore the weight well and he was as handsome as ever. Elodie leaned out of the tub and pressed a kiss to his lips, happy and savoring his touch.

“Right, talk,” she murmured, nipping at his lips. He chuckled and sighed in that adorable way of his before leaning back.

“Oh I know and trust me, tonight neither of us will be sleeping but we both need to get caught up on occurrences.” His face turned serious and she settled back into the tub.

“It is admittedly a long story, one that I will gladly expand upon when we have the proper time, but know that there is a cure for the taint. I don’t know if it is the same as the Blight, the thing that cured me seemed…like it was separate. But I have learned so much. Did you know that dragons are immune to the taint? Or at the very least, extremely resistant to it some way – they bypass it, the secret is their blood.”

Alistair’s eyes widened and he ran a hand through his hair, “Maker, that means –

“They could really be old Gods. That’s what I thought, but when I was down there, I…had visions…and I think the Archdemons may actually be neither. I think they are shapeshifters, like Flemeth.”

The weight of that realization fell upon him, making him slouch in his seat.

“We should inform the wardens at Weisshaupt,” he said and she didn’t know if she agreed with that. Yes, they should know of the real threat posed but…it would put Kal-Sharok at risk if the wardens discovered the Titan’s powers in this regard.

“We can decide that later, there is more. I was not cured by dragon blood, though I do think we can replicate the effects with dragon blood with proper study. I was cured by a Titan, that is how you will be cured too.”

“What is a Titan?”

As much as she wanted to wait until she wasn’t in water and turning into a pruny mess to tell him about it all, she launched into the story, telling him about Karega and her husband and the lyrium visions and the Titan and how the taint got started from blood magic being used on a Titan. She explained how the Titan essentially imbued her with pure lyrium energy to flush out the tainted lyrium energy. It rid her of the taint incurred by the blood magic because that Titan had never been touched by blood magic.

She was…purified. It was an odd thing, no doubt, but for some reason it worked. And the connection to lyrium was persistent, she could feel it humming to her whenever she got close to it. Like the taint but not.

Stone sense.

It made as much sense as the rest of her life and yet here she was, naked in a tub explaining her latest adventure to the love of her life.

“It gave me a piece of itself to plant in the deep roads at Kal-Hirol, but before I do that, it will purify you and Duncan. Freeing you from any taint circling in your veins. Alistair,” she reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling so broadly her cheeks hurt, “you will be free.”

Her heart felt full to burst as a soft smile spread across Alistair’s face. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you, so much, I…Maker, I am a lucky man.”

His old words made her chuckle and his lips cut that chuckle off with a sweet kiss. They would soon be free together, free to have a family and just…be. He was still a king, and there were responsibilities with that, but over the years they had figured it out. The Landsmeet had accepted their king and subsequent queen and mistress –

“Alistair, where is Anora?”

When he paused she knew. Her eyes shut and she sagged into Alistair. She loved Anora, not in any romantic sense, but she was Duncan’s mother, they all had a hand in raising the boy. They were a family, an odder one but…it worked.

“Her illness was too much for her, the healers said there was nothing they could do.”

Cost. There was always a cost to decisions, no matter how good and sound they were, cost was inevitable. Elodie could have been here, could have saved Anora…but then that would have cost Elodie her own life, Alistair’s…maybe even Duncan’s. The taint was not strong in him, barely there but it was present enough that it gave her pause and…. There was always a cost, and this time, Anora paid it.

“Maker guide her soul,” she whispered. She’d…organize another vigil, as mistress and court mage she felt like she had some sort of duty for this. Anora was more than a friend, they shared a son.

“This isn’t your fault, the healers said –

“The healers are not me,” she hissed.

“They still know things, Ellie.”

Tears eked out of her eyes and she buried her face further into his chest, “I should have –

“You were doing what you knew what was best.”

Cost. There was always a cost.

Elodie leaned back into the tub, elated and defeated and conflicted, mourning for Anora but so excited for the future her and Alistair could have.

Alistair informed her the rest of the events she had missed, how the Bannorn was already pushing for him to remarry even though he couldn’t bring himself to – not so soon after Anora’s death and with Elodie away.

She thanked him dearly for waiting, she would have to explain to the Bannorn that he did not need a wife to rule – that she had done her service as queen twice over, and had produced an heir, a healthy, flourishing heir. Alistair was king, but she knew that several of the Banns had daughters they wanted married off to the best suitors.

Alistair was officially a bachelor again and she knew just how desirable he was.

“If anyone is marrying you, it’s me,” she told him firmly. He raised a brow at her, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Now you want to marry me!”

“Oh hush you, I’m in mourning. Anora is – was – the mother of our son.” She cast a simple warming spell over the water and resumed cleaning herself, determined to still be clean and feminine after all the drudgery of the roads.

But Alistair just kissed her head and cheek, “She is missed. But I am so happy to have you home. And so is Duncan! He was terrified that he had lost both of his mothers.”

Elodie fell silent, staring into Alistair’s eyes. She didn’t need to tell him that if she hadn’t done what she did, Duncan very well would have lost her, she didn’t need to tell him that it was a calculated risk to go and find a cure. He knew.

He stroked her cheek then stood up, “I will leave you to the bath. I told Duncan I would be five minutes and I am sure I am over that time.” He bent down for another kiss, lingering for a moment.

After Alistair left she hurried through the rest of her bath, eager to be with Alistair and Duncan again. She emerged twenty minutes later, all wrinkly and smelling like flowers and spices, feeling like an Elodie Amell that is not dirty or tainted or in peril of any sort.  

She stood there for a long moment, just…savoring the freedom. Naked and wrinkly, water dripping down her back, the air cold against her body and she just – breathed.

She went from an unforgiving household with her birth family, thrown out on the street when her magic surfaced. She stumbled into the Chantry, cold, hungry, and filthy. The Circle was a warm, clean, gilded cage where she flourished…to a point. When First Enchanter Irving said that she should reign in her magic so the Templars wouldn’t get suspicious, she did. She held back. And then her Harrowing came and she didn’t think she’d have to hold back anymore. And then there was Jowan and getting recruited into the Grey Wardens and it seemed she got to taste freedom for five minutes before it was ripped away each time.

But now…it was going to be more than five minutes.

The robes she donned were a light blue with embossed white flowers. She dried her hair first with a towel then with a spell. She put her hair into a simple braid before making her way out of the room and down the hall to where Alistair and Duncan are eating dinner. So wondrously domestic and calm.

Duncan saw her out of the corner of his eye making him turn his head to her quickly, his face lighting up in a brilliant smile. She joined them at the table, sitting next to her son and he leaned against her.

“I missed you, Mum,” he said. Elodie smiled and kissed the top of his head.

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

Dinner was a lovely affair, though the servants kept rushing about as the castle finally realized that Elodie was indeed home. They overheard plans of a large banquet for the following day, making Elodie chuckle. While everyone else seemed to be embroiled in the chaos of manners and celebrations, Elodie and her little family enjoyed their meal, telling each other stories of their various adventures. Duncan was progressing well with his sword training, but he confessed he preferred to ride the horses. Alistair spoke of the lighter subjects the Banns had presented him over the last year and Elodie took care to describe the ancient city around the Titan and how amazing it was.

At some point, Duncan asked if she was going to leave again and she sighed, drawing him into her lap.

“Not if I can help it. I will need to journey to Amaranthine soon, but that will be a short trip.”

“We can go together, I’ve been meaning to go there anyways,” Alistair interjected. Elodie gave him a small smile in thanks. Traveling to Kal-Hirol should not take long, particularly since the efforts to rebuild the outpost had been going well.

After dinner, they continued to stay up, playing little games with Duncan, reestablishing a new normal. While he laughed and stayed close to Elodie, wrapping his little arms around her, he felt different. Older in a way that had little to do with his age. Sadder too. She put him to bed, opting to hold him until he fell asleep.

After he fell asleep and she extracted her body from his bed, she tiptoed back into her and Alistair’s room. It hadn’t changed, the drapes and the rug and the bedding was all the same. Well, no, there were more pillows on the bed than before, occupying her side of the bed. Alistair emerged from the attached washroom, in a long, frayed robe that was as old as his kinghood. He looked at the pillows on the bed, then back at her. He stepped to the side of the bed and swept them off, the soft things bouncing against the floor in his earnest to make room.

“This bed is too big for one person and you were gone so,” he stammered, blushing like he used to when they were out in the wilderness, fighting darkspawn and bickering with Morrigan.

“Clever.” She sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around him, reveling in his closeness. Tomorrow he would take hold of the Titan fragment and be taint free by the end of the day, tonight they could celebrate her return and tomorrow…freedom.

Alistair brought his arms around her and looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes dipped down to her lips and he leaned forward while she leaned up. Their lips met and the arousal that had begun in the tub returned in full force. Her hands delved under his robe, caressing soft, fuzz covered skin.

Their kiss morphed quickly from chaste to heated to obscene. She pushed his robe off his shoulders and he untied hers as they fell back onto the bed.

“I love you, I love you,” they whispered to each other in between hurried kisses and searching touches. Their bodies pressed into each other, giving into each other, reunited.

It wasn’t until the late hours of the night and potentially even the early hours of the morning that they finally fell asleep, sweaty and naked and spent, curled up in each other’s arms.

Morning arrived in a lazy haze with a tall, soft Alistair wrapped around her, holding onto her like Duncan held onto his teddy bear. Asleep like this he looked so much like the young man she met at Ostagar, and when he opened his eyes he transformed into the man she was still madly in love with.

He nuzzled under her jaw and breathed her in.

“I still can’t believe you’re here and you’re…just you.” His voice was raspy and deep with sleep, soft with intent. She trailed a hand over his arm and into his hair, all sticking out in soft angles.

“It’s amazing how it works out, isn’t it? How after everything we can have what we…you want this, right?” She whispered. Alistair shifted so that he was more on top of her.

“More than anything,” he affirmed and then he was kissing her again. The kiss turned into another one and then they fell back into each other, getting swept up in it all.

An hour later and they burst into Duncan’s room only to find the boy already awake and playing with Alistair’s old Grey Warden puppets. They let Duncan take one puppet to a breakfast of fruits, breads, cheeses aplenty, and boiled eggs.

They laughed and teased and ate in such ease and happiness that Elodie almost believed it was a dream or that she had actually died in the Deep Roads and this was a kind hallucination imparted to her from the Maker. But it was reality and that was such a gift, a gift that she wanted to expand. She bit her lip and looked over at Alistair, thinking about what babies born of them would be like. If they’d be little happy, cheese loving little ones or maybe they’d be mages and love botany and books.

Elodie leaned over to Duncan and kissed the top of his head, “You know why I left, yes? You know why it was important that I went?”

Duncan nodded slowly, “You and Papa are sick, you needed to find a cure. Did you?”

She smiled and nodded herself, “I did. I’m not sick anymore, but your papa is and I need to heal him. And I need to heal you too, so you don’t get sick.”

An uneasiness flitted into her at the idea of manipulating that energy through the boy, but what choice did she have? He wasn’t tainted, not exactly, but he was drawn to it. How old would he be when he found the Grey Wardens? When he said that he wanted to join their ranks, not fully understanding what the Grey Wardens were.

No, Elodie had to…she had to protect her son, and if it meant a day of discomfort, then so be it. She turned towards Alistair, his face drawn into a harder expression that he usually reserved for unpleasant negotiations with Orlais. While she hated what she had to do, there was no other way, they were out of time. The taint in him would kill him if it could and she was not going to let it cut his life short, not when his happiness was so close at hand.

Duncan fidgeted but nodded his head slowly, “Al-alright. Will it hurt?”

Elodie paused, trying to find the words, “I will try to make it not hurt, but it should be quick for you.”

“What about Papa?” His eyes were wide, bright and concerned. Her gaze softened and she drew him close to her body.

“Your papa has lived through many difficult things, he will live through this too, and at the end…he’ll be even better.”

Alistair leaned over and ruffled Duncan’s hair, “I’ll be fine! It’s not like I’m fighting the Archdemon again. Now that would be a different story. At least the dragon would have a tasty snack.”

Duncan snickered and wrapped his arms around Alistair, “No! The dragon can’t have you! You said we could be in bed all day and eat cheese.”

“Oh now, you can’t eat cheese all day – you’ll get sick,” Elodie said only to have her son and beloved blow raspberries at her. She rolled her eyes but smiled. This…was the right thing, it was. You have to sometimes re-break a bone to set it properly, this was like that. Break, so proper healing can happen.

After breakfast, they began. They moved into a small healing room annex to Elodie and Alistair’s bedroom. There was a cot for Alistair to sit on while he waited and Duncan sat on a small chair, trying not to fidget. Elodie unlocked the small chest containing the lyrium, now solidified into a fragment, and cradled it carefully in glove-clad hands. The light was almost blinding with power but she held it, carrying it to where Alistair sat. His clothes were plain, far simpler than anything he had to wear as king, but it was best to not soil what good clothes it did have.

The light filled the room as Elodie began to breathe, connecting herself into its power. She could direct it for a short amount of time, and in that time she could purify Alistair and Duncan – she could, the knowledge was bestowed in her by the Titan.

Power built and built in immense waves. Whispers entered her head, echoes of spirits long since passed, their words indistinguishable from the rush of power and blood in her ears. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped as the magic clicked inside of her. Now, she had to send it out now or else it wouldn’t work.

Elodie extended her arm out towards Alistair and let the Titan’s power course through her in an overwhelming rush. It flooded her body, shoved its way into cavities she didn’t know she had, but she had it, she was in control for this moment and she forced it out and into Alistair. His body seized as the magic infused lyrium poured into his body, forcing the taint out of his body. Blackish water dripped from his pours, his mouth, large stains forming on his clothes.

Duncan screamed but she couldn’t mind that, not when she sent a sliver of the power to him, forcing whatever darkness lurked inside of him out. He shuddered and vomited his breakfast, but it was gone from his body, gone from Alistair’s. She could feel the pulsing of their lives in that moment, so perfectly in synch with the Titan. She felt their hearts, their souls, purged clean. A cry escaped her as the power left her all at once, retreating back into the fragment.

Elodie slumped back against the table, all of her energy having left with the Titan’s power. Alistair coughed and sputtered drawing her attention to him. Duncan moaned and she looked to him…her son. She had to get to her son. Stumbling, Elodie somehow made it to him, holding him and cleaning his face. She guided him away from his mess and to the couch in the room.

“Mum…I don’t want to do that again,” he cried and she shook her head.

“You won’t have to, don’t worry, you’re fine now, you’re fine,” she was out of breath. If she could just…breathe, she could heal them. Yes, a healing spell, she needed to do something.

Elodie pulled herself up and took a deep breath, steadying herself, before beginning to move her hands and chant. The spell drifted from her and she directed it to sink into Alistair, coiling inside his body and then releasing to ease his pain. He shook and sputtered then sighed as the spell worked its way through him. Elodie fell back against the wall and cast a smaller spell for Duncan. He shivered in response but followed his father’s example and settled quickly, moving to lean against her.

The room then fell quiet save their exhausted panting. Her eyes fluttered closed. Beyond the sudden drain of energy pulsed a twinge of relief. That pulse grew until she could feel it in her heart. She gave a short, soft laugh, smiling in the face of it all. Alistair was free. Duncan was free.

They were all finally free.

It took an hour for any of them to have the energy to move from their spots. Elodie directed both Alistair and Duncan to the baths where she took care to help bathe them. Alistair rested heavily against her, occasionally groaning from the lingering pain. Every time he coughed, more brackish liquid came out and she was quick to wipe it away. After the baths, she took them to bed, where Alistair was quick to pass out.

Duncan however, remained awake, disoriented and sleepy, but awake. He reached out for Elodie and she couldn’t not crawl into bed with them, curling herself around her son and love. This was what she had traveled to Kal-Sharok for, family and freedom.

“I feel weird,” Duncan whispered and Elodie resisted chuckling. He would feel weird, a bit empty and a bit more separate from Alistair and maybe even Elodie.

“I felt weird too, it goes away. You know what this means, though,” she asked, holding him to her. He shook his head and she sighed, searching for the words.

“Your father and I were sick, we were…not able to do things but now we are all free, and you are too, to be the person you choose to be.”

“I’m the prince, I’m going to be king,” he whispered.

“If you choose it, then yes. Never underestimate the importance of your choice.”

She had made Alistair king, had gone against his wish and part of her regretted it. He had not wanted it, and while she stood by it being the best decision for the country…she wondered what he would be if he had not become king. And yet…if he had not become king, had not married Anora, their son would not exist.

There were only so many regrets she could hold in her heart and at the end of the day, this was not one that prevented her from sleeping.

But she wanted to learn from it all the same, she wanted to give Duncan that choice because she could. Ferelden should have a king who wants to be king, a king who knew how to serve his country. And perhaps…even a queen.

Elodie’s hand moved to her stomach and hoped.

**

The next few days blurred together in a haze of healing, holding, and late nights full of love and hope. There was a gathering of the nearby nobles and the whole of Denerim celebrated Elodie’s return. Grateful for their love, she had chefs and cooks prepare as much food as possible to feed the people of Denerim.

And while all of it was grand, she felt the burden of the Titan shard growing. She had to make her way to Kal-Hirol soon if she was to fulfill her end of the bargain. By the end of the week, they were packing up the horses and carriage to head out to Amaranthine. She climbed into the carriage with the box containing the shard, sitting next to Duncan. Alistair took his customary spot on his horse out in front though she found that just the slightest bit ironic.

Bad things happen when I lead!

It was a marvel and a relief to find how mistaken he had been about his abilities. Traveling to Amaranthine was always odd, an equal mixture of constantly running into merchants and bandits all the while sloughing through muddy roads.

It rained nigh constantly and by the end of the week, they were all soaked to the bone and cold. Even Elodie and Duncan did not manage to escape the downpour. It made her chuckle at first, reminding her of the days when this was an almost weekly occurrence. Maker, it wasn’t even that long ago that she had to sleep on the ground instead of a cot as she traveled across Thedas. And yet, it all felt so different. With Duncan and an Alistair who looked fairly different from the young man of ten years ago present, Elodie felt herself…almost shift in herself.

They made it to Amaranthine and were quickly whisked away into the small estate held by the Arl. The Arling had undergone several changes over the last few years, and while there was still a notable presence from the Grey Wardens, it had mostly been reduced to a cooperative venture with the Arling instead of allowing it actual political power over people who were not Grey Wardens. People were free to join and some prisoners had even been, but the position of Arl and Warden Commander were no longer synonymous. This then led to a change in location of power. Vigil’s Keep became the center of all Grey Warden operations while the city of Amaranthine remained the seat of power for the Arl and Arlessa.

Arl Braeden Ewart greeted them at the gates and was quick to bring them into the estate. His son, Raine, ran down from the second floor in barely restrained exuberance.

“Duncan!” He yelled and the two boys were then off, chasing each other through the large home, the drudgery of the journey forgotten.

While the boys played, Alistair and Elodie were guided up to the guest room where their things were brought. Elodie peeled her sopping wet robes from her body and let her hair down, unwound her breast band, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Alistair’s arms suddenly came around her, the heat of his chest pressing into her back as he leaned over and kissed her neck.

“I can think of something that can warm us up,” he whispered, kissing her ear. She chuckled.

“Oh? Would you care to enlighten me?”

And he did, oh he did.

They dined with Braeden, his wife Melantha, and their children. Wrangling Raine and Duncan proved to be a bit of an adventure though they were eventually lured to sit down and eat due to their rumbling bellies and waning energy.

Dinner passed with social ease and she fell back into bed with Alistair, curling up against his chest. He held her close and she reveled in their closeness. Duncan was asleep, or at least pretending to be, sharing a room with Raine.

Alistair held Elodie to him, smiling into her hair.

“You know,” he began, “with the taint gone…we could…”

“We could what? Live to the ripe old age of seventy?” She teased and he chuckled.

“Well, that but you know, Duncan’s always wanted a little sibling…if…if you want to try again,” his voice grew quiet and tentative. Her body tensed for a moment, remembering the loss, the…pain they had gone through before. She had always blamed her inability to keep a pregnancy on the taint but what if it wasn’t the taint? What if it was her? Could she live through that loss again?

Could she live if she didn’t at least try?

Her fingers trailed down over Alistair’s soft chest, drawing random patterns and contemplating a future of children. She wanted, oh she wanted, and this had always been the plan but there was that fear.

Elodie took a deep breath and nodded, “I want to try again.”

Alistair held her close, and while they didn’t try that night, there were many more nights to try in the future.

The next day brought with it fog and a heavy overcast of clouds, but there wasn’t rain, Elodie took her blessings where she could get them. She kissed Alistair on the cheek and Duncan on the forehead, wishing them goodbye after breakfast. She promised to return as soon as possible, which she hopefully would mean less than a week. Her horse was swift in its journey, carrying her to the old chasm now lined with winding roots and sprouting trees on the dirt walls of the chasm.

The cleft in the earth was just as great as she remembered it, though more overgrown now due to the heavy rains and the now receding signs of blight. Still, she saw dark corrupted spiders skittering down below, preying on deepstalkers. She thought back to the skrimmers she faced in the tunnels beneath Kal-Sharok and marveled at how different the spiders were here.

She left her horse at a nearby homestead, paying the farmers a sizeable sum to watch over the horse while she journeyed into the Deep Roads.

The upper tunnels hadn’t changed too much over the years, but the lower roads had. Dwarves from Orzammar and surface traders had created an outpost in the most easily cleaned parts of Kal-Hirol, though there was still a slight lingering scent of darkspawn and shit. The dwarves greeted her with familiar nonchalance. She had helped set up this outpost, had brought the documents from Kal-Hirol to the shaperate in Orzammar and she had even suggested merchants shift their routes to here for better trading opportunities. It had been a successful venture so far. Kal-Hirol was growing from a mere trading outpost to a small village, spreading further into the recesses of the old Thaig. Meanwhile, it also brought in gold to the nearby farms who wished to expand their consumer base. All in all, the arling of Amaranthine had seen some of the most impressive growth over the years – along with Redcliffe and the central Bannorn.

Small children ran to and from stalls, chasing each other in a rowdy game of tag. She dodged their speedy pathways and continued forth into the deep, walking past the stalls and the small outcropping of homes. The Titan’s shard sat comfortably attached to her belt and her magic seemed to…reach into it every now and then. Or maybe the shard was reaching for her magic and she was just responding. Either way, there were frequent moments where she felt more connected to the Stone around her, to the dwarves milling behind her. And as she delved deeper into the roads, heading to the deepest part of the Thaig, the more the shard drew her in, the more intertwined she felt with her surroundings.

Was this the trade off? She can no longer sense the Darkspawn but now she was connected to the stone?

Elodie rested her once tainted hand against the cool rock wall of the road. She gasped as energy suddenly poured into her, building a sudden connection that allowed her to feel things. The skittering of a spider. The thump thump of deepstalkers walking around. The indefinite spread of the taint.

It was so…deep here. How was planting the shard here a good idea? Wouldn’t the taint get to it? Would it be immune to such an overwhelming amount of corruption?

She closed her eyes and removed her hand, sojourning forth. Or maybe that was the point. Plant the shard of purity, of hope, in the deepest, darkest, most corrupted place, and let it grow to blast it all back. Fight the darkness from within.

A poetic thought, though she didn’t know how practical it was. But this was the Titan’s wish, and so she continued. Elodie made her way through Kal-Hirol, fighting spiders and darkspawn and deepstalkers, choosing to try and keep hidden as much as possible.

The deepest part.

Pour over the rock.

After two days of journeying into the dark, she found a drop that was so deep that she could no longer see the light that she cast down. The darkness enveloped it completely.

Here. A quiet feeling rose within her and she opened the box on her hip. The shard glowed brightly in her hand, almost blinding her eyes that were now accustomed to the dark. It pulsed and she closed her eyes, thanking it one last time before dropping it into the pit. It made no sound as it fell and hit the bottom. The light though…the light bloomed in the dark and the Stone sighed in relief. The lyrium in the surrounding stone, even the faint strands, erupted with energy that flowed in and out of Elodie like she was part of it. It was like when the Titan had initially blasted her but more…chaotic, less of a directed beam and more of a scattering of birds when they are awakened suddenly.

But then, all at once, it fled her body and receded down into the chasm with the shard.

She stood there on the edge of the pit for a moment longer, smiling in wonder. This world was weird, and yes, that was her professional Hero opinion.

It was another two days to make it to the trading outpost. And then another day to make it to Amaranthine. She was back in just under a week, less than a fortnight, really.

The rain started back up as she arrived and she was quick to hand off her horse to the stable master. She ducked into the estate, her robes now damp enough just to be annoying. The home was warm and dry, filled with echoing laughter from her son and Raine. She would have to take care to invite Raine’s family over more, Duncan should have friends, particularly if they are going to be the rulers of the land someday. Friendships and alliances make the government work or fail and Raine’s family was a good one. Amaranthine was beginning to flourish under their care.

And now that she was back and free to handle herself as however she wished…they were going to travel more. Duncan should see his country, know more than the palace, see how the people in his country lived. He should know the Banns and Arls and Arlessas, the Teyrnirs of his country. It was important to build up those friendships, facilitate those alliances.

Elodie was quiet as she made her way through the estate, contemplating the future as she was wont to do lately.

The sound of barking and children’s laughter broke her out of her reverie. The boys sped past her, two mabari hounds chasing them all in good fun. She chuckled and Duncan turned around to wave at her before barreling back down the corridor.

The guards nodded in greeting, saying “My lady” behind their helmets. She nodded back to them and she headed to the room where she and Alistair were staying. She entered the room to find it empty, which was fine really. She changed into more suitable clothes, clothes that had not been worn for a week and smelled like the Deep Roads. No matter how many times she braved those treacherous depths, she never quite got used to the smell. It was like rotting flesh combined with the smell of rancid milk. Unpleasant was really an insufficient term.

She was tempted to draw a bath…but it was close to supper and she was also hungry….

Bathe…or eat….

Bathe…or eat….

Her stomach rumbled, making up her mind for her. She washed her face and arms in the wash basin then applied some of the fancy Orlesian creams the Arlessa had gushed about. They smelled very flowery but she took flowery over rotting flesh and rancid milk any day.

Her hair went up into a braided bun, and she donned a gold necklace Alistair had gotten her in the early days of his kinghood. The chain was small and dainty and the rose pendant as delicate, not overly embellished, and it was her favorite piece of jewelry. The rose he had gifted her still remained pressed in the pages of her healing journal, somewhat wilted and old, but it was there, a symbol of their enduring love, even as they changed.

Elodie emerged from the rooms and inquired to one of the guards in the hall where the king might be. None of them knew which meant only one thing – the larder. Shaking her head, Elodie turned towards the kitchens, the children running past her again, the dog trailing after them.

The kitchens were busy with preparing supper and she was sure but she was able to sneak her way to the larder where the king was indeed ensconced in – nibbling on cheese. She put her hands on her hips and grinned at him. Upon seeing her, he blinked, mouth still half-full with cheese.

“Elodie!” He exclaimed, or he tried to with his mouth full. But his face brightened and he stepped to her quickly, wrapping her in a tight hug. He didn’t mention the smell of the weariness in her face from travel. He simply tucked his face against her neck.

“It’s over?” He whispered and she rubbed his back, smiling and nodding.

“At last, my love,” she replied. A chorus of “aaawws” erupted from behind them, reminding them how they were very much not alone. Elodie stepped back, blushing, but she took Alistair’s hand and guided him out of the larder all the way out into the hallway. Out of sight of the apparently nosy kitchen staff, she kissed his cheek, waiting for him to finish his cheese.

“It’s done, it’s all done, I don’t have to do anything more than I don’t want to, it’s done,” she repeated, kissing his face over and over again in barely restrained happiness. It flowed through her in great droves, filling her up, making her laugh free of inhibition.

“I want to try and I want to do. Alistair, there is just so much we can do, I –

“Marry me,” he blurted out and she stopped. Did he just? Her eyes widened, hand lifted up to her lips. He…did he…oh he did. She knew he did because he turned bright red, his eyes wide and he shuffled his feet like he did when he first asked her if he could kiss her.

She wanted to say yes but all that came out was, “I’m a mage.”

He quirked a brow at her, “Really? I had no idea.”

She poked his arm, “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I do. And the Circle is no more. You can’t be queen but I have been doing some reading and you don’t have to be queen. It’s called a consort? You’ll be my consort but really I just want you as my wife. Maker, I want to marry you, Elodie Amell, because I have loved you for so long and I am tired of having obstacles between us. Let’s just…be married.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, or anything for a solid minute. Her eyes welled up with tears at the end of that minute, Alistair becoming more and more fidgety. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Their heights weren’t too different, and she was able to just snuggle into his shoulder, happily weeping.

“Yes, yes, YES! Yes, I will marry you and be your wife, consort, person,” she laughed. His arms came around her and held her to him.

“You are the love of my life,” he whispered into her hair.

“And now we are free to be just that,” she replied.

Elodie Amell had known many titles and labels in her life – apprentice, mage, Grey Warden, Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa, Warden Commander, rebel, Court Mage, mistress, mother, and now…she entered a new phase of her life, as wife, consort to the king, the love of her life. She was still powerful, still strong, but there was a certain…overwhelming joy to be able to be something she never she would be.

Free. It was all she wanted for so long. Free.

There were still ties that she was bound by, obligations to be met but she was ultimately…free. Free to decide to keep those obligations and friendships.

Late after supper and her and Alistair consummated his very sudden, improper proposal, Elodie sat down at the small desk in the guest room. She wrote the first letter to Karega, thanking her once again for her hospitality and kindness. She informed her of the success of her mission and that she was cordially invited to Elodie’s wedding to the King of Ferelden. Elodie was certain the dwarven queen would have to decline the offer, but it was only polite to invite her. She wrote the second letter to Leliana, and she addressed it as such instead of the apparently now Divine Victoria. This time, she was certain the newly elected Divine would insist on marrying the two. She wrote to Oghren at Vigil’s Keep, inviting him and Felsi and the babe. She wrote to Zevran, opening the letter with ‘so how many assassins can sneak into a royal wedding?’ Morrigan, Katra, Miriel, Teagan, and so many others were going to receive jubilant letters announcing the impending marriage between her and Alistair. Elodie was careful to word it so that they would not blab the information too soon – Alistair and Elodie would be expected to announce it themselves in some grandiose celebration most likely.

She nearly dropped the quill when she recalled they had yet to inform Duncan. Well. She supposed the letters could be sent after they informed him.

Elodie set everything aside and turned back to the bed. Alistair slept on his stomach, snoring softly. Amazing how many things changed and yet stayed the same over the years, she thought, crawling back into the covers, curling herself around his body. He made a snuffling sound before settling back in. She rested her head against his back and took a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered closed and she fell into a deep, restorative sleep.

[sappho-official]

hi i hope its not too much trouble to ask you but i've noticed you reblogged da:i in the past and i just got the game so i was wondering if you have any advice for a beginner? like any helpful tips or tricks will do. (sorry in advance)

Yeah sure! Don’t apologize, I love Dragon Age, so I’m happy to talk about it, as evidenced by how freaking long this got.

I wasn’t sure if you wanted combat or story advice, so like here’s both (I threw lore and combat under the cut because that got LONG), and also I sort of assumed you hadn’t played any other Dragon Age games before by the phrasing in the question (sorry if you have lmao).

When picking between the three dialogue options that don’t have emotion indicators, what they actually are is basically:

Top: Passive and placating, traditionally the most friendly answer. Often wins you over allies in political stuff, and it’s usually the most emotionally-conscious option. Some characters may feel like you’re being too passive, Sera tends not to enjoy this one, for example, whereas Cole tends to. (these are, ofc, situational)

Middle: Witty and curious, most likely to be humorous. May occasionally allow you to ask extra questions as well. A lot of companions tend to approve of this one, though characters like Cassandra may sometimes feel like you’re making a poorly timed joke. Sass the villains! It’s my favorite.

Bottom: Aggressive and direct, a bit more likely to make people mad at you, though that depends on the person. Maybe not the option to pick while trying to comfort someone. Still, being direct is a pretty good trait for a leader to have. Characters like Sera, Cassandra, and Bull really enjoy this one.

(Dragon Age 2 had the personality feature, and each of these options were actually labeled and would affect what your character said even when you weren’t controlling them. It seems like DA:I was supposed to have this feature, but was cut at some point)

The Star option (top left) is the “you did a sidequest/said a special thing!” option that opens up some extra stuff. If it’s an option, I’d usually take it. Sometimes there’s another icon, based on your race/class and other stuff as well, usually fun to take because it’s more unique to your character.

Far left [investigate] lets you ask questions. Do this before picking anything else. Some characters (Solas and Varric) really like when you ask questions.

When it comes to picking a character I’ll tell you quite honestly that playing as a Human (especially mage) or Elf will often give you the most story stuff. Qunari are also pretty rad, but playing as a Dwarf gives you very little story stuff unfortunately. Makes me sad, I like Dwarves.

You’re gonna probably want the Trespasser DLC if you finish the game. It’s $15. You need it to finish the plot+get the lead in to DA4 whenever that’ll happen. Sorry.

The power feature is a load of Bullshit and honestly a feature I don’t enjoy. Basically, just go play sidequests that sound cool! Don’t worry about spending power to unlock new areas, there’s so much fun shit there I promise. Some side quests can be tedious, but each area (except the Hinterlands) has a main quest line. That’ll be the quest that Scout Harding assigns you when you first arrive in an area, and I promise that most of them are really neat. I especially recommend the Crestwood and Hissing Wastes questlines, but the Western Approach is actually my favorite area in the entire game. 

DA:I is a bit tedious, but a game that I think is best enjoyed if you take your time. It makes it feel like you should rush the main questline, but seriously, don’t. The main quest of DA:I is...honestly kind of crappy imo. It’s just a bit generic. Now, the DLC plots? those are awesome.

Some quests will lead you into like, dungeon areas. These are always dope, and often a bit more difficult, so bring lots of health regen potions with you. Some of them are unlocked by doing war table missions, so keep an eye out for stuff that’s like, related to Elven history, since that’s usually where those start. A bunch of them have neat loot at the end! And bring Solas to the Elven ruins, he’ll have some comments. Sera will complain the entire time, which can be funny as well. I like those two a lot tho.

Also don’t spend too much time in the Hinterlands at a low level. It’s massive and you’ll wander into an area that’s for a way higher level. Go mess around on the Storm Coast and Fallow Mire early on. tbh the only reason the Hinterlands is so big is because they wanted to be like “look!! we made an area larger than the past two games combined!!! aren’t we great!!!!!” no bioware, I just got killed by 6 bears at level 2. fuck off. It’s pretty though.

Pay close attention to the War Table stuff, especially the stuff that revolves around your character’s family/friends. I won’t spoil it, but if you play as an elf you can, uh, fuck that up real bad.

Don’t worry about collecting Shards or Mosaic pieces or whatever. Seriously, there’s no point in doing it (I say this as someone who’s like 99%ed this game okay, it’s a waste of time unless you really really want to)

Dorian and Iron Bull can get together if you don’t romance either of them. You’ll need to have them in your party a lot though, because party banter (the conversations your companions have out in the field every 12-17 minutes) is what triggers their romance. If you really want to get them together, just put them in your party and leave the game running.

You don’t have to read every single codex entry, but I would recommend picking them up because it’ll give you experience I think. And it’ll give you stuff to read during loads. And like, during the plot heavy stuff, sometimes there’s neat shit? I like worldbuilding tho. The stuff in the Fade and the Temple of Mythal is the most interesting, I think.

It’s kind of difficult to know how your approval is with companions, but it is evidenced by what they say when you talk to them. If you’re really worried about what a character thinks of you, go take a glance at the Approval part of their wiki page (don’t read the other stuff!!) and it’ll help you figure it out. Certain characters have approvals that are easier to get up than others. (take Iron Bull to kill a dragon, take Varric to destroy red Lyrium, basically do their quests while they are in your party)

Lore and Combat are under the cut.

If you don’t know much about the setting I’d recommend checking the Dragon Age Keep, which lets you change what happened in previous games, and then have someone read it back to you! Full of spoilers for the other two games though, sorry. There’s a few decisions that effect DA:I (Morrigan’s dark ritual, who’s in charge of Ferelden, who tf is Hawke) but over all most of them won’t make any major changes (with the exception of Morrigan’s dark ritual from DA:O).

Steer clear of the wiki, seriously it spoiled a MAJOR thing for me. Also maybe don’t go hunting through my dragon age tags..........uh. There’s spoilers.

Basic Lore: 

(some of this is technically wrong, but this is what your average player would know going into DA:I)

The Chantry (the catholic church), and they worship the Maker (god) and his wife Andraste (Jesus+Joanne of Arc) a mortal woman who raised a slave rebellion in Tevinter and was burned at the stake as a result. The Southern Chantry is headed by the Divine (the Pope), presently Divine Justinia. Cassandra and Leliana are her bodyguard and spymaster, respectively. (I say Southern Chantry, because the Tevinter Chantry has a different mentality on a lot of this. Go talk to Dorian about it when you meet him.)

The Southern Chantry preaches that the power of Mages is dangerous, so they should be confined to Circles, where they can study and also not fuck up the world. The Chantry employs Templars (think Paladins) to keep the mages in line. Templars take stuff called Lyrium to give them magic-suppressing powers. Talk to Cassandra and Cullen about Templars. Lyrium is mined up by dwarves, and it’s very dangerous when raw, just not as dangerous to dwarves. Lyrium can also be corrupted into Red Lyrium, which is Really Bad News and makes shit float and makes you go all kinds of loopy and also want to eat it? Bad stuff. Varric really hates it.

Mages get their power from the Fade, which is the dream world. Dreamers are especially powerful mages who have control over dreams. In the Fade there’s The Black City, which is supposedly where the Maker rules from. In the Fade there’s Demons, who can possess you, which mages are more susceptible to, and are all around bad news. There’s also spirits, and if you want to know about them go talk to Solas and Cole.

A bunch of old Tevinter Magisters (Roman Senators but mages and worshipped dragons) a longass time ago decided that the best way to get more powerful was to enter the fade themselves and go to the Black City. As the story goes, the Maker got pissed at them and sent them back to Thedas (earth) with The Blight (kind of like a zombie curse?) which is really bad news. So what was basically the zombie apocalypse (well they’re technically Darkspawn) started, causing the Wardens to be created. Wardens are sort-of blighted destroyers of the Blight. They shoved them into the Deep Roads, which is where the Dwarves live, so the Dwarves have been sectioning off areas to live in that are safe. Ferelden (the country where you are) recently got over the Fifth Blight (DA:O’s plot). Blights happen when one of those big ol dragon fellows (Old Gods technically) meet up with a bunch of Darkspawn and decide to terrorize the surface.

At the end of Dragon Age 2, the Mages started up a rebellion because they were basically being imprisoned. The Templars got mad and fought back, and succeeded from the Chantry, starting the Mage and Templar war. The title screen is the Conclave (peace conference run by Divine Justinia), at the Temple of Sacred Ashes (where Andraste’s ashes once were). Your character is attending the Conclave.

There’s also a civil war in Orlais between Grand Duke Gaspard and Empress Celene. Also, there’s this lady named Flemmeth, or Asha’Bellanar, who’s a major figure in Elven mythos and can turn into a dragon. She’s Morrigan’s mom and shows up in every game and is sort of immortal.

Combat Basics:

When it comes to combat, I think DA:I has the easiest but least intuitive combat system out of all of the Dragon Age games (there’s a casual mode and don’t worry about starting out with that mode if you haven’t played any Dragon Age games before).

Early on it’s totally a great idea to try out switching between different characters to see which class fits your playstyle best (I think that rogue archer is the simplest for a beginner), and if you want to recreate your character early on that’s totally rad (it took me three tries to realize that I really love 2 handed warriors the best, for example). Basically, here’s a breakdown of playstyles:

Warrior, sword+shield: melee tank, not built for damage. Best with the Champion (Blackwall) or Templar (Cassandra) specializations. One of the better AIs, so don’t worry about switching onto your tank as much. Would recommend having one of them in the party at all times tbh. 

Warrior, two handed: melee AOE, built for damage. Basically just stick your two-hander in the center of everything and they’ll kill a bunch of people. Not as good against single-enemy fights (like dragons). Best with the Reaver (Iron Bull) or Champion (Blackwall) specializations.

Rogue, Dual Dagger: melee critical-based, does the most damage out of any build but fairly easy to kill as a result. Good with any of the rogue specializations, but really really good with Assassin (Cole).

Rogue, Archer: ranged damage, does the most ranged damage. Big bonus is the fact that you can move while attacking, which mages cannot do. Leave Varric as an archer, and upgrade Bianca a lot and he’ll become pretty strong! Sera also makes a pretty good archer, but she does pretty well as dual-dagger as well. Good with Artificer and Tempest specializations.

(you don’t get specializations until level 10, at which point you’ll get to pick your own for your character! Lot’s of fun ones, I recommend Reaver, Assassin, Tempest, and Rift Mage as my favorites to play, but just go with what sounds cool/fits the character tbh. Necromancy is a bit glitchy, just a heads up. Also you might need a guide for the quest, depending on which specialization you pick it can be a pain in the ass to figure out)

Mages have a lot more variety to them, and I recommend picking two trees for each mage (+their specialization once you get there). I personally go for Spirit+one type of damage for each one, and it doesn’t matter which type of damage you go for for each mage, since their specializations don’t change a ton of their playstyle. I would recommend having at least one Winter mage and one Inferno mage, so that you can fight dragons/tough enemies with the opposite type of element (there’s no Spirit dragons, and Storm is the least useful against big enemies anyways.)

Spirit: The most useful skill tree in the game, I promise. Barrier, dispel, and whatever the resurrection spell is are some of the most useful spells in the entire game. Also, dispel can be used when a rift is about to spit out more demons and like, you can see the lil circle-y bits on the ground, you just cast dispel on one of those spots and boom, the demon won’t show up! The AI for spirit mage is pretty alright I guess, I usually switch onto my main spirit mage during big difficult fights (dragons especially, dragons are Tough), but honestly I don’t enjoy constantly having to pause to cast barriers so I don’t play it myself.

Winter: CC, does the least amount of damage but the slows/freezes are So Fucking Useful, I swear. If you’ve got a pretty heavy damage team, Winter is great for a purely support mage. I basically build my favorite mage (Solas) to be Winter+Spirit, which is the best combo for playing what is basically just a healer that does very little damage. Also has the fantastic spell, Fade Step, which allows a mage to FWOOOSH across the battlefield to get out of trouble. If your mage is taking a lot of hits, switch onto them and move them out of the way with this.

Inferno: DOT, some AOE. I think Inferno and Storm are sort of tied for damage, but Inferno does more damage to individual enemies. Can also terrify enemies, which is a little bit annoying if you’re playing as a melee character. Just mostly damage, all around pretty solid. Makes my PS4 lag a bit when the entire screen is on fire.

Storm: AOE mostly, can also shock enemies. Basically allows you to chain attacks between multiple enemies. Super neat but my least used mage tree tbh? Not sure why. Does damage, not as useful against big enemies (especially dragons. I feel like I talk about dragons a lot, but there’s like, 12 dragons in the entire game? I just liked fighting them bc A. it’s Dragon Age and B. my character literally drank dragon blood okay, it was sort of badass and C. I like dragons)

I would have to look at my old skill-trees if you want advice on which kits work best together, I couldn’t tell you off the top of my head.

When it comes to building a balanced team, my go-to is:

One Sword-and-Shield Warrior

One Two-Handed Warrior or Dagger Rogue

One Archer Rogue or Damage-y Mage

One Support Mage

So like, pick some favs and build them to fit into that pretty much. Mix up your party though! Some characters, like Sera and Solas, have strange perspectives that can be hard to understand at first, but are really interesting once you get to know them, so stick them in your party!

And I think that’s it? I’m sure I’ve got tons more advice I could share with you (I’ve introduced a few people to the series now so this is almost all stuff I’ve already told them) but this is already like a bajillion words. Also I have to do homework still. whoops?

[neostriatum]

Böses mit Gutem vergelten

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

Böses mit Gutem vergelten.

English equivalent: If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Literally: Repay evil with good. Strauss, Emanuel (1994). Dictionary of European proverbs (Volume 2 ed.). Routledge. p. 838. ISBN 0415096243.

--

She tested the meat against her knife, an exquisite silver gifted to her by the dwarves who had housed her so kindly. It tarnished not, nor released untoward smells or juices from the dish, and so she sighed, carefully cutting a piece of roast.

Despite this, she chewed carefully, counting along until the way the local kitchen witch had taught her. ...Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. At last, there seemed little reason but to swallow, the slow-roasted herbs carefully identified by that time. Onion, juniper berries, black pepper.

Onion, a witchbane. Juniper berries, from the tree that guards against evil. Black pepper, to ward against evil.

The dish was simple, the potatoes roasted in naught but butter and salt a fine accompaniment. She took no beer nor wine – not even water. For this, she had prepared her own drink, despite how long she had struggled to convince the kitchen that it was acceptable.

Chamomile flowers, steeped in sunshine and doused in honey from a trader the dwarves had accepted. Soothing, calming, and washing any illness that could creep up on her. Her husband ate amiably beside her, drinking the same drink prepared by her own hand with none of the squabbling that she, in the dark corners of her mind, had habitually come to expect.

He did not encourage her to eat a particular food, but rather took care to gently break them open with his spoon to display that they were, indeed and only, potatoes, and allow her to scoop what she desired onto his plate. The sight never failed to make a breathe rattle in her chest, lingering along with it old strikes of fear, but he waited in patience as he did every day since he learned of her troubles, and quietly clinked his homely mug against hers when her heart had calmed once more.

“How does the garden fare?” Her husband asked, between mouthfuls of roast and potato. She felt her lips turn up in a smile, echoed beamingly by him, “The dwarves tell me that they delight in constructing this new house for all of the plants you acquired.”

She thought back to the iron wrought in protective shapes, sigils etched where no soul could perceive them – of how the glass was washed in vinegar to cleanse it of ill-intent, and how the ground was sanctified with priest’s incense and sheep’s blood alike.

“Well,” She smiles, fond. The potatoes tasted less bitter with the freshly-positive thoughts, and more savoury, and she thought perhaps next time they could be fried. “I look forward to growing all the flowers and herbs.”

“Many seeds have arrived,” He noted, “I have faith they will grow well under your tender touch.”

She flushed at her husband’s words, taking special care drinking her chamomile drink as she paid heed to the compliment, “Dearest husband, should each kind word prove as strong as the sun’s gentle rays, then they shall grow as strong and tall as you believe.”

“And yet have I never been proved wrong, for your strength endeavours me to lead the kingdom with the same principles.”

“I hope…” She murmurs, staring contemplatively at her half-finished meal. The silence is attentive – never oppressive, nor eager, and in that she draws comfort – while she ruminates on her thoughts.

The old queen was dead, and this a new kingdom. While her fears lingered in those dark places, willful in how they snapped at her heels on particularly dour days, her husband had stayed a golden ray of courage with kind words and kinder actions. That her friends the dwarves had hurried to her once the news of her awakening had reached them, lingering long enough to pass judgment on the prince, settled many worries.

And yet – the bountiful apples of the region could not be looked upon without a shiver, nor clothing laced behind her back, nor hair combed by another. Some days it felt like the old queen loomed over her life, waiting for one more opportunity. Every gracious offer was suspect to evil-doing, every beautiful thing glanced at from the side of her eye.

It has been many years since the prince found her, and many more since their wedding with the fateful death of the witch-queen. She hoped, quietly, that the shrieks of pain and blistered, scarred feet were proof of that hag’s mortality – for some days it echoed louder than the crunch of an apple’s flesh or the slide of metal through her hair, and that… satisfied her.

Yes, it satisfied her to know that the queen was dead, and that her death was more memorable than her life – as ugly as her inner self was, for everyone to see. Not a single occupant to that wedding could doubt the invectives flung at her by that horrid woman, nor deny the sight of boiling flesh and corruption seeping off of her.

It reminded her of the comfort the other guests brought, the gracious words that echoed louder and swears of fealty that bound to her spirit in a strengthening manner. To see but a single of her prince’s people defend her, and to cast out of their hearts any pity for the woman who so tormented her as a child, was satisfying.

“I hope,” She resumed, voice faint under the burden of love-swollen heart she had for this kingdom, “That our people will benefit from this, as well.”

Her husband reached a hand out to her, waiting for her own snow-white hand to clasp his own, and rubbed a thumb gently across her skin. It still held the same magical wonder, the unbelieving delight that she had been found by someone who understood her heart so deeply, for his own echoed battles reminiscent of her own.

His hands beheld scars, silvery in the light, faded by healer’s arts and the turning of age. The way he respected his sword, meant to protect him on the field of battle, was the same respect he handled her with – a force to be reckoned with, to work beside rather than to dictate. It matched his expression so well, always holding that gleam of reverence for her potential, no matter the nicks at the edges or scratches on the hilt.

“I think they will,” He said, so assured she felt tears prick her eyes, “You are the kindest witch in all the land.”

--

Author's Notes

The seasonings used for the roast meat also carry folk attributes for magical purposes. Onion is a fairly common plant to keep around the house, and its curative powers likely created an association for warding off evil, as well.

Juniper berries, as well, are common in Europe and are a traditional way to season meat (Herbs2000). Among its magical uses in Europe (Witchipedia), I thought it was fitting to carry it over from another Brother's Grimm story:

The Story the Juniper Tree, recorded by the Brother’s Grimm tells of a juniper tree that appears to act as a magical guide and guardian for the people of the household.

Black pepper was a nod to her station, as during the time period of the story, only the incredibly wealthy had access to it. In the same spirit as the other ingredients, however, it has popular magical uses for stopping the spread of mean-spirited gossip, as well as the accompanying evils.

Chamomile has a very long history in Germany as a medicine (Herbs 2000, UIC Heritage Garden), that also had some magical use to the area (Witchipedia).

I'm guessing at the precise time period of the story, as the Brothers Grimm collected rather than originally wrote their folk tales, but given the French Revolution of 1789-1815 (of Reign of Terror era) during their own lifetimes, something like the Thirty Years Wars, various wars related to the rise of Prussia and other shifting of territorial powers up to 200 years earlier might have been in the back of their mind (Wikipedia).

Because of that, I warrant that the Prince was likely trained for battle, and possibly had seen a battle or two in his lifetime before wedding Snow White, as was traditional of most princes in continental Europe until very recently. Quite possibly he would understand the grief she had endured in regards to losing so much trust in the world around her, as well as engraining new habits in order to navigate her life more peaceably.