#this is why you can fuck off to be a red jenny with sera.

[antiqua-lugar]

there has been a bunch of posts recently about the inquisitor being erased by the narrative and a bunch of posts about how this means that the inquisitor can never come back from "being the inquisitor" and I agree

BUT

like it's not going to happen because in the end this is bioware's sandbox and if they decide that the inquisitor is gonna be in veilguard then the inquisitor is going to show up in veilguard even if you think your inquisitor would let the world burn and good riddance

BUT

one could make the argument that because the inquisitor is a symbol, because the inquisitor is so much larger than life, because the inquisitor as an individual doesn't fucking matter, they can leave, because no one knows who they actually are. like it's not without risks but if lavellan paces out and goes back to their clan (or any clan) is anyone going to find them? do people even know what lavellan looks like? did anyone in this chantry-led, shamlen-run institution even bother to pay attention to their vasillin? when cadash or adaar was the herald of andraste in haven all bull had to do was throw some shitty clothes on them as camouflage. when you get to the winter palace, people are surprised about who the inquisitor actually is.

once you disband the inquisition and peace out, how many people can actually pick out cadash out of a line-up when so much about the inquistion has been about erasing everything about them except some vague "idk some dwarf. i think he's a ginger"? like when josephine interviews you she's not doing it to get the story straight, she's doing it to know what to hide, what to emphasize, how to rebuild your whole identity to someone who is not you anymore.

[dalishious]

The infamous roof scene... My favourite Sera scene in the game.

#LowElfEsteem is a series on Sera’s romance with an elf, discussing both the well and poorly done aspects of her writing, while also examining her character on a deeper level.

Sera invites the Inquisitor up onto the roof to eat cookies together. She then opens up a bit about her backstory, though in a typical Sera fashion, tells a lot by just focusing on one specific thing.

Sera: I got caught stealing when I was little, yeah? You get alienage or worse for that, but the "Lady Emmald" took me in.

Sera: She was sick and couldn't have children. I had no parents. It worked out.

Sera: Anyway, she gets a year sicker, so I ask her about cookies. Because moms make cookies. I can pass that down or something.

Sera: Turns out, she couldn’t cook. She missed that talk with her mom. The ones she "made" she bought, and pretended.

Sera: Aww, right? Well no, she was a bitch.

Sera: She hid buying them by keeping me away from the baker. She did that by lying that he didn’t like me; didn’t like elves.

Sera: She let me hate so she could protect her pride. I hated him so much, and I hated...

Sera: Well, she died. And I hate pride. Pride Cookies.

Sera: But this is great, you’re great, so I thought, maybe me and you could make some.

Sera: I don’t know, "Us Cookies."

Sera: Because then I could like them again. Aww, it’s stupid…

Inquisitor: I don’t understand, this Lady Emmald was just trying to be good to you.

Sera: She hurt people.

Inquisitor: It was just cookies.

Sera: It was not just cookies!

Sera: Lie to herself, fair play, only hurts her. But she made me think there was something wrong with me!

Sera: And the baker? I made his life shit! Why not? It seemed like he deserved it. I mean, if you don’t give a child a cookie because of appearances, you’re a monster. Stupid, pride-whore noble.

Let's get the obvious out of the way, first: When Sera says, "I hated him so much, and I hated..." trailing off, she means she hated herself. That much is obvious by Sera's further explanation, "she made me think there was something wrong with me!"

Why would Sera pick this moment of all things to talk about? Well, remember that Sera would have been less than 10 years old when this happened; the most formative years of growing up, and this incident clearly stuck with her. It taught her she couldn't trust someone she thought was looking out for her, all because Emmald cared more about maintaining appearances than her adopted child's self-esteem. She taught Sera that she would be hated for being an elf, but neglected to teach her that it wasn't Sera's fault.

Was Emmald racist herself? I'm not sure, but she certainly did use racism as a means of control. And maybe that's almost just as bad.

After this talk, the Inquisitor has the opportunity to ask Sera a bit more about herself, this time, Sera being honest. She talks about her history with the Red Jennies a bit, how she got the chance to learn how to use a bow, etc. But I want to highlight this bit of dialogue in particular:

Inquisitor: I think that, after our rooftop chat, I get why you're not like other elves.

Sera: Well, don't. How about we dig into what you are? Or what you're supposed to be?

Sera: Do you know wall about elfiness? What it takes to keep our ears all perky?

Sera: Because you could be more than just that. To me, anyway.

The romance dialogue response is "Whatever I am to you, Sera, that's all I need." And that's cute, but I want to complain about Sera's response if you answer with, "We should all be examples of our peoples, and understand how others will judge us."

Sera: Right, well, good on you. Have fun.

Sera: Don't forget to whine about the past. All elves do that.

Sera: Heard that once. From an "example".

Fucking yet again, Kristjanson can't resist the urge to have Sera denounce systemic racism as something you "whine" about, without any chance at rebuttal. We get it, buddy. You don't know how to write internalized racism in a way that's not just offensive.

If it were up to me, I'd give the Inquisitor the opportunity to challenge Sera with this, to teach her that everything she's regurgitating from what she's heard the humans say is wrong, and that hating her own people accomplishes nothing except doing half the work of her oppressors for them.

[sumersprkl]

It's fucking WILD to me that Sera, Bull, and Dorian is a reasonable and balanced party to bring to the fucking WINTER PALACE. Like, we on the outside see that team composition and go "Ah yes, you brought Sera for the Red Jenny drops, Bull because there's combat, and Dorian because you need a mage and maybe even because you're romancing him and want the dance cutscene. Makes sense."

But in canon? What must the advisors have been thinking when you pitched that grouping? Like?

At first glance it makes sense to bring Dorian, he's a rich fucker, he's used to fancy balls and parties and knows how to schmooze. But then you look deeper and realize he has outright distaste for pretty much anything Orlesian that he makes little to no effort to hide, he's going to get drunk, and he's already burned any bridges he possibly had in terms of useful connections in Tevinter. And then you look at the other mage you could take in his place? And you realize VIVIENNE WAS LITERALLY RAISED FOR THIS EXACT SITUATION. So like, yeah, there's probably somebody better for the job, but this is a respectable enough decision that your war council won't push you on it.

And then you pick Bull. And like, the man is a spy. The fact that the court will take exactly one look at him and brush him off as a particularly boorish and distasteful bodyguard could be helpful for gathering information. But the mission is to make a good impression on the racist, classist, pseudointellectual Orlesian court, and literally none of Bull's possible covers are good for that. And your advisors aren't necessarily expecting combat. They know it's a possibility, which is why they'd let this choice slide. But you're kind of shooting the diplomacy side of this mission in the foot by refusing to pick a human, maybe Cassandra, who is also a warrior that can protect you if it comes to a fight, BUT ONE WHO GREW UP AROUND HUMAN NOBILITY.

And then your council is like. "Okay. Unconventional, but okay. And who else are you taking?" And your Inquisitor looks them in the eyes. And says. "Sera." As if this dream team didn't have enough chaos on it already, you're taking the elf who gets violent around rich human snobs to a palace where she will be constantly surrounded by rich human snobs, and will not be allowed to stab any of those rich human snobs. In fact, she will be forced to interact with those rich human snobs as a high ranking member of the Inquisition, which, I will remind you, is supposed to be making a good impression on said rich human snobs. And even beyond that, Sera is the least likely to take any of this seriously, and the most likely to pull a dumb prank that ruins the entire operation. And who else is on the team? Oh yeah, Dorian and Bull, the most likely people to laugh their asses off at that prank instead of putting a stop to it.

And who is the highest ranking, most important member of this party? The same fucking mad bastard of an Inquisitor that thought this matchup was a good idea, who in the eyes of the court is probably a fucking Carta dwarf gangbanger or a Tal Vashoth mud farmer turned mercenary or a heathen apostate mage.

And your war council just lets you do this???? I can practically look into Cullen's dead eyes and see him thinking "This might as well happen. Inquisition life is already so goddamn weird," as he changes into the worst formal outfit on Thedas and gets ready to be groped in a crowded ballroom all night by a bunch of middle aged Orlesians who have eligible single daughters. This is a fucking travesty. The fact that this is allowed to happen is the only proof that Leliana still has a sense of humor under the spymaster hood. I can't even fathom what was going on in Josephine's head that distracted her from putting a stop to this before it got started; I can only assume she stopped listening when Bull was mentioned because she had to do some frantic last minute calculations on the cost of that much red fabric.

[5lazarus]

The Bane of Red Crossing

In the astrarium cave in the Storm Coast with Inquisitor Lavellan, Cole, and Solas, Sera opens a chest and finds a beautiful bow, named the Bane of Red Crossing. But what is the Bane of Red Crossing? According to the codex: "Ser Yves de Chevac used this bow in the Exalted March against the Dales – specifically, in the liberation of Val Royeaux, where the chevalier famously struck down the elven forces' commander with a shot to the throat at two hundred feet." Lavellan is not pleased, but does not know how to communicate effectively with Sera. Cole and Solas make it worse. Sometimes there is no adequate resolution, when you are faced with the instrument of your great-grandparents' destruction. Sometimes there is nothing that disinterested compassion can say. Read on Archive of Our Own here. Content Warnings: discussion of fantasy racism, graphic descriptions of violence, characters making each other uncomfortable and not caring about the other's emotional needs, miscommunication, grief and anger that none of them can name

The rain’s unrelenting in the valley below, lifting the salt from the ocean and making it electric in the starry cave. The Tevinter seals glow; the mica in the granite flashes phosphorescent. Sera roots about in the various chests, while Lavellan sets up camp and Cole sits at the mouth, rocking back and forth. They sent Solas out to scout the river, to see if it’s flooding. Sera doesn’t care if he comes back, the old man needs a drenching. Besides, she has more important things to care about: loot. In one box there sits a bow, wrapped in fraying velvet. Her eyes light up. It’s a beautiful bow.

Sera marvels at it, lifting it out of the chest in one careful motion. It needs to be restrung, of course, and oiled, but this could kill a man at two hundred feet, she reckons. She shifts into a stance and aims at the mouth of the cave, just as Solas reenters. He pauses, and for a moment the storm outside grows more electric, but then Sera hops to her other foot.

“Look what I found!” she cheers. Cole jerks around, twisting oddly onto his feet in one sibilant motion, and Sera’s grip on the bowstring grows more taut. Unnatural creature, she thinks. Cole staggers to Lavellan, who eyes her warily.

“Beautiful bow,” Solas remarks, and then pointedly turns his back to her and walks to the Inquisitor. They’re fucking, Sera thinks, or getting closer and closer to it, but she’s already been told off by Bull, Cassandra, and Varric for gossiping about it, and since she’s stuck in this stupid cave with them, she won’t poke the bear. Today.

Lavellan takes his hands and says, “Any sign of the rain letting up? Did you bring a change of clothes? You’ll catch your death.”

Solas chuckles. “I am certain an ignominious end awaits me, but surely something more adventurous than a common cold. And no, I don’t think the rain will stop soon, vhenan. With the way the river’s rising, we’re better off staying put til the storm clears.” They’re ignoring her and they’re doing it on purpose, and it pisses her off because this is a beautiful fucking bow and it’s raining outside, and she could’ve just stayed at Skyhold and flirted with Dagna and drank with Iron Bull, but Lavellan promised her dragons, and all she got was this bow.

Irritated, Sera says, “The fuck does ‘ignominous’ mean?”

“‘Ignominious,’” Solas repeats.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. ‘Ignimous.’ The fuck’s that.”

Sera sees Lavellan shoot Solas a warning look and gets even more annoyed. Solas sighs and says, “Shameful.”

“What?”

Before she can launch into a rant denouncing his arrogance and the foolish pride of the elf-elves, Solas says quickly, “The word. ‘Ignominious.’ It means, ‘shameful.’”

Sera deflates. “Oh. That’s alright, then. Why do you talk so strange, Solas? Like a priest or a character in a book? And not a fun book, either. Like an encyclopedia.”

Lavellan says loudly, “Cole, you’re quiet. What are you thinking about?”

Cole says, “The name of the bow is the Bane of Red Crossing. It itches still, bearing blood-load not mine not hers. It misses its master. It was taken away.” He lifts his head sightlessly and gazes beyond Sera, blind.

Sera leans on the bow, which creaks wondrously and not warningly under the slight pressure of her weight. It is, as even Solas said, a beautiful bow; she’s never gotten to hold something this well-made. The other Jennys are going to flip. “What are you on about? It’s just a bow. It’s not cursed or anything, is it?” But Lavellan has paled. Sera leans the bow against the cave wall. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Lavellan says, “That bow killed Nomaris, priest of Andruil, and last commander of the Dales’ Armed Forces. That’s the Bane of Red Crossing, Sera. You can’t use that.”

Sera says, “What? Who’s Andruil? It’s just a bow. Where’s Red Crossing? What’re you on about?”

Solas says, “I am not sure this is a productive line of conversation.”

Cole says, “Feted, fear, foresworn, all across the Dales I bore the blood-guilt of a nation on my back, quivering quick arrows fast as feathers in my hand. Taut the bow, taught my hand: one shot, one eye, one throat. And the army scattered.”

Her heart’s pounding now, freaked out. Bows kill people, she knows that, but they shouldn’t have minds, they shouldn’t have memories. She drops it and it clatters onto the wet stone floor.

Sera says, “Stop making this weird. You’re making this weird! It’s just a bow.”

Quietly, Solas says, “Cole.”

Cole walks up to the bow, bobbing his head around it. Sera backs away, disgusted. It’s a nice bow. It’s a beautiful bow. It can kill a man at two hundred feet—or an elf. She says, “What’s the Bane of Red Crossing?”

Lavellan says, “Where the Dales were lost, Sera. You shouldn’t use that bow.” She stares at it, expression unreadable. Sera’s worked with her long enough to know that means she’s dangerous. She always is, it’s one of the cool things about her, but when she is hiding her face, that means it’s time to get out of blast range. Literally. Lavellan throws a lot of fire, but with the rain outside Sera is cornered in this cave, and she doesn’t even know what she did wrong. All she did was pick up the fucking bow.

Cole announces, “No lovers’ wood this oak was striped from.”

“You’re really freaking me out,” Sera says. “I don’t know what the fuck you guys are on about!”

Solas says, “Calm. All of you, calm. Cole, sit down.” Cole sits. They are all staring at the bow, unsure of what to do. Sera wants to hit him. Or loose an arrow. Or yell.

“I don’t care about what happened to some dead elves years ago,” Sera protests, skin itching. “It’s just a bow.”

Lavellan says, “Unfortunately those dead elves died to make you, and perhaps you should bother to show some reverence for the people who covered your ancestors’ escape so you could grub in some Ferelden alienage and spit on those that made you.”

There is a silence as all four digest what she has just said. Sera’s mind goes blank. She listens to the rain howl as the storm worsens outside, lashing the trees to the mountainside. Lavellan takes the bow and lifts it in one fluid motion. She’s got a decent stance, for a mage, practiced but not easy. She’s not a natural, not like her, but the Dalish are all about bows, from what she’s been told.

Sera says, “I didn’t ask to be born.”

Lavellan ignores her. She touches the bowstring. Solas puts her hand on her shoulder, and she shakes her head and leans the bow against the wall of the cave. The Inquisitor says, “You can’t use this bow, Sera. Think about it. It’d be Orlais’ final victory over us. You killing people, with the instrument of our own defeat. You can’t do that.”

Sera says, “Maker, you sound like Skinner.”

Lavellan snaps, “Maybe you should listen to her.”

Cole says, “The gurgling in the throat as blood pools out the gasp for breath, gangrene setting and spreading I am not a servant I am no one’s slave I have died well and so live past my people’s defeat. Let this be my memory: an upraised fist. Let loose the arrows. You cannot rout us all. Someone will always escape.” He pivots slowly to catch Solas in his gaze. “The slow arrow sacrificed the elders so the children can thrive.”

Solas says, “They all die anyway.” He takes the bow. Sera notes he’s worse than Lavellan in how he holds it, he doesn’t even take it by the grip. He walks over to the old Tevinter chest where Sera found it and wraps it securely in its tattered velvet. The shutting of the lid vertebrates through the silent cave. Outside the rain continues. Thunder rumbles, close to the dragon’s island, but in the astrarium cave they are oddly intimate, stuck in this circumscribed space. Sera does not know what to say.

Cole pipes up, “You want to be the one with the words that wonder.”

Solas says, “Enough, Cole. Let it go. You cannot heal an amputation. Let it go.”

[askdragonagecompanions]

Hi! I’m sorry if I’m annoying, but I wanted to ask, how would the DAI romances help the Inquisitor get used to their left arm being missing from the end of Trespasser? Sorry if it’s bad.

[Don’t worry you’re not annoying at all

Dorian: Maker Dorian feels horrible for what happened to his Amatus. The man needs a break. He had been away tending to some family business in Tevinter for the past few months and he had missed his amatus so much. He had gotten more excited than he probably should have when he was told he was going to be the Tevinter ambassador, because it meant he had an excuse to see his amatus. The man had hidden the anchor flare ups well at first. Dorian didn’t even know that the anchor was bothering the Inquisitor. He was just so caught up with seeing him, having to tell him he was going to take over his father’s spot as Magister... He should have noticed. He should have been able to do something, at least to make the pain less horrible. Dorian thought he was going to lose his amatus, after everything they’d been through he couldn’t lose the man now. Dorian postponed going back to Tevinter for months. His amatus needed him and the Magisterium could wait a few more months. Dorian stayed by the Inquisitor’s side, and with the Inquisition disbanded he had more time to just relax and heal. Dorian would help put on the salve and change the bandages in the first month so that infection wouldn’t set in. They started slow, just helping the Inquisitor put on his shirts at first, then when he had more energy they started on reworking his balance in battle. Even if he wasn’t Inquisitor anymore he would always need to protect himself. The first month was the hardest for the Inquisitor. Dorian doesn’t even want to think what it would have been like if he was alone. Some days he can’t even get the Inquisitor to leave his bed, so Dorian laid down next to him and just held him close. He would murmur sweet nothings, affirmations that the Inquisitor was still his amatus, that they were both still alive. He didn’t know what was going through his love’s mind, but Dorian made sure he was there for the Inquisitor every step of the way. When the Inquisitor’s arm is healed enough that it no longer needs a bandage, Dorian can see that his amatus is avoiding even looking at it. So, during quiet moments when its just the two of them Dorian gives it a little kiss, and then him a gentle kiss. “I love you. I am... so glad I still have you with me amatus.” and he lets the Inquisitor lean against him. Eventually he can no longer put off returning to Tevinter, but they each have the amulets Dorian charmed so that they can talk to each other. Dorian talks with his amatus every day... Maker he misses that man so much, but he’s confident now that the Inquisitor will make it. It’s going to be hard, but he no longer fears losing him. Whenever they do get to steal time to be with each other Dorian treasures it. 

Solas: Solas knew that the anchor would eventually kill the Inquisitor if he didn’t do something about it. What he didn’t plan for was falling in love with her. After Corypheus was defeated he knew he had to leave. If he didn’t leave then he didn’t know if he ever could, and Solas didn’t want her to follow him on this journey. He was going to have to do so many things... he didn’t want to put his Vhenan through that it would be selfish. He had already been selfish by even entering a relationship with her. He couldn’t let his actions be her end, so he began to think of a way to lead the Inquisitor to him without exposing himself too early on. He couldn’t have the Inquisition stopping him, and he did need a way to warn the Inquisition of the Qunari’s plot. He used the Eluvians to lead the Inquisitor to himself. He knew she would be smart enough to follow the trail. He could save her. When she arrived her arm was worse than he thought. For a moment it was almost impossible to talk. His heart was in his throat and he wanted nothing more than to embrace her and hold her close. “So you really are him... you’re the Dread Wolf.” Her voice held so much sadness and contempt. Solas just hoped that she would understand why he hadn’t told her. He used his magic to give them more time, so that they could talk and he could try to explain what he was doing and why he had to do it. Solas removed his Vhenan’s arm so that the anchor would not kill her. He made sure her companions found her before leaving. Solas is not there to help her recover from losing her arms even though he desperately wants to be. He must walk this path alone. He has already put the Inquisitor through too much pain. She said she would prove him wrong, and Solas hoped she would. He would love to be proven wrong again...

Sera: It just wasn’t fair. The whole meeting to decide if the Inquisition was needed or not already sucked, but hey Sera turned it into a good thing and she and Inky got married and it was great! But then that stupid anchor... Sera felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. Inky had been looking a little green around the gills lately, but she always said she was just nervous and she’d be okay. Sera believed her of course cause it was her Inky, she fought Corypheshit and survived so Sera just assumed it was a little cold. Then the anchor started acting up more and more and it was physically hurting Inky. Her arm really started to look bad, and no matter the salves Sera put on it it was just getting worse. She knew it was killing Inky and it wasn’t fair! This was supposed to be their happy ending not Inky dying because of something she never asked to have, not full of Qunari warriors trying to kill them all and start a war cause of some wolf. Then Inky went through that mirror by herself and Sera kept trying to get through it because Inky needed her help and she was not going to lose her wife! Finally the stupid thing started working and they could get to Inky it wasn’t a pretty sight. Sera was a mess back at the Winter Palace while the healers helped get the Inquisitor stable. Sera couldn’t believe they were still going to make her address all those people after losing her fucking arm! Ugh, she was taking down names to pie later. She’s by Inky’s side the whole time. She can’t help but fret for the first week. It’s still giving Inky pain even though the healers all said there is no more fade magic in the arm that should be hurting her. They cuddle a lot and Sera tries to cheer her up whenever she can, but she understands that this has got to be really hard on the Inquisitor. She can’t imagine how it’s gotta feel, but Sera does love that they don’t have to worry about all the Inquisition business right now. She can just focus on helping get her Inky back on her feet. Sera’s very gentle, she tells a lot of stories about her favorite pranks she’s pulled especially on stuck up nobles who thought they were untouchable. She gets really excited as she tells Inky about how she’s been working on designing a pie arrow. On really good days she takes Inky to the gardens so they can look at the bees together. Sera makes it her goal to make the Inquisitor smile at least once a day even if it’s only for a second she’ll know she succeeded. She makes sure the Inquisitor knows she’s not going to leave her side, that she’s still Thedas’s most kickass woman ever, and that they’re friggin married! When the Inquisitor feels ready enough Sera starts taking her on small Red Jenny missions and she loves hearing her giggle while they prank the nobles that needed it. She stays by the Inquisitor’s side and is there for her whenever she needs her. 

Iron Bull: Bull had a feeling that this meeting would be a bit of a shit show. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited to see all his friends again and get to be with his Kadan, it was just that they had the worst luck out of anyone he’d ever met. Bull had known something was up with them for a while now. They wouldn’t tell him what, but he knew they weren’t feeling the best either. When he heard about the anchor flare ups from Leliana he was worried. They should have told him sooner. He... he knows he couldnt’ have done anything to stop it but he could have helped them. He could have supported them and given them someone to talk to if they were worried about it. Bull needed to stay strong though. his Kadan needed him to be strong and so he was. They were both going to make it through this together. He had been Tal Vashoth for a few years now so he had no idea that the Qun was planning such a large attack. He couldn’t believe they tried to get him to rejoin the Qun and abandon his Kadan. The final battle was so intense and he’d lost track of the Inquisitor. The anchor flare ups were happening so frequently and every time the Inquisitor would cry out. Bull just kept fighting, kept trying to keep enemies off of his Kadan. When they finally won and got back to the Winter Palace it was clear that Bull was nervous, well clear to anyone who knew him well enough. He knew what it was like to lose a part of yourself and for the Inquisitor to lose their arm it was going to be a big change. When they wake up he’s by their side, smiling and probably a little misty eyed because, “Kadan I love you so much, but please don’t ever scare me like that again.” And he kisses them. He speaks softly as he tells them they lost their arm and it pains him to see them look so distraught. He holds them close and assures them they’re not alone in this. He knows it’s going to be tough. The Inquisitor is going to have to learn and relearn a lot of things, especially in combat, but for the first month he makes sure that the Inquisitor is just taking it easy. Their body needs time to recover, to heal. Besides, with no Inquisition Charger stuff can wait. The Chargers stop by all the time. Bull takes his Kadan to the Tavern when they’re more stable and they all laugh and tell stories with the Chargers. They’ve all gotten hurt pretty bad. Bull gives the Inquisitor massages and little kisses and assures them they’re still a bad ass, still gorgeous, that their scars just show how tough they are. Bull likes scars. It’s proof that someone survived through something dangerous. Once they’re physically healthy again and they’re comfortable with it he starts stealing away nights with them again. Maker knows they need to release some of that tension. Bull is very encouraging. When the Inquisitor has a bad day and breaks down he sits with them and lets them get it all, lets them cry and vent, and he affirms that yeah this fucking sucks, but he helps them see the positives too. He loves the Inquisitor more than he thought possible, and to Bull just having them here is enough. He’s there for them, whatever they need he’ll give. 

Blackwall: Blackwall had been terrified that he was going to lose the Inquisitor. He may not have had spy training, but he knew the Inquisitor and he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. He would try to ask, but she kept assuring him everything was okay, that she was just worried about the meeting. He didn’t believe her entirely, but he wouldn’t press further. He kept giving her physical affection, though. Small kisses, assuring squeezes of the hand, hugs. He wanted her to know that he was there for her, that she could tell him anything. And then everything went tits up. Apparently the Qunari got the idea that the Inquisition was working with one of their enemies and were going to launch a full scale attack and so it was up to them to stop it and save the world... again. With each fight the Inquisitor just looked worse. She was exhausted and the anchor was definitely doing something to her. It was killing her. “Maker I cannot lose you...” He felt like his world was shattering and he hugged her. He hugged her close and tight and willed his tears to not fall but they wouldn’t listen. “We’re going to make it through this, both of us.” He couldn’t lose her, not now, not after everything they had gone through. She deserved peace, not death from something she couldn’t control. He was relieved when they won, but for a few days it was still dicey. The Inquisitor was in and out of consciousness, she had lost her arm, but it kept her alive. With the anchor gone she was finally starting to heal. Blackwall had known many soldiers who lost a limb before. They could still fight, it just took an adjustment period to learn a different way to fight, to learn new balance, and honestly just to accept that their limb was gone. When the Inquisitor truly wakes up he hugs her close and kisses her. “I thought I’d lost you...” He murmured against her. The Inquisitor took the news relatively well. She was determined to still attend the meeting even though she had only just woken. He was nervous she was going to push herself too far, but when the Inquisitor set her mind to something there really was no stopping her. He stayed by her side. She traveled with Blackwall, as he had made it his mission to help people like him, who had made mistakes in their past, to give them a second chance and hope. Blackwall helps the Inquisitor cope, he comforts her, when she cries and apologizes he assures her there’s no need. On days where she gets ghost pains Blackwall holds her hand and lets her squeeze to help with the pain. Most importantly he makes sure she knows that she’s loved, that together they can and have made it through the Fade and back. 

Cassandra: She had gotten so busy with rebuilding the Seekers that she really hadn’t had a lot of time with the Inquisitor in the months before the meet. Perhaps if she had been there she would have known sooner. The world was already crashing down around then and then she learned that she was losing her love too? It was infuriating and terrifying and she pulled him into a kiss, “I am not losing you. You are not going to die on me.” It was an order. She wasn’t going to lose him, not after everything they’d been through together. She actually managed to get a laugh out of him and she smiled weakly. “You should know I’m not joking.” “I know.” He murmured and kissed her again. They one the battle. Cassandra did not care about her own injuries and shooed away any Healer that tried to attend to her. She would be fine. She wanted them to attend to the Inquisitor first, he was more important. Only once he was stable did she allow for herself to be tended to. Cassandra was surprised when he disbanded the Inquisition but a part of her was glad. It meant they could be together with no duties keeping them apart. When he woke up she was by his side. She broke the news as gently as she could. Cassandra knows she is not the best at being gentle or helping with emotions, but she has been working on it. Ever since she and the Inquisitor got together she wanted to be better for him. Mainly she helps with the physical aspects of losing a limb. She encourages him to work on his balance, to learn how to use just one arm, simple things at first, and the more he healed the more complex the exercises became. She spars with him, she does not go easy. He needs to relearn, he needs to be able to protect himself. When he gets overwhelmed she’s at his side and there to help him calm down. She tells him about how far hes come, how he’s survived demons, dragons, ancient magisters, and ancient magic that was killing him. She feels guilty when she’s the one who caused him to be overwhelmed. She’s only trying to help and she knows she can do too much sometimes. She makes up for it by holding him close at night and running her hand through his hair while she reads to him. She knows just how to calm him down and help him relax. When she sees him avoiding his arm, or looking at it with disdain she pulls him into a kiss and puts her hand on that shoulder. “I know it is hard to accept, but think of it as a sign that you survived, that you are alive because... I do not know what I would have done without you. I love you.”

Cullen: The Inquisitor has done so much for him, and honestly he was quite nervous about this meeting. Nobles forget too fast how the Inquisition saved them from the world being destroyed from a giant breach in the sky, and now that the threat was gone they wanted to make sure that the Inquisition was either disbanded or allied to a certain power so that they wouldn’t have to worry about a new power taking over. It was all bullshit in his opinion. He stayed by the Inquisitor’s side through it all. He loved her so much, though lately he was worried. Some nights he would wake to her gone from their bed. She assured him she was fine, just getting some water, but he didn’t believe her. She looked to shaken up. He assumed it was just nightmares, but she never really told him. Then her mark flared in front of him and his heart sank. Maker not now... he couldn’t lose her, but it wasn’t like they could stop either. The world was in their hands again and she had to fight, and he had to stay and make sure that everyone was prepared in case... in case she didn’t succeed. Before she left he held her close and kissed her, their foreheads pressed together gently. “Please come back to me my love... I... can’t lose you.” His voice was quiet and pleading. “I’ll do my best Cullen.” Their hearts were heavy, though. This was an impossible situation and her anchor was already so bad. When the party came back Cullen feared the worse when he saw how they were carrying her. The healers came and he paced outside of the tent until he was finally let in. Cullen didn’t leave her side. Maker she was okay. When she woke up he kissed her forehead and gave her a teary smile. His new mabari also came to kiss her and they both laughed. “He was worried about you too.’ He murmured. Cullen had helped others go through something similar back when he was a Templar. It was never easy, but having support helped. He did not coddle her, but when he saw her getting overwhelmed he would step in and help until she was ready to try on her own again. He reminded her everyday that she was not weak, that she had succeeded, that they were together and she was alive and that was all that mattered. It did them both good that they were no longer in the Inquisition. They had a chance to breathe. He was honestly ready for it. He was tired of fighting and he just wanted to settle. While she was healing he would lay next to her at night and tell her of how they could go visit his family back in Ferelden, how he wanted to build them their own cabin. She smiled and he grinned back. He knew as long as they had each other they could survive anything. 

Josephine: One would have thought that with Corypheus gone her work load would have been easier, but it was the exact opposite. Without a major threat uniting the lands nobles began to either try and buy the Inquisition or call for them to be disbanded. In all her haste of preparing for the meet and trying to keep everything under control and calm Josephine had failed to notice her love’s declining health. They stayed so upbeat and when she did notice something she just assumed that it was nerves for the up coming meet. When she found out what was truly wrong she started to cry. Everything that could go wrong was. The nobles were threatening to disband the Inquisition, Leliana and Cullen were taking charge when they were supposed to be laying low and keeping the peace, and now her love was dying because of the anchor and there was nothing she could do. They still had to fight, to stop the Qunari attack and all she could do was try to keep the nobles at bay for a little while longer. She feels like her nerves are eating her alive the longer she has to wait to know if her love succeeded, to know if they are coming back to her. When they do she breaks down. She doesn’t care what the healers say she’s staying by their side the whole time. Josephine is already making plans. She’s going to contact some of the finest prosthetic makers she knows, she’ll get the healers to write down everything she needs to know to help ensure the Inquisitor makes a speedy recovery. She is going to do everything in her power to make them recover quickly and as smoothly as possible. She’s gentle and encourages them the whole time. When they break down she’s their to comfort them. When they call themself useless she presents them with a whole list on why they are the furthest thing from useless. She almost lost them twice, and she’s determined to not let that happen again. On days where they don’t want to get out of bed she stays with them and showers them in affection. She’s just happy to have them with her, to have them alive. It’s a few months later when she takes the Inquisitor to Antiva to meet her family. They still have bad days, she doesn’t expect that to go away. They went through so many horrible things, but she wants to build so many happy memories for them, so that when the bad days come around she can remind them that they’re not alone, that they’re loved, that each day is new and open for possibilities. She loves to hold their hand or lean against their shoulder. When it’s just the two of them at night she gives what remains of their arm a gentle kiss. Sometimes she sees a sad look in their eyes when they go to hug her and remember that it’ll never be the same, so she pulls them in closer and gives them a squeeze because “I love you. You’re here and I am so glad that you are.”

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [833]

“You're in trouble."

“There's no doubt about that, I'm always in trouble,” Bull replies, “You gonna keep me in suspense or are you going to tell me what for?”

Ellana sighs, “Let me rephrase. You are trouble.”

“Again, that goes without saying,” Bull says. “Any particular reason why this is being brought up right now?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty that you know of that aren’t the very specific reason I’m thinking of right now.” Ellana pauses to give him the opportunity to hand her more rope. Bull’s not an idiot, and he’s had years navigating Ellana’s pitfalls. She narrows her eyes at him. “You put my name forward for part of the entry party to the Winter Palace. I highly doubt I’ll be chosen, I don’t have any impressive titles to my name after all, and basically nothing of note that would make the Orlesian court look favorably on the Inquisition. But you put my name forward for a reason and that means there’s some sort of logic to it. And that means everyone at the table making the decisions is going to consider me because it’s you putting me forward. Now, the reason I’m trying to understand before they can just ascribe all of this to sheer gut instinct experience on your part, is why.”

“You’re putting a lot of thought into this Wolf. A lot of brain power. Don’t you have anything else to do? Anything else to worry about and gnaw on? The problem of fixing the hole in the sky? Red lyrium corruption? Regular rich people corruption? Even more regular poor people corruption?”

“If I can understand the why before they do then I can cut this thing off at the knees before it gains any ground,” Ellana continues. “Bull. I’m only going to ask once, because after this I’m just going to build my own theories and operate under the idea that all of them might hold water. Why did you put my name forward?”

Bull considers his options. On one hand, he could tell the truth. On the other hand, he could say nothing at all and watch what is going to, no doubt, be a very interesting few weeks of Ellana poking and prodding and testing.

“Why don’t you tell me your working theories first?” Bull asks. “Humor me.”

“As if my very presence here isn’t humoring you enough?” Ellana retorts. “I’ve been humoring you for years.”

“Keep doing so.”

Ellana snorts roughly, crossing her arms. “Fine. My first one is that you want me to get insider access to talk to the servants and sneak around. It’s not a very effective thing. Most of the servants there wouldn’t trust me because I’m Dalish and there’s a deep rift between the Dalish and our Orlesian city elf counter parts. Well. To be fair, most of our city counterparts in most places.”

“That’s still a pretty good reason for you to go in. What’s your second theory?”

“If I’m in there and I manage to sneak around I have a strong background in elven artifacts which we all know Celene happens to enjoy hoarding to herself where she can break them and hide them and assume anything she likes about them.” Ellana’s voice curls lie paper turning black.

“Another good reason.”

“But our main purpose is to go and stop an assassination,” Ellana continues. “If you want to stop an assassin, send in an assassin.” She pauses. “I’m not, technically, one of such profession.”

“But?”

“But compared to most others on the list of people who could be brought directly into the ball, I’m the best choice for stealth, speed, and experience. It should be you or Sera, but in that setting you’d gain too much attention and Sera’s investigative skills are lacking in experience. She’s good. No question about that. Sera is very good at what she does and she’s going to make a fine assassin one day if she so chooses that route. Especially if she continues with the Jennies as she is. But I’ve got over a decade of experience on her and for several years my main method of employment has involved me working, training, and planning alongside you and the best of the business. So. Me.”

“Very good. All of these are very good reasons that most people wouldn’t think of right away. How deep are you digging here?”

Ellana stares at him, expression neutral, eyes flat. Bull mimics her stance and waits.

“There’s another reason,” Ellana says. “And I don’t like this one.”

“Oh?”

“You want me there because you’re a piece of shit and you want to watch me suffer,” Ellana says. “You know how much I hate being in any of those fancy shem parties and you know how much I hate being near you specifically when we’re in those fancy shem parties because you turn into a complete horse’s ass. You enjoy the chaos of it too much and it makes me want to flay my own skin off in frustration. You know that. I know that. You know that I know that. You want me there to see my squirm in barely contained outrage.”

Bull doesn’t even bother hiding the grin.

Ellana snarls. “I fucking knew it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Fuck off, you flaming wreck of a man. Ugh. I’m not going.”

“Try and convince the organizers for the party otherwise,” Bull says. “Because I can guarantee you Leliana’s already figured out the first two reasons, and she’s well on her way to parsing out the third. All of those weigh heavily in your favor. There’s also the fact that you and I work very well together. And Evelyn trusts your eyes. Face it. You’re too good at your job. You’ve pinned yourself into this one.”

Ellana groans, scowling. “I’m going to figure this out. I’m going to get someone to go in my place. Cassandra. Blackwall. Varric. De Fer. All better choices, reputation-wise. Even Cole would be good to send in.” Ellana growls as she turns to stalk off. “And where are you going?”

“To find Evelyn,” Ellana replies. “And make her see reason. My reason. Reasons to not stick me in a shem ball.”

[everestv-themuse]

the wheel of fortune: optimism, success, luck;

“We did it! I can’t believe it!”

possible AUs/settings/ideas: genie au, chance/fated meeting

Thanks for the prompts! I definitely didn’t plan on this getting so far away from me, but it was so fun to write! Here’s an alternate, chance first meeting (before the Conclave/Inquisition) for Shaelin Cadash x Sera with special guest nonbinary BFF Lantos for @apostatetabris @alxxiis @alxxiiswrites​ @dadrunkwriting​

“In and out,” Lantos whispers the promise for the umpteenth time that night. Shaelin just rolls her eyes and continues working at the locked door. “We go in, get the—”

“You mean you go in. Someone has to keep watch,”

“Oh, uh, sure, good point.” Lantos admits, continuing to pick at their warhammer’s grip absently as their eyes dart up and down the hallway. “I’ll go in, get the cut, we get out, we’re big fucking heroes and that asshole gets stiffed. Just like he deserves.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I agreed to,” Shaelin says with a released breath as the lock clicks open. She puts away her tools and steps aside with a nod to the other dwarf. “Your turn, partner.”

“Right, um,” Lantos stares at the door slightly ajar. “Yeah. My turn. No problem. Totally fine. Super easy.”

“Lan, this was your idea. But if you’d really rather get out of here now and just—”

“No, no, I’m going, I’m going, shut up.” The warrior gives the door one last look over and steps inside.

“Fucking soft,” Shaelin mutters under her breath as she leans against the wall to keep an eye on the hallway. She shivers, though, at the expanse of it. For such a rich noble, the asshole’s castle was dark and cold, void of any life or warmth. She had been surprised to notice no real furnishings besides stiff statues of armor and the occasional Fereldan banner. There weren’t even paintings or fancy vases or whatever else rich people liked to collect, just empty walls and spotless floors and—

She shivers again. There’s that feeling again. Like she’s being watched. She slips into stealth on instinct but stands her ground, feeling the shadows wrap around her to the point of functional invisibility. Silently, she unsheathes her daggers and crouches in a ready position.

“Lantos, you idiot, this would be a really good time to—” Her mumbled plea cuts off at the sound of a crash behind her and then a very familiar, hissing curse.

“Fuck it! Lin, run!” Her partner yells one second and the next second, they’re zooming past her and tossing a comically large gemstone over their shoulder at her. She barely manages to juggle it and her daggers in hand before racing after them.

“What the fuck did you do?! What did we say about ‘in and out’?!”

“Listen!” Lantos growls as the two sprint down the dimly lit corridor, hearing the shouts of pursuing guards close on their heels. “I got in and now we’re getting out. How was I supposed to know the guy hired security?! You did catch the cut, though, right?”

“Yeah, shit, barely!” Shaelin shouts back, really wishing there were fancy vases around to topple in their wake and slow their pursuers. “What, you can’t hold it?!”

“I’m a two-handed warrior, Lin! My hammer’s enough to run with!”

“And you didn’t think to bring a pouch to carry the cut in?!”

“No, okay?! Is that what you want to hear?! That I fucked everything—”

Something whizzes past Shaelin’s ear and she barely has time to flinch. Then there’s a thunk, a clatter of armor, and she glances back in time to see one guard with an arrow through his helmet topple to the ground and take two of his cohorts down with him.

Shaelin shivers.

And then someone grabs the two dwarves and jerks them around the corner, throwing them both against the far wall. Lantos wheezes and Shaelin covers their mouth with a slap, staring at their sudden rescuer and then at the remaining guards racing past their hiding spot. The three wait for another silent moment, listening for the sound of thundering footfalls of guards none the wiser in the distance.

“Hey. Thanks,” Lantos pants after Shaelin removes her hand. “That was too close. Where, uh...where did you come from?”

The stranger whips around, bow in one hand and dagger in the other, moving to press the blade against Lantos’ neck before Shaelin could react, all while staring her down. “You. You’re gonna put that gem back, got it? That, or your friend gets a slower death than that guard back there.”

“Wh-what the fuck?!” Lantos splutters, dropping their hammer with a clang. “Who’s side are you on?!”

Shaelin’s gaze holds steady and so does the stranger’s, eyes hard and steel grey behind the bandana she wears to hide her face. But it’s not enough to cover her ears. An elf. A damn quick one too.

“I’m not bluffing, redhead! Get walking!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Lantos interjects. “What exactly do you want here? Because you obviously don’t work for the rich asshole of this place and let’s all be honest here, we stole that gem fair and square.”

“Fair and square?! I’ve been casing this place for weeks! And then you two burst in and my whole plan goes to shite, that’s what’s square!”

“Your plan?! Well listen, lady, first come, first serve, alright?” Lantos hisses back and Shaelin is suddenly tempted to just let them both at each other’s throats. Leave it to her best friend to argue with the very person holding a knife to their neck. “And it’s not like we picked the guy clean! There’s plenty of other shit for you to steal, believe me!”

“That’s not the point!” The stranger huffs, as if exasperated by the obvious stupidity. “You steal that, the asshole’s most prized shiny thing, and it won’t just be the guards who get their pay docked. He’ll take it out on his servants too! You get away with your big score and the little people left behind get treated like dirt, even more than they were before.”

“Yeah? I can see why that’s not my problem, so why’s it yours?”

“Because they came to me to fix this for them!”

“How? They paying you to kill him?”

“Don’t have to pay for that,”

“Oh, how noble of you!”

“Right, coming from the petty thief,”

“You were going to murder a guy!”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Shaelin’s eyes flash a warning to Lantos before turning back to their captor. “Look. We don’t even want the gem. We were going to sell it. But more importantly, I can already hear the guards circling back.”

“You can?” Lantos’ eyes widen and as the three fall to silence, the unmistakable clangs of approaching armor could be heard. “Oh shit...”

“Exactly. So,” Shaelin slowly sheathes her daggers but keeps the gem firmly in hand. The stranger watches in hesitant silence. “You clearly know your way around the place. I hold onto this while you lead us out of here. Then, you can take it, sell it, and give the money to those little friends of yours for their trouble. Everyone gets out of here alive but the asshole is still out one shiny thing.”

“You...you don’t even want a cut of the profits?”

“We don’t really need the money. Apparently, we just couldn’t stand hearing the story of how the guy won it at an auction for the millionth time. I guess it’s about the principle of the thing?”

“It is!” Lantos pipes up. “The cut is clearly Dwarven craftsmanship and the guy flaunts it in our face every single time we come to drop off a lyrium delivery. It’s insensitive and cruel when you think about it.”

“Whatever. Fine.” The stranger drops her blade and shoves Lantos toward Shaelin. “I’ll agree to your stupid plan, but only if your friend shuts up the whole way.”

“Deal.”

“Whoa, hey, I don’t get a say in this?!”

The stranger slinks off down the hall and Shaelin follows with a roll of her eyes. “It isn’t up for debate. That was the deal. She’s leading us through certain death right now, so whatever the mystery lady says, goes.”

“Pfft. Mystery lady?”

Shaelin turns away from Lantos’ pouting to meet the gaze of the woman in front of her, eyes meeting a much softer grey this time, more playful. “Well I didn’t get a name, did I?”

The woman arches an eyebrow before blending into the shadows like it’s second nature, leading the way through an empty bedchamber and out again through a servants’ door. “Didn’t hear you asking,”

“I’m asking now,” Shaelin says in a hush, crouching at her side as they wait for a patrol to pass by before continuing down the hall. “I’m Shaelin, my friend is Lantos. I don’t normally throw the name Cadash around, but maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Carta, yeah. Your uniforms gave you away the second I saw you picking the lock.”

“Knew there was someone watching,” Shaelin chuckles softly. “I’m impressed it took me so long to notice you, I’m usually better about these things.”

“I’m impressed you were bullheaded enough to steal from your employer,”

“Buyer,” Shaelin corrects. “And it wasn’t my plan. Can’t stress that enough.”

“Right.” The woman’s lilt gives way and Shaelin can hear a smile in her voice. Her chest tightens and it feels like a victory, even if she’s not sure why. Lantos gives her a shoulder nudge and she realizes she’s falling behind, staring too intently at the way the woman’s eyebrows furrow and her ears flick towards her voice, anything that would betray the emotion hidden behind a red bandana.

“Still,” Shaelin speaks up once she matches pace with the woman again, making their way outside and into a small courtyard. “You didn’t answer my question. Can’t call you mystery lady forever.”

The woman glances back at her and it’s a guess, but Shaelin could swear there’s a smirk in her eyes. “How about Red Jenny then?”

“Red...I should’ve known,” Shaelin shakes her head as she watches the woman rifle through a nearby bush before revealing a coil of rope. “Red Jenny is a hydra, that’s hardly an answer.”

“You’ve heard of us then?” The woman certainly sounds surprised, but she doesn’t pause. She throws the lassoed rope up over the hanging roof of the courtyard and pulls it taut when it finds purchase.

“The Carta has to know about all the players in the game,” Shaelin answers as she watches the woman scramble up the rope to the roof and then lean over the edge to wait, eyes alight but silent. Finally out of the shadows and in the open, moonlight glints through the woman’s hair and the pale gold of the strands freezes Shaelin to the spot as she stares. Lantos gives her another nudge and she splutters out a cough. “Is that really the only answer I’m gonna get, Red Jenny?”

The woman laughs and Shaelin can’t climb the rope fast enough just to be close enough to truly witness it. In her rush, she almost slips on the shingles, but a nimble arm reaches out to grab and steady her. It’s the closest she’s been to the woman, as she’s caught staring into silver eyes, and then a hand reaches up to pull the bandana down to hang from a slim neck.

Shaelin shivers.

There’s no need to guess now, she’s definitely wearing a smirk as she answers, “For now,”

[cruelangelstheses]

red jenny needs a rhythm guitarist!

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: sera/female inquisitor, sigrun, charade words: 2k additional tags: modern au, punk rock band, first meetings, fluff description: one night while performing with her band, the red jennies, sera spots a beautiful girl in the crowd. a/n: this was supposed to be done for yesterday - @serappreciationweek day 3: headcanons/aus - but i was delayed due to having to evacuate for hurricane dorian lol. anyway this type of au is my fav thing ever and sera said gay punk anarchist rights

read it on ao3

—

The air thrums with anticipation. Backstage, Sera can hear the buzz of the crowd as she finishes applying her eyeliner, fucking it up on purpose because she loves the way it looks. She laughs and sticks her tongue out until it touches her septum piercing. Everything about her calls for chaos: old sneakers with holes in them, ripped skull-patterned shorts, spiked cuffs, tattoos on her arms, a black tank top hand-painted with the anarchy symbol, and a myriad of piercings in both ears—some studs, hoops, a chain, and an industrial piercing. One good thing about being an elf, she’s found, is that she has more space for them.

Behind her, Sigrun whistles the opening of one of their songs. “You about ready?”

Sera spins around in her chair and grins. “Frigging right I am.”

“Well, good,” Charade adds as she makes her way toward them, her bass guitar slung over one shoulder, “because I think they’re getting antsy out there.”

“Dagna said they were almost done,” Sigrun says as she takes a look in the mirror and smudges her eyeliner so that she looks a bit more...dead inside. Her knife earrings, black fingerless gloves, black jeans, and combat boots add to the “don’t fuck with me” look, complete with a black leather jacket that she’ll probably take off halfway through the set so she doesn’t die of heatstroke. Still, her dedication is inspiring.

As if on cue, Dagna, the band’s audio engineer, appears in the doorway of the dressing room. “Everything’s all set up,” she says with a smile. “Whenever you’re ready. Knock ‘em dead.”

Sera jumps to her feet and claps her hands together, grabbing her black-and-yellow guitar from off the floor. “Yes! Okay!”

In the center of the room, the Red Jennies form a tight circle. They’re a three-piece group, a “power trio,” with Sera as the lead singer and guitarist, Charade as the bassist, and Sigrun on the drums. It’d be nice to find a rhythm guitarist so Sera can focus on lead guitar, but they make it work. Charade has her hair tied back into a bun and is dressed in her usual getup: jean shorts, a t-shirt from the thrift store, and a plaid flannel, this one red.

Once they put all their hands in the center, Sera starts their chant. “Never mind the rich tits!”

“Never mind the bullshit!” Sigrun adds with a smirk.

“Never mind the bollocks,” Charade says, laughing.

Then, together, throwing their hands up in the air, they shout, “Here’s the Red Jennies!”

Sera leads them out of the room and up the stairs. The music playing inside the bar stops, and the crowd roars in excitement. They know what that means. It’s a relatively small venue, but it still packs a decent amount of people, and the show tonight is sold out—sold out for them. The Red Jennies are the main act. The idea makes Sera’s head spin.

Sera is the first person to step onstage, and the crowd cheers louder as the band takes their places, Sera and Charade plugging in their guitars and Sigrun sitting down at her drum set. Then Sera grabs onto the microphone with one hand and shouts, “Make some frigging noise, Wycome!”

As the crowd yells, Sigrun taps her drumsticks together four times to count off, and then they jump into their opening song, a politically-charged anthem aptly titled “Eat the Rich!!!” It’s one of their more “screamy” songs, which is why it’s first: perfect to pump up the crowd, as well as remind them why they’re here.

As Sera takes in the crowd, she notices a pair of bright purple eyes shining near the back of the venue. The fact that she can see them glowing all the way from the stage is enough to tell her that they belong to another elf, though she could’ve figured that out by the pointed ears poking out from underneath the girl’s mop of brown hair, as well as the distinctly Dalish tattoo that surrounds her left eye. She’s sitting at the edge of the bar with a drink in hand, watching the show with interest and looking as though she’s never seen the Red Jennies before.

For a short, weird moment, Sera feels...exposed? Judged? An age-old fear grips her, that she’ll be looked down upon—like always—or seen as uncivilized, crazy, a traitor to elves, perhaps all of the above if she’s unlucky enough. But then the girl looks right at her, right at her, and smiles, a snaggletooth grin that transforms her whole face, and those fears wash away, and Sera is herself again.

Alright, pretty elfy girl, she thinks. I’ll give you a show.

The concert is a whirlwind of jumping and sweating, of starting mosh pits and screaming her lungs out to a room full of strangers. It’s wild and cathartic, and no matter how many times she does it, she never gets tired of it—of reaching fans new and old, of hearing people yell her own words back to her, of music so loud she can feel it in her chest. When she’s surrounded by the wailing of her guitar, the heat of the stage lights, Charade’s voice on backup vocals, the rapidfire drums...that’s when she’s home.

Sometimes they hang out after a performance, and sometimes they don’t. Luckily for Sera, they have a day off between this show and the next, and they’re not planning on leaving Wycome until tomorrow, so they have some time to mingle. The girl at the bar only seemed to get more and more into the performance as it went along; Sera will be damned if she doesn’t at least speak to her.

She practically leaves her bandmates in the dust, as she heads back out into the bar barely ten minutes after the end of the show. “Sorry! Have to catch a pretty girl!” she calls over her shoulder. “Updates later!”

It takes a little while to get to the bar, since the crowd still hasn’t really dispersed. Since she’s small, it’s not difficult to weave through people without them really noticing, but she gets caught more than once by a fan. They’re wonderful, though, so she doesn’t really mind. Normally she loves talking to fans, and she still does; it’s just that tonight she has someone specific in mind.

It’s her lucky day. When she finally reaches the bar, she finds that not only has the pretty girl not left yet—the seat next to her is empty. Taking a deep breath, Sera pulls herself up onto the barstool and says, “Hey.”

The girl jumps a little and turns around, her eyes widening. “Oh. Hey!” she says, and Maker, her voice is so nice. “Great show, by the way!”

“Uh. Thanks,” Sera replies, already feeling her face heating up. The girl is even prettier in person, all tan skin and kissable lips and eyes like starlight. Sera doesn’t normally go for elves—too afraid they’ll think she isn’t elfy enough, and besides, a lot of them are too skinny and bony for her taste anyway—but this girl’s arms are more toned than most elves’, and her face is rounder and fuller. “I’m Sera. If you didn’t know.”

The girl giggles a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t, actually,” she says sheepishly. “I’d never even heard of you guys until a few days ago. My brother bought two tickets and gave one to me. Don’t know where he is now, though.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. “I’m Rana. Rana Lavellan.”

Her name sounds like music. Sera nods. “Saw you when I was up there, yeah?” she says, gesturing to the stage. “Your eyes are really...wow.”

Rana smirks a little. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

For a moment, they both just kind of stare at each other. Then Sera clears her throat and says, “You ever listened to any punk before us?” She smiles mischievously. “Or did we take your punk virginity?” She says the last bit in a more dramatic voice.

Rana laughs. “Unfortunately, no, you did not,” she says, “though that would’ve been something. My brother invited me because he knew I liked your kind of music.” She deepens her voice in order to impersonate him. “‘Rana! You have to check out this band! They’re a bunch of punk rock lesbians singing about eating the rich! All your favorite things!’”

They both laugh at that. Then Rana adds, “Sometimes I think I’d like to be in a band. But I don’t usually get along well with other people. I have to really click with them, or see something in them that makes me want to talk to them.”

Suddenly, Sera feels immensely honored to be having such a fantastic conversation with her. “Oh!” she says. “What instrument do you play?”

“Guitar.”

Sera swears that the stars align right then and there. “Wait,” she says, trying not to get too far ahead of herself just yet. “Can you play rhythm?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Rana replies immediately, and then it starts to dawn on her. “Oh, yeah, I noticed you’re the only guitarist—”

“Want to join the Red Jennies?” Sera blurts. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Rana blinks a few times, somewhat taken aback. “I...didn’t realize you guys were looking for a new member.”

“Well, we’re not, like, putting up ads on Craigslist,” Sera says, speaking quickly, “but we think it’d be nice to have a rhythm person if we could find one, ‘cause then I can do more cool shite on lead.”

Rana seems to think it over for a few moments, and then she nods. “If the other members will have me,” she says, “I’d be honored.”

“They will!” Sera says, finally allowing herself to get excited. “Really. Sigrun looks scary, but she’s lots of fun. And Charade’s a sweetie. Kind of have to work to get on her bad side. It’ll be good! Promise!”

Something twinkles in Rana’s eyes, something like amusement or endearment or pleasant surprise. Her face breaks into that beautiful snaggletooth grin again, and she says, “Then I would love to join the Red Jennies.”

Sera has to cover her mouth to stop from yelling with joy. Holding an index finger up, she pulls out her phone and sends a text into her group chat with Sigrun and Charade: I GOT US A RHYTHM GUITARIST!!!! SHES CUTE AND COOL AND LIKES PUNK AND HATES THE RICH AND I THINK SHES GAY???? DSJFDKFLKSJKD

Charade replies with some shocked and happy emojis. Sigrun says, pics or it didnt happen

Sera tries not to laugh. “They want a picture!”

Rana raises an eyebrow, but there’s a good-natured smile on her face. “Alright.”

Sera opens up the front-facing camera and holds her phone up so that both of their faces are in the shot. Sera does her standard pose—putting a peace sign up to her mouth and sticking her tongue out—while Rana just stares into the camera with a serious face, like she’s posing for a fashion magazine or something. Sera wonders if it’s possible to die of gayness.

When she sends the selfie into the chat, Charade says, Ahhh Sera that’s amazing!! Can’t wait to meet her!!

Sigrun writes, oh she’s definitely gay

Sera grins and turns to Rana, who is watching her expectantly, as if she’s expecting Charade and Sigrun to hate her. “You’re in, Buckles!”

Rana cocks her head. “Buckles?”

Sera nods. “Right. Buckles. That’s you. Said you’re not too good with people, yeah? Like a boot buckle. Serious. But take the boots off, and there’s the softness.”

Rana stares at her in awe for a moment. “You came up with that just now?”

Sera shrugs. “Well. Maybe a few minutes ago.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she adds, “I can change it if you think it’s stupid.”

Rana shakes her head and smiles warmly. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I like it. I think it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sera tries not to blush and glances down at her phone, where she sees another message from Sigrun. This one reads, Go get her, tiger.

Sera grins. “Well then, Buckles,” she says, “welcome to the Jennies.”

[pikapeppa]

oooh a fenquisition prompt: how about fenris interacting with sera?

Your wish is my command! Here is Sera’s recruitment mission, led by Fenris and accompanied by the rest of the Inquisition crew. 

A late-night entry for @dadrunkwriting Friday!

Read on AO3 instead; ~3200 words.

********************

Cassandra carefully wiped the blood from her blade and glared at Fenris. “Remind me again whose idea it was to pursue this so-called scavenger hunt?”

“Hawke,” Fenris and Varric said in unison.

“Hey,” Hawke protested. “I wouldn’t have insisted on this if you all really didn’t want to come.” She racked her staff on her back, then rested her elbow on Varric’s shoulder with a winning little smile. “Come on though, you have to admit this has been an entertaining little treasure hunt so far.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “Has it?”

“Yes!” she insisted. “Come on, this has been intriguing.”

“We were just ambushed,” Cassandra snapped. “And we have no idea why!”

“But we didn’t die!” Hawke retorted. “That’s a win!”

Cassandra scowled at her, and she finally winced and lifted her hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Guilty as charged,” she said. “Sorry, Cass. This is just the kind of thing that tends to happen around me.”

Fenris smirked as he stored his greatsword on his back. Hawke was playing apologetic, but he could tell how much she was enjoying this. The odd notes, the clues, the random inept ambush… Hawke’s eyes were lit up in a way they hadn’t been in months - maybe even years - and Fenris knew why: this was like being back in Kirkwall again, running around Darktown at night and beating up the ragtag gangs of thieves and criminals that preyed upon the unwary.

Cassandra grunted. “You’d better hope we finish this task with our lives intact. Then I might accept your apology.”

“Ooh, extra incentive,” Hawke chirped. “Best get on with it, then.” She sashayed toward a set of elaborately carved double doors that seemed to lead into an inner courtyard, then pushed them open.

And immediately threw up a hasty barrier to deflect a fireball.

Cassandra gasped and drew her sword, and Fenris grabbed Hawke’s arm to pull her back. “Hawke,” he hissed. “What in the blasted Void-”

“Herald of Andraste!” A loud Orlesian voice hailed him from within the inner courtyard. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.”

Fenris peered over Hawke’s head to see who was speaking. It was a man in a ridiculous mask and doublet, holding a flask filled with fire in his hand. He flung the flask of fire at them, and Cassandra swiftly threw up her shield and deflected it.

“Kaffas,” Fenris snarled. He pushed past Cassandra and glared at their masked assailant. “Drop your cursed fire and explain the meaning of this.”

The masked man laughed loudly. “I won’t be tricked, Herald of Andraste! You think to shake my resolve by pretending you don’t know my plans?”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. What was this blasted fool going on about?

“What plans? Who the fuck are you?” Hawke asked incredulously. “Aside from some pantaloon-wearing Orlesian idiot?”

The masked idiot gasped dramatically. “How dare you! I’m too important for this to be an accident. My efforts-”

He broke off as a gurgling cry of pain rang out from behind him. He whipped around to look, and Fenris looked up as well to see a slim silhouette moving through the shadows.

Alarmed, he swiftly drew his greatsword, but the shadowy silhouette drew a bow and pointed it at the masked man. “Say ‘what,’” the shadow said.

The masked man puffed up indignantly. “What is the-”

An arrow sprouted in his throat. He stumbled back and fell heavily to the ground. Fenris stared at him in surprise for a moment as he writhed and choked on his own blood. Then he frowned in the direction of their mysterious helper. “Show yourself,” he ordered.

The bow-wielding newcomer skipped out of the shadows. She was an elf with a messy mop of straw-coloured hair, and she pranced carelessly over to their dying opponent without even looking at Fenris. “Ugh!” she exclaimed. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? Just say ‘what’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.” She bent down beside the now-dead body and reached for her arrow, and Fenris watched with growing bemusement as she attempted to pull the arrow back through the messy wound she’d dealt.

“‘Blah blah blah,’” she said mockingly. “‘Obey me! Arrow in my face!’” She hummed tunelessly to herself as she tried in vain to pull her arrow from the dead man’s throat.

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke said. She wandered over to Fenris’s side with a grin. “This girl is the outcome of the scavenger hunt?”

“It… seems that way,” Fenris said blankly.  

Hawke snorted a laugh. “This is amazing. This is the best thing that’s happened since we got to Val Royeaux.”

“Yeah, it’s been a gas,” Varric drawled. “Minus the ambush.”

“And the flask of fire that almost singed you,” Solas said.  

“And this seemingly unprovoked murder,” Cassandra added, with a disapproving look at the blonde elf.

Hawke wilted and gave Fenris a pleading look. “They’re ganging up on me. Make them stop.”

He shrugged unconcernedly. “You made your bed. I’m afraid you have to sleep in it.”

Hawke fanned herself playfully. “My my, Fenris. Talking about going to bed in front of all these people? If you insist…” She sidled closer to him and wrapped her arm around his waist.

Solas lifted his eyes to the sky as if to search for patience, and Cassandra self-consciously cleared her throat. Fenris shot Hawke a chiding look, then looked down at the little blonde archer. “Who are you, exactly?” he asked.

“I’m trying to get me arrow from… this… hah!” She finally pulled her arrow from the dead man’s throat, then sat on the ground and looked at it triumphantly. “Gotcha,” she said, then tucked the blood-caked arrow into her quiver and finally looked Fenris full in the face.

She frowned. “And you’re an elf.”

Fenris frowned at her. “Yes,” he said cautiously. “So are you.”

She pouted, then shrugged and perked up. “Well, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow!” She pointed at his left hand. “You’re the Herald thingy!” Her eyes widened as she focused on his palm. Then her gaze travelled up his arm and over his exposed biceps, and Fenris scowled as her uninhibited stare landed on his tattooed neck and chin.

“What’s with the lines?” she asked. “You look like a map. Can’t tell your arsehole from your ear, can you?”

He grunted, then jerked his chin at the dead man. “Who was he? What did he want with us?”

The blonde elf shrugged and pushed herself to her feet. “No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed. “You mean to say this man you killed was a complete stranger to you?”

Fenris held up a hand. “Wait. Who are your people?” he demanded. Why couldn’t this woman give him a clear answer?

She shrugged. “You know. People-people!” She jerked a thumb at herself. “Name’s Sera.” She pointed at a large abandoned crate. “This is cover. Get ‘round it!”

Fenris stared at her in total confusion. Sera widened her eyes comically at him. “For the reinforcements,” she said loudly, as though he was a total dunce. Then she snorted and ducked behind a nearby pillar. “Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches!”

“Breeches?” Fenris repeated faintly. He was starting to feel as stupid as Sera seemed to think he was. Then he whipped around as the sounds of shouting and clanging steel flooded into the courtyard from a gate just off to the northeast.

A handful of sword-bearing soldiers surged toward them. Fenris pulled his greatsword from his back with a snarl, then stopped to stare.

The soldiers were all missing their breeches. Fenris only had a split second to marvel at the complete and utter idiocy of the moment before launching himself into the fight.

In truth, it was hardly a fight and more of a massacre. There were only eight Orlesian soldiers against Fenris and his five companions, and the soldiers seemed so distracted by their lack of trousers that killing them was no more difficult than taking food from a baby nug. By the time the soldiers were dead, Sera was positively cackling with glee.

She slid her bow onto her back and planted her hands on her hips. “Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches!” she crowed.

Hawke snickered. “Just when I thought this couldn’t get any better, we get a handful of idiot soldiers with their cocks out.” She sighed happily and slung her arm around Sera’s neck. “You might be a little bit insane, but I like your style.”

Sera’s ears went a bit pink, and she elbowed Hawke. “Phwoar, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Fenris scowled at Sera. “If you had access to their equipment shed, why would you not take their swords instead?” he demanded.

She gave him that look again: a look that indicated that she thought he was missing the point entirely. “Because no breeches,” she said slowly. She waved at the dead soldiers. “Dangly bits all hanging out? Way better than no swords hanging out!”

Varric snorted. “I guess it is kind of strategic.”

“True. It makes a certain kind of sense,” Solas said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “These men were quite distracted during the battle.”

“Right?” Sera said brightly. Then she wrinkled her nose at Solas. “Pffft. You’re way too elfy. Next.”

Solas frowned, and Fenris sighed loudly and folded his arms. “All right. You dragged us into this harebrained fight. Now what do you want?”

“I want to help your Inquisition-thingy,” she announced.

Cassandra scowled. “You want to join the Inquisition?” she said scathingly. “Why?”

Sera folded her arms and shifted her weight jauntily to one hip. “It’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff from my friends? The friends of Red Jenny. That’s me.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You are Red Jenny?”

“Well, I’m one,” Sera corrected. “So is a guy in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall… there were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something.” She shrugged impatiently. “It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, friends, be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face: I’m Sera. The friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there.” She waved vaguely toward the gate. “I use them to help you. Plus arrows.”

Fenris studied her carefully. Beneath the rambling and the crass jokes, he was finally starting to see what she was about.

“You and your friends are people of low status,” he said. “Invisible people who are ignored by those in power. Servants and pageboys and the like?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s it,” she said brightly. “Them’s the ones. Someone little always hates someone big. And unless you don’t eat, sleep, or piss, you’re never far from someone little.”

Fenris nodded, then jerked his head at the dead man that she’d shot through the throat. “And this man? What were his crimes against those who served him?”

Sera shrugged. “Dunno. But a lot of people hated this guy. Someone got a laugh, someone got even, someone got paid.” She shot a pointed look at Cassandra. “And someone has to have it explained to them that free help is good.”

Cassandra folded her arms obstinately. “You killed a man without knowing his crimes. You cannot be certain he was guilty,” she argued.

“Aw come on, Seeker,” Varric said soothingly. “How good could he be? He tried to kill us without thinking twice.”

“But - that is not - Varric, it is the principle of it,” Cassandra said sharply. “It sets a terrible precedent. Killing people without being certain of their guilt?”

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “Some might argue that that is the life of a common foot soldier,” he said mildly. “A soldier must trust what their commander tells them. Perhaps Sera and her Red Jennies are soldiers for a different type of cause.”

Sera snorted loudly. “We aren’t no soldiers. We’re just friends helping friends.” She gave Fenris a pointed look. “Look, d’you need people or not? I want things to go back to normal, just like you.”

Fenris studied her appraisingly, then shrugged. “All right. Yes. You can join us.”

Cassandra tutted loudly, but Sera didn’t seem to hear; she punched the air with her fist. “Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be! Plus extra breeches, because I have all these…” She trailed off, then gave Fenris a bright and slightly maniacal smile. “You have merchants who buy that pish, yeh? Got to be worth something.”

“Er, yes,” Fenris said. Sera was practically hopping with energy, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, and Fenris was starting to feel slightly overwhelmed by her constant activity.

“Bring the extra breeches to Haven. We will give them to the refugees,” Cassandra said. She looked distinctly disgruntled.

Varric patted her elbow. “That’s the spirit, Seeker. Join in with the madness. You’ll get used to it.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and folded her arms. Meanwhile, Sera was chatting cheerfully with Hawke, who seemed to be giving her directions of some kind.

Fenris narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What are you two talking about?”

Hawke blinked innocently at him. “Nothing,” she said.

Sera elbowed her and snickered. “I’ll find it, yeh? Sounds like good reading for the road.” She darted over to Fenris and punched him affably in the arm. “Haven, right? See you there, Herald! This will be grand!” She ran off toward the gate, and a minute later, she was gone.

“Weird,” Varric said. He looked up at Fenris. “She didn’t even ask your name, did she?”

Fenris folded his arms and gave Hawke a severe look. “What did you tell her?”

Hawke tucked her hands in her pockets and batted her eyelashes. “I might have told her where to find that issue of the Randy Dowager at the docks.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You still don’t know if that belonged to someone.”

Varric snorted. “I don’t know, elf. I think there might’ve been a reason it was left behind a barrel of smelly fish guts by the docks.”

Hawke grinned at him. “Varric, are you jealous? Just because Swords and Shields was a complete flop-”

Cassandra burst into a violent coughing fit, and Fenris and the others turned to look at her.

“Are you all right?” Solas asked.

Fenris stared at her in alarm. Her cheeks were flaming red. He tugged the canteen of water from his belt and handed it to her. “Drink this,” he advised.

She snatched the canteen and gulped a few mouthfuls of water, then delicately covered her mouth as she handed the canteen back. She took a deep breath through her nose, then frowned at Fenris. “I am not so sure about this Sera person,” she said. “The type of ‘help’ she is offering sounds like little more than petty criminality.”

Fenris lifted his chin. “You come from a long line of nobles,” he told her. “You do not understand her way of life. Being an elf of low birth…” He pursed his lips. “City elves who live in poverty can be one of two things. They can be targets for abuse, or they can be invisible. Often, they are both. They receive little more attention or respect than rats.” He shifted his weight to one hip. “Now imagine that the rats could stage a rebellion of sorts. Working silently to hamstring their predators without being seen…” He sighed and gazed idly at his lyrium-lined palms for a moment.

Then Hawke’s fingers slid across his palm. He raised his chin and met her warm amber eyes.

Hawke squeezed his fingers, and he looked at Cassandra once more. “Your Inquisition is not unlike Sera’s Red Jennies,” he said. “You are small, and the Templars and the nobles and the people who look down on you: they think you’re insignificant. That could be for the best, for now. You can work quietly and save your strength. They will underestimate you, and you will be able to catch them by surprise.”

Cassandra didn’t reply, and the others were oddly quiet as well.

Solas eventually broke the silence. “Well spoken,” he murmured.

Fenris glanced at him curiously. The elven mage’s expression was oddly complex: both proud and melancholy at once.

Then Cassandra sighed. “I am sorry, Fenris. Once again, I…” She trailed off and rubbed her hands together nervously, then sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. “You see things I cannot. You truly are well-suited for this,” she said.

He frowned slightly and didn’t reply. From the way Cassandra was speaking, one would almost believe Fenris hadn’t been essentially forced into this recruitment role.

Cassandra waved toward the gates that would take them back to the city. “Shall we go?”

He nodded, and their little party moved off toward the gates. Fenris walked hand-in-hand with Hawke as they followed the quiet road back to Val Royeaux.

She bumped her arm gently against his. “If you’d ever had the chance to stage a slave rebellion in Tevinter, you would have,” she told him quietly. “You were just… too isolated.”

Fenris shrugged. “Is that all it was?” he said. “I can say I didn’t know rebellion was possible when I was under Danarius’s thumb. But… perhaps I simply lacked the strength to act.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hawke said fiercely. She squeezed his hand. “You’re the strongest person I know. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

He twisted his lips doubtfully. “In any case, Sera’s network could be useful. They may be able to supplement Leliana’s spies, at the very least.”

Hawke smiled to herself and didn’t speak. Fenris tilted his head. “What? Why are you smiling?”

She shrugged and continued to smile. “Nothing,” she said. Then she looked up at him. “I love you, you know.”

He blinked in surprise at her non-sequitur. “I know,” he said. “I love you, as well.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand once more, and they continued along the road to Val Royeaux. While Cassandra, Varric, and Solas quietly chatted, Hawke hummed quietly to herself, and Fenris thought of Sera.

He knew that Sera wasn’t what Cassandra had in mind for an Inquisition recruit. But help could take many forms, and in Fenris’s opinion, the Inquisition could do worse than a defiant street urchin with wicked bow arm and a vendetta against power-hungry nobles.

Besides, Hawke would be pleased to have a new and apparently lewd-minded friend.

Fenris smirked to himself and shook his head. I hope I won’t regret this, he thought. But he was fairly sure that bringing Sera on board would work in their favour. Her odd and nebulous band of Red Jennies might offer them a pleasant surprise someday.

That was what little people tended to do, after all.

[galadrieljones]

So there are times when I randomly think of Solas and why I fell in love with him and then I just become sad thinking of how tragic and heartbreaking this love story I fell into is. What made you fall for him? Why did he have to be this tall and lean smart, quiet, and unassuming guy who's so charming and darling? Then it gets more messed up when I think that maybe he used his wiles on my inquisitor and that it was game over from the very start. RIP, my heart. I need fandom therapy. T_T

Ah, what a question.

What made me fall for Solas. The first time I really fell for Solas wasn’t until my third playthrough, actually. My first one, it was the first time I’d ever played a Dragon Age game. I romanced Cullen and sort of...forgot about Solas. This was on the Xbox360 and way before Trespasser. Seriously he was just this quiet, sweet elf, I thought. I wanted to flirt with him just to see what would happen, but it wouldn’t let me, as I was playing as a Trevelyan. Anyway, I never took him on missions, because I liked Dorian better. Dorian was funny and overtly interesting, unlike Solas, who I was just like, “He’s nice,” and never thought of again (touche, I guess--as that’s the response he was going for in his disguise).

My second playthrough was like a year later on the XboxOne. I also played with a Trevelyan, and I romanced Sera. But this time, I took the time to get to know Solas. Trespasser was out but I wasn’t in fandom then and I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t understand the Flemeth/Solas last scene with my first playthrough at all and knew very little about the lore. So I spent MUCH more time with him to try and understand him and who he was. I ended up befriending him and taking him as my mage on every mission. When he left I was confused and sad. I didn’t understand. I thought I had done something wrong. Remember I was a total newb. I had no idea what the orb meant. I got the sense he had lost a lot of loved ones in his life, and he was so secretive and stoic about it. I guess I just figured it was all too much to take, and the orb was some sort of heirloom. Turns out I wasn’t that far off.

But then, I played Trespasser. I was so intrigued by the Crossroads I read like every codex I could find. By the time I got to Solas, I was fucking shocked. I was literally fucking shocked out of my mind. Reading all that stuff about the Dread Wolf, it took me a while but I did put it together on my own. I just had no idea what I was in for, ie: that Solas was actually a god, and when I saw him again and he was my friend and ready to destroy himself and just very...powerful...I lost it. Immediately I knew that I had to romance him, and I had to play the entire game over again as a Lavellan, because there’s very little I can resist about a god/mortal love story. I was swept away by the possibilities. The moment that playthrough ended I literally turned around and made my first Lavellan and started over from the beginning that very night, lol.

So anyway, I think what made me fall for Solas was less Solas and more the story that surrounds him. I always liked Solas, but Solavellan is such an epic ship. Everything about it is desperately romantic and tragic. The entire scope and trajectory of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as a story, changes when you romance the god who is to be the villain in the sequel. Patrick Weekes, in suggesting that Solas become a love interest, I truly believe sort of broke the game. He changed the stakes entirely. I went from marrying Sera in Trespasser and living happily ever after with the Red Jennies, to weeping my heart out every night at the prospect that the Dread Wolf might one day change his heart. If you romance Solas, that ending is a cliffhanger. Nothing is ever the same. ;__;

[glacierbash]

What happened yesterday in Dragon Age Inquisition

featuring me, the dumbest person alive

I...

saw a dragon!

I tried to kill said dragon

said dragon nearly killed me in about five minutes.

i fucked off.

saw a fade rift I hadn’t closed yet!

I tried to close it

the fade rift was spawning or summoning level 12 demons. or something.

i was level 6.

i fucked off.

I fought the envy demon! 

the fight broke!

cassandra couldnt be revived.

i couldnt interact with anybody

there was no cutscene

i was just... stuck in this weird loop

i had to do the fight again

cassandra wouldnt let me revive her,, again.

i died.

i finally beat it though!

i nearly cried only because I didn’t wanna do that bullshit again

I disbanded the templars

why?

because im playing as a female elf and trying to romance sera, thats why

“elfy”

I retained zero memories and ended up asking Sera about three times in a row about Red Jenny.

and then i asked her twice in a row about the inquisition.

i was having a rough day

basically i just ran around nearly dying because why the fuck would you ever choose me to be some chosen one look at literally any other game where im the chosen one bullshit

skyrim: i have not played a single game where I havent killed innocent farmer men and women

fallout: yeah i was pretty moral but then i highkey went into the upperstands and killed everybody

why can i only think of bethesda games?

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

You've got so many compelling characters, I wanted to ask you about how one of them would deal with mine. So Spiridon is his usual silent judgement self, but he's very unhappy at Eren for dismissing Sera AND making Briala the puppet master, someone he considered a legit friend. He doesn't confront Eren but he can tell that the big boy is seething. What happens next?

I am SORRY this took me two thousand years to do but here it finally is!  ~3800 words of angry tall elves, most under the cut.

The Inquisitor often regretted having insisted the big white bastard remain at Skyhold, and today was no different.

He didn’t hate Spiridon, he supposed.  Not like he should have.  True, ‘big white bastard’ was one of the kinder ways he’d been known to refer to his former clanmate, but then Eren himself had likely been called far worse.  He certainly made no great effort towards hospitality now.  The Inquisition had need of Spiridon’s blade, nothing more.  As such, the hunters on the shadow path stalking outside Skyhold’s walls must remain unsated, and the cries of those back home distraught over tales of the harellan’s presence at the Inquisitor’s back must continue to fall on deaf ears.  

At least for now.  

Eren had seen judgment in the eyes of those he passed for long enough that he expected nothing else, exacerbated as of late by the recent troubles at Halamshiral.  Presently, it came from the stalk of white and beige crowding his peripheral vision, and with a particular sharpness.  He’d felt that needling pinch for weeks now; Red Jenny’s overdue departure from Skyhold lifted some measure of frustration from Eren’s mind, but Spiridon clearly did not appreciate being short the distraction in his down time.  Not a word had passed between them since, but the big bastard’s stares were sharp enough to speak for him.

Since the Inquisitor’s return from the Winter Palace, however, that little pinch had grown sharper, and deeper, no longer a needle so much as a blade.  It would be only a matter of time before it broke the skin, and drew blood.  

Spiridon watched him approach from his perch against one of the fortress walls as if he’d been anticipating it.  Dreading it, perhaps, Eren would’ve liked to think.  The air hung thick between them with a distinct sense of hunger, a long-standing craving on either side for the opportunity to have only their own halves of this conversation.  They would each pick its carcass clean, without concern as to whether the other found the same satisfaction.  Likely, they would both wholly intend to ensure their opponent did not.

Never one to give up an advantage, Eren would have the first bite.

“Is there a reason you think standing there gawking like that is the best use of your time?”

He received only a huff and a corresponding stiff, irreverent jerk of his subordinate’s upper body as a reply.  Fine, he thought, and drew a few steps closer.

“I expect everyone here to do their jobs, and it is hardly your job to support that wall with your back, is it?”  

Still no reply.  What else would he expect, really?  ‘Yes, Inquisitor, right away’?  A blatant insistence that he fuck off, perhaps, but acquiescence without some sort of pig-headed resistance?  Certainly not, not from him.  Nevertheless, Eren tired of the distraction of being followed this way and that by seething eyes and piqued breath, and decided it would simply not do to leave without ensuring its removal.   

“I suggest you find something useful to do.”

Despite the soft shuffling of cloth and boot against stone as he turned to leave, it would be far too much to hope for that this constituted Spiridon readying to do as he’d been told.

“And if I don’t?”

Eren turned, knowing full well what he would see behind him.  Spiridon had indeed shoved off the wall and risen to his full height, a good head taller than he was, if not more.  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a sneer gliding down the wide bridge of his nose, daring the Inquisitor to answer.

Hardly willing to be such an easy meal, Eren moved towards him once more.  

“What did you say?”

“And if I don’t?” Spiridon repeated, the pitch of his voice dropping just enough to feel a bit patronizing.  “What then, hm?  Gonna throw me out, too?”

If it comes to that, without hesitation.  

Certainly not in the mood for another of the ambassador’s lectures on ‘good form’, ‘tact’, and ‘civility’, Eren begrudgingly straightened his posture and bit back the words until he could muster some that were a bit more...diplomatic.  He’d wasted enough of his time turning back in the first place.

“Is that what you want?”

Any attempt at good form, tact, or civility in Eren’s voice came through far less than enthusiastic in the first place, and the creases forming in his brow didn’t help.  The jagged edge of Spiridon’s upper lip rose, just enough of a smirk that Eren found himself fighting his own involuntarily rising into a sneer in return.  

“We’ll see.”  Spiridon leaned forward a little, and raised his eyebrows.  “So much for ‘need all the help we can get’, huh?”

Predictable.  The loudest mouths often sat below eyes that hadn’t seen, and Spiridon had been far from Verchiel when -

No.

“I am not discussing this with you,” Eren growled.  “It had to be done.”

“Bullshit it did.”  

His reply came almost the moment Eren’s mouth closed, as if he’d heard those words enough times he would’ve heard them whether they’d been said or not.  “You really think that justifies anything?”

No.

“I do not have to justify anything to you, understand?  Nor do I owe you any explanation.”

Perhaps as if to demonstrate the weight behind his words, Eren’s brow sank deeper into the hard stare he leveled at his clanmate - no, his former clanmate, and remained so until the crunch of the ground under the sharp turn of his heels communicated just how finished the Inquisitor was with this conversation.

Or so he thought.

“Yeah, see, I think you do.”  

Spiridon moved towards him in leisurely, yet deliberate strides, stepping forward to lay charges against his leader with the smug confidence - the utter arrogance - that this time, he could make them stick.  Once he’d closed the distance between himself and Eren to a mere step or two, he released one hand from behind his back, and pointed a long, bony finger towards his own face.

“You know what this means.  You know exactly how and why I got these, and still you actually asked me to stay.”

The marks of the harellan, a traitor to the clan, to be shunned and forgotten if not killed on sight, split his face on either side like cracks through stone.  He still remembered the morning after it happened: the commotion among the hunters, the hushed whispers throughout the camp, the blood staining the ground, and the faces of those responsible - the ones who survived, anyway.  By the time Eren was made aware of what happened, Spiridon himself had already gone, and his attackers relayed the news with a juvenile giddiness behind their outward solemnity that turned his stomach even now.  As though he should be proud of them, or perhaps even grateful.  Those men searched the face of their warleader for vindication in what they’d done, and Eren had left them wanting.  

Despite having every reason to dismiss Spiridon’s departure with a gruff “good riddance”, perhaps that lack of an opportunity to do so then was what prompted Eren’s often regrettable decision to ask him to stay when he and the Inquisition crossed paths years later.  That couldn’t be his explanation now, though.  Nor could he express the regret he felt rather keenly in moments such as this, like the itch that lingers after wandering through stinging nettles.  Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that that sting, albeit irritating and entirely unwelcome, felt familiar, and a familiar sting was just the slightest bit better than the dull pulsing pain in his hand, and the general prickle in the air about Skyhold that kept the soft hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end.

No.  Keeping a seasoned elite warrior on hand stood to reason regardless, and he’d not give Spiridon the satisfaction of feeling that sort of wanted.  He’d not be admitting he’d made a mistake, either.  

“Yes.  It was to the Inquisition’s benefit.”

Spiridon’s head cocked to the side ever so slightly.  “Wasn’t she?”

Ah, yes.  She.  The question righted his attention back to the matter at hand, and the clench in his fists could relax a bit knowing it would require far less contemplation to answer.

“No.”

The space between them and the Inquisitor’s remaining patience pulled taut in the silence that followed, and, having determined he’d offered Spiridon more than enough time to say whatever he was going to say, Eren turned about and headed back towards the keep at a fairly brisk pace.  Spiridon could rot with his frustrations by that wall for the rest of eternity for all he cared.  

Behind him, air rushed from Spiridon’s nose not unlike that of those big Ander horses he kept.  “What was it, then?  Couldn’t take your beloved Dalish being knocked down a peg, or you just don’t like being questioned now that you’re in charge, your Worship?”

A calculated strike, one Eren should have been expecting.  A question that should never merit an answer, flanked by spouts of inane horse shit he knew nothing about.  A jab at his back he should have been able to shrug off and keep walking.  Leave the bastard to stew.  Nevertheless, his jaw and fists clenched, his shoulders rose, and his feet planted the moment he heard that ridiculous name.  A moment more, just to be certain, and Eren stormed back towards the smug bastard, fully intent on returning the favor.  The ambassador could keep her lectures; with those words, Spiridon’s entitlement to any sort of tact or civility was forfeit.  

“Because she is foolish, and short-sighted,” he growled, forceful hands nearly throwing the words from his lips.  “Because her games needlessly cost people their lives, and because she ignored my order to stand down twice, which cost the Inquisition potential resources that could have saved those lives lost to her stupidity in the first place.”  

Each syllable stoked the embers rising in his core, providing all the fuel he needed to bite, to maul, to tear away flesh until he left nothing in his wake but bone and blood.  He would eat first, and he would eat well.      

“Letting her leave was an act of mercy.  She should be in a cell for what she did.”

Spiridon, true to form, weathered the onslaught with barely a twitch of his split lip.  Quietly biding his time, awaiting his turn to feast.  Even his eerie stillness couldn’t hide that the big bastard was practically salivating.

“Shouldn’t I?” he began, leaning forward enough that Eren needed to crane his neck upwards to maintain eye contact, with a coy raise of his eyebrows.  When only the mossy green vallaslin around Eren’s eyes tensed inward in response, Spiridon raised himself to full height once again, jutting his sharp chin forward and staring such daggers down his nose that told Eren exactly what he would say next before he even drew the breath to say it.

“Shouldn’t you?”  

Like a wolf notices the slightest of limps in its prey, so too did Spiridon notice the thick gasp stuck in Eren’s throat, the result of a stalemate between the parts of him that wanted to lash out at such insolence and those that wondered if perhaps there wasn’t something to it.  And, as wolves are wont to do once they’ve noticed such vulnerabilities, Spiridon stalked around him in a slow circle, forcing Eren’s attention tightly around his every move, and, coincidentally, his every word.

“Do you honestly think any of that foolish, short-sighted shit you pulled at Halamshiral will actually help anybody?  You’ve cost every one of those elves in Orlais their lives for all anyone knows, but yes, you’ve shown such mercy, haven’t you?”

His teeth fell true, and struck deep.  Spiridon’s words echoed those in his own mind, the ones that hounded his sleep and plagued his dreams since Halamshiral.  

You’ve cost every one of them their lives.

Leaving the decision of who would rule Orlais to the Inquisitor put him in a position he would have relished if any option had been the least bit appealing, but what could he honestly have done differently?  Leave Orlais in the hands of an empress who would show elves a friendly face only to have them murdered and burn their homes to the ground when it suited her?  Gaspard at least presented his mind regarding the people with a bare face; easily recognized, easily anticipated, and, with Briala’s oversight, easily leashed.  Yet, the doubt never quite left the back of his mind, and he saw it written over and over again in Spiridon’s self-righteous scowl as he circled, steady footfalls mimicking the heartbeat pulsing ever louder in his ears: for how long?

A decision without favorable options that should never have been his in the first place, indeed, but what was done was done.  If the emperor would cross the Inquisitor’s blade one day, he was more than welcome to the consequences.  

As was Spiridon, should he choose to continue this challenge further.

Another few steps, and Spiridon drew to a sudden halt directly in front of him, moving in closer with his chin dropped, ready to deliver his killing blow with a glare instinctively mirrored inches away on Eren’s own face.  

“That piece of shit Sera killed wouldn’t have even thought twice about killing you where you stood had you been anyone else but the great, benevolent Inquisitor, and neither would the one you just handed an entire fucking empire.”  

With that, the big bastard stepped backwards, the way an artist might in order to properly admire their handiwork.  He searched for cracks in the Inquisitor’s face now just as the hunters who split his had searched for praise in the warleader’s years prior.  He could allow a slight tremble to contain the pressure, perhaps, but he would not show cracks.  He must not show cracks.  Just as before, eyes would search, and Eren would leave them wanting.  Spiridon had fed quite enough.

“And when did I ever claim greatness, hm?  Or benevolence?” he snapped, tightly balled fists barely heeding his will that they remain at his sides as his teeth ground against the words. “It is not my duty as Inquisitor to be kind and good.  I am not a diplomat, and I am not a politician.  My sole purpose here is to end the threat Corypheus poses to the entirety of Thedas, and I will not compromise that to help you sleep easier at night.”

Chill wind mixed with Eren’s hot breath as he sent it steaming into Spiridon’s face, alongside a stiff finger granted a momentary reprieve to ensure he listened.

“Do not for one instant think I am unaware of what my duty will cost.”  

Spiridon’s lip curled into his reply without missing a beat.  “What it’ll cost you, or what it’ll cost everyone else?  Or does anyone but you even-”

No.

“It doesn’t matter!” he barked, cutting the air and Spiridon’s retort with a bladed hand, and forcing the big bastard to step back lest he cut more than that.  Good.  “War has always, always carried a price for those who aren’t fighting it, as you are well aware, regardless of how I do or do not value their existence!”  

Flecks of spittle found their way onto Spiridon’s cheeks as Eren pressed forward without concern for maintaining a demeanor fitting his station.  The time for such things had passed, and Spiridon would heed carefully considered words no more than would an unbroken horse.  

“But make no mistake, the lives we may lose will be minuscule compared to the countless lives that will be lost if we fail.  If a few must suffer so that many will not, then so be it.”

The pulses in his marked hand strengthened, and Eren hid the sickly green light with a rub at his neck as he turned away to collect himself.  A gesture made with the naïve assumption Spiridon would leave him to it, rather than be right at his back when he turned to face him again.

“And when a day comes that you need something from those you let suffer?  How willing do you think they’d be to lift the suffering of the man who watched theirs and said to himself, ‘I can live with that’?  If you even manage to leave any of them alive?”

“Have you heard nothing I’ve said?!” Eren roared.  “I do none of this for glory, or for favor; I do this because I must!  The same reason I’ve trained and protected a clan that sneered behind my back and called me unworthy.  The same reason I see to it those who will not abandon the shadow path do not find you in your sleep.”  It came as less of a speech and more of a snarl, accompanied once more by an accusatory finger.  “Because that is my duty, whether I want it or not.  Because this,” he thrust his hand forward, fingers splayed, the searing energy within thrumming so strongly now he could swear Spiridon may actually be able to see his skin move, “means I am the only one who can.”

They stood in silence for a moment as the heaving in Eren’s chest and the throbbing in his hand slowed.  In the brief absence of Spiridon’s voice, Eren found his own words hanging in his head, and himself alone with a reality he had wrestled even before Nightingale handed him that infernal dragon sword the day they arrived at Skyhold.

I am the only one who can.  

And the one who must see it done, no matter the cost, be it to himself or to anyone else, because the cost of doing nothing was more than he was willing to bear.  Even if the mark which designated him as such would one day be his undoing.  

He cradled and stretched his marked hand, his gaze pulled towards the pulsating light as his heart and breath fell into steady rhythm, and the stinging burn within began to subside.  It very well may be his undoing.   

And he would fulfill his duty anyway.

“The price is high enough without my own allies adding to it,” he said softly, as much to himself as to Spiridon.  “I will not apologize for doing my duty, and I will not suffer such insubordination.”  

He raised his eyes, but left his head where it was, a fiery glare falling on the big bastard from beneath a furrowed brow.  His next words were for Spiridon, and Spiridon alone.

“From anyone.”

“Yes, we all know how important you are,” Spiridon said through a condescending sneer, “but you still need people.  If you’re going to get people to risk their lives for you and your precious duty, you better give them a good fucking reason.”  His glare tightened once more, eyes becoming mere slits of darkness in the pale of his face.  

“And ‘because I have to’ isn’t good enough.”

Of course not.  Not for him.  It hadn’t been a good enough reason to take vallaslin, or to cease any of his small rebellions that eventually earned him those wolf marks in the first place.  Why should he expect that it would be good enough reason now, with so much more at stake than some scars on his face?

“You are not my prisoner, Spiridon.  You were asked to stay, remember?”

Asked, not told, a luxury Eren had not been granted.  Not really.  One which, he thought through a sinking knot in his stomach as he clenched his fist once again around the pulsing green palm, Spiridon may very well recognize, and take advantage of far sooner than later.  From the purse at one corner of his mouth, he knew what Eren meant to say, and he was considering it.  Once again, the big white bastard would sow doubt and dissent, then leave him to the task of reaping it.  Quite a luxury, indeed.

“Think of a better reason, Inquisitor,” Spiridon said in a low tone that could almost be described as somber, as if to emphasize some sort of finality, “before there’s no one left who cares to hear it.”

He left the Inquisitor there without care as to whether he had anything else to say, trodding off to...who knew.  To drink, perhaps.  Perhaps that would be the last Eren would see of him; he’d walk past the threshold of the Inquisition’s fortress and right into the shadow hunters’ waiting jaws, never to scowl and crowd anyone’s peripheral vision again.  For now, Eren could no longer be bothered to care, and retreated from the courtyard himself.  

A full pipe and several hours left the Inquisitor with a calmer head, but still in no state for sleep.  His mind drifted with the tendrils of smoke, first to the training yard, likely filled by the little black-eyed agent who never seemed to sleep, then to the fields and wooded clearings that served the same purpose for Lavellan.  Often, it would be him awake in the small hours of the night, swinging his scavenged human greatsword at nothing in particular - imagined enemies, perhaps - practicing forms and drills until he was chased back to bed or the sun rose, whichever came first.  Other times, the training grounds would serve as an arena of sorts, the place he put his training to use and demonstrated to his fellow warriors why he, of all of them, deserved the mantle of warleader.  A place to prove what words alone could not.  

Perhaps his restraint in the courtyard was...unwarranted.  Perhaps settling their differences the way they had in their youth would do them both some good.  And he was far from above dragging the big bastard out of his cot to knock his teeth down his throat for a while.

Having found all the motivation he needed; he dressed lightly, tied his hair back, and collected two pole arms from the armory.  Spiridon’s quarters lie just beyond the tavern - if he wasn’t in one, he’d be in the other, and Eren would send no messenger to rouse him from either.  The tavern was empty by the time he arrived, so he completed the short walk to the glorified broom closet where Spiridon slept and delivered a sharp rap on the wooden door with the end of a polearm.  Figuring him for a heavy sleeper, he tried again, and once more before simply turning the knob and rather unceremoniously letting himself in.

He’d spent the entire walk over rehearsing what he would say at this very moment and settled on something simple, yet effective - Training yard.  Now.  The light seeped into the room from behind him, and as the pile on top of the cot finally coalesced into view, the breath he drew to say it hitched in his throat.

Shit.  

[dalishious]

hey this might be a lil confusing cos im bad at words but i was wondering, do u think maybe solas engineered a rebellion against the elven gods because of a personal desire to avenge mythal, not for moral reasons? the was he talks to sera abt running the jennies makes me feel like he sees rebellions as a tool to get where he wants to be and expects her to feel the same. also the timing is weird as shit. why wait until after mythal dies if its for moral reasons? (1)

idk, im not saying the ancient elves need to be perfect or anything, but i know we both think it could have been done a LOT better and i might be grasping at nothing. in my head im seeing solas starting a cult claiming the elven gods were basically slavers and using that to get ppl riled up regardless of how true it was. he probably thought it was true. he seems to think the only good system of leadership is everyone knowing what he thinks is right and doing it and that kinda fits together. (2)

Before I get to that I just want to agree that Solas and Sera’s dialogue about her Red Jennies is really interesting. 

Solas: I heard about your organization, Sera. I am impressed.Sera: Is this a trick?Solas: Hardly. But it is an opportunity. You have already divided your group's membership. That is wise. No one cell can betray all your secrets. The next step is to establish a rhythm. When your enemies pursue, you vanish. When they become complacent, you harass them. When they are weak, you strike in earnest.Sera: Where d'you get all this, then?Solas: Do you wish to be unnerved by another tale of my explorations of the Fade? Or do you wish to learn something?Sera: I don't know. Neither?

Solas: Once you have the aristocracy weakened, Sera, you will have to redirect your lieutenants.Sera: Oh, this again. All right, what am I doing?Solas: Some of your forces, valuable until now, have no interests beyond creating disruption. Chaos for its own sake. They must be repositioned where they can do no harm, or removed if necessary. You replace them with organizers willing to build a new system and carry out the ugly work that must be done.Sera: What? Why? What ugly work?Solas: That is up to you. Do you wish to disrupt the nobility, secure a title? Or change the political structure entirely?Sera: None of it! I don't want any of that!

Solas: I do not understand you, Sera. You have no end goal for your organization.Sera: Nobles get rattled, and people get payback. I play in the middle.Solas: Why not go all the way? You see injustice, and you have organized a group to fight it. Don't you want to replace it with something better?Sera: What, just lop off the top? What's that do, except make a new top to frig it all up?Solas: I...forgive me. You are right. You are fine as you are.Sera: You hurt my head sometimes, Solas.Solas: Yes, I have been known to do that.

Solas gets so invested into the Red Jennies for a second, I think he’s projecting himself and his followers onto them. Then catches himself and backs off. For the most part I don’t like Sera and Solas’ banter, but this is some good shit.

Okay, sorry. Had to get that out. As for you thoughts re: Solas and the Evanuris... previously I wondered, when trying to establish some sort of timeline in my head, if perhaps Mythal died when the rest of the Evanuris wanted to enslave people and she argued against it... except Mythal has vallaslin like any other. (Which then begs the question of just why the fuck was Solas getting misty-eyed when talking about how Mythal was “the best of them?” because slavery is slavery my dude.) Then I thought that maybe, what with the Well of Sorrows helping the Inquisitor with the proper passphrase to get into Solas’ secret place in the Crossroads, that Mythal was helping him on the side? But again. If that’s the case, why the fuck did she have slaves herself. Or did she have a change of heart, try to free all her slaves but then the others killed her? Because if that’s the case, what’s up with the elves at the Temple of Mythal?

It all doesn’t make sense and I am eagerly waiting to see how BioWare will explain this. Or try to.

I wish I could believe that Solas just made everything up, but there has to be at least some truth to what he said, given other evidence found in the Vir Dirthara.

[5lazarus]

WIP Wednesday

making good time, might just finish this chapter by Sunday

“So,” Imladris murmurs to her friend, “when were you going to tell me you still take Jenny orders?” “Not orders,” Rope grits back. “Suggestions. Which you might learn from.” Imladris blinks, a little hurt, but they turn into a doorway only remarkable in how dull it is. Rope shakes the ring of keys the old man had tossed her, and after some poking and prodigy and a healthy amount of cursing in Dalish, Elvhen, and Common, finally finds the right one. They enter the building warily, but no one drops from the ceiling to ambush them. By the hearth stands a man, posing dramatically. Rope groans, ruining his reveal. “Ugh, you,” she says. “Tell Briala to go fuck herself.” “Me!” exclaims Felassan happily. “You’re a Red Jenny now?” Imladris says disbelievingly. Felassan grins. “One of the originals, really. Well, I didn’t help out with the Night Elves. But I’ve been around.” Sera says, “Do you seriously know fucking everyone in Thedas, or are you just like--lucky?” Imladris thinks, I’m not sure it’s luck. She tries to smile at him, feeling a bit embarrassed. In his last letter to her, he had gently steered her towards looking towards other people, for whatever companionship she desired. You can fuck a man but you can’t make him want you; well, she tells herself, did you ever really want him like that anyway? Felassan says, “So, this venatori problem--this year’s really spiralled out of control, hasn’t it?” He chuckles to himself. “Fucking weirdo,” Rope mutters, tactful as always. Imladris is abruptly reminded as to why they all call her Rope: give her enough rope to hang herself, she’ll do it as soon as she opens her mouth. She makes Sera look a diplomat. Felassan says, “There’s nothing wrong with a little Schadenfreude.” He overpronounces the word. “What?” Imladris says. She only knows how to ask for directions and bread in the language of the Anderfels. Felassan looks vague. His hair has a bit more gray in it. It’s rather charming. “Too long to explain,” he says. “But, well, Briala’s spies in the court ran across your man Corypheus’s spies--” “My man Corypheus?” Imladris says, incredulous. “You make him sound like a suitor.” Sera starts giggling. “That’d be a hell of a plot twist. Put that in the Chant of Light and sing it! End of the world, elf saves the world with the power of pussy, all good, weird pointy-eared red lyrium babies at the end. But Coryphits looked like he was into butt stuff, so. Maybe not.” There is a moment of silence where Imladris looks to the ceiling beseechingly, begging for patience, and Rope’s face freezes in disgust. Felassan grins. “I like you,” he says. “You have style. Panache, as they say in Orlais.” “Yeah,” Sera says smugly. “That’s gratitude.” Imladris says faintly, “Briala’s spies found Corypheus’s spies?” Felassan says, “Yes. And she needs a strong Ferelden to keep Orlais in check--make note of that, I know you two like to snipe at each other--so she sent me to tip you off. And I decided, well, it’s been awhile since I’ve enjoyed a really good court intrigue.” “Because Halamshiral gets so boring,” Imladris says. Felassan says, “One craves a change of accent. So they’ve gotten us jobs as caterers for the feast that the Throne is throwing for the Inquisition.” Imladris says, “Caterers? Can you hold a platter? Can you even keep a neutral face?” Rope gestures with her hands a box around her face, hands parallel. She assumes a face of perfect blankness, so of course her natural sense of rage simmers through at the edges of her mouth. Imladris exchanges a look with Felassan. It is not the worst idea she has heard. It might even be fun. “Look,” Rope says. “This is my neutral face.” “You look like a dog just shat in front of you,” Sera observes. Imladris concurs. That is indeed the face Rope makes when something takes a shit in front of her, which has happened surprisingly often. Rope says, “That’ll probably happen. We’re in Ferelden. How many of these nobles have mabari? Too many. We really just need to kill the lot.”

[tyramir]

Inquisitor Ask Meme

1. Race:

Human

2. Class/Specialization:

Warrior/Champion

3. Your homeland?

Ferelden. It’s cold and muddy, a lot like Canada. And I love dogs.

4. Your family?

Dicks.

5. Who were you before?

The same person I am now.

6. Would you be religious?

Philosophical? Yes. Spiritual? Yes. Religious? Never.

7. Do you have a mabari?

See: “I love dogs.”

8. Your opinion on other races?

I’d probably roll my eyes a lot at the Dalish, the Dwarves that still live underground, and any Qunari who follow the Qun. They’re all so set in their ways, so conservative and opposed to change, that I’d never be able to get over that. But City Elves? Surface Dwarves? Tal Vashoth that aren’t murderous savages? I could get behind those.

9. What would Varric’s nickname for you be?

“Smiley.”

10. What would your tarot card look like?

Probably some variation of The Hermit.

11. Where would you hang out in Skyhold?

Probably in the cellar. It’s away from people, has that one big ass codex book, and I could play with the shinies in the vault and play the Quizcuisition. 

12. What would you do for fun?

Everything I literally just said, plus hang out with Bull and Sera. Probably discuss philosophy with Solas.

13. What armor would you wear?

Heavy.

14. What would your room look like?

Pretty plain and unadorned, with some books heaped in a corner.

15. Who would be your friends at Skyhold?

In order: Bull, Solas, Sera, Cassandra, Varric, Harding, Josephine, and Dorian. I don’t think I’d get along too well with Vivienne, and while I love Leliana, she became a little hard after DA: O. Yes, you can unharden her, but she’s not the same Leliana that she used to be. She doesn’t sing for joy “just because” like she used to, and I miss that.

Blackwall and Cullen aren’t really my go-to friend type, and say what you will about Cole, but I’m not entirely convinced he can have friends, at least not in the sense that we take the meaning. Can he care for people? Sure. But I imagine trying to be friends with Cole is like trying to be friends with a cat. You can be companions, you can show affection for one another, but there’s a fundamental disconnect beyond that. And now both the Cole fans and the cat lovers are going to come for me.

16. Would you have any friends outside of the Inquisition?

Doubtful. The Inquisition’s a big responsibility.

17. Who wouldn’t you get along with?

I’m a pretty amiable guy. I can get along with just about anyone, so long as they aren’t a self-righteous prig, or openly value ignorance. Or if their name is “Anders,” but that’s a different game.

18. Who would you romance?

Well, given my real life plumbing, and who that is compatible with in-game, probably Cassandra? If anyone at all. Probably no one. I see Cass as more a friend than a romantic prospect.

19. Would you do pranks with Sera?

Uh, duh doy. Who wouldn’t?

20. Would you sleep with the Iron Bull (casually if not romance)?

No. I don’t swing that way. However, I can’t deny that the thought has never crossed my mind.

21. Would you keep Cole around?

Yes. I said I don’t think we could be friends. I didn’t say I was repulsed by him. 

22. Can you play the game (politics)?

Hell yes, I can.

23. What would be on your tombstone in the fade (What are you afraid of)?

“Happiness.”

24. Who would you recruit to seal the breach?

Uh, you mean other than the awesome lineup Inquisition already gives you? What are my options here? If I’m restricted to just the DA franchise, I’d probably add in Hawke and the Warden, as well as DA:O Leliana (see above), Zevran (I think he’d get along famously with Dorian. Think of the potential scandal), Merill, and Bethany. I absolutely would not recruit Fenris (I always side with the Mages - always), Isabela (I love her to pieces, but I would absolutely not trust her in the face of demons for, well, obvious reasons), and Anders. Because fuck Anders. Oh, also Sebastian, because fuck that guy, too.

25. Opinion on Mages versus Templars?

Both sides have a lot of good points, but I refuse to create a second class of humans because there exists the potential for corruption/demonic possession. There has to be a way to prevent demons from possessing Mages. We’ve seen people become bonded to Spirits, we know there’s a way to cut Mages off from the Fade (and made Tranquil), and we know there’s a way to cure that. There needs to be research and action down that avenue.

26. Who would be put in charge of Orlais and why?

This one is complicated, but my favourite route is the Celene/Briala power couple. They’ve both done shitty things to each other (especially Celene), but I hope they can learn to overcome that and try to approach one another as people more than just people that are the living embodiment of their titles/positions. 

Also, yes, I know Celene usurped Gaspard’s better claim to the throne, but a better claim does not equate to competence. Celene is a deft player at the game. Gaspard is a battle axe.

What’s more, his open defiance of diplomacy (Celene’s approach to the Templar/Mage rebellion) and his revolt against the rule of law with force are open invitations for future challengers that this kind of thing is okay. Out of the three of them, Gaspard is the better person. He is most definitely the better general. But he isn’t the better ruler.

27. Would you sacrifice the Chargers?

Never.

28. Would you go after Blackwall?

Yes.

29. Would you drink from the well?

I fully believe that knowledge must never be lost, and I’d never trust it to Morrigan. I like Morrigan. I will listen to and take her advice. But I would never, ever trust her with that kind of power and knowledge.

30. Where would you go if the Inquisition was disbanded?

I’d go and see if the Red Jennies were recruiting.

31. How do you react to the egg telling you he is an elven god?

I’d choke the shit out of him until he saw reason and then noogie his stupid bald head until he begged forgiveness and then I’d tell him it’s okay and to never do it again.

Tagging my Dragon Age peeps. You know who you are.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [488]

Bull gets the notification, a soft buzzing chime, on his earpiece and waves his arm in the air as he finishes choking the life out of a guy with his other arm, “Alright, guys, Wrap it up. The Ambassador has a new mission for us. Collection will be here for clean up in about five.”

Jenny groans through the coms, he sees her do a flip and tumble off the second story of a parking structure onto some cargo trucks, arrows notched as she fires at the armored trucks Trevelyan is ripping into. “Ugh. Agent Lavellan? I hate them. They’re so…creepy. In their suits and shit.”

“You’ve worked with them longer than anyone else here has,” Bull says.

“I like Agent Lavellan,” Malika says. Bull blinks away as the light from the early morning sun gleams off of her metallic red armor. He can hear the whine of her thrusters as she brings herself level to the building the extremists have holed themselves up in. She starts melting an opening the window. “This is risky. I mean, for all we know they’ve got guns leveled at me. I can’t really tell with my scanners. I mean, I can, but I could be wrong.”

“Get me up there,” the Seeker says, tapping on Bull’s arm.

“If you wanted to be thrown,” Bull says, “You’re better off asking Trevelyan.”

“She’s focused on other things,” the Seeker says, the eye on her shield glinting like it’s rolling at him. “You’re our second strongest. Get me up there.”

“Hawke would be offended.”

“Hawke is off world doing whatever it is that legends do in their alien planet worlds,” Sera says. “Wait. Is that what the Ambassador is calling us back for? Hawke?”

“I don’t think so,” Malika says, “I have a notification set up for any energy readings that would signal Hawke coming back. I haven’t gotten any. Are you really going to throw the Seeker up here? Seems kind of dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine.” Bull bends down as she prepares to get a running start. “I’ve been through worse during the war.”

“I meant for the people inside,” Malika says. “Jenny, how come you don’t like Agent Lavellan?”

Bull grunts as the Seeker’s boot hits his palm and he pushes her up. She sails over the armored trucks and the mess Trevelyan is making out of them. Malika moves out of the way in time for the Seeker to crash through the melted and cut glass, shield first. Let the punishment commence, he supposes.

“I don’t like any of the agents,” Sera says.

“You are an agent.”

“Yeah. But I was like. Recruited for this when I was sixteen because it was either this or prison and I happened to eventually like doing this better. Don’t you think the agents are creepy? In their suits and their sunglasses and all that Big Brother, government agent shit?”

“I mean…when you put it like that. What do you think Bull?”

“Don’t ask him. He has a thing for Agent Lavellan.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“They’re both hot,” Bull says. “I’m a man of good taste.”

There’s a soft chime that signals someone entering their frequency.

“Pew pew.” Bull looks ahead and sees that some of the extremists running out of the building — running from the Seeker — go down before they can attract Trevelyan’s attention. He can faintly see the red of a tranq dart in each of them.

Above them there’s the sound of one of the Inquisition’s heli-craft.

“Seeker, I’m giving you five minutes to wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in that building before I send in agents to clear it,” Agent Lavellan says. “The rest of you get ready for extraction. We’ve received a request from the Circle for assistance.”

Bull groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh come on, not the Circle, they’re such boring douches,” Sera says.

“Someone help me get the doctor back to normal,” Malika says, landing out of reach from the large, green woman who’s currently shredding armored trucks like paper.

“The Circle never asks for a team up,” Bull says, “What’s their deal now? They want to use us as bait or some shit?”

“Probably. I mean, I’d go for your hot ass,” Agent Lavellan says. Bull turns around to see where the earlier shots came from and he sees her about a block and half over, past the three story parking garage Jenny had been using earlier. She waves. “Hey, babes. That strangle hold you got earlier? Magnifique. I would’ve said something earlier but I was calibrating my scope. Can you believe Agent Lavellan didn’t pack my normal scope? Unbelievable.”

“I’m not responsible for your gear,” Agent Lavellan snaps. “Besides, we were already late. We’re on a schedule, Agent.”

“Oh, well if you want to play it that way, Agent, we wouldn’t have been so behind if you weren’t so picky about aircraft.”

“Like you would be willing to fly a craft that was previously piloted by Agent Trevelyan. It smells of cheese.”

“It doesn’t matter! Suck it up, buttercup!”

There’s a soft groan and Bull’s attention is drawn back to the fight in front of him, as Doctor Trevelyan shrinks down to her normal size, the color of her skin fading from green to a light tan. She wobbles a bit before sitting down on the ground. And then lying down.

“Ugh. I want to throw up,” Dr. Trevelyan groans. “Why didn’t anyone stop me sooner?”

Malika bends down, helmet clicking open and retracting from her face as she rubs Dr. Trevelyan’s back.

“Good news is that our prototype fabric works. You aren’t naked!”

Dr. Trevelyan groans louder.

There’s a loud thud as the Seeker jumps out of the window and lands heavily on an armored vehicle.

“Let’s go,” the Seeker says. “We’re done here.”

“Nice,” Agent Lavellan says as the other Agent Lavellan starts to land the aircraft. “Guess it’s just me doing clean up then. By the way, the Ambassador told me to tell you, the Iron Bull, specifically, not to mess with anyone from the Circle.”

“Unfair. She only said that because she knows I sometimes listen to you,” Bull says.

“Attempt it for me, babe? Come on. You can play nice with them! Remember that one time in Antiva? You. Me. The romance. The mystique. The mood lighting. The violin. Those newbie Circle recruits. The meteor. The possible Uranium leak.”

“How could I ever forget Antiva? Fine. No promises.”