#the inquisitor lost their anchor

[dragonagesb]

This is one of my favorite moments with Varric

[callahanisms]

inquisition companions react to the inquisitor missing half their arm

because bioware didn’t wanna give it to us, i decided i’d just do it myself. (insert thanos meme) even though i am like years late to the hype.

the game is like 9 years old at this point, but spoilers ahead.

do keep in mind this is my own personal interpretation of each character. it may not be accurate to your own interpretations. (also i know leliana is technically not a companion in inquisition but i included her anyways)

cassandra pentaghast

if cassandra could plunge a knife into the heart of solas, she would. she would not let him get away with betraying you and taking the anchor along with your arm. you had basically fallen into her arms when you emerged from the portal and she had to carry you back to halamshiral. for the days you were unconscious, cassandra was anxious and extra prickly. there were many times where cullen would have to talk her down from her anger. even varric did too.

dorian pavus

the first thing he did was crack a joke. the atmosphere was tense and it just slipped out. “i asked you to come back in one piece, not missing one.” safe to say, the other companions did not approve of his joke. dorian was set to return to tevinter after being notified of his new position as a magister, but he delayed the return to his homeland for you. he sat in your room as you lied unconscious, barely breathing, leg anxious bouncing up and down. when you awoke, you were immediately met with a large and tight hug from him. he knocked the air out of your lungs from that.

blackwall

blackwall admires you. in fact, everyone would go so far as to say he adores you. he thinks of you as strong, capable, almost infallible. you closed rifts, you closed the big green tear in the sky, and you defeated corypheus! what couldn’t you do? all your feats proved to him that you were the strongest leader he could ever know. and yet, you were still mortal. you left the eluvians mortally wounded and exhausted beyond belief, your eyelids so heavy and ready to close so you may drift off into the black void of sleep. blackwall would not let you, not until you were taken away to be cared for. you found him sitting besides you, awake and on guard. your mortality was his reminder that you and him were the same, even if your lives appeared to be completely different. and he understood that the world would need a leader like you and that is dangerous.

iron bull

the bull could feel a stronger kinship with you that day. it appears that the both of you lost something. he betrayed the qun for the inquisition, thus losing a part of himself, his people. you lost a literal part of yourself, something you had to come to terms with after having the anchor for two years. to say iron bull was shaken up would be an understatement. he was getting cassandra to hit him with sticks for days on end while you lied unconscious. he wondered what would’ve happened if he was with you, if maybe...he could’ve stopped solas. but reminiscing never did anyone any good.

cole

as much as he wanted to help you, cole couldn’t. he also understood that you wouldn’t accept his help, no matter how much he insisted. so instead, he did the best thing he could do: help tend to your injuries. what was curious was that he could feel very little of your pain. when he felt your pain two years ago after forming the inquisition, it was concentrated in your hand and forearm. with it gone, you felt at peace. the primary source of pain for you had been washed away. perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, he thought.

sera

sera’s immediate reaction is, like dorian, to crack a joke. everyone is used to her eccentricity. but it felt different this time around. while you laid unconscious, recovering from the long battle, she occupied herself. she had to busy her hands and her legs, keep moving, keep her mind busy. because if she sat too still for even a second, then her mind would think about the worst outcome. she would get images of you, dead, because solas had betrayed you, betrayed her, betrayed the inquisition. hell, he betrayed the world! that knob! thinking he knew what was best! sera’s all the more relieved when it’s revealed you survived. she bursts through the door to see you and hug you tightly, complaining about how much you scared her.

varric tethras

in all honesty, varric should’ve been more prepared to expect...well, the unexpected. he had expectations of you coming out unharmed, untouched. obviously, that was not what happened. and he wondered if he was responsible for this. he had been one of the many people to support you as the inquisitor two years ago, suggesting it. he wondered if he made the wrong decision. but also, part of varric was relieved. he lost someone close to him two years ago. he didn’t know if he could handle losing you too.

vivienne de fer

the court would devour tales of the eluvians and how you managed to survive. that was vivienne’s first thought. people would be talking about you for centuries to come, certainly. and yet, she knew in her soul that was not what you would want. she does her best to minimize what rumors spread when you first emerge from the eluvians and help give you privacy. behind closed doors, vivienne checks on your injuries. part of her is amazed that the anchor was removed so cleanly.

josephine montilyet

josephine has seen many things ranging from serious to just plain absurd. when she was alerted that you had returned with many serious injuries, including the loss of half your arm, she sent messages to get the best possible doctors in all of orlais to help attend to you. the woman was definitely stressed beyond belief. but when she wasn’t trying to get everyone from backing off from you or getting people to look at you, josephine was attending to you herself. you awoke to find her wiping some sweat off your face and when she noticed, she muttered about how great andraste was and embraced you tightly.

cullen rutherford

your knight-commander appeared to take the news very well, much to the disapproval of cassandra. but the moment cullen was alone, in private, he flipped a table, causing everything to crash. all he could feel running throughout his body was regret, guilt, and anger. regret and guilt for not having gone with you. he should’ve. because if he did, maybe you would have came back alright. anger directed towards solas because the apostate had betrayed you, the inquisition. and everything you and him had worked towards was going to crumble. all of his hard work, leliana’s, cassandra’s, josephine’s, it’d all be for naught. cullen ends up spending a lot of time alone while you’re unconscious. he prays to andraste and the maker to distract himself from any wandering thoughts going towards lyrium. certainly the new mabari hound he decided to adopt on a whim helps with distractions at least.

leliana

the woman has seen many things in her lifetime, having experienced the fifth blight itself and been part of that fight against the archdemon. still, things aren’t easy when you come back from the eluvians missing half of your arm. even if it goes against all her duties, leliana stays with you until you wake up to make sure you’re alright. you’re the inquisitor after all and it’s vital that you’re still alive.

solas

he’s the one who took it. you think he cares?

in all seriousness, it gave him no pleasure to remove your arm for the anchor. even if his plan was...well, shoddy we should say, the anchor was going to kill you. he had no choice. carrying your hand and forearm around felt heavy. he could carry it just fine but what made it heavy was the burden that came with his plan to tear down the veil and bring doom upon the world in a desperate attempt to bring it back to what it once was. and also, the burden of having harmed you.

[eastern-lights]

After rereading The Stolen Throne and The Calling, I can't help but see paralells between Loghain and the Inquisitor of all people.

The unpersonification of the Inquisitor that you see in DAI as they become nothing but a cause and a symbol for all intents and purposes? Loghain went through the same thing during the rebellion. Just like the Inquisitor, he was conscripted into a cause he did not necessarily initially believe in. Over the years, the rebel army and Maric in particular shaped him into the ideal commander, the perfect Fereldan hero, until there was nothing else left. At one point, Maric and Rowan arguably emotionally blackmailed him into staying with the army instead of returning to his old home so he could bury his father and find out if the woman who basically raised him still lives. By the end of the war, he cared about nothing but Ferelden because that was the only thing that was not taken away from him.

Until it was taken from him at the Landsmeet, just like the Inquisitor lost the Anchor and the Inquisition, the only things that made them what they were in the end.

If Loghain lives and becomes a Warden, he does eventually find himself again. He has a cause, but it does not define him. He disobeys Clarel because it's the right thing to do. It really does seem like for the first time since the first chapter of TST, we see Loghain as himself, not as the Hero of River Dane or the Traitor Teyrn.

I'm really hoping for the Inquisitor to achieve the same. To be allowed to... not return, because that is impossible, but reclaim some pieces of themselves before the end.

[diesvitae]

Day 3: Fade

Another Veiltober piece.

Inquisitor Elinan Lavellan might have lost an arm, but in Dreams she now found another home and the spirits became her People too. I headcanon due to the anchor having been part of her for years, even after Solas took it away from her, some powers lingered and she gained the powers of a Somniari. Which helped greatly her mission to give safety and redeption to spirits, demons and abominations who were deemed unsalvageable.

[lafaiette]

there's a codex entry in the lighthouse that you can find in the second locked room in the central room. it's a series of notes written by solas to study his ritual and it confirms he lured the inquisitor in the crossroads in trespasser not to save their life (not just for that anyway) but also to retrieve the anchor and study it for his ritual. the writers did EVERYTHING to make him look like a villain, i'm so mad and sad

YES, I saw that, and I was so mad, too! I don't remember the devs ever saying that Solas managed to retrieve what remained of the Anchor in Trespasser - they just said the Inquisitor's arm was so damaged, Solas had to "collapse the Fade energy that had started to poison [the Inquisitor's] arm".

He reveals his whole plans to the Inquisitor, but never mentions needing the Anchor's remaining energy to do so. He has no qualms explaining what he intends to do - why shouldn't he also say he needs the Anchor to complete his preparations? It's not like the Inquisitor can stop him at that moment.

He actually says he lured the Inquisitor in that place to save their life (or to avoid more chaos in the South due to their death if they're not friends/in a romance iirc). So it's clear this was something they added in just for Veilguard, never once hinted in Trespasser, turning Solas' heartfelt words into a half-truth ("Luring you here was the best chance to save your life... at least for now. But also I need to use you again :) "

Furthermore, if he could take back the Anchor and its power, why did he wait until it was "damaged beyond repair", like that codex entry in the Lighthouse says? Why not take it back immediately and proceed with his plans? Did he need Mythal's power to do so? Why wait two more years until the events of Trespasser, then?

It makes no sense, and it once again paints Solas under a villainous light, even with a romanced Lavellan - he didn't lure her in the Crossroads just to save her life, he also needed her (again) to fulfill his duty and save the Elvhen people... but not really, because what really drives him is not the wonderful connection to the Fade the elves lost and that he wishes to recover, but Mythal! Isn't he a scoundrel! How could you love such a man!

[dragonagecompanions]

How do you think the Dragon Age Inquisition advisors and companions would react to Child Inquisitor being the child of the Champion of Kirkwall? Also could you make Fenris the child Inquisitor's father?

Cassandra: This is...problematic.

Varric had told her enough of the Champion's husband to know that Fenris will already be desperately hunting for his child, and the Champion...so much of their family is lost, it is unthinkable that Hawke will not be in the same state. Trying to convince them both that the inquisition has not kidnapped their offspring for political reasons will require all the tact she does not have.

And will rely on the very little goodwill she can wring from Varric, who she technically did kidnap for political reasons. She will need to keep Josephine close by at all times.

Solas: For so young a child, the dalen is already a political firestorm waiting to happen. The guilt he carries from having his magic stitched into their very flesh (and the pain this child is feeling from it) was already enough to convince him to stay, but being so close to the power center of both Inquisition and the Champion of Kirkwall is an unexpected boon. He will keep his finger on the pulse of all things anchor related, and keep himself close to the actions that are working to restore Thedas to order.

And by helping this child now, keep himself on the right side of a very angry elf who might be a problem before the Dread Wolf has his power returned.

Varric: Okay so, here’s the most important thing: he should have known.

Logically there is no way that Varric Tethras-Kirkwall’s author in residence and nominally a captive of the Right Hand of the Divine- could have known that the child of his best friend in the entire world had somehow snuck away from home AND traveled halfway across the blessed world AND infiltrated a highly secure theo-political conclave designed to reign in a burgeoning civil war to enact some sort of temporary peace. He has contacts and resources and keeps an ear to the ground, but that doesn’t mean the Merchant’s Guild can tell him everything the minute it happens.

And yet the fact that a child exists in the world who is half Fenris (impulsive and quick to defend what is his) Hawke (and carries the legacy of that family) really does mean that there wasn’t anywhere else they’d end up. It’s not a comfort to Varric when the Seeker and his best friend’s kid crest the hill toward them, but it certainly changes his standing with the Inquisition. So long as the kid is there Varric’s not leaving-- he owes Hawke at least that much and more. One way or another things are going to have to be put to rights.

Blackwall: Once, as another man in another life, his actions had led to the death of four children. Even then, in the height of his arrogance and conceit, Thom Rainier had stood over those small shrouded forms and would have given his own life a hundred times over to spare them. Nothing could have brought them back, of course, and no matter how many times he had knelt before Andraste's statues and begged for Her forgiveness it was not a burden he could lay down himself.

This child, Andraste's herald or not, is not a replacement for Collier's children. Defending their life will not wipe out the debt he owes to that slaughtered family. But as he shoulders his shield and sword in their defense, it just might be a start to that forgiveness.

That will be enough.

Vivienne: Children are not in a Circle mage's destiny, no matter how high her star may climb. The dreams of children with her perfect bone structure and Bastien's eyes will forever be only that. Madame de Fer has come to accept this, has spent her entire life accepting this. If she is softer with the new apprentices newly torn from their families, more patient with the young mages still struggling with a life behind walls, that is no one business but her own.

The Herald of Andraste is a child. No matter their illustrious parentage or the fame carried by those parents, they are too young to be bandied about as some sort of divine tool to rescue the world. The Game has no minimum age, of course, and Vivienne is not naive enough to think that Hawke's offspring will not have to play it in time, but she will be taking special care to to keep both eyes on the child to whom they will ask so much of.

And a sharper eye on those who would use them. Fenris is not the only one who can glow, when needed.

Sera: Little people need looking out for, and not much littler than a sprog. From the first jump their tiny Herald has an ever devoted guardian, one who ensures there is as much fun as serious herald business, and cookies for all.

When the parents do eventually arrive, her general distrust of all things magic and ardent desire to preserve their childhood will endear her to Fenris like none other in the Inquisition. Someone must look out for the little people, and while their methods are not the same each can respect the other.

Dorian: Vishente Kaffas, this is a child. In the light of that discovery a great many of his opinions on Alexius's plans (mostly on how his mentor is simply desperate to save Felix and not thinking clearly) and brutally altered. This man who wants to murder someone hardly old enough to see over the table is not the man he once knew, and there are no excuses he can make that will make it less barbaric.

By the time they are escaped from that terrible Not-Future Dorian has formed a trauma bond with this young person as profound as any he has known, and their safety is now absolutely his priority. Despite his disinclination for their creation Dorian is not opposed to children, and along with others is very content to take over their education in all things both mundane and magical.

Fenris's arrival is still loud and bright and involves quite a few angry comments between former slave and not yet magister, but in the end Dorian's unshirking resolve toward the young Herald will carry the day. When Fenris eventually finds out that his child is set to inherit Dorian's seat in the Magisterium as the heir to the current Pavus heir, that argument will be even louder.

Iron Bull: The Qun is very clear on the care and feeding of children in their charge, and it has never been in his destiny to be a Tamassran. Nor is the Iron Bull ignorant of the identity of the Inquisitors parents. But seeing how small the Herald is, something deep and protective in the mercenary captain surprises even himself.

(His Tama is both surprised and not to get a letter from her former charge, and if her memories of the little boy hold true he will read her meaning in the otherwise clinical advise on the care and keeping of young children.)

Watching the Chargers adopt the little Herald as one of their own has another lasting effect. There is no decision on the Storm Coast, not with this true understanding o family, and in truth Bull was lost to the Qun long before Gatt came south with an unbeatable test.

Cole: "So young, so bright, wanted to come south to find Uncle Varric, never meant to hurt anyone. You just wanted to help, to heal the hurt and make it whole. I want that too!"

The innocent and ardent desire of children to do good, and the boundless compassion that comes with youth, makes the Herald and Cole perfect companions. This friendship is strained by the arrival of Fenris's Anders driven loathing of abominations, but a more patient Hawke might ease the way there.

Josephine: She has younger siblings, and is currently responsible for the fate of House Montiliyet. The care and feeding of one small child is...well, child's play. If only Cassandra would not keep pulling her aside like some talisman against the Champion of Kirkwall.

If it were less entertaining, their ambassador might have informed the Seeker that her letters to Aveline Vallen have already abated much suspicion...

Leliana: There are one or two amongst her agents who have some experience with children, and she assigns them watch over their Herald. Beyond that, the spymaster keeps a distance. A child need not know all the brutal things done to keep the world turning. That is sacrifice enough.

If, every once in a while, the young herald is soothed after a nightmare with Ferelden lullabyes in an Orlesian accent, few are brave enough to share it.

Cullen: Maker's breathe, he'd thought he left Kirkwall behind him. Like Leliana he assigns soldiers who either are parents or who are good with children to keep a weather eye on the child, and adopts Cassandra's strategy of using Josephine as a shield against Champion and/or Lyrium Ghost rage.

Once was enough.

Mod Fereldone

[vespaer77]

The Memory of Her Scent

Inspired by this post

A drop of ink fell from the tip of his quill. It landed on the parchment below, leaving a blot separate from the whole. A form without intention.

Solas cursed a sharp, old word under his breath.

How long had his mind gone wandering? Aimless, like the lost foal of a mother halla? What was it that had stilled his hand, leaving it paused, poised with potential?

He studied the symbols he'd been scribing. They now seemed foreign, their meaning nebulous like the images that had skirted his periphery just a moment before. Little figments of his imagination they were, plucked and placed with purpose by the Fade. Little ghosts of memory come to haunt his tired eyes.

He replaced the quill to his inkwell and sat back in his chair, gently massaging his temples and the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he was working too hard. Perhaps he feared the noise in his mind that screamed at him when he didn't. If he was asleep, he could indulge his meandering thoughts, as dreamtime was a time for contemplation and self-reflection. Introspection. Processing and gathering facts, investigation. Understanding and compartmentalization.

But the waking world was for focus. For drawing conclusions, and watching possibilities coalesce into clarity. Yet it was clarity that proved so elusive, like the fickle scent of a hare on a rainy day.

He peered down the length of the corridor before him, his eyes straining in the grey, joyless, dismal dim, lit only by veilfire - the memory of fire. And probably not a very good one. It was a pale imitation, like everything else in the Lighthouse. It performed a utility, and no other characteristic beyond that.

It gave no care for what he wanted. It was simply what it needed to be.

Yet even now, as his gaze poured endlessly through the wan light flickering down the long line of plaster frescos and the shadows that lie between them…

He could smell her.

Read the rest here on AO3 or

And not the smell she carried when she was sweating beneath the pounding sun, stumbling through the shifting sands west of Val Royeaux. Neither was it the smell of her when she was combing the char of dragon fire out of her hair, after a bath with sweet herbs and lye soap. It wasn't even the smell of her as she stalked the Emerald Graves, all moss and loamy earth, when the visage of the Inquisitor peeled away from her like old paint to reveal what lie beneath, the graceful and cunning Dalish hunter who slipped silently between trees and stepped lightly over stones. Though that one was close.

It was instead the smell of her when her armor was hung and her staff was stowed, her business concluded and the Anchor forgotten, and all that was left to her was herself. Her truest self. The self that he knew best.

The self that knew him best.

And if he let his eyes unfocus, let the Fade around him win and let his edges blur and soften, he could almost see it.

The red flutter of a leaf as it tumbled in lazy somersaults, falling slowly to the ground.

The soft swirl of steam rising from the teapot he'd brought to share, which wasn't full of tea.

The light rustle of pages, the book in his hands teased by a playful mountain breeze.

And her just there in her garden, in her castle, humming an ancient lullaby that he was too old to know. She'd cast a spell over him with it, a bubble of quiet, banishing the murmurs of other voices off into nothingness somewhere far, far away.

His eyes swam as he relived the memory, and he watched it play all around him, a perfect pantomime of the past. It was the only time in his life that he could recall having ever truly known a moment of peace, though there was likely much of his existence he could no longer remember. It filled him with an ache so big it left no room for breath. Yet even as the air left him, sucking him dry as the vacuous void in his heart, he could smell her.

Because she smelled like him. Like them. When they were together.

A blend of ingredients, harkening from a precious pinpoint in time, each one carrying its individual note of significance. A thread in a tapestry, a tile in a mosaic.

There was the sugary scent of qunari spiced chocolate, still bubbling in its little teapot. It was a recipe he enjoyed, so she'd learned it. And she'd taught him. And then there was the musk of the leather binding the storybook he'd brought to read to her while he kept her company. His words had danced with her melody, carried aloft by the intoxicating aroma of rotting leaves, overturned soil, and blooming flowers.

From her garden. Its fragrant bouquet was as heavy as the late afternoon sun, lush with embrium, crystal grace, and dawn lotus. Amrita vein and arbor blessing, and even simple, useful things like spindleweed, felandaris, and elfroot.

And then there was the buttery smell of warm bread when she took off her gloves and sat down beside him, spreading tart wild berry jam across two slices of toast.

And the dewy puff of breath that kissed his cheek when she'd laughed at something he'd said. He couldn't possibly conjure the words now. He likely didn't even know what he'd said then either, as ceaselessly dumbfounded in her presence as he'd often found himself. She'd bewitched him, mind and body, and a part of him remained her thrall even now.

And it pained him. Nearly to the point of capitulation, once. Even then, as he'd sat on that bench beside her, in her garden, in her castle, filling her cup with chocolate and watching the wind tickle her nose with her hair, he'd considered giving it all up. Placing his principles aside.

For a time.

Time enough for her to rally her troops and march against her enemy. Time enough for her to restore hope and peace to a broken world. Time enough for her to shape the legend that elven clans would tell of her to their children, one thousand years from now. And time enough for them to celebrate their success, and savor the serenity of a life well-earned. Together. In love, in their harmony. In their quiet home nestled within a quiet garden, that smelled of flowers and the wind in the trees, and of leather-bound tomes and freshly baked bread and qunari spiced chocolate.

And then, time enough to watch the first sheen of silver streak through her long, dark hair. To watch the first lines of laughter linger too long at the corners of her mouth.

Until one day she would wonder why she grew old and he…

And he was always old to begin with.

How long could he live the lie?

And it wasn't that he was never truly the man she knew. Quite the opposite. She'd freed from within him a man he'd done his best to lock away. And his love for her was a truth so fierce and so monstrous it threatened to devour the rest of him entirely. The lie was the preposterous notion that he could ever have afforded himself the luxury of love at all. That the man she knew could ever, at all, be given the chance to flourish.

For as long as Fen'Harel ignored his duty and strayed from the lonely path he walked, their People would continue to die.

She would continue to die.

And then one day… she would leave him, anyway. She would sigh her last and close her eyes, drift off and away like a leaf on the sea to make her journey across the Fade, leaving ripples of memory behind her that spirits like him could cling to as if they were somehow more real than veilfire. And then she'd disappear, no longer to wake from dreaming, off into that great mystery that lie on the other side, beyond. Forever. To join the others that had gone before her, all of the others that had left him, long ago.

To go where he could never follow, and leave him behind.

Alone.

No matter what he did, he was always destined to lose her.

So it was best he let her go. He was glad he did it, even. It was cruelty for them both. And he was glad he did it years ago, so that nights like these came fewer to him. Nights when the memory of her scent swelled on the tides of dreams to crash against his shore, in the crossroads between the waking world and the Fade. He was glad for every night he summoned strength from solitude and resisted the urge to prowl the edges of her dreamscape, like a drug that masks a pain. Because what had begun as surrendering to succor had started to shift into something that seemed more like… surveillance. And it stained the context of their shared history. So he was glad he no longer needed this touchstone of her scent, and that he no longer needed to worry over how he'd feel should he watch the warm spice of her dewy breath one day kiss the cheek of someone else.

He watched a teardrop fall onto the parchment, to dilute his little ink blot. It swirled in diaphanous little spirals as grey as the cold and empty hall he called his ho… his living space. His lips twisted into a bitter smile against his will and he laughed a sharp, sad sob. Even after all of these many, long, long years, he was still such a terrible liar. So he crumpled the parchment in his fists, fell back in his chair in defeat, and used a sleeve to dry his eyes.

There was time enough to continue wrenching his plans into fruition tomorrow. There was time enough to let his slow yet inexorable walk of death delay for just one day. He would not risk intruding upon her dreams tonight, though. The time had come and gone for that. Time moved differently for her anyway, he was probably a stranger to her now. At the very least a memory.

He would, however, make a pot of qunari spiced chocolate. Perhaps he'd read a book, to clear his head before turning in for the night. Perhaps he'd try to recall a lullaby, to sing himself to sleep.

And perhaps tonight he would dream about a castle with a garden.

And the kiss of her breath on his cheek.

[kcwriter-blog]

I'm of two minds when it comes to the information that Solas has been slowly preparing his ritual for longer than anyone in game was aware of.

On the one hand, my mind goes immediately to the idea that he has been working on this from the Fade side for hundreds if not thousands of years. There was something when the teaser to the teaser came out about a merging of the two worlds hundreds of years in the making - if I remember correctly. That would mean Solas has been up to something for a long time.

Except he seems so horror stricken by what the world has become when he wakes up. Pulling the strings from the Fade side implies he's always known how bad things are in Thedas.

The only other thing I can think of that makes sense to me, personally, is that he always knew there was a time limit on the Veil. He knew it would degrade eventually. He somehow sets an alarm clock that wakes him up when the Veil is very weak.

The entire point of the Veil is that it serves as a prison for the Evanuris. I can't see him wanting them to get out. But, what if knowing the Veil would eventually degrade, he decides he needs a powerful object that gains magical energy for thousands of years? He can take down the Veil and destroy the Evanuris with, say, an Orb.

That might be why he has been preparing the ritual. He probably thought his people would be fine and maybe even strong enough to help him. He didn't realize the Veil would mean the destruction of his people. Now he's faced with a Veil that is coming down no matter what, so he tries to move the Evanuris into another prison before continuing with taking down the Veil. With his Orb broken he doesn't have enough power to take them on. Basically he decides to move them, bring the world back to what it was and then try to figure out a new plan (given his track record, that's a scary thought).

I know I'm rambling.

On the other hand, I'm reminded of the original premise for Veilguard when it was still Dreadwolf. Then devs said that our hero would have no power and the game would be about what happens when no one in power is listening or paying attention. We see in both Tevinter Nights and The Missing that there is more magic in the world in the sense that non-mages are starting to get magical powers. Lucanis gets Fade headaches. Sister Laudine, in the short story In Genitivi Dies in the End seems to suddenly get Rift Mage powers. In The Missing Arlathan Forest is a magical disaster. So much so it's led to the creation of the Veil Jumpers. There's also the activation of Ghilan'nain's monster factory in Horror of Hormak. There are probably other examples.

So is it possible that what Epler is referring to is just what Solas has been doing for the past 10 years? We have all been thinking that Solas would tear the Veil down in one fell swoop with a single ritual. What if it isn't? What if he had to do a lot of things before he could get to the big ritual? Those things brought even more magic into the world.

In that situation, his gathering of magical objects makes sense. They may be the anchor points for pulling down the Veil. I've always suspected those artifacts we have to turn on in DAI for him were used to help create the Veil. That's why when we activate them, they strengthen the Veil and keep rifts from forming. Over time, they got picked up by people, lost, stolen and turned off. It's possible our Inquisitors are the only ones who could activate them because they had magic tied to the Fade. Solas certainly isn't activating them.

Then again it could be both. Solas was aware of what the Veil is doing to spirits in the Fade and wanted to help them by pulling it down. He starts on the Veil side and then wakes up to finish the ritual on the waking world side. He has no idea what's been going on in the world so he's pretty upset.

I don't know if any of these theories are correct but I'm glad we won't have to wait much longer to find out.

[maebird-melody]

Okay I can't be normal about Solas right now so you're getting my thoughts. Stop reading if you haven't/don't plan to watch the gameplay trailer. You've been warned.

First of all, I know the art style change is not to everyone's tastes, but I actually really love it and feel like they managed to still capture the essence of the characters without departing too far into a stylized look. The way Solas carries himself and emotes still feels so inextricably him like don't tell me that the way his eyebrow creases or how he keeps his shoulders straight but low, as if bearing the burden of a thousand lives, doesn't feel heart-achingly familiar.

And the way that Solas talks about the veil as a wound inflicted upon the world that must be healed, like, my boy, you are the one who inflicted it. He's the one who made it, thinking it would save people, and he woke some thousand odd years later and it didn't, everything was worse and oh no what had he done. He's trying to fix his past mistakes, or what he perceives as past mistakes, unable to move beyond what he remembers to see what good there is in the present. He has a greater good he wants to gift the world, and it's his fault, all his fault, things are the way they are. He will set it right. He has to.

He doesn't want to see the world burn. He came to love it, came to see it as the Inquisitor saw it, as her advisors and companions saw it. As a world worth saving. He wants both. He's trying to do both--bring back the days of yore and save what he can of this present age. And perhaps it is his pride that says he, and only he, can do this. That it is his responsibility. That no one else should shoulder the burden of the countless lives that will be lost in remaking the world.

And "People are always dying. It is what they do." MY HEART. SOLAS. There are so many things he could mean by this. He has seen so much death. He has outlived so many others with his ancient elvhen lifespan. His comrades in the war against the Evanuris, dying around him, dying for his cause. His friends and soldiers in the Inquisition, dying for a new cause. People dying from darkspawn. The Inquisitor dying slowly as the anchor killed her. And if he loved her, how much deeper that one cut! People die all the time, and he is powerless to stop it. He can't stop the dying, but he can bring about a better world for the survivors. Unravel the mistakes he made so long ago.

He can. He must. He will.

[fleshwerks]

(vibrating at the speed of light) have you had any thoughts about what spiridon and crassius have been up to since trespasser?

Why yes I have. Let's see.

Immediate aftermath:

The Exalted Council concluded with him in absentia. Josephine Montilyet served as the acting Inquisitor, as the Inquisitor was indisposed: whatever magic Solas had used to relieve him of the Anchor had a bad adverse effect with Spiridon Lavellan's own internal, passive magic. Think of it as an immune system acting to a virus. Ever seen a magic infection? Not gonna cure that with chewing on some willow bark, so the Inquisitor was out cold for a month. The few times Spiridon was lucid, he kept counsel with Josephine (despite their deteriorated relationship. Josephine may have once also been great friends with Leliana, but she was always wise enough to know that even an enlightened tyrant is still a tyrant, and will inevitably be lost to corruption of one sort or another). Josephine Montilyet disbands the Inquisition on the spot during the last meeting of the Exalted Council, sending shockwaves through the attendees, and cutting a permanent wrinkle between the new Divine's eyebrows. During that time, Crassius Servis was away, working on an object. He did not return to the Inquisitor's bedside: Divine Victoria, formerly known as Leliana, was bad fucking news, seeing as Leliana had tried to dispose of him, Crassius Servis, before, when she was still a mere Spymaster for the Inquisiton. Now more than ever is there no time for sentiment, and positions over new dig sites and errant forces needed to be seized. If the Inquisitor is mostly unconscious, then the Inquisitor has no use for bedside blather. Servis had a job to do, now that the Inquisitor had proverbially cut off the arm and fist the new Divine had sought to seize for herself, and that job was to collect the fingers and assemble a smaller, nimbler hand hidden in cloak and dagger.

Fitting a new arm:

After trying many mechanical contraptions and rejecting them, Servis offered to conjure an arm from the Fade. Spiridon Lavellan expressed his gratitude for the gesture by letting Servis know that the first thing he'll do with that new arm is strangle him to death with it. With the Inquisitor's magophobia deepening, so did the rift between them. Servis disappears to his duties. Correspondence via crow mail continues, but is cordial and impersonal.

Spiridon Lavellan in the meanwhile accepts the loss of the limb and seeks no replacement. It's gone, and no amount of replacing it will get him over the mental block of not being physically 'complete'. One can argue that it's an unhealthy state of mind, but if you raise a boy to pride his physique and fitness for waging war, then never be surprised when the inevitable degradation of his main weapon, himself, cripples him emotionally, forever.

After a while, however, he finds it a blessing in disguise. He now has the commanding look of an aged, wounded veteran, and nobody expects him to lead field expeditions again. He now gets to sit back and dedicate himself wholly to politics, literature, and learning how to write correctly in the twilight of his life. A lot of it is helped by correspondence with Crassius Servis; the relationship between the two begins to thaw. With Spiridon's walls all but destroyed, and finally being able to lead fully on his own terms within reasonable capacity (as opposed to being an illiterate Dalish-born meathead suddenly being forced to command an entire 10,000 strong paramilitary religio-political force in a time of magical crisis), Spiridon has it in him to be less on guard, to act out less, and to generally allow himself to be a great deal more open to entertaining someone else's romantic designs.

It's during this time that a tiny, shriveled bit of a person he could've been, is rearing its skinny head. He was a very nice, personable curious child once. Servis wonders what would've happened, if he'd never been picked for one of the Lavellan phalanx. But then, he also wonders, if he would've ever even liked Spiridon like that before. A part of their mutual appeal is how push and pull they are, and the insurmountable wall of one being a magic-wielding rich fifth son of a slaver magocratic family, who loves magic and inherently believes in the supremacy of magic wieldels, and the other being literally bred to combat magic, resent magic, and who was brought up in a Dalish magocracy, and who fucking hates the inequality it creates and the inherent cataclysmic danger it poses. He likens it to partaking in the fighting pits. Sure, it hurts you and injures the fighter, but it feels fantastic to give as good as you get. And the Inquisitor has not, in any capacity, become docile. If anything, the Inquisitor has more vim and edge than he ever did in the Inquisition and has found practical ruthlessness in ways he never did before.

The Fereldan Orchards

Spiridon and Crassius monopolise the Fereldan apple and cider trade to fund further digs, establish relations with various Dalish clans and work with them on old temple and artifact sites. Also to further anti-Elvhenan sentiment. A good number of Dalish clans fucking hate each other and a great many are completely unwilling to give up their 800-year-old nomadic culture for a sedentary lifestyle in an elvhen ethnostate formed of peoples interclan and intraclan class system reigns supreme (even if the Dalish would never admit to having a rigid class system within clans). The fight against Solas continues, and the creation of an Elvhen state creates further geopolitical fragmentation at this point that would serve Solas perfectly, and would also give Solas-sympathetic elvhen sustainable resources and a power base.

Both Spiridon and Crassius get bitter flak for it, but they weather it well, as an unified pair, and live by the truth that is as follows: you might not love politics, but politics loves you, and in order to govern, one forever forfeits the right to entertain a notion of themselves as a good person. Ironically, it's made it so much easier for Spiridon and even Crassius to 'do the right thing'. It's easy to do the right thing if you're no longer afraid of breaking someone else's legs for it.

Death

Spiridon passes away from old age before the events of Dragon Age 4. Servis inherits the estate, and wears the Inquisitor's signet ring. The Inquisitor was left on the Free Marches cold steppes for the eagles and the steppe mice to eat with a whole bunch of Servis' fancy rings on his fingers. Nobody ever robbed his corpse, because Servis got his one last 'fuck you lol' to Spiridon in by enchanting the rings to cause an unstoppable urge to vomit in anybody, who would touch the rings. He thought it was hilarious. Spiridon would've probably agreed. The man dressed stylishly but very plainly throughout his life, but he did always love his gold.

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Pt. 15

Viddasala

Trespasser Masterpost Previous: Shattered Library

The PC heads through the eluvian to the inverted island. They’re greeted by a large group of Qunari. The Viddasala stands up head.

Viddasala: Survivor of the Breach. Herald of change. Hero of the South.

PC: The Viddasala, I presume.

Sera: (Nervous laugh.) Wow.

Viddasala: After fulfilling your purpose at the Breach, it is astonishing to hear you still walked free among your people. Your duty is done, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic.

Dialogue options:

General: We don’t have to fight. [1]

General: My mark isn’t a danger. [2]

General: You’re not up to killing me. [3]

1 - General: We don’t have to fight. PC: It’s not too late to put our weapons down and talk. Viddasala: There’s no need to pretend that you’re blind to what you’ve begun. [4]

2 - General: My mark isn’t a danger. PC: The Anchor repairs tears in the Veil. I would think you’d approve of that. Viddasala: Is that all it does? Tell me, why hold your hand as if it’s begun to pain you? [4]

3 - General: You’re not up to killing me. PC: I’ve defeated all your Ben-Hassrath so far. Viddasala: So you have. The repercussions have already begun. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Viddasala: I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the south defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your own magic. You’ve amply proven we should have stepped in long ago.

Dialogue options:

General: What are you going to do? PC: Then enlighten me about the Qun’s plans for us. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: So you try mass assassination? PC: Is that what Dragon’s Breath is for? Murdering our heads of state just to control our magic? ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: The Breach was a fluke. PC: Corypheus had a one-of-a-kind artifact. The Veil is safe.

Viddasala: Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything, that its consequences stopped there? The day we saw the Breach, the Qun decided its action. We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil. This agent of Fen’Harel has disrupted everything. Lives that were to be spared, lost for him!

PC: Who is this agent? Why would you think they work for the Inquisition?

Viddasala: Kill the Inquisitor, then follow me to the Darvaarad.

She leaves, and the PC fights through the Qunari. When they fighting is done, they look around the camp. The PC finds a tattered note.

This scrap of parchment is written in both Qunlat and the Common Tongue, although the letters in Qunlat are shaky: ㅤㅤ ㅤ Please excuse my Qunlat. Its subtleties elude me even with your patient teaching. ㅤㅤ ㅤ We pulled everyone out of the palace. The shem nobles assumed we were servants leaving on an errand. We are hiding where you told us, waiting for signs that Dragon's Breath has begun. Victory is in the Qun.

PC: No wonder the Qunari translated notes into our language. It was for their non-Qunari spies.

Iron Bull: They’d have to. Qunlat’s not an easy one to learn.

They continue to look around and find the Viddasla’s papers.

This sheaf of notes is written mostly in Qunlat. But select paragraphs have been translated into the common tongue: ㅤㅤ ㅤ Those born outside the Qun will not comprehend the seriousness of using mages to help us. They believe the worst that can befall a mage is demon possession. They do not truly understand that the loss of mastery comes with a loss of the self. Those of the Qun since birth do not understand why we risk using saarebas. We have immersed them in a sea of magic until it seems impossible they could ever do anything but drown. It is right that we enlighten you so your purpose here is clear. ㅤㅤ ㅤ We have learned from this place that there lived an elven mage who saw a great wrong and sacrificed all to right it. This mage made the Veil, which protects us from the Fade. This Veil stripped power from his rulers, who had treated their people with such excess that it makes the southern kings and queens seem staid. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Thus does every action carry rightness and all paths converge. ㅤㅤ ㅤ In his greatest magic, the elven mage became an agent of peace through the Veil. In our willingness to brave this place, we may discover how the Veil can be strengthened through our own mages. For that, we risk our lives. The saarebas who have joined in this endeavor understand the dangers and have made their choice. Remember the words of Ashkaari Koslun: ㅤㅤ ㅤ Existence is a choice. There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom. From wisdom of the world comes wisdom of the self. Mastery of the self is mastery of the world. Loss of the self is the source of suffering. Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it. It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it. ㅤㅤ ㅤ For peace, we will endure any horror here. We will create a safer world, or destroy the old one.

PC: These are the Viddasala’s papers. She brought mages here to research strengthening the Veil.

Iron Bull: A way to clamp down magic? No wonder she’s here.

PC: It explains why the Qunari thought it was worth camping here.

They speak with the nearby Archivist.

Archivist: Visitors. Patrons. Welcome. The halls are open.

Dialogue options:

General: Where did Viddasala go? [5]

General: Goodbye. [6]

5- General: Where did Viddasala go? PC: Can you tell me where a Qunari called the Viddasala went? Archivist: Yes. We heard much, although she fooled herself into thinking we could not hear. “Take a keystone to the Darvaarad. I will join you there soon, and take stock of our remaining gaatlok powder.”

If the PC does not have the keystone Archivists: If it is something you would like to see, I sense a key nearby. I have words to open it. [9]

If the PC has the keystone Dialogue options:

General: I have a keystone. [7]

General: Goodbye. [6]

7 - General: I have a keystone. PC: I found a keystone with one of the Qunari. Archivist: Yes. And you need words for their key. “Maraas nehraa.” It glows. It will open the way to the Darvaarad. May you find what you seek. In coming here, you strengthened the paths. I can now raise one, if you wish to go. The pathway raises behind the spirit.

Dialogue options:

General: Thank you. [8]

General: Goodbye. [6]

8 - General: Thank you. PC: You’ve been very helpful… uh… Archivist: “Ghil-Dirthalen” was what the elvhen called me. “One who guides seekers of knowledge true.” I was connection. One city could read the records of another, one elvhen feel the memories of another. When the Veil fell upon us, I marked the end of all they knew. [6]

6 - General: Goodbye. PC: Farewell. Archivist: Seek well. [21]

9 - Scene continues.

If the PC doesn’t have the keystone and speaks to the Archivist again Archivist: If you wish to exchange knowledge with the Qunari, please return with a keystone.

The PC speaks to the archivist after openeing the path. Archivist: Farewell, patrons. Would that I could have greeted you whole.

The Archivist vanishes.

PC: We’ve got to find this Darvaarad and corner Viddasala there.

The PC heads through the eluvian and makes their way back the way they came.

Next: the Qunari Plot

[otherpigeon]

Danyla Lavellan - The Inquisitor necromancer

major choices bunch of facts & headcanons under the cut!

Early Life

The Lavellan clan in my canon has no interest in humans, and they are incredibly blood thirsty

They travel from forest to forest, staying in the deepest parts, far away from civilization

Being raised in this environment, Dany is not the easiest to get along with

Her magic manifested at age 10, when she tangled another in thorns because they were teasing animals

She is an only child, and was doted on by both of her parents

Almost to the point where she felt smothered

SO getting to study under the keeper was something she cherished and took very seriously

In fact, she takes most things seriously. If you can make her laugh, you deserve an award

In studying under the keeper, she obviously learned a lot about Dalish history, but she also became an expert in lost magic- specifically shapeshifting

She's used this ability to scout or to scare off anyone who comes too close to camp

Her relationship with her parents remains strained- they still try to treat her like a kid, and she resents them for it. She considers the keeper to be her parental figure

Shortly before the conclave explosion, a couple of Clan Lavellan's young mages had wandered out of the woods, curious about the outside world

A group of templars found them and...well, it didn't go well for the mages

The clan found the young mages, and, being the way they are...decided on revenge.

In Game

They find out a bunch of templars- and the templar leader!- will all be in one place. The conclave.

Dany volunteers for the trip. She's furious & wants to keep the clan protected at all costs

So of course things go badly because why wouldn't they

Dany denounces being the herald any chance she gets

She wants absolutely no part of any of this, and pushes back a LOT. She just wants to go home

In fact, if it weren't for Cass pushing and insisting on recruiting, the Inquisition would be empty and would probably fail lmao

Eventually, Dany realizes she has power. Lots of it.

And she kind of goes on a tyrannical warpath. If you're with her, great, if not...well, I'll pray for you

And everyone is kind of like "what tf did we just do"

Romance

Dany took a lot of comfort in the one other elven mage of the inquisition

She just...really loved being around Solas. She could listen to him talk for days

She just loves learning ok!!! She's super open minded to his theories and ideas, and is incredibly interested in the fade

The only thing she doesn't take kindly to...is the slave marking thing because she is really proud of her heritage. No way they're wrong.

She takes the breakup badly.

She actually becomes softer, she thinks maybe it was because she was too difficult to work with

Aaaand then he leaves for good and she gets worse than she was before she met him. She lost her anchor, lost the one person she trusted and cared about.

So she kinda doesn't care about going off the rails

Post Game

Dany stays with the Inquisition since her clan is gone, and turns it into a powerhouse. It's something people have grown to fear, which leads into "is the inquisition actually useful now?"

She also works closely with Briala to make Gaspard's life hell

And maybe there's a lil fling there but it's very brief and hush hush

(no, she never got over Solas thanks for asking)

After Trespasser she is completely mind fucked. She disbands the inquisition and becomes sort of a recluse in order to reflect on everything

I say sort of because she does try to find Solas. She will help him destroy the world if it will restore elven glory- even if it will cost her her own life

She keeps in contact with Briala (who has become a dear friend), and Leliana

There are very few sightings of Danyla post Trespasser. She uses shapeshifting most of the time to keep a low profile

[rosella-writes]

For some indulgence (me, for my indulgence): ❛ please ,  please ,  please - ❜ for Connor and -dom of your choice- uwu

I think it's Solavelyan time. For @dadrunkwriting

Rating: E but gentle Pairing: Solas x Connor Trevelyan Words: 704 Tags: rope bondage, soft domming of the Solas persuasion

Solas lost himself in touching the Inquisitor.  It was the same touch as they had had before, but turned to a different purpose. Connor Trevelyan’s leaning weight was familiar against his chest, as was the way he swayed slightly towards the pressure of Solas’s hands. But where before this touch was used to express a more platonic, grounding love, this was… different. 

Solas was no stranger to rope. Its rasp was familiar in his hands, as was the methodical process of it — draw length, loop, draw through, tighten tension, test — but Connor’s sounds. Such an experience was new. They sighed from him with relief, as if with every inch of restriction, Solas was setting him free.  Solas shifted, letting Connor’s larger body rest against his for support, and spread his hand down the breadth of the Inquisitor’s freckled arm. In a smooth, controlled motion, he pushed Connor forward, simultaneously drawing the bulk of Connor’s arm towards his own spine. He bound it there, almost meditatively affixing each loop to the anchor at the center of Connor’s back. As he did, he soothed Connor’s quick breaths back to the slow, sighing ones of before with slow strokes up and down the bulked muscles of his shoulders.  He didn’t speak. Neither of them did. He simply moved around the folded body of his fettered love, observing the absolute trust Connor had in him, the way he yearned towards him as if any gap of time between touches was too long. He paused only long enough to remove his own tunic, as he grew warm as he worked. He continued while dressed in leggings alone.  Connor’s sparse underclothes bunched slightly as Solas turned towards tying his thighs. As he did, Connor leaned toward him, making a new, confusing sound. Solas took stock, paused, and took Connor’s downturned face in his hands. The doubled length of rope lay, harmless, across their laps for now.  “Vhenan,” he said softly.  He smoothed strands of hair back from Connor’s cheeks and forehead, baring more of his face to view. Connor’s light, unfocused eyes finally fluttered open, and his lips parted around another, now uncertain, sigh.  “I —” Solas waited, then chuckled. “You?” Connor swallowed, seemingly searching for words. They seemed very far away and hard to reach, wherever he had gone while Solas had tied and untied and tied him again. “Thank you — for…” “Ma nuvenin,” Solas assured him. He kept smoothing his long fingers over Connor’s cheeks, his temples, his forehead, as if he could press more of the words from him by caresses alone. Connor finally shook his head. He pressed closer to Solas, as close as his binds and their awkward way of kneeling facing each other would allow, as if he wanted to be as close to him as physically possible.  “Please — please —” Solas began to let his hands spread their soothing path lower, across shoulders, arms, chest. Anticipation and an odd sort of fear threatened to choke him — this felt too far, beyond the permission the Inquisitor had given. But Connor pressed forward into his hands. Connor’s eyes fluttered shut again as Solas’s fingers grazed over his nipples. Solas lingered, breaths quickening, as he watched and listened for more signs of Connor’s enjoyment. He let himself give the Inquisitor this small measure of comfort — for there could be no harm in it, not when the man so desperately craved his touch. Not when he was begging Solas to provide it.  His hands slid lower, across rope-creased flesh, across warmth and scars and faint hair and clothes. And at a pathetic, needy, desperate sound from Connor’s throat, Solas finally let the soft rocking motion of Connor’s hips bring his core in contact with his palm.  “Ah,” he sighed, pressing firmly against soaked fabric. “There.” Connor nodded, wordless, and leaned forward until his forehead rested on Solas’s shoulder. Solas’s own body prickled and ached with this small allowance, this little pleasure he allowed himself. He supported Connor’s weight gladly. He allowed the gentle strokes of his fingers to slake their hunger to touch and be touched. And he turned towards the soft breaths Connor huffed against his clavicle, only to murmur praise in a tongue the Inquisitor didn’t understand.

[camelliagwerm]

Something I was discussing with a friend earlier today — not to be like, "love heals all" or whatever because it is 100% a bullshit trope but the Bull falling in love with Arthur, a spirit healer touched by Compassion, is really hitting rn. Someone soothing, calm and kind, whose raw magical power lies in revival, renewal, resurgence.

Arthur consistently offers companions and advisors the opportunity to start anew: Leliana becoming inspired and then moving on from Justinia; Thom being given the chance to atone for his crimes; supporting Cole's desire to help and to remind him of the ability to forgive; Cullen the strength to kick the lyrium addiction; hell, he even wishes to change Solas' mind, if it's possible— and he gives the Bull the chance to live his life away from the Qun.

And despite Arthur's talent with healing magic, he can only truly heal the physical. He understands that wounds will never heal, like the horrors of spending nearly a decade in Seheron and those he lost there. But his presence and their blossoming connection must do a lot to help Bull find his footing in his new life as a Tal-Vashoth, so the pain can at least be eased. Arthur's warmth and steadiness grounds him when he fears he may go mad without the Qun's rigid structure to guide him; someone who has such faith in him and unconditionally believes that he is a good man, deep down. (Bullshit. You're a good man -> I'm a better man for having met you, Kadan)

Arthur is used to being put on a pedestal as the Herald of Andraste, even if he still finds it unnerving that simply a part of who he is (his connection to his spirit of Compassion and his temperament well suited to being a healer) is being mythologised to the point where he may well be declared a saint . But just like he can see past the Ben-Hassrath spy, Bull can see past that, see the cracks beneath the shimmering white and gold robes and heavy Inquisitor circlet they dress their Herald in — a stressed, grieving man who has lost much himself. Several family members and numerous colleagues he respected dying at the Conclave. A lover he, at this point, believes dead after the events of Therinfal. The knowledge he couldn't save his apprentices, and are now likely part of the Venatori. He needs as much of an anchor as Bull does following his explusion from the Qun so he does not run the risk of possession - his own greatest fear.

They do a lot for helping each other heal and move on, exploring a new chapter of life together that they hadn't been able to consider before.

TL;DR

[purplecritter]

Dragon Age: Vows and Vengeance (Ep. 4)

Official episode transcript here

My notes while I was listening under the cut... Spoilers ahead!

I did not miss the templars bro…

I am really hopeful that Arlathan will have similar vibes to the Brecilian in Origins! I loved the talking trees and lurking demons etc etc. Bring back the whimsy to Thedas ya know

This was wayy too offtopic to go in the main post but the beginning with Bellara hidden in the trees reminded me of (improbable reference in 3, 2, 1…) Jasmine in Deltora Quest: The Forest of Silence

Yikes I bet Tevinter has some pretty stocked up museums with all these artifacts 💀 No wait we literally already know they do, the fucking Archives in episode 1 were full of things that didn’t belong there

“Call me rabbit again and I'll run your throat, shemlen dog” Bellara 🥰

I love a duo that can slip into scathing banter so easily but they actually like each other a lot. I’m so glad the writers didn’t go the (overused) “I insult you and create a huge argument but you didn’t realize that it was only as a distraction and I meant none of it but now it’s too late and you’re mad”

(Said by Bellara to temporarily animate the surrounding trees, using an amulet) Var vhen'alas var vallasdahlen. Should translate to something like “Our land, our life-trees*” *vallasdahlen = trees planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom

I want to bring our Inquisitor to this river specifically so they can walk on it and maybe learn how to stop drowning in puddles 👉👈

Bellara’s 10 steps ahead of everyone and I love that for her

Bellara loves books! Which tracks with her fangirling over Neve heh. I wonder if she’s ever read anything of Varric’s lmao

Bellara & Drayden: nerd to nerd communication

Every time Nadia refers to Elio as “my love” I go 🥺

Ohhh Bellara wanting maps of the tears but also not having been able to save someone important to her vs Aldwir Rook losing a map specifically to save other veil jumpers... If you hear distant barking that’s just me

The Flicker = ancient Elven device, built with secret metallurgical techniques lost to time, that can act as a guide = technomancy → Dagnaaa where are you

Arlathan having “lyrium fields�� makes me so nervous

Drayden: “I get the feeling our paths have converged here for a reason. This all feels connected” 🧐🎤agent of Fen’Harel

Drayden’s whole backstory 🥺

AWE Flicker sounds ADORABLE

“Remember Nadia, the Fade is capricious. It lies and it obscures. There's also truth. In all of my research and experience, I've learned one thing above all else: Trust your mind more than your heart. The demons beyond the veil, they will use your feelings against you. They will reshape reality. You must put a thought in your mind's eye and weight it like an anchor, immovable and untouchable. Focus on–” “Elio. I will focus on Elio.” “But focus on how you know him to be and not–” “–on how you want him to be.”

The Fade without being a mage / conscious that it’s being manipulated by a Demon is nightmare fuel btw

The bridge specifically being described by Elio as being made of obsidian makes me 100% sure that the obsidian part of the previous episode’s mirror/eluvian/portal was at least fade-touched, if not directly from the Fade

“I can't leave the way you came. In order to protect myself here, I had to cast a spell disguising me as an inhabitant so the spirits of this realm didn't come for me [...] I can't [end the spell] unless I destroy the font that I used. But I hid it for safekeeping. Back there. Just outside of the Black City. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what made it safe.” 🧐Eliooooooo what did you doooooo

Mhkay demon Templar raising an army of lyrium-corrupted knights from the Fade. What.

dathrasi = qunlat for animal (derogatory)

[ell-vellan]

WIP Whenever

Because I started writing a new thing and I kind of like how it's going.

Solavellan confrontation in Trespasser from Solas's point of view.

Everything has led to here, to now. To this. All of the chess pieces exactly as he'd maneuvered them, ready for the final move of the game. Checkmate.

And she is realizing it too. Finally, the last pieces fitting into place. He can see the slow, horrible dawning, her memory rehashing every moment between them, every oddity of his manner, every unanswered question, every vague explanation he had ever hand-waved away. Every odd conversation with Cole. Everything Solas knew and couldn't have known. Skyhold, the Anchor, the Orb. At the time, everyone was too concerned with the imminent ending of the world to question him. A man appeared to them when they most needed it, nudging them gently in the right directions, quietly offering suggestions which always seemed to work, and they were simply too grateful to push him to answer how.

Solas had taken advantage of their panic to insert himself quietly and indelibly into their affairs. The Inquisition has been hers for so long that her name would never again be spoken without the title of Inquisitor - but before even that, it had been his. He had manipulated her every move before she had even known she was playing.

And now Anera sees him with clear eyes. She understands everything, as he knew she would, chasing down his hints, following the trail he left. His clever vhenan sees him for who he is, fully, for the very first time. The trickster. The liar. The traitor. Harellan.

The Dread Wolf.

The betrayal in her eyes, the hurt, is even worse than the fury. He deserves it. He will bear it as he has done so many times before.

She deserves none of what he's done to her, or what he is still to do. Let her hate him.

She is powerless to stop him. She will try; he knows her well enough that she will chase him to the ends of the earth. She won't sit idle and watch him destroy her world any more than she did Corypheus.

Yet she has no idea, in this moment, just how far his power surpasses her own. In the two years since their parting, he has regained nearly all of what he lost. All the power she has wielded as Inquisitor, he's poised to take in one last, ruthless move. The time has come: he must remove her from the board. And no matter how he once let himself love her, he will do it, because the people need him.

He has taken up the mantle of Fen’Harel once more.