#the warden commander and the warden constable

[pinayelf]

the king, the witch and the disgraced nobleman

made here

[crossdressingdeath]

On the subject of Nathaniel, I think everyone needs to know that he and Aster absolutely have a friends-with-benefits situation going on. More specifically the sort of friends-with-benefits situation where they discuss Warden policy as pillow talk. Sometimes foreplay. Occasionally during sex, which has definitely given them both some weird boners during normal meetings. "Discussing policy" is a euphemism for sex among the Amaranthine Wardens specifically because of these two. Aster insists that creating a euphemism is his greatest achievement and no one can tell if he's joking.

[vigilskeep]

so one thing i was thinking while i was at a castle today (castle thoughts) is i was reminded that constable can, in medieval terms, mean castellan, i.e. the person in charge of running and defending a particular castle. so there’s a high chance that if nathaniel howe post-awakening becomes a warden-constable (which is the next rank under warden-commander) as i have seen in several hcs, that actually makes it his job to govern and organise the defence of vigil’s keep, which is, small reminder, his childhood home that was probably once going to be his one day, which was instead stripped from his family and awarded to the wardens. wild. how the turns table and all that

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday!!

How about ‘i never gave up hope that i'd see you again’ for Nathaniel/Cousland 👀💚

happy friday and ty for the prompt! I've really been feeling these two lately, post-awakening and somft in love 🥺

477 words for @dadrunkwriting

-

He was a month an a half late and worse for the wear when the Vigil finally rose on the horizon. The sight of her, his childhood refuge and his present love, glittering with early morning dew lifted the weight Kirkwall had left on Nathaniel’s heart. As he approached, the bell began to toll.

The reinforced gate creaked open. Breathing hard, the recruit on duty snapped a sweaty salute as Nathaniel passed the guard post.

“Welcome back, ser!”

“At ease,” Nathaniel murmured, not really paying attention. There was a flash of red down from the battlements and he dropped his duffel just in time to sweep Ember into his arms.

This was home.

He was covered in the muck and mire of travel and a venture into the deep roads, but she paid it no mind, carding her fingers through his tangled hair, tracing the lines of his face for new scars. She drank him in like a woman starved.

When he kissed her, he felt the same. Her lips were soft against his chapped skin and he’d never felt anything so wonderful. He ran his hands up and down her arms, over her back and caught at her hips, relearning the shape of her, the feel of her in his arms, remembering all the things he had to live for.

He felt her anger, though, the fear and desperation as she kissed him breathless. When they broke apart, her eyes sparked like one of Dworkin’s explosives.

“You’re late, Constable,” she said. Her thumb pressed at the corner of his smile.

Such was the way of the Wardens—unpredictable and tenuous and frequently fatal. But it made the reunion all the sweeter, when the fates brough them back together again. Joy swelled in Nathaniel’s chest.

He bent his brow against hers, his laugh huffing across her still-parted lips. “Send your complaints to the darkspawn, Commander.”

“Oh, I will,” Ember murmured. She pressed a softer kiss to his lips, then, a gentler taste of relief, but he could feel the weeks of tension threaded through her. His task to relieve it, then.

Without warning, he scooped an arm beneath her knees, catching her shoulders as she scrambled, unsteady. He pulled her against his chest, smirking at her spluttering.

“Plans this morning, Commander?”

Her eyes darkened with untold promises. “Nothing that won’t keep.”

Nathaniel dipped down to catch her lips in a searing promise. “Then I’ll begin with a fervent apology for my delay.”

“You better,” Ember smirked, fingers tangling in his hair. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

Raising a brow, Nathaniel handily hid his dry throat behind kisses peppered along her neck as he climbed the stairs to their quarters.

“If that’s a threat, it’s not particularly convincing,” he teased.

“It’s not.” Ember’s fingers worked the buckles of his armor, teeth worrying along his jaw. “It’s a promise.”

[commehter]

Fire Nation Military Ranks

So, there's a lot of background worldbuilding that gets glossed over in SToFLO -- because it's necessary to keep things consistent but wouldn't be terribly interesting to most readers or would otherwise mess with the flow -- but a commenter noted that Yasu seems rather young to be a sergeant. Fair enough. In the US military (and some others, I'm sure) a sergeant is typically in their early-to-mid twenties with roughly a half-decade of experience in the army. Yasu is written to be notably younger than that.

Mostly this discrepancy can be chalked up to my rearranging and paring down of the ranks in an attempt to keep things simple for myself. More below the break if you care to know about some of the specifics.

The canon ranks mentioned in ATLA can be found listed here.

As for my own hodge-podge efforts, I started with the US military branches, smashed the enlisted and officer ranks together, threw out any ranks that reused the name of another rank, and then discovered the above link which would have saved me much time and effort. The wiki page didn't give me everything I needed/wanted, but it would have been a smoother starting point if I had thought to look for it first. (Fun little quirk, but the commander and captain ranks are flipped when comparing US and FN navies. That tripped me up for a mo.)

Anyway, the relevant section of my notes for SToFLO currently looks something like this:

Politicians

Head (Household)

Mayor (City/Town)

Minister (Mother Islands Province) / Governor (Colony Territory)

Fire Lord

King Agni

Prison

Private, Team 3-5

Sergeant, Squad 5-10

Deputy, Platoon 20-50, 1-5 per Prison

Warden, 1 Prison

Home Guard

Private, Team 3-5

Sergeant, Squad 5-10

Deputy, Platoon 20-50, 1-5 per Jurisdiction

Constable, 1 Jurisdiction, 1-10 per Province/Territory

Imperial Firebenders

Private, Team 3-5

Sergeant, Squad 5-10

Lieutenant, Platoon 20-50, 1 per Royal Family Member, 2 for Palace, 1 for Palace Wall

Captain, All Imperial Firebenders

Army

Private, Team 3-5

Sergeant, Squad 5-10

Lieutenant, Platoon 20-50

Captain, Company 100-200

Colonel, Brigade 500-1000

General, Division 2000-5000

Navy

Private, Team 3-5

Ensign, Squad 5-10

Lieutenant, Platoon 20-50, 1-6 per Ship

Captain, 1 Ship

Commander, 5-50 Ships, 1 Flotilla

Admiral, 20-100 Ships, 1 Fleet

[kiastirling-fanfic]

Tranquil Week Day 5: Fearless

Warden-Constable Boranehn holds no fear.

Read it on Ao3 Here or find the full text below the cut

Rating: G Wordcount: 387 CW: none in particular?

@tranquilweek

They said he fought like a golem. Not tireless, he was a man of flesh and blood, but fearless. He did not quail before a hurlock, nor he did not panic when they were ambushed by shrieks. When confronted by an ogre, he gave his commands with a calmness that bolstered his fellow wardens and he peppered his foes with arrows at a measured pace, always striking with the greatest efficacy.

Boranehn was the perfect Grey Warden on all accounts, enough so that it sent waves and rumors through the ranks.

How was a Tranquil mage so highly skilled in the art of war?

Was it truly only his status as Tranquil that made him so unshakable when facing down the darkspawn?

Who had recruited a Tranquil in the first place?

They were answers Bora would dispense easily if any dared ask them.

He was skilled because he was trained. All Dalish children started learning a weapon to prepare them to hunt or protect the clan as they grew older, and that training was expanded upon after he escaped the Circle and was taken in by the Wardens.

It was true that being a Tranquil made him incapable of feeling fear, but it did not rob him of the will to survive. His first encounters with darkspawn were very different affairs; it was experience that made him a force to be reckoned with.

It was Warden Blackwall who found him wandering, who stuck a bow in his hand to ward off Templars who sought to reclaim their lost Tranquil, and who sent him to the Warden outpost in Jader. And it was those Wardens who saw a wiry young elf with a sunburst brand on his forehead and honed him.

But no one would ask Bora. The Warden-Constable lacked the warmth those who retained a connection to the Fade needed in the unsettled ranks, and even the dwarves who lacked such connection looked on his blank face and turned away.

It was fine. He did not need for his men to like him. He needed them to obey when he gave orders on the field, and they did. All else would be handled by those suited to the task as he was to his; to be their beacon and their guide, to anchor their fears and lead.

[runningwolf62]

Dragon Age OC Lore thought, for Luke, because the game I have brain rot terminally for is Origins.

Luke names Nathaniel Howe as his Warden-Constable. There's no doubt in my mind that happens. They come to have a lot of trust in each other and it's messy but Nathaniel ends up his right hand.

Luke cannot call Nathaniel by his last name. He only manages it when using his full title in fancy settings. Otherwise it's Nathaniel or Nate.

Nathaniel addresses Luke as, Warden-Commander in only the most formal of settings, Cousland when he's talking business (if he gets Luke's attention with his last name it's time to get serious), and Luke the rest of the time. He is one of the few Wardens that know Luke is a nickname and called him Lukas one time privately just to bother him.

[danceswithdarkspawn]

wip wednesday

drafting a chapter for something you havent touched in a year is hard

The Constable dragged himself to his feet, brushing himself off and reordering his attire. His lip curled as his eyes scanned Ariel up and down, lingering as if to scrutinize every little detail. He let out a huff and said, "You're too defiant for a Warden-Commander. Eran would have-"

Ariel drew one of her swords and leveled it to the hollow of his throat. The Constable held up his hands in surrender, for what little it was worth, and peered down the length of the blade. "I don't recall you being the one to appoint my position," she coldly answered. "And you have precious little authority over what I do." She held the sword a moment longer before lowering it to her side. "Go back to Weisshaupt. Tell whoever's in charge to fuck off."

Another tense breath held between the trio while the goings on of the castle continued, oblivious. Finally, in a flurry, Ariel sheathed her weapon and turned, staggering towards the stairs into the gardens below.

“They will come for you,” the Constable called after her, and she froze in place. “You can run to the far corners of the world, and they will drag you back, one way or another. It's inevitable, just like the-.”

“The Warden-Commander is an important asset to the Inquisition,” Leliana cut in, drawing the Constable's scrutiny. “I am afraid she cannot be spared while Corypheus remains a threat.”

The man sputtered. Almost like a spoiled child, Leliana thought. “But the Wardens-”

“-are capable without her. She has been charitable with her time; I suggest you heed her instruction.”

He raised a finger to her, mouth opening, closing, and opening again, before he flourished off in the opposite direction. Leliana said a curse under her breath. She turned toward Ariel, only to find her no longer on the battlements. She peered across the garden just in time to watch her vanish inside the castle.

Leliana raised a hand to her eyes, squeezing at an ache that threatened to develop.

Maker, help me.

[daughterofhighever-blog]

Soldier’s Peak, 9:38 Dragon

[ @wywardprince - "Sebastian Vael" ]

[Warden Commander's Study, inside the fortress of Soldier's Peak]

"And see if Danson can make sure there's space cleared out in the lower barracks block; the Constable didn't say in his letter whether or not the Prince traveled with a retinue of any size or by himself, but I'd rather not be caught unprepared to house one while he's here."

The exceptionally tall, dark haired young Warden gave an affirmative reply to Elissa Cousland's orders, though he tilted his head to the side slightly. "He never seemed that ostentatious or pig-headed to me back in Kirkwall, but I never did get much chance to know him as well as Marian or even An..."

The sudden molten glare the Warden Commander gave made the words die in his throat. He swallowed thickly. "Barracks. Make sure they're ready if we have extra guests. Right."

Elissa sighed a bit, and while she didn't smile, her tone and expression softened noticeably. It wasn't Carver's fault that she felt everything from anguish to rage at any mention or reference to the apostate mage, murdering abomination, and renegade former Warden that had broken her heart.

"Thank you, Hawke."

He'd turned to leave when those words made him wince a little before continuing out the door.

"Andraste's ass, I don't know if I'll ever get used to hearing that."

------- [ At the entrance to the tunnels leading up to Soldier's Peak...]

The warden sentry scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing the man in front of him with a look that was equal parts irritated and sarcastically amused.

"I don't give a rat's bloomin' arse if you're the Queen of Antiva... No one who ain't a Warden's gettin' up to the Peak without the blindfold. Commander's orders - and pardon any offense to your high 'n mighty majesty, but she scares me hella more than you do."

[sulky-valkyrie]

happy friday / dadwc sulky! i just noticed your. pasta header. anyway, for a prompt, something serious for Anders/Justice or Anders/Nathaniel Howe: "things you said that I wish you hadn’t"?

Thanks! Here it is for those who don't use tumblr on the desktop and want to know wtf Syrup speaks of:

And now, without further ado, for @dadrunkwriting 1200 serious words of Nate & Anders & Justice

☆☆☆

Just a quick trip to Amaranthine to give Aura the rest of Ser Pounce-a-Lot’s supplies, Anders had said.  And bringing Justice because she's fond of him in her own way.  Be back by sundown at the latest.

It was midnight now, with no sign of him.  Nathaniel had checked the entire keep twice, once mid-afternoon, and again after dinner before leaving instructions that the sentries let him know the moment Anders returned and then had gone off to pace the library.  The fortress felt downright oppressive now that the Aedan had been summoned to Weisshaupt and Warden Constable Kader had been assigned to Ferelden in the interim.

Nothing against him personally, of course.  No, that was a lie.  Getting rid of Anders' cat had been the start of a series of 'Change for Change's Sake' decisions to bring home the point that Aedan wasn't in charge anymore.  Allowing Rolan to Join had been a mistake, and they'd all argued against it, and perhaps if they hadn't been so vocal in their protests, he wouldn't have grumbled about backwater Fereldans who don't trust their own order and too-soft predecessors who let everyone run roughshod over him.

Nathaniel supposed that, to his mind, the Wardens needed all the bodies they could get to clear out the Thaw, and after King Alistair’s success at using smites against emissaries, he wanted more Templars in the ranks.  Former Templars, Kader had admonished Anders for his vehemence.  They're leaving the Chantry for this and you will work with them like any other brother or sister in arms. 

Anders has been so pissed off that Nate had needed to cover his mouth and drag him from Kader's office.  He had every right to be furious, given the Chantry's attitude toward apostates in general and Anders in particular, but summoning a lightning storm in the acting Commander's office wouldn't help his argument.  Nate had tried to explain to him that night that he needed to pick his battles, that Kader's decision had been made and fighting with him now wouldn't help, but it only made his anger worse.

It's not a battle I have a choice in! Anders had snarled right before stomping out of their shared quarters.  Rolan wants me dead, and you want me to just, just, wait for him to try?  What sweet fucking vindication we'll have when there's a sword in my chest!

They hadn't shared a bed since.  In fact, they'd barely spoken in the last two weeks, except to discuss the duty roster.  Nathaniel missed him.  Not just the sex, but everything else.  The fact that Anders had gone out of his way that morning to tell him he was leaving had given him hope that this rift between them was mending, but now, hours after his expected return, it only made him worry.  He'd wanted someone to know where he was.  To look for him if he disappeared. Nathaniel checked Anders' corner room again, then the clinic, then the barracks.  No Anders.

Also, more concerningly, no Rolan.

When had he last seen him?  Was it before or after Anders left?  Didn't matter.

He didn't remember making the decision to leave, or saddling up a horse, or riding out, just suddenly found himself already on the road, looking desperately for any sign of Anders or Rolan.  He was about to give up when the faint smell of burning hair caught his attention.  He followed it carefully, guiding the horse off the highway and through the trees until it refused to go any further, then tied its reins to a tree and kept going on foot.  The moonlight was enough that he could see a clearing up ahead.  As he picked his way closer through the underbrush, the reek of fire and smoke gave way to the stench of battle; blood, offal, and the lingering electrical smell of too much magic.  

Nathaniel steeled his nerves and took a slow deep breath.  Anders and Justice were probably dead, and probably surrounded by Templar and Warden corpses.  They'd fight tooth and nail rather than surrender, and, realistically, Rolan would never have given them the option.  It was going to be awful to see, but someone had to.  And he owed Anders that much.

He pushed through the last few trees and bushes and stopped, aghast: he'd been prepared for a battlefield, but a massacre.  Charred body parts were strewn about like macabre Satinalia decorations: littering the ground, hanging from branches, and, in at least two instances, bones had gone through tree trunks.  Blood and shit were splattered on everything, and what little grass remained had been scorched and trampled. 

The only figure not obviously missing a limb was Anders himself. He was on his hands and knees, and retching.  There was an enormous wound in his back closing up before Nate's eyes as he neared.  When his boot crunched something (please let it be a twig and not a body part), Anders' head jerked up, revealing a mouth full of blood.

“What have you done?” Nate winced as soon as the words left his mouth.  That wasn't the question he meant to ask, but those bloodstained teeth and haunted eyes had been too much of a shock.

Anders wiped his mouth with a filthy soot-covered sleeve and stood up unsteadily.  “They started it.”

Nate spun in a slow circle, trying to examine the carnage clinically.  "And you finished it.  Where's Justice?"

He laughed harshly, an ugly rasping cackle that sent shivers down Nate's spine.  "Why do you think they attacked me?"

It took several seconds for the implications of Anders' words to make sense.  "He's . . . you're . . . he's inside you?"

"We are one."  Cracks of blue light spread across Anders' skin as Justice’s voice boomed out from his mouth.

Nate felt sick.  This wasn't right.  None of it was.  From Templars joining the order, to then trying to kill Anders, to Anders and Justice's spirited self-defense, pun horribly intended, to this?  His lover (though perhaps former lover was more accurate) willingly becoming possessed?

"You have to go."  It was the wrong thing to say, but it was the only thing he could say.  "Kader isn't going to - if Aedan was here, this would never have happened."

Justice frowned.  "He is a man of honor, and we simply defended ourselves."

"No," Nate said, shaking his head and stepping close enough that the energy crackling off of the abomination made the hair on his arms stand up.  "You literally tore them apart, and their blood is on your lips.  This is unnatural and inhuman, and he'll execute you for it."  He cupped his cheek with one hand, and the contact made his skin tingle.  "There's no safety in the Grey Wardens for you, not anymore, maybe there never was."  He glanced around the clearing again.  "I'll cover this up, say I couldn't find you, suggest Rolan probably killed you then deserted, but you have to go.  Now."

The blue light faded away as Anders' knees buckled and he sagged against Nate’s chest.  "They started it," he said again, plaintive and angry.  He spat blood on the ground then stepped out of Nate’s arms.  "I'd ask for a kiss goodbye, but . . ." he trailed off.  "For whatever it's worth, I didn't want to be right.  Tell them I'm sorry."

He felt hollow inside.  "I can't, you're dead."

"I suppose I am."  Anders pulled his tattered robes tighter as he turned to walk out of the clearing.

"Where are you - Anders, what are you going to do?"

Anders paused but didn't look back.  "You can't have it both ways, Nate.  Go home, let me die in peace."

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: Blackwall (2/2)

"Constable of the Grey, Silverite Wings of Valor—hardly relevant now. They are Warden Blackwall's achievements, and the man we thought to be him was someone else entirely. It explains why I had scant information on Blackwall. He must have been lying low for years.

I compiled everything I had on Thomas Rainier. Read on.

Leliana"

What follows is a history of Thomas Rainier, prepared for delivery by Sister Leliana:

"Rainier was born in Markham, a city-state in the Free Marches. There is little information on his early life, but he was already a skilled warrior by the time he turned eighteen. Hoping to make his fortune, he joined the Grand Tourney, that great Marcher contest of arms. He won the melee, proving himself and earning a substantial sum of gold.

What happened to the coin Rainier won in the Tourney is a mystery. Two years later, he appeared in Orlais, no richer than at eighteen. Still, he leveraged his abilities and lingering fame to gain a place in the Orlesian army.

Rainier excelled as a soldier, rising through the ranks quickly to become a captain with a number of men under him. Rainier's men were fiercely loyal. Our sources believe that many would have gladly defied a higher command at his word. On the surface, Rainier safeguarded his men's interests, but further investigation reveals that he was primarily concerned with his own advancement and profit.

Rainier's desire to amass a fortune likely explains his involvement in the massacre of Lord Vincent Callier and his family. Our sources tell us that Rainier was approached by a chevalier: Ser Robert Chapuis. Ser Robert supported Grand Duke Gaspard's claim to the throne and wished to enter into his good graces by eliminating Lord Callier, one of Celene's staunchest allies. Chapuis hired Rainier to assassinate Callier, and offered him a great deal of coin for it. We have no reason to believe his actions were politically motivated. In the spring of 9:35, Lord Callier and his family were traveling to their summer home on Lake Celestine when their caravan was ambushed. It is unknown if Rainier realized that Callier would be traveling with his family. Rainier and his men slaughtered Lord Callier and his entourage; they spared not even the children, all four under the age of thirteen.

It seems that none of Rainier's men were aware of the true reasons behind the lord's killing. They simply followed Rainier's orders. Rumors of Rainier's connection to the murders began swirling through the upper ranks of the army, and must have given him forewarning; he was gone when guards came to arrest him. His men, however, were not so lucky. Almost all were charged with treason, save a few who managed to get away.

Thom Rainier was labeled a traitor and a criminal, but remained at large until now."

[crossdressingdeath]

Constable Aiden: Warden-Commander. I am glad you arrived when you did, but I fear there is little that can be done now. Asterius: What happened? Constable Aiden: A couple of nights ago, a swarm of... of gruesome creatures emerged from beneath the city. They spread pestilence and destroyed everything they touched. Then, at dawn, the other darkspawn attacked. Warden-Commander... it's too late. Amaranthine is lost. Their corruption is so virulent... At least a quarter of the city succumbed within the first day.

So... Amaranthine's fucked. First off there's an army in there and there has been an army in there for several days; most of the people in the city are absolutely already dead. And second... it's full of Blight. You know, that thing that taints the land and water and poisons people and makes any area infected by it wildly unsafe due to the aforementioned tainted land and poison? It's even specifically mentioned that a full quarter of the city was killed by the corruption rather than by injuries. Even if you stay and fight off the darkspawn to save the survivors, there's a good chance that the city itself is now unsafe to inhabit even with no darkspawn left, at least for the time being. There's a good chance that even with the initial death toll burning it down and having to rebuild is safer for whoever moves back into it!

Also the mention of the Children coming from beneath the city has me wondering why nothing ever comes of those smuggler tunnels. It'd be cool if like how you can strengthen the Vigil there were options to mitigate the damage of the darkspawn attack on Amaranthine. Even having your soldiers prioritize the city has no effect if you choose to save the Vigil as far as I'm aware. Imagine if you could make an effort to seal off the tunnels into the city, set up evacuation procedures, reinforce the walls, anything. It would also make the options feel more even; I would absolutely argue that in-universe saving the Vigil makes more sense (you're told repeatedly that trying to save Amaranthine is a suicide mission and a doomed endeavour, while the Vigil has much more of a chance—especially if upgraded—and is a valuable fortress that you really don't want to lose if you can help it, not to mention that you're returning to the Vigil to serve as a commander rather than pretending four people can singlehandedly turn the tide of a massive battle when the guards in the city have been fighting and dying for days), but because the Vigil can survive either way while Amaranthine can only be saved if you stay to fight personally the player is encouraged to save the city regardless of what might make more sense for the characters. It also kind of makes the Warden look pretty shortsighted, especially if you do the smuggler/city guard quest and know that there are tunnels that go under the walls. I just wish you could make literally any effort to prepare for an attack on the city!

[vigilskeep]

also, at least a little funny that they didn’t have a constable of vigil’s keep during awakening and it was just the warden-commander who six times out of seven knows absolutely fucking nothing about castle defence and is just doing whatever the stonemason says

[inquisimer]

sometimes it scratches like barbs

an alternate prompt fill for @febuwhump day 9: I love you. Nathaniel has always worn his heart on his sleeve. But Ciel is not Fereldan—now she must manage the fallout of getting involved with one.

read it on ao3 here

Female Andras/Nathaniel Howe | Rated T | 1317 words | CW: self harm, fantasy racism

-

Her hands clenched around his leathers, the smile falling from her lips. Ciel blinked up at Nathaniel. Moonlight hung around his hair and the look he gave her was soft and warm and open.

“What did you say?”

“I love you.” Casual. Nonchalant. Like they needn’t dance around rituals or follow steps. Like there wasn’t a process to such affection. Even when it was possible.

Fereldans.

Ciel dropped her forehead to his chest and squeezed her eyes tight against the emotion welling there. Steeling herself with gritted teeth, she shoved him away.

“You don’t mean that,” she said flatly.

“I do. I love—“

“You don’t. You can’t.”

His expression flashed from surprise to confusion to hurt before it settled on anger. Anger was good, familiar. A parlay they knew well and a tool easily twisted to fix the mistake he seemed bent on making.

“And why is that?” he asked lowly.

“Just one reason will do?”

Nathaniel scowled. “Do not treat me as one of your Banns, Ciel. I am your Constable, at the very least. And your friend, if not more than that.”

He stepped closer, arms outstretched to close the distance she’d put between them. But she held out a palm and shook her head. His hands thudded dully against his sides as they fell.

“Tell me why, then,” he scowled. “I’m a man of reason and logic. If what you speak is true—“

“Would you listen? If I listed the reasons this cannot go beyond a dalliance? Or would you push on, foolishly hopeful?” Ciel shook her head. “This is not a debate, Nathaniel. I do not owe you an explanation.”

“I rather think you do,” he snapped. “And if you won’t give one—“

This time he crowded her against the battlements’ edge, catching her face between his calloused palms and forcing her to meet his hardened gaze.

“Look at me, just like this,” he growled. “And tell me again. Tell me that this—this aching in my heart is anything less than love, Ciel.”

The flat mask of one who’d survived the clutches of the Orlesian Court overtook her face. But her pulse thundered in her throat and she knew that he must feel it against his hands. She clenched her jaw together and glared at him.

This was her fault. He was too new to the Wardens, too entrenched in the oddities of this pocket Order in Ferelden. An intersection of time and fate and happenstance—the rest of the world did not work like this. And eventually, one or both of them would be called away from it and forced to confront a cold, pragmatic reality.

A reality in which humans did not fall in love with elves. In which Fereldans did not love Orlesians. And in which Wardens were not afforded the luxury of love at all.

She knew the cautionary tale of Genevieve. And she knew every rumor about her predecessor in Ferelden and the broken heart that drove her to disappear. Nothing but tragedy awaited a Warden who dared to love. She would not inflict that on Nathaniel, nor would she let him do it to himself.

For once, she broke the stare down first. Within the confines of his grip, she dropped her chin to her chest and swallowed hard.

“You cannot,” she said raggedly. She pushed him away again, but he refused to go. His grip dropped from her face to her shoulders, his fingers digging bruises into the skin there.

“I can,” he insisted. “I do.”

She slapped him. Her palm connected with his cheek and in his surprise he released her. Seizing the distance needed for a clear head, Ciel stepped back and folded her arms over her chest. “Do not be a fool, Nathaniel. Drop this. There is no future in it.”

“No future?” His bitter laugh echoed off the Vigil’s stone. “What future do I have anyhow? You made sure of that, Commander.”

“The Wardens are a future. For you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He jabbed the griffon emblem stamped across her chest plate. “Unless you have very recent news, they’re a future for you as well. They could be a future for us, together.”

“Ten years.”

“What?”

“Ten years, since I joined the Order.” Ciel pulled the blood-filled pendant away from the hovel of her throat, so he could see how battles and time had worn away the leather cord. It contrasted sharply with the fine, black braid around his own neck.

“I’ll be a Blighted corpse in the Deep Roads before the Calling is even a distant tune in your mind,” she said curtly. “You do not want to tie yourself to a dead woman walking.”

“Is that not all the more reason to seize on the time we have left?” Nathaniel asked earnestly. “Love does not care for the woes of the world—if we must suffer such fates, let us have the moments now to make it worthwhile!”

Her teeth clicked together. He didn’t get it. Heartsick, idealistic folly. She would have to be more pointed, more personal. There must be a clean, unequivocal break, lest he squander the time his limited time with what ifs and should have beens.

“You cannot tell me that I do not love you.” His hands caught at hers and he drew her close, despite the reluctant drag of her feet, unwavering against her harsh glare. She cringed at the repeated proclamation. Wasn’t she a wretched little thing, to have led him along so fully? “Because I know that I do.”

There was a catch in his voice. He took a deep breath. “But if you must be so insistent, look at me. Look at me, do not turn away, and tell me that you do not love me. Tell me that, and I will let it be.”

He caught the point of her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do that, and I will never speak of this again.”

“But—“ he brushed the softest, lightest of kisses over her lips. “I do not think you can.”

Under his hands, she stilled, cold and hard as Tevinter’s finest marble. When he pulled back, the moonlight reflected a dangerous glint in her eyes and, for the first time that night, uncertainty, and fear, flashed in his eyes.

“I do not love you,” she lied. Voice steady and even and calm. His hand dropped to her neck, as if he could catch her in the act.

“I don’t believe you.”

“That is not my concern.” She covered his hand with her own and pulled it away from her skin. When she dropped it in the space she’d carved between them, it hung, reaching, disbelieving.

“I do not love you,” she repeated. A lie was usually easier the second time, the words no longer foreign on her tongue, her mind already cementing them as a new truth. But this one burned her throat as surely as fiery darkspawn blood.

Nathaniel’s face crumpled He pressed his lips together and nodded, a single, sharp jerk of his chin.

“Right then,” he said. “Good evening, Commander.”

As he retreated, Ciel propped her hands against the battlements and exhaled. This post had dulled her skills, that she felt so torn by a child’s exchange of the Game.

Damn you, Alisse. Sending me here.

She pressed down against the stone and the jagged edges of it tore open decades’ worth of similar scars and callouses. Loose stone dust stung the open wounds and she drank in the pain as an alcoholic with a wine skin in hand.

Nathaniel had a good heart. Full of good intentions and passion that would take him far.

She twisted her palms, bearing the full weight of her body and her armor on them to drive the wounds deeper.

He deserved much better than her. And she deserved no less than this.

[galpalaven]

no brain power for actual writing but I am thinking about my wardens…

Kira Cousland — the Leader and Hero of Ferelden who is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden during the events of Awakening, leaves Amaranthine with Zevran once it becomes clear he’s not done with the Crows and does not return

Nadia Surana — sticks close to Kira most of the time, experiences the largest change in personality from the beginning of the Blight to the end, briefly named Warden-Constable before both she and Cousland left Amaranthine, ends up in Kirkwall helping Anders at his clinic for about 6 years, eventually becomes Herald of Andraste

Isra Mahariel — former First of Clan Sabrae, fighting the heaving weight of grief like Cousland is through the Blight, also named Warden-Constable and sent with Alistair to Orlais in the aftermath of the Blight. Takes on the Warden-Commander mantle after Cousland and Surana leave Amaranthine

Theodora Tabris — Tabris joins the Wardens during Awakening after being rescued from a dungeon in Denerim by Cousland and her team, a dangerous thief and eventually an even more dangerous sharpshooter once she realizes she can learn archery all she wants under the banner of the Wardens (it has nothing to do with spending time with Nathaniel shhh no way)

I want to make more Wardens for each of the origins and also like… make a gf for Carver lmao

[runningwolf62]

Today the Dragon Age feelings I'm having are about the fact my Cousland, Luke, ends up naming Nathaniel Howe as his Warden-Constable, because Nathaniel ends up his close friend and basically second-in-command so might as well make it official.

And that after all the betrayals, everything, Luke, Fergus, Nate and Delilah decide they've had enough and do everything in their power to make sure that Delilah's son won't blame the Couslands for anything. (It took her less time than Nathaniel to warm to the idea, and now Luke's as much her son's uncle as Nathaniel, and she doesn't think of him as the stuck up Cousland boy anymore, not now that she's seen him, seated in the corner, curled against his husband, laughing at whatever joke Zevran's telling).

There's still some ghosts that linger, but one thing that is just as stubborn is Luke's faith in Nathaniel.

The only real spot of grief between the two of them is when Luke left for a bit, and put Nathaniel in charge. This wasn't the issue. The issue was the Orlesian Warden that was sent over, took charge, overrode Nathaniel's insistence that the Templars weren't to be blindly accepted, and the domino effect that spilled from that.

And how Luke came back to four Wardens, not Six, and Nathaniel struggling to explain how he'd failed, where Anders had gone, and everything that had fallen out.

Luke never blamed Nathaniel for it, and certainly doesn't see it as a betrayal, but Nathaniel does feel it, because a Cousland finally trusted him again and first thing a Howe does is let him down.

Which is why I also firmly believe that Luke and Zevran might be running around looking for a cure to the Calling during Inquisition, but the other four are trailing around after them.