#the song of dirthalath

[cumbiazevran]

Six Sentences (post) Sunday

@aria-i-adagio tagged me and I’ve been written Dirthalath and the ancient Elvhen again.

Tagging @atypicalacademic @transfenris-truther @ammoniteflesh and @nightgnome

The world was moving around him, the lights, the smells, the sounds, the contact of people starting to tick him off despite he was decidedly ignoring it. There, still in his corner, with his favourite scholars which did not include him and would never include him, Dirthamen threw his head back laughing. 

He stopped dancing. Mouth half open and eyes glossy with desires that sat like burning stones on his throat, he stared at Dirthamen’s neck. 

He hated him more than anything else in the world. He wanted his attention more than anything else in the world, which is why he hated him so much in the first place. Because the truth of the matter was he did not hate him at all.

[thebitchkingofangmar]

WIP Title Ask Game

@glorf1ndel tagged me, so here we go!! Tysm!!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

The Titles:

Fool's Gold Melts and Glistens All The Same

Unholy Minister of Unholier Things

The Admirable

The Song of Dirthalath

And The Lovers, Do They Dream?

O, Audacious Hearts

Heavy Is The Name And Nimble The Blade That Cuts It

Such Is The Blood That Hungers

tagging: @lordoftherazzles, @imakemywings, @adanethorn and @saintstars

[vampiresuns]

Kani my beloved @atypicalacademic tagged me for Bad Summaries of my WIPs, and I promise to do my worst absolute job—

And The Lovers, Do They Dream? Crimson peak with a happy ending meets Apollo throwing his pride-month-edition ball of prophecy at guy already on his way towards radicalisation.

The Song of Dirthalath Prickly, ancient asshole with a heart of gold lives a thinly veiled allegory for the trauma of survival

Ex Umbra In Solem Heartwarming! This family cannot be killed in any way that matters

Secrets of an Ancient Moon 10 Effortless, Emotionally Chic Hacks That Actually Take Way Too Much Effort On How To Survive The Ordeal of Being Known, Becoming God’s Most Specialest Bastard and Win A Found Family Without Even Trying

tagging @arcanecadenza, @valhallanrose, @into-the-daniverse, @asras3rdeye and @ilyamatic if you feel like it, beloveds​

[cumbiazevran]

the mixtape game

Ty @aria-i-adagio for tagging me!

Rules: Character A creates a mixtape for Character B

But.... Character A only has a sixty-minute cassette tape, so the songs chosen must fit into two groups of no more than thirty min.  Order matters!  (Taping songs from the radio is totes legit.  We had to have someway to do these things before napster.)

Remember: You're choosing songs Character A would pick for Character B - not general 'ship' songs.

tagging: @ammoniteflesh @ripflemeth @transfenris-truther @gaysebastianvael

The Mixtapes: 

1. “Con los años que nos quedan”, a playlist from Zevran to Juno Mahariel. The vibe is things I know Zevran would play or sing under his breath to pull Juno to dance because they’re looking too serious, which is both very enticing and means they need to dance right now.

side a: con los años que me quedan, gloria stefan; para tu amor, juanes; no te apartes de mí, vicentico; que me des tu cariño, juan luis guerra; nuestro juramento, juanes

side b: amante bandido, miguel bosé; amor eterno, rocío durcal; moscas en la casa, shakira; memorias del olvido, no te va a gustar; corazón partío, alejandro sanz; amárrame, mon laferte

2. “Vhenan”, a playlist from Arviraven Lavellan to Dorian.

side a: dream a little dream, pink martini; somethin’ stupid, the sinatras; undisclosed desires, muse; champagne cost, blood orange

side b: belong, san fermin; queen of the rodeo, orville peck; in a week, hozier; i was a landscape in your dream, of montreal; it’s a sin, pet shop boys

3. “I love you or whatever”, a playlist from a Spymaster to the God of Secrets. I am deep in their brainrot always sorry

side a: hatef--k, the bravery; problems, mother mother; the sound, the 1975; flaws, bastille; the loneliest time, carly rae jepsen & rufus wainright

side b: from eden, hozier; every other freckle, alt-j; unison, bjork; déjame estar, diego torres; como será, soledad

[cumbiazevran]

me: I should write more of the song of dirthalath 

also me: what if i write the fake introduction for a fake academic paper of dirthalath instead

[cumbiazevran]

oc lyrics tag

Rules: Pick one of your favourite songs and assign a lyric that you think suits them, you can do as many ocs as you like!

once again, thank you @atypicalacademic​ kani my beloved for the tag. I got Constellations by The Oh Hellos

tagging @demandthedoodles​ @transfenris-truther​ @ammoniteflesh​ and @gaysebastianvael​

Juno Mahariel

The shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light And everything you thought you knew Will fall apart, but you'll be all right

Rowan Hawke

Every good intention, every good intention Is interpolation, a line we drew in the array Looking for the faces

Arviraven Lavellan

All that's left for me to climb To the heavens is the chasm of the night And a matter of time

Iraya Surana

I can feel it on my tongue Brick and mortar, thick as scripture Drawing lines in the sand and laying borders as tall as towers

Carlota “Charlie Hawke” Amell

This hill I'll die on is about 90 meters of bricks Colored indigo and inscribed with my name, and lined with cedar

Viera Lavellan

But the words fall flat like cymbals crashing Like molars gnashing

Dirthalath Lethandar

Like constellations a million years away

/

Clinging to the faces Clinging to the shapes in the silence Like constellations imploding in the night Everything is turning

[cumbiazevran]

[Belated] End of the Year Fic Writer Round Up

tysm @aria-i-adagio for tagging me! I’m tagging @nightgnome and @transfenris-truther but also anyone else who wants to jump in.

Overview. I need to get better at posting things and being consistent with my own writing.

During 2022 I begun two different Dragon Age related works: And The Lovers, Do They Dream? which is a retelling of how Arviraven Lavellan, Inquisitor and Dorian Pavus fall in love in my own canon. I also began writing, and have posted updates, of The Song of Dirthalath. It shouldn’t be news that I’m compelled by the Elvhen Pantheon, so I decided to write an explorative piece that follows an unrecognised member of said pantheon (Dirthalath, a companion of Dirthamen).

For that piece alone I can’t not mention @atypicalacademic: Kani, my beloved, I hope the day I stop learning things from you is the day I day. Long live to our federated republic of Bharata-America brand of dialogue we have going on for both the ancient elves and current Thedas. Love that for us.

My Nanowrimo project is not DA related, however, but if you like my writing please give it a shot. It’s called “As The Covered The Sun With Swords They Had Bloodied, I Found Your Eyes Like A Worship Song of Old”. This is a spin-of of a pirate au by @ilyamatic but it is meant to stand on it’s own as a completely original piece. It is, in fact, the first original narrative piece I publish/post anywhere. It is also a gift for my friend @valhallanrose.

The story follows Aelius Anatole Radosevic, Inti Ankuwilla, a mixed Quechua man who works as an accountant for several Pirate clients and falls in love with Tamryn Olenev, a Polish, Ashkenazi inventor and chemist.

Other finished works include (those which have been posted will include a link):

Death in the Family, the backstory of my DND oc Frazier Arnell

Nettle, for Cruelty, a Charlie Hawke fic

Words written (published or not, WIPs included!): I tried to count them and I failed miserably. I want to think they’re around the 75,000 mark.

Smut scenes.  Unsure of the number but my favourites to write in 2022 have been:

Anything I’ve written for Anatole and Tamryn.

There’s one particular fic I have not published about Tia (@atyipicalacademic’s) and Dirthalath that lives in my mind rent free

There’s a particular scene in The Song of Dirthalath, between him and Dirthamen where the latter Redacts the living hell out of the former bc they’re neurodivergents in love  

I wanna write this year one of June and Sylaise, tho

New things I tried. Publishing something lmao (Worship song of Old), Nanowrimo, “And The Lovers, Do They Dream?”. This one because the writing style is gothic romantic and has a lot of magical realism which is NOT my strongest suit, but on God I will write it.

Fic I spent the most time on. The Song of Dirthalath and Worship Song

Fic I spent the least time on. Audacious Hearts or The Tale of the Champions, and anything that involves my Wardens. I just spend more time on them

Favourite thing I wrote. A WORSHIP SONG OF OLD. THIS IS LITERALLY MY FAVOURITE THING I HAVE EVER EVER WRITTEN.

Oh, and this epistolary from Dirthalath to Dirthamen

Favourite thing I read. Making me choose is violence but I’m gonna be hyper specific here. Kani Atypicalacademic wrote a bit of his Navin Cadash meeting my Arviraven, where the guy straight up kisses his hands, anchor and all, within the first 10 minutes of knowing him bc he’s thankful about Arviraven helping his brother and BROTHERS IN DRAGON AGE IT HAS NEVER LEFT ME.

[cumbiazevran]

one day i’ll get a commission of them, but for now, when I speak of Dirthamen and Dirthalath in the song of Dirthalth, or literally whenever I’m talking about Evanuris hcs, please know this is what shows up in my brain

[thebitchkingofangmar]

ASKING ABOUT “O, Audacious Hearts”!!! DRAGON AGE??!!!! 🙌

DRAGON AGE. I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH ITS SO DAMN LONG

Just like And The Lovers, AOH is set in the same universe as The Song of Dirthalath, just far into the future, and its my canon divergent stand-in for my Hawke, Rowan.

I really love this one because its written in one of my favourite techniques: mixed media. I love how intertwining narration with epistolaries, codexes, diary entries and other kind of recorded accounts not only pays homage to the game but allows me to play with the nuances of the narrative more.

I'm the main writer but this is a collaborative effort with @atypicalacademic, my bestie, my comrade, the other half of my creative soul. There's just so many bits of this one that own my entire heart, but I'll try to keep it short:

It features a brief Arviraven cameo.

Everyone's miserable in the thaig but there is this one moment, of Fenris almost touching Rowan in the red-blue light of the lyrium in the caves that drives me insane.

The title comes from a independence/resistance song the Hawkes grew up with that I made up for world-building purposes. The full stanza is O, audacious heart, guard us from darker skies / Make your steady beating courageous men of us / O, audacious heart, be the marrow in me / Don't let us forget we're free.

There's an entire subplot of Fenris trying to propose and being interrupted by several people.

This "codex" entry:

Oh my, aren’t the Hawkes hard to kill. Leandra’s tragedy is proof enough that you need a psychopath of that calibre to be done with them. Yes, Leandra was still the Leandra Amell we knew, but she became something different too, Maker rest her soul. She became as much of a Hawke as she was an Amell. 

Of her children, she remained only with Rowan, one of the Champions. Her youngest died in the blight and her second is a Mage. I believe she is involved in one of the non-violent factions of the Mage Rebellion, and by what I’ve heard of Bethany, I would not be surprised if she became whatever the equivalent of a First Enchanter will be when all of this is over, if she is not trialled in case the Mage Rebellion becomes the failure many of us suspect it might. 

As for the Champion, I am told she is the spitting image of her father: she has all the charm of a roguish Noble Prince and deadlier than should be advisable to be in polite company. Like her father she is a radical, who advocated not for Mages or Templars, despite her very obvious support of late First Enchanter Orsino. Her adamant opposition to the Knight-Commander was on the grounds of what she called ‘the Liberty and self-determination of the peoples of Kirkwall, and all Thedas if it came to it’. Apparently she believes in some sort of cooperative form of politics that I will not pretend to understand. 

She is impressive but she makes little sense to me. Considering she was publicly engaged to an elf with strange markings and Tevene accent, you can do the maths on your own. I ignore if they married, though I’ve heard that they did. She was candid, irreverent, and extremely direct. I hear that dwarf Tethras might become the new Viscount of Kirkwall, and if he does, I would not be surprised to see her back in town. 

I know nothing of her grandmother that you speak of, however, just of the Amells and little of her father. I can ask if you want, but I doubt I will get anywhere with it.

[thebitchkingofangmar]

And The Lovers, Do They Dream? - tell me more tell me more

HAHA I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

This one is a canon divergent Dragon Age fic, set in the same universe as O, Audacious Hearts and The Song of Dirthalath, meant to be the stand in for my Inquisitor Arviraven "River" Lavellan.

ATDTD? follows River's becoming of the Prophet of Hope, Vassal of Dirthamen and the romance that blooms as he steps into this version of themself. It is very gothic in tone — Haunting of Hill House and Crimson Peak were huge inspirations for it.

Aside from being a reference to 'Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?', dreams (of any kind) are crucial to the narrative. They represent the dreams of those who came before the characters and how they protect them, they represent ideals and motivations in Arviraven, and, in Dorian's case since he is one of The Lovers, they represent waking up from a previous life you still don't know how to leave.

Here, this is one of my favourite bits from it.

[...] Yet no matter where Dorian went, nor what path he chose, he ended right back where the Arcane Horror stood. The City was cold, he was cold, and wanted to go back to bed. He didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have the energy for this.

Perhaps the only way was through. He approached it, cautiously and serenely, telling himself he was in charge of the situation. When was he not? All he needed was a way out, nothing more. Perhaps, Dorian thought, he didn’t even have to engage it, just walk past and to the other side of the town square. Yes, the Horror was an illusion of his mind, and he’d treat it as such, but another question remained— where was the exit? Maybe if he went to his parents' state he’d find it, even if he didn’t want to go there. Nor now, nor ever again. Either way, to get there he’d have to cross the square. Dorian Pavus could cross a damn square, so he would. He did. Rather successfully he might add. The Horror didn’t move, Dorian didn’t feel it move. He could go. He told himself it was better to be safe than sorry in these situations so without any abrupt movements, he turned his head just back enough to check if it hadn’t turned to follow him. The snow rustled and before Dorian could do anything, the Arcane Horror was lifting him off the ground, grabbing him by his tunics, bringing him face to face with it, bony, mangled, ice-cold fingers grasping with his skin, its maw opening to speak in a shrill voice, clear like metal scraping against metal. Speak the Arcane Horror did: “Beware, Scion of Pavus. Beware the place where the Sky holds.”

[thebitchkingofangmar]

20 Questions for Writers

@elvain my beloved tagged me, so here i am, once again—

my brain is empty in terms of who to tag, so please friends, lovers and co-conspirators, if you want to do this, consider yourself tagged.

answers under the read more <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Not many, actually. 11, and none of them from active fandoms. I do have one original piece published there, that I'm extremely proud of, tho.

Before becoming active in the Tolkien fandom again, I posted most of my fic directly in tumblr, like a beast. I also have a lot of unpublished fic.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? I think 30k aprox

3. What fandoms do you write for? Tolkien + dragon age

Used to write a lot of 00Q, The Arcana and Les Misérables.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? My love, like flowers; I'd be home with you; And then I met you (we walk this road); A little closer to the edge; Bury me with the desert flowers

None of them for active fandoms, all of them for fandoms that give me war flashbacks, but no love is ever wasted so: a) if you like The Arcana go nuts, and b) bc my OCs from the last two are getting their own original thing >:)

5. Do you respond to comments? I try to

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? It's not the ending per se, but the first half of my half original, half dragon age fic WIP "The Song of Dirthalath" has some heavy hitters. It technically begins with the ending and it does not get better from there.

For me, one of the heaviest parts to write was "God of Bitter Things" — it deals with substance abuse as a form of self medication, unrequited love, misunderstandings, enemies to lovers only your enemy is a fucking God, parental abuse, falling out of a window and crumbling in front of your best friend's dad because you think you're a hideous, reprehensible person who loves someone who hates them and loves to hurt yourself with it.

Second comes "Resurrection No. 1", also from SOD, where, I quote:

Dirthamen knew it, as he knew what came after. In vain he tried to reach him, instead he demanded him not to touch me. "Why do you always have to do this?" It was not what he meant to say, but it was what he meant to anyway. "Because I hate myself!" The elf wearing Quenath's face yelled. "I died that day! I died. I was standing in the middle of my parents' fucking parlour with nothing but broken ribs— and— and— and that Declaration of Disownment and they let me believe you abandoned. I said not to touch me. "I always knew you hated me. I always knew you would never love me like I loved you, and that was okay by me. I didn't want you to love me, I didn't know how to tell you, and I'm used to it. I'm used to being discarded and berated for having the audacity to exist, breathe and think differently than I should. I hate myself so much I wish I didn't exist sometimes, and I loved you more than anything. All I ever wanted was to be a scholar and you ruined it for me. You humiliated me, just like my parents did. And you abandoned my best friend!" "I can live with you hating me, I can live thinking you knew, O Serene and Mighty God of Secrets and decided to ignore it and hurt me with it regardless, but what I do not understand is what do you want from me, chasing me around as an ill omen of everything I've ruined for myself and everything I left behind that I didn't, and I can live with you abandoning me but why did you abandon Kaleya?" Not a thing moved, not an atom changed. The only thing Dirthamen could hear was the hyperventilated sobbing of a person who now had no right to a name. It was the laws of his Father, it was the rules he himself thought appropriate to Piety — betrayers, traitors and those worthy of being severed from their Kin as a punishment for their own impiety were not worthy of being recorded in history. "Q—" the God of Knowledge, Family and Secrets stopped himself, and for the first time, he begged: "Please, please tell me how to call you."

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? PLEASE READ MY AO3 PUBLISHED ORIGINAL PIECE A WORSHIP SONG OF OLD, JUST PLEASE READ IT

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not directly lmao, but I was in a server with someone who passive aggressively dissed my OC Anatole and in retrospective, it's hilarious as all shit.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do. It's gay and insane because I'm touch starved and my OCs live in kinkland.

10. Do you write crossovers? Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I've translated fics, in the days of yore

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I am constantly co-writing, just not for Tolkien

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? All my all-time brain eating ships are OC x OC 😔

But! All the ships I've shipped for the longest all come from Tolkien.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Listen, if I don't finish it, I'll reuse it. Nothing is ever wasted here

16. What are your writing strengths? I think pacing. Not just in events but in the way I write. I'm very comfortable writing dialogue too.

Non-fic exclusive though, it's world-building and social constellations. Society to me is very much a web, and it is integral to my writing to integrate this. Characters are shaped by the societies they live in and I am very conscious to include that to the best of my ability.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Consistency and planning.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Babes, lmao babes, my fics have footnotes. Go ape.

Seriously tho, question 16 all over again. Language shapes you so much. Go ape. It's a great excuse to learn about another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Tolkien!! When I was in 5th grade.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Once again: Worship Song Of Old.

[cumbiazevran]

WIP I-Missed-Wednesday-By-A-Snap

Thanks @aria-i-adagio for tagging me! I haven’t advanced in any of my DA wips as of late, but I was editing The Song of Dirthalath recently, so once again, have the ancient bastard.

CW for abusive family dynamics.

I’m tagging @nightgnome, @transfenris-truther, @gaysebastianvael and @atypicalacademic

The Imperial Hall of Their Magnificences, Lord Elgar’nan and Lady Mythal, Firsts among their own, All-father and All-mother, rulers of the Elvhen. City of Arlathan, Imperial Capital of Elvhenan. 

15 years prior.

���Quenath,” his mother called, barging into the room he had been offered as a guest in the Imperial Hall, without waiting for his approval to enter. 

He ignored her. 

“Quenath— Oh, for Elgar’nan’s sake, are you wearing all black again? Can’t you wear a little more colour? You look like a crow.”

Despite he barely even looked at her she continued to talk, trying to get her son’s attention.

“Quenath, da’len, You take scholar thing too seriously. One thing is being a scholar or whatever it is that you are, and another is trying to resemble his Serenity’s crows.

“Speaking of whom, your father would appreciate it if you at least pretended to be eligible. And so would I. You could, at least— Quenath’enal, I’m talking to you.”

He gritted his teeth, opting to look at his own reflection in the mirror, trying to swallow down the vitriolic answer threatening to block his throat. He wanted to say that of course he knew she was talking to him. She was rather hard to ignore. But this was his mother and at his adult age he knew better than trying to snap at her.

It never ended well, the ways she always had to punish him were never worth it.

Instead, gathering as much will as he could, he kept his eyes on his own reflection, on his own hair, meeting his mother’s eyes through the mirror rather than directly. She was dressed to the nines, as elegant as ever but modest enough that when someone praised her good taste or her good looks, she could just say thank you with an ascetic, pearl-clutching whisper of a smile. 

He also knew he couldn’t ignore her forever, or else she’d leave aside all pretences of decency and moderation. He knew better than most people his mother wasn’t a moderate woman. 

“Mother, not only I am busy but I also have no idea how to reply to any of that, nor I think there is anything wrong with my outfit.”

“You wear too much black.”

“We both know I’m not going to change that.”

“You being a scholar is enough, but people mistaking you for an acolyte of Falon’din is another.”

“You have a problem with Falon’din now? Mom, who even has a problem with Falon’din?”

“Do you have to be such a brat at your age? You’re nothing but a humiliation when you get like this, don’t put words in my mouth. And do not dare to bring that attitude into the ballroom.”

“So it’s not him, it’s just the life of sacrifice.”

“I told you to stop being a brat. We sacrifice a lot.”

He scoffed. “Whatever you say, Mama.”

[cumbiazevran]

It is once again “WIP whatever” day, courtesy of @ollifree​ bc she tagged me

We’re getting screenshots bc today’s wip is in a letter within The Song of Dirthalath.

Tagging @aria-i-adagio​ and @transfenris-truther​

[cumbiazevran]

It’s-Actually-Wednesday-WIP-Wednesday

I’m genuinely surprised it aligned because I never even attempt to make it align. These things happen when they happen. @atypicalacademic my beloved tagged me.​

Either way, enjoy some elves!

The Arcade was as ostentatious as they came. Despite it was built a long time ago, it was constantly being remodelled, either to follow the latest trends or to suit the tastes of whichever member of the Imperial Family had last declared it their favourite.

Most places in Elvhenan were like that, but nowhere it was more on the nose than in Arlathan. Nor regular folk nor High-Born folk mattered as much as the Evanuris, with their hidden faces, their maybe-good-intentions-maybe-not and outmost disconnection with reality. 

He still remembered how to dress appropriately. Not that he’d ever forget: not only he had a reputation, but the best thing he could do for himself after the disownment was to let other people whisper of his nerve to show himself in public, looking as impeccable as he always had.

Well, perhaps more sober. He had no idea if the Lord of Secrets was paying his bill, and he didn’t want to test his luck. His vanity would do as his lifeline, for now.

In front of him, Dirthamen sat in red and blue robes, finer than anything else in the parlour of the Arcade. Finer than the mosaics and the flooring, finer than the food and the cutlery. His crown-mask covered almost all of his face, save for his mouth and his jaw.

He thought he could see a shadow of his eyes beneath it, under where his mask-crown was adorned with his own upwards crescent moon, with three dots right over it. 

Secrets, wisdom, loyalty. 

He had no fucking clue what his Serenity wanted to achieve here. In a manner of speaking, he was his hostage until he found out — less because he was his actual hostage and more because he was curious. After the last time they had seen each other and with his family having disowned him, he couldn’t imagine what Dirthamen had to say to him.

Two tables to the left, he could feel someone’s eyes on him. He bit the inside of his cheek; Dirthamen almost turned.

“They ought not bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re clearly uncomfortable,” he called him by his name, that name.

“Don’t call me that, Serenity.”

He was almost sure Dirthamen blinked, perplexed.

“I don’t think the edicts of any family which isn’t my own should demand how I call or not call someone I wish to talk to.”

“Serenity,” he said, trying not to stand up and leave, “no one calls me that because I do not wish to be associated with them any more than they wish to be associated with me. I don’t want anything to do with them.”

He paused. “Serenity, it never occurred to you that I may not want to do anything with them, did it?”

He could feel Dirthamen’s defensiveness rise before he even spoke

“Of course not! Why would I? I love my family and I think—”

“Oh you thought? That is quite grand of you, to think that because you have nothing but unwavering loyalty to your family, I should have anything but hatred for mine. Believe me My Lord Dirthamen, no one is doubting that you very much love your family.”