#v: queen of ferelden

[egoarte]

@howetragic | cont.

evelyn spares a glance over her shoulder — really? — before peering through the abandoned home’s slimy, rotting slats. they were holed up somewhere in the blackmarsh, its stench like a second skin she couldn't shake.

“quiet. i think i see it.”

[chedelat]

replaying da2 :3

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions I/V

Unorthodox Introductions - V: Injurious Activities

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

-- --

The Rivaini climate was far hotter than Emmrich had been expecting and he fully understood Rook’s grouse on the subject over breakfast. Before him were a number of flora specimens to appraise but after the unexpected encounter with the Antaam, Emmrich had little energy for anything other than taking the well earned break while they waited for their newest recruit. Rook had taken off her breastplate, a thin sheen of sweat glossing her face, leant over a boulder, stretching her back.

Harding was the only one who looked remotely comfortable.

He supposed that the Inquisition’s former lead scout was experienced in dealing with harsh climates on either end of the scale. Not that the glorious weather beating down on them could be called harsh. Just hot. Hotter than Nevarra.

‘Had you ever left Nevarra before you joined us, Professor?’ Harding asked, handing him a waterskin.

He took it gratefully, ignoring the use of his academic title. He’d decided the better way to encourage the team’s acceptance was to allow them all to call him what they felt comfortable with.

‘I’ve rarely left the Necropolis,’ he explained, ‘but I have been to Orlais. That was decades ago, however, and not far over the border. Not enough to notice the difference in any case.’

‘I wouldn’t let an Orlesian hear you say that,’ Harding chuckled.

‘I’ve not been to Orlais,’ Rook mused, turning her head to look at them. ‘Why haven’t we been to Orlais, Harding?’

‘Because Solas had already left by the time we bumped into you,’ said Harding, taking back the waterskien. ‘Besides, Empress Celene was pretty pissed with us on the way out, so best not to go back and poke that dragon.’

‘I know you keep saying you don’t, but you really do know everyone,’ said Rook. ‘The Empress of Orlais,’ she started, holding a finger up, ‘the King and Queen of Ferelden, Magister Pavus, the White Divine, the Inquisitor, Lady Morrigan.’

‘Bar for Ellana, Cassandra and Dorian, I don’t know them, know them,’ countered Harding, ‘and besides I’ve never actually met the Empress, that was all Varric.’

‘Figures,’ said Rook, before she turned her attention to Emmrich. ‘See, she likes to play it down, but Harding had mingled with the high and mighty of Southern Thedas. Closest I’ve got was an arranged betrothal to the fourth son, of the fourth son of the forty-third irgend etwas Baron Van Markham,’ Rook lamented. ‘As a senior necromancer, Emmrich, you must have met some of the great and good of Nevarra? Or at least embalmed them.’

‘Rook,’ he admonished, but his thoughts snagged on the small tidbit of information she had just revealed. Harding’s lack of response was also telling.

‘Ignore her,’ laughed Harding. ‘She likes to tease her friends.’

‘Bit rich coming from Miss ‘anything-you-talk-about-beginning-with-N-makes-you-sound-fancy’,’ Rook bickered back.

Harding shook her head, but there was little doubt as to the fondness the pair felt for each other. Rook had turned her face back to the sun, and drawn one leg up so her knee was close to her chest, holding it in place as she stretched the muscles there.

‘You know, I can’t tell if she actually expects you to answer that or not,’ Harding mused after a moment. ‘Is it normal for members of the Mourn Watch to be interested in who each other embalms? What is embalming?’

Emmrich felt a surge of sympathy for the dwarf. Her eyes were so curious but their last conversation around the practices of the Mourn Watch and the dead had not gone well. Rook was now holding her other leg to her chest, while turning her head away from them both, but he could easily imagine her biting down on her lip as she suppressed laughter.

‘Some Watchers like to gossip about the new inhabitants of the Necropolis,’ Emmrich eventually replied, mustering all the dignity his position afforded him. ‘But it isn’t encouraged. As for embalmment, it is one of the many practices we use to care for our dead.’

Harding gave a nervous chuckle, holding up her hand to indicate she didn’t want to know more but Emmrich’s attention was back on Rook. She was facing the sun again. Tension had clustered around her lips and eyes, her skin paler than it had been moments earlier. Sweat had beaded above her brow.

‘I thought you said you hadn’t been hit,’ Emmrich said, his tone more accusing than he intended, moving towards Rook to examine her more closely.

Rook opened her eyes, and gingerly pushed herself off the boulder. His words had prompted Harding to look concerned then began digging through her pack.

‘I wasn’t,’ she said, pressing her hand to her ribs, wincing slightly. ‘I twisted badly getting out of Taash’s way. She was charging in my direction, and for a moment, I thought she was Antaam. When I realised, well,’ she shrugged, wincing even more, bending over slightly. ‘I didn’t think she’d want a face full of my shield.’

‘Hardly the best way to make a good impression on our new associate,’ Emmrich agreed as Harding fished out a healing potion.

‘Last one of this batch,’ she said, offering it to Rook.

The Reaper took it gratefully, unstoppering it and gulping it down, holding back a grimace at the flavour. A bit of colour returned to her cheeks and she smiled at Harding as she handed back the empty flask. Emmrich watched her for a moment, realisation dawning; Rook could have healed herself on the battlefield. Alongside their renowned understanding of hexspells and wardweaves, Reapers could draw on the life forces of their enemies, weakening them while converting that power into a personal source of healing. She hadn’t done it. He remembered her telling him that the others forgot she was a Necromancer. He felt a strange, softness curl around him for their leader. That she would rather allow her team to see her as normal, or at least non threatening, than use magic to heal herself was quite remarkable, if foolish. She quirked her lips up in a gentle expression as if she understood the direction of his thoughts.

Heavy footsteps heralded the return of Taash, a bag carelessly slung over her shoulder. Rook schooled her expression to one of welcome.

‘Ready?’ She asked, bending down to pick up her chest piece and shield, wincing even more as she moved.

Emmrich beat her to it, picking up the heavy breast plate and leather strap attached to her shield. ‘Allow me.’

Her eyebrows flicked as he shouldered her shield. ‘Be my guest.’

--//-*-\\--

It had been years since Emmrich had last pulled Hubers Fundamentals of Healing from a bookcase. It was considered first year reading due to its broad look at anatomy, how to mix basic healing potions and simple spells for rejuvenation. He’d not had a need of it for years because he had not found himself facing a living patient since his twenties. However, he couldn’t just stitch the damage together in the same way he would a cadaver. Living tissue needed a different sort of care.

He would need to establish which of the muscles Rook had damaged although based on where she had been pressing her hand and the slight change in her gait, Emmrich would have diagnosed it as the latissimus dorsi being strained. At worst, the serratus posterior. Either way, Harding’s potion would hardly be enough to stave off the pain for long. Nor was it capable of the accelerated healing needed to get Rook back on her feet.

Beside him, Manfred ground the herbs Emmrich had instructed him to work with while the reagent simmered under a low flame. Glancing in the mortar, Manfred was close to finished so he put the book aside and pulled a small bottle from one of the many drawers under the desk. He held it to the light, a slightly viscous liquid curled towards the stopper. He wrapped his hand around it to warm the bottle then after a moment unscrewed it to extract a couple of drops to add to the reagent. With his gloved hand, he picked up the bottle at its neck and swirled it until it took on a pink hue with a swirl of smoke.

‘The herbs, Manfred,’ he instructed as he placed a funnel in the bottle neck.

He tipped the mixture in, swirling it again, channeling some magic with a twist of his fingers until the mixture glowed a silvery grey akin to Rook’s eyes. Emmrich placed it back on the stand to heat it back through while dismissing Manfred. His assistant had found his own fascination with the Lighthouse, and so long as he stuck to the main building, Emmrich allowed him to explore when he had no need of him.

When the mixture reached a bubble Emmrich began to tidy away, placing his books back and using cleansing spells to clean his equipment. A faint pop alerted him to the potion being ready. With additional care, he decanted the contents through a straining cloth, carefully mixing more healing evocation as the liquid dripped through into the new container.

While it was a potion best drunk warm, he paused for a moment to scrub his fingers and nails clean so it could cool enough to be drinkable.

He’d never visited Rook’s rooms before but he hadn’t failed to notice the corridor was next to his own. The rest of the Lighthouse was quiet. While Taash had taken the room beside the other side of the staircase, Harding had taken it upon herself to introduce the Qunari to the rest of the team in the kitchen. Not that Emmrich particularly cared if anyone saw him go to Rook’s rooms; she certainly visited him often enough.

She was expecting him, having suggested she rest while he produced this potion so he took the liberty of knocking then pushing the door open without waiting for a reply stepping into a cool, low lit room. She was led across her couch on her stomach, head cushioned by her folded arms with a breathing pattern that suggested she could be close to sleep. He stepped in and closed the door, eyes wandering over her domain, becoming captivated by the aquarium.

Occupying what should have been the outside wall, it seemed to stretch on, impossible but for the fact they were in the Fade. The Lighthouse was truly a marvel.

‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it,’ said Rook, alerting him to the fact that he had managed to cross the room without thought. ‘I don’t know how it works - if it’s projected or like Harding’s planets, and sort of semi there.’

Emmrich turned, her eyes looked silvery in the swirlingblue light of her room.

‘I made you that tonic,’ he said, holding it up because he needed to remember why he was there. ‘If I could examine your back as well? A healing spell should help it along nicely.’

Rook blinked, still for a moment then nodded her head. He placed her tonic on the table close to her head then knelt beside her.

‘I’ll have to lift your shirt,’ he said, hand hovering over the hem.

She responded with a small wiggle, freeing an arm to lift her shirt, revealing her back all the way up to the midpoint. Unlike her hands, and her face, Rook’s back was marred with a raised lightning flower scar. Dark skin rose in ridges from a point of origin hidden by her trousers and continued under the hem of her raised shirt in the direction of her right shoulder. Emmrich’s fingers flexed involuntarily. Then he placed his bare hand down close to her spine where there was evidence of bruising. He pressed down with his thumb to feel the lines of muscle below her skin. Rook blew out a soft, painen whimper. He flattened his hand across the injury, attempting to ignore the way his fingers fit between each of her ribs. Trying to ignore how warm her skin was. How soft, despite the ridges of scaring. He focused on channeling a silent healing spell through himself into her. Calling on Spirits of Faith and Compassion to lend him, and by extension, her, their aid. The magic spread from his fingers in a warm blue glow. Tension drained from Rook’s body and the next soft breath contained a note of relief. A soft smile lifted on her face.

‘You should still take the tonic,’ he told her, lifting his hand away and sliding her shirt back into place, trying to move at a normal pace caught between wanting to linger in the moment and escaping it. ‘How did you get that scarring?’

Rook rolled over, turning enough to reach the tonic and knocked it back. ‘Pride demon,’ she said, ‘when we were trying to get to Solas’ ritual.’

She returned to her stomach as he got to his feet. Still fighting the urge to gaze at her, Emmrich turned his attention to the aquarium, grateful at having somewhere else to look. But he could still feel her gaze on him as if some inexplicable thread of the Fade connected them; the residual energy of the healing spell.

‘You want to study it, don’t you?’ She asked, yawning as she spoke. ‘Be my guest.’

He turned to answer her, but her eyes were closed, breathing even and he wondered if he had dreamt her words. Emmrich watched her for a moment, the trust she had just extended to him swirling a warm rush in his chest. He wondered what it would be to explore the expanse of her back; tracing the scars with his fingertips; following delicate ridges of her spine with his lips and mapping the valleys between her ribs where his fingers had effortlessly rested moments before. Would she sigh in contentment under his ministrations? Or something else entirely. Something needy?

He was too old for such things. Now anyway. And he had a path forged that could not afford to include an unexpected dalliance. Particularly if that dalliance still had potential ties to a former intended. Rook had not elaborated on the outcome of her betrothal, although the lack of a ring indicated it had not resulted in marriage. Not yet, at least.

And still, he could not keep his eyes off her.

Emmrich closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a steadying breath, reminding himself of how close he was to the end of his life’s work. His grand finale in touching distance. When he opened them again, his eyes landed on a patchwork blanket that he couldn’t entirely be certain was there before. After shaking it out, he draped it over her, his last sight of her snuggling into folds of fabric with another soft smile on her lips.

--

Author Notes:

Translations -

irgend etwas - Something or other (also, anything)

From the earliest stirrings of canon about Nevarra, the indication was that this was a Germanic coded culture, and as I was writing the segment where I added this, I felt it would work quiet well if Rook actually did drop into Nevarran, in the same way Lucanis drops into Antivan. Luckily, English is a Germanic Language as well, and the flow of the sentence ended up being better for using German in this context.

-- --

A note on Reaper's being able to heal themselves - in-game, at lvl 20 you get 'Spirit Storm', the Reaper ultimate ability that applies 'Siphon' to enemies, which converts their damage into healing. Rook not using the spell at this point in the fic is a little nod to the fact that I'm rarely at lvl 20 when I hit this point in the game, but it's also playing to the theme wherein Rook has admitted that the rest of the team seem to forget she's a Necromancer, and in this chapter, it becomes ragingly apparent to Emmrich that she has not been using her most powerful magics in front of the team because it would scare them. Within the DA universe, Necromancy is a strange one, because it's one-part spirit mage, one-part blood mage and one-part death mage, and shake until combined. From my PoV, 'Spirit Storm' and anything else that using siphoning effects is the proper terrifying Necromancy that Thedosians should be afraid of, not Emmrich raising corpses and channeling the spirits.

[miladydewintcr]

Happy Friday! So first a question haha—so Viveka is not Eleri's daughter? Just bc it would fit so well with the MW backstory of being left on their doorstep, lol. Anyway I'd love to see some backstory drabble post-dao about why exactly she abandons her child and what Zevran is doing about it if he even knows? 👀

Ahh no, you're right the MW background would be perfect for it!! But no, Viveka's biological parents are v much a mystery she isn't all that invested in solving, instead she collects Authority Figures- starting with Myrna & Vorgoth and then picking up more as she goes through Veilguard.

Eleri's kid is a de Riva!! I've just gotta figure out how to get them there lol, I think I have a few rough ideas? I've just gotta settle on one and run with it!

Thank you for this prompt-- it really helped me figure out the role Zevran would play in it all in particular <3

For @dadrunkwriting

Hours, and hours, and hours. She’s exhausted, and drenched in sweat, and when she hears the baby cry out for the very first time, it takes everything in her not to reach for it.

“Would you like to hold her?”

“No.”

Garance looks up from the wailing bundle in her arms. “Are you sure?”

Eleri nods. She has to be. “Where’s my husband?”

Someone opens the door, and Zevran is by her side so quickly she can only imagine he’s been pressed up against the wall outside for a good long while. He is ready, just as they’d discussed; dressed all in black, cloak and boots with a dagger at his hip. Travelling gear.

He holds his arms out, taking the baby from Garance, and lets it settle contentedly against his chest. In another world, in another lifetime, he would’ve made a wonderful father- but not this one, and not with Eleri. Still, the way his expression softens as he looks down at it makes her heart clench with guilt.

“You are alright, yes?” he asks, looking up from the baby and in her direction for the first time.

She nods. “I’ll be back on my feet by tomorrow.”

“I might not be back by then, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Just find somewhere safe.”

It’s the most she could hope for. Her lifestyle is not one a baby would fit into, and she refuses to give it up. The constant travel, the threat of darkspawn, the fighting, the Deep Roads, the inevitable siren-song of the Calling- none of it makes for a stable environment for a child. And perhaps, if she asked for it, the King and Queen of Ferelden might be able to grant her her freedom. And she would… what? Go back to Denerim, raise her baby in an alienage. Or demand Alistair give her a castle, and suffer the knowledge that such a blatant act of favouritism would win him no favours at court; for whatever sort of hero she might be, she is an elf, and such things are not easily forgotten.

This is the hand that she was dealt. The harshest of punishments; the only life she could ever imagine feeling fulfilled in. She cannot pass it on to an innocent. She doesn’t have the strength to surrender it entirely.

“Do you have anything you wish for me to leave with her?” Zevran tries. “A… letter, or a trinket, anything like that?”

Eleri had thought of that. She’s thought of everything. “Take Fang.”

Zevran nods once, and she knows he is more than aware of the weight of her response. Fang had been her mother’s, her grandmother’s, and back, back, back through generations of her family. Whatever happens, it will be something, some small thing, to connect this child with her across all the miles and through the years.

Eleri catches Zevran’s hand before he can leave. “Make sure they know not to sell it or… or take it.”

“I will ensure they know that parting our angel from her dagger will be the last thing they do,” Zevran promises, squeezing her fingers gently. “Have you named her?”

She shakes her head. “And I won’t.” The less she knows about it, the better. She hadn’t even wanted to know it was a girl.

Eleri is familiar enough with Zevran now to recognise the stiffness in his answering smile, the unnaturalness of it all. He’s holding himself together by a thread, and she hates that it’s because of her, a choice she’s made.

The baby shifts, starts to cry again, and Eleri hopes her smile is more convincing than his. “Go.”

“I love you.”

She squeezes his gloved fingers by way of response, and then releases them. And for a moment, a tiny, brief moment, she gets to see him rock their baby, offer it one of his genuine smiles, the ones that make his eyes crinkle and little dimples form on his cheeks.

And then, with a sweep of his cloak, it’s over, and they are gone.

[moonkisseddreamer]

Gale Cousland - Hero of and Prince-Consort of Ferelden, Queen Anora of Ferelden, Crown Princess Eleanora, and Prince Corey - future Teyrn of Highever. Prep for a future HoF Child Rook run of Veilguard. More info under the cut v

Wanted to visualize my HoF family for a potentional HoF Child run that a lot of people are doing. Gale Cousland is my canon HoF who got bamboozled by Anora and Alistair into marrying her to cement her reign. Luckily for them, Gale was raised on Respect-Woman juice and having an actual loyal and supportive husband subjects Anora to the great horror of falling in love with her spouse.

It takes less than a year for her to be okay with having Eleanora - named for her paternal grandmother and Anora herself - and then a couple more to have Corey once it was clear Fergus didn't have the heart to remarry and produce a new Cousland heir. Corey has the same meaning, "hollow", as Loghain so Anora could subtly honor her father without judgement.

Corey looks the most like Anora (they have the same eye color but I realized belatedly I gave Anora the wrong shade of blue eyes) and Eleanora is a full daddy's girl much to Gale's horror. She would sooo sign up to be Rook and lying about being a real Grey Warden. She technically is one in terms of constitution due to drinking the Darkspawn Koolaid as a child and barely surviving (this is my headcanon reason for HoF to desperately be looking for a cure) but obviously not part of the actual cult organization.

[kiivg]

ok this is research anon. might i ask you(if you are thinking of rewriting. Which I hope you do but not pressure obv):

1. will moira's sword come into play? if alistair knows that it was gaspard that returned the Rebel Queen's sword perhaps they might use it as a symbol to pacify the nobles?

2. in the end do you think gaspard's gambit for the throne could succeed?

3. how do events of inquisition influence what is happening? sorry if i missed something but this is happening after it yeah?

4. YOUR WARDEN. I AM CURIOUS. PLEASE TELL.

.Reaearch Anon I do love you for this 💕 I’m very tempted to write something because it’s like…. Nobody else is going to lbh….. 😔.

.OH this is a bit long, have a read more 💋.

.1. I didn’t know that happened tbh, where is this info???? I love this?? Gaspard my Liege, my Lord, my Emperor, this is absolutely bang on in character for him 😩🙏✨. I’m gonna be completely honest I read half of the books and they kind of suck so I probably missed a lot…. Unless it’s in the GAME???? (I do need this info, I will use this, the sword imagery girl!! It’s phallic!! It’s a knight in shining armour!! It’s giving a sword to a King!! It’s giving!!)

.2. THAT would be a spoiler now wouldn’t it ;) but I also think he wouldn’t want to rule Ferelden, but I also think he could actually become a good King, I mean he’s been practicing for it his entire life, he was born to be an Emperor after all, and also he hates the Grand Game, he’s not going to be frippery and nonsensical with politics and stuff, but also he is a warmonger so…. I mean, is he? He fights off a Nevarran army single-handedly by duelling and destroying their King? Commander? Saving all his men from a war by being hot shit lbh. Idk I can’t remember exactly. He’d be a great King, I love him, I make the rules ✨🤷‍♂️✨.

.On a side note I 100% think he could take over a country easily, which makes me wonder if he even wanted Orlais as it was, with the Grand Game and the nobles who he’d never respect. Oohhhh. That’s smth.

.3. I think uhh I would have to insert a new Inquisitor because Goddard makes Gaspard Emperor and Celene and Briala are both killed off…. But it was set after Inquisition, so I do imagine it would be anywhere between a few months to a few years after. But, in this world state, I could just say the Inquisitor left for whatever reason (idk chasing Solas or something) and Gaspard most likely despises them for allowing Celene to remain as Empress and for killing his sister Florianne, BUT he probably respects them because the Inquisitor did save the world, and his cousin, and give his sister a valiant death in battle? Or does she just get arrested, if she was arrested I imagine he doesn’t respect the Inquisitor at all for that. At least she’s alive? But then again… hmmmmmm…. Smth to think about.

.If anything it’ll be a background thing, OR insanely I could set it post WEWH and pre-Ending? The inquisition could still be happening… OH the humiliation, not only did Gaspard fail to get the Orlesian throne but he’s been exiled for his association with Florianne, they can’t trust him at all! Oh! OH! Delicious, yes, delicious 👹.

.4. My Warden is Andrastopher Cousland, there is a lot about him floating around on my blog I’m sure. He’s 8’ 1” or 8’ 3” and is an absolute unflinching bastard. Marries Zevran, becomes the Teryn of Gwaren, the Arl of Amaranthine, the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and advisor to the King (he does sub out his work but he will also stomp right back in and take charge at any moment (v annoying)). He also re-titles himself as The Silverlite Warden as a way to split his faction of Wardens away from the Wardens in the north (because wtf are you doing Jowin?) and that is why none of them travel north to help out in Veilguard.

.He absolutely hunts down every Howe who still lives, butchering them and whatnot, spends a lot of his free time painting (mostly naked men and landscapes), he learns the Qun, he has slept with both Hawke and Rook. He steals from nobles because it’s fun and they can’t do anything about it, he fills the Warden ranks with criminals, he fills his home with mercenaries, he lets people try to kill him once, and he thinks the only thing he’s bad at is dying.

.ALSO!!! I do want to say my original plan for him was the go through his calling (with Lei Mi’Durgen’s help) and becomes a ghoul in the Deep Roads who keeps his mind and like helps Wardens pass through safely or something idk…. Veilguard just did that, they made that canon for me, so like 🤷‍♂️ good prediction on my part tbh.

.But if I’m going to make a non-canon Inquisitor, might as well have a non-canon Warden 😔🙏. RIP Andrastopher I do love you but you would just fight with Gaspard or take over the throne yourself, not a good match and I am stopping this train of thought before I end up shipping HoF/Gaspard because that’s insane, that’s insane, no.

[lilyware]

(icons | font)

the hero-queen of ferelden

game: dragon age: origins

age: 33 by inquisition

alignment: lawful good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: heterosexual

hair colour: black

eye colour: green-blue

faceclaim: marina moschen

love interest: alistair theirin

bio: wip

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the champion of kirkwall

game: dragon age ii

age: 29 by inquisition

alignment: neutral good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: bisexual

hair colour: red

eye colour: green

faceclaim: ?

love interest: fenris

bio: wip

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the herald of andraste

game: dragon age inquisition

age: 26

alignment: lawful good/neutral

gender: male, he/him

sexuality: bisexual

hair colour: brown

eye colour: green

faceclaim: unknown

love interest: cassandra pentaghast (former, separated after she became divine)

bio: the trevelyans, despite originating from antiva, are one of the most prominent noble families of ostwick. because of their strong ties to the chantry, the family does not hesitate to send their children to the circle when they discover the gift of magic. luca felt betrayed when he was sent away at just 12 years old and left on bad terms with his mother, who he was extremely close with. growing up with his father's strong disdain for magic and fearmongering from the templars caused luca to develop a fear of his own magical abilities. luca's mother passes away from illness before luca has a chance to reconcile, intensifying the guilt, fear, and nightmares he already suffered with. before he was even considered to do his harrowing, he begs the templars to make him tranquil so he won't be a threat to anybody, and won't have to further deal with his pain. when kirkwall's circle rebelled, ostwick quickly followed suit, and luca was forced to join the rebels for his own survival. he eventually joins the senior enchanters at the divine conclave as an unbiased voice. when the anchor is accidentally fused with luca's hand, his severed connection with the fade was restored, curing him of his tranquility. after being tranquil for a decade, luca must relearn how to live, how to feel, and how to be a leader, as he's thrust into reverence as the only hope to save thedas.

pinterest board | tumblr tag

future head of house trevelyan

game: dragon age: inquisition

age: 33

alignment: lawful neutral

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: asexual

hair colour: brown

eye colour: brown

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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former rebel mage

game: dragon age: inquisition

age: 31

alignment: chaotic good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: lesbian

hair colour: brown

eye colour: green

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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ex-templar, inquisition agent

game: dragon age: inquisition

age: 28

alignment: true neutral

gender: male, he/him

sexuality: gay

hair colour: brown

eye colour: brown

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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former circle mage

game: dragon age: inquisition

age: 22

alignment: neutral good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: pansexual

hair colour: brown

eye colour: brown

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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the lone wanderer

game: fallout 3

age: 19

gender: agender, they/them

alignment: true neutral

sexuality: lesbian

hair colour: brown

eye colour: light brown

faceclaim: diana silvers

love interest: amata almodovar (ex, broke up on bad terms after overseer almodovar's death in trouble on the homefront)

bio: wip

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the courier

game: fallout: new vegas

age: 228

alignment: chaotic neutral

gender: nonbinary, she/they

sexuality: bisexual

hair colour: dark brown

eye colour: hazel

faceclaim: maria felix (pre-ghoulification)

bio: wip

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the sole survivor

game: fallout 4

age: 29

alignment: chaotic good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: pansexual

hair colour: black

eye colour: grey

faceclaim: liu wen

love interest: jake evans (ss2)

bio: wip

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the hero of kvatch, the dragonborn

game: elder scrolls iv: oblivion + elder scrolls v: skyrim

age: 20

alignment: lawful good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: lesbian

hair colour: dark brown

eye colour: gold

faceclaim: ?

love interest: serana volkihar

bio: wip

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owner of poppyseed farm

game: stardew valley

age: 22

alignment: neutral good

gender: nonbinary, she/they

sexuality: pansexual

hair colour: pink

eye colour: blue

faceclaim: ?

love interest: shane

bio: wip

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high-elf cleric of kelemvor, grave domain

game: baldur's gate 3

age: 37 (equivalent in elven years)

alignment: lawful neutral

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: ?

hair colour: black

eye colour: grey/black

faceclaim: ?

love interest: astarion

bio: wip

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satyr bard, college of spirits

game: dungeons and dragons (wild beyond the witchlight)

age: 20

alignment: neutral good

gender: female, she/her

sexuality: pansexual

hair colour: brown

eye colour: blue

faceclaim: ?

bio: all callie has known is the stage. for as long as she could remember, she has been performing at the witchlight carnival, hoping that one day she can be on the biggest stage in all the realms. she had been so deeply involved in her dream, it never occurred to her that she doesn't quite remember anything that came before. after being tasked to save zybilna, the founder of the witchlight carnival who had gone missing in her realm in the faewilds, callie comes to the realization that she does not remember her family. she had no memories of who she was and anything that occurred before she arrived at the carnival. she discovers, after speaking to a powerful spirit, that her parents had made a deal with endlyn moongrave, one of the hags that overthrew zybilna, so they could conceive a child. when her parents backed out of the deal after calliope was born, all three of them were cursed by the hag. calliope - who was born of pure, now-cursed fae magic, lost all her memories of her family and her identity. her parents were transformed into hideous monsters that still roam the faewilds to this day. callie must now find a way to break this curse without erasing her very being, rescue the parents she never knew, as well as save the realm from the hags that have taken it over.

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half-elf warlock, pact of the tome (fiend)

game: dungeons and dragons (inactive)

age: 10

alignment: chaotic good / chaotic evil...?

gender: female, she/her

hair colour: platinum blonde

eye colour: blue/green heterochromia

faceclaim: ?

bio: growing up, lilith had always had an immense and dangerous fascination with magic, and desperately wanted to learn it for herself. but there is not much a lowly street urchin can do when your main focus is surviving the day in a dirty, corrupt city. despite the hardships, lilith will always try to steal magical trinkets and tomes to try to teach herself magic. perhaps if she was strong enough, she would be able to make enough money for her and her mother to have a real home. however, lilith was caught stealing from a powerful noble, and - in a desperate attempt to save her daughter - lilith's mother takes the blame, resulting in her being cut down before lilith's very eyes. months pass and lilith is suddenly approached by a ghostly voice, claiming to be the spirit of her deceased mother. her mother's spirit says that she returned to watch over her daughter, and will be willing to teach her magic if lilith does what she is told. lilith accepts immediately, and is ecstatic that she is getting to two things she wants the most - her mother, and magic. unbeknownst to lilith, however, this apparition is not her mother. it is instead a fiend, taking advantage of a grieving orphan with a strong desire for magic, in order to manipulate her into doing its bidding. the fiend's goal is to feed lilith so much power that she eventually goes berserk, wreaking as much havoc as possible before she inevitably loses herself to the very magic she longed for.

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vocalist of sakurabu. stage name: dahlia

game: bang dream!

age: 16

alignment: neutral good

gender: female, she/her

hair colour: dark blue

eye colour: light blue

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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guitarist of sakurabu. stage name: rose

game: bang dream!

age: 16

alignment: chaotic good

gender: female, she/her

hair colour: white

eye colour: pink

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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bassist of sakurabu. stage name: ivy

game: bang dream!

age: 17

alignment: chaotic good

gender: female, she/her

hair colour: brown

eye colour: yellow

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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drummer of sakurabu. stage name: willow

game: bang dream!

age: 16

alignment: neutral good

gender: female, she/her

hair colour: black

eye colour: green

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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keyboardist of sakurabu. stage name: iris

game: bang dream!

age: 17

alignment: neutral good

gender: female, she/her

hair colour: lavender

eye colour: silver

faceclaim: ?

bio: wip

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[lurkiestvoid]

okay so I don't have wholly coherent writing to this yet but I just wanna blargle about my bard!Hawke blorbo fanon lifetime:

- loses Malcolm after her late-night tryst with a laysister is interrupted when he and they all accidentally find the "rabid" (blighted) fox killing the livestock and he saves them both (not listening to Mother)

- loses mage-twin Garrett when he comes to fetch sacrifice himself for her and Carver at Ostagar and an ogre leaves him like Mr. Deetz in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (not listening to Garrett)

- loses Carver by getting into a fight with him at the absolute wrongest time (not listening to Carver)

(Some potential Bethers? So Hawke backs off. Anders asks Bethany to stay, he'll protect her from the Templars; she thinks she'll be more help to him and his clinic with Status and Experience)

(getting v hot and heavy with Fenris tho but never seem to find the time to really Get Into It)

- loses Bethany by getting into a fight with her mother (thought she learned A Lesson, listened to Bethany)

(Anders also particularly devastated at losing Bethany)

(Hawke grieves for a while. then, gains and then promptly loses Fenris)

(Through Merrill and due to her wandering ways, also vaguely befriends a young Lavellan)

(everyone is sleeping with Isabela about everything)

- loses Leandra by (surely it was a fluke last time, I listened to the wrong person, this time I'll listen to Mother) not panicking, when she should have, for once (not listening to fucking Gamlen)

(almost briefly maybe regains Fenris)

(sort of? regains Anders? but he's Weird Now, for some unknown reason, and everyone is Being Weird)

- loses (and then promptly regains) Bela by Trusting Her

- very nearly loses her life by listening to Fenris (Arishok)

- can't lose fucking Gamlen no matter how hard she fucking tries

- loses Seamus, a good friend

- Mahariel dies because Hawke listened to Merrill

- Abandons her chance at (some) closure and revenge (Bartrand, for Bethany) when she sees her bestie's face (Varric) and loses her last few chipped marbles

- gains Warden Paragon Brosca and Zevran. Regains Fenris.

- FenHawke becomes Fenhanders and it's rough for everyone

- the fucking cHANTRY

- loses Orsino. Nearly loses Cullen. Saves the Circle children and some apprentices.

- gets a personal tour of Amaranthine and introduced to The Kids

- meets the fucking King and Queen of Ferelden

- Anders fucks off to help the Circle

- FenHawke does a Nostalgia Tour around Ferelden and accidentally settle down outside Denerim, farming and breeding mabari

- Anders accidentally wanders thru and oops he lives here now (Hawke dragged him home)

- they fuck off into the Brecilian with the kids for picnics when Inquisition scouts wander thru. Knock knock nobody home but us chickens

- Hawke gets Varric's Letter and agrees with her husbands it's too risky. And then fucks off in the middle of the night, bc Responsibility

- Fenders immediately packs up the fam and follows

- there is a dramatic Skyhold reunion

- Warden Brosca, Zevran, Hawke, Fenris, Stroud, and Oghren all volunteer to stay in the Fade at Weisshaupt. Feynriel and Morrigan lead a mage expedition to get as many of them back as possible; timeline shenanigans happen, including AU Inquisitors such as her fellow Lavellan scout, and AU Wardens and Hawkes

- fuckin everybody goes to the Winter Palace and Hawke has a blast although she has to repeatedly specify she's a Ferelden bard, not Orlesian, even if Orlesian-trained. The difference is she doesn't fuck with The Game she just stabs you and sings a stupid lil ditty about it

- After they help Save The World, the Hawkes get their happily ever after bc they deserve it. Handers take their belated honeymoon in Rivain and help Justice transition back to the Fade; FenHawke take their belated honeymoon anywhere they can slaughter slavers; and FenHAnders take an adventurous vacation in Antiva with the Broscas, and a family road trip all over including visiting Merrill & Bela, Aveline & Donnic, Sebastian & Charade, and thanks to surfacer Warden Paragon Brosca, also Varric+Bianca. and then the Hawkes and their kids move to Fenris' new home in the Dales near their friends, and then they all live happily ever after and die of old age surrounded by tons of family and community

[elisasart]

companion tarot ↣ legend for legend | harva cousland

two handed warrior | templar | dark ritual ❝ i know your game. no shadows, no lies. just you and me.

[aworldofyou]

So. To throw some conflict in, rip Alistiar, I’m gonna have Kallian Tabris go through with the blood magic ritual offered by Morrigan in Redcliffe.

[maleficarlife]

Heraldy of Thedas, Red Schism AU.

Kingdom of Ferelden: The ascension of Prince-Consort Evar Cousland and the confirmation of Queen Anora Mac Tir meant the end of the Theirin and the start of a new dinasty. To avoid inheritance issues with the Teyrnir of Highever, the royal family took the name of Mac Cousland for the new dinasty. The flag of Ferelden changed with them, including a combination of the laurel of the Couslands and the wyvern of the Mac Tir in their families -now united- colors. The Kingdom of Ferelden lived trought a new of aggressive foreign policies, declaring a chantry of Ferelden and annexing land from Orlais in a reversal of fortunes during the 9:39-9:41 Dragon period. Before the birth of the Fereldean Chantry, the kingdom declared token loyalty to Justinia V as Divine, but claimed neutrality in the mage-templar war.

The Free Republic of Orlais: In brown and white to rapresent the peasants of Orlais, who took their "mud" origins as a sign of pride and to show the people loyalty to the teachings of the white Chantry, the Free Republic of Orlais was born from the destruction of the Orlesian Empire and the teachings of The Iconoclaust, elevating the people and destroying the nobility but bringing with them a strong current of religious zealotry. As of today, Orlais remains the worst country for a mage to live in, even with the end of the Templar Order and the chantry sun in both gold and black -a reminder of humanity sin and the teachings of the Iconoclaust- proves it.

The Dales: With the fall of the Orlesian Empire, crushed by civil war, lack of leadership and the dissolution of much of it's armies -bogged down by enemies or recalled in the attempt to stop the spreading of the Iconclaust teachings- the elves of "Ambassador" Briala repeated the exodus of their ancestors, reclaiming the Dales for themselves. If not for the extraordinary circomstances of the conflicts that were ripping down the status quo of Thedas, such a move wouldn't have been possible, but it was. While the symbolism of the colors and the bow is obvious to who knows elven history, the addition of the stars over it represents the merging of dalish and city elves, for the dalish quickly discovered they had to live with their lost people in order to claim the land that the city elves had succeedee in taking back.

The Grand Duchy of Serault: The Marquis of Serault had already taken prisoner his rival and neighboor, the Marquis of Aloyns, before the fall of the Empire. When the teachings of the Iconoclaust -a native of Serault- started to spread the and nobles started to be viciously ripped apart by mods, The Glass Rose of Serault marched on as much territory as possible and closed the borders, declaring indipenndeance from Orlais and trying to avoid to share the father of many other nobles trought her wealth. The Grand Duchy of Serault is the smallest nation in Thedas, but also incredibly rich thanks to their glasswork. Originally bearing the emerald stag of her family, The Marquis turned Grand Duchess and ruler of Serault added a golden circle and purple colors to show her wealth and status, comparable to that of royalty.

UMA: The United Marcher Alliance was born at the end of the mage-templar war, when Divine Justinia V's Exalted March ended with the victory of the schism of the Red Chantry and all of the free marches either allied to or occupied by Kirkwall rebel forces. Viscountess Selby of Kirkwall decided to invest in the rebuilding of the overthrown and defeated enemy and the monetary sacrifice was repaid by political capital and the prospect for unification in a Federal Republic, giving strenght and unity to the divided marcher states without breaking their oath to have no crown above them. The UMA was born by the blood of a revolution who affected all Thedas and such truth is painted in the red of their flag. But more importantly is their magical identity, for while maged are now free in all the continent (bar Par Vollen) only the Free Marches new Arcane University, an institution created by Ignis Hawke, teaches every possible branch of magic, included blood magic and how to safely bind demons. Such identity is rapresented by the University presence on the nation flag.

[jentrevellan]

I'm so happy to finally share my fic for @dasmutquisition! I had so much fun with this one, it's unreal. I hope you enjoyed @sumiIong

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins

Relationship: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)

Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Teagan Guerrin

Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, Making Love, trapped together (sort of), strong woman, anxious Alistair, generic Cousland, King Alistair and Queen Cousland, newlyweds, Morning Sex, D in the V, Porn With Plot, Dorks in Love

Language: English

Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition

Summary: Alistair and the Warden spend the first night not only as husband and wife but as King and Queen.

Notes: Thank you @curiousthimble for being my beta!

Read on Ao3

Doin' the Fondue

The great hall in Denerim Castle was loud and filled to the rafters with people. Nobles, elves, dwarves and peasants alike were squeezed in, all clamouring to see the newly married couple. Up on the dais, overlooking the crowd that was slowly getting rowdier and rowdier with the ale and wine that continued to flow, Alistair - now King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden - slouched in his throne and took a gulp of wine.

He was terrified.

Oh, the ceremony had been a delight, and he had adored proclaiming his love in front of the Maker and the witnesses in the Chantry. But as soon as he had stepped into the hall for their wedding feast, his gut started churning. Because he knew what must come next after the merriment had ended.

He glanced at his wife beside him. His wife! Despite his anxiety, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool at the thought of his Grey Warden companion, Lady Cousland, now being his wife. It didn’t seem wholly real. Indeed, most of his life the past year hadn’t seemed real. So much had changed, and now he was married.

Alistair took another sip of wine from his goblet and his new wife glanced at him, a small frown on her brow. She already knows me so well, he thought. No one else would be able to tell that anything was amiss, but she had always seen straight through him and knew when even the smallest thing was bothering him. One of the many traits he loved about her. Although it did mean that it was impossible to keep any sort of secret from her. Even the good kind of secrets.

As he picked at his food, his new wife and Queen accepted many gracious gifts from guests. All curtsied or bowed and she was most eloquent in her response. Truly, she was more prepared for this life as a monarch than him. Her noble upbringing was a far cry from how he was raised. But wherever his trepidation lay about ruling, he knew that with this woman beside him as his Queen, that he could do anything.

She laughed heartily at a joke Teagan was telling her, and he watched as she wiped away a tear. Alistair glowered at his uncle and reached out for his wife’s hand. She turned to him, a wide smile on her face, her cheeks flushed and her lips rosy from the wine.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

He nodded his head to Teagan. “Just wondering what was so funny…?”

She blushed prettily, and a jealous hand gripped his gut. He would not easily forget his uncle’s flirtations when he had first met them in Redcliffe, and ever since, a fit of strange jealousy and need to claim her as he always came about when he was in the presence of both her and Tegan.

Waving a jewelled hand, she shook her head. “It was nothing. Rather crude, actually, so I told him off for lowering the tone of our conversation at our wedding feast,” she replied, taking a sip of wine. “Now what’s the matter with you?”

“Me?” he repeated. “Nothing. Nothing is the matter with me at all. Absolutely nought.”

“Alistair,” she said seriously, leaning in close. Her tone made him want to listen, but her golden gown with its tight bodice had pressed her breasts pleasantly together and were well within his eye line that he couldn’t help but glance down. A treacherous blaze of desire coursed through him, and with her puckered lips, her brow furrowed in concern, he wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and -

A chill went through him. He wanted her, oh yes, most desperately, but Tegan caught his eye and winked, and a shudder of repulsion went through him as he turned his head to see half of the court watching their interaction. He pulled away from his wife abruptly and reached for his goblet of wine, again and took a huge mouthful.

Ever the gracious lady, his wife smiled faintly and pretended that nothing had happened. But the look she quietly gave him as he peered at her over the rim of his goblet made his gut clench with guilt. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he felt rotten about being the cause.

The dinner continued and as the servants were generous with topping up his wine, Alistair kept emptying his goblet. His wife, on the other hand, declined and stuck to watery lemonade and with dread, he realised that she was not drinking the same as him because it was expected that she needed to stay sober to conceive.

It was like a weight was pressing down on his chest, and he struggled to breathe, and it was getting worse as the evening wore on. Soon he stopped eating and drinking and just watched everybody that approached the dais to offer their congratulations or present gifts to the newlyweds. One item that was given to the new Queen was a selection of herbs which, as the kindly elderly noble had explained “would help the womb quicken”. Alistair had almost retched at her words, and instead began a small coughing fit, which required his wife to smack him firmly on the back a few times harder than she would’ve done normally.

At one point, a small child approached, dressed in a simple cotton tunic, as white as a cloud. Her hair was braided down her back and entwined with flowers. She stood before the queen who rose from her throne and leant over the table to adjust a flower in the girl’s hair. Alistair watched as his wife’s face lit up with warmth as she listened and spoke to the child. He wanted to give that to her. But… but…

“Let us bed them!” Tegan suddenly announced, and there was a scramble as the court got to their feet hurriedly, to be one of the select few to follow them to their chambers. The women reached the queen and she shot Alistair one swift look of alarm before resigning herself to their insistent tugs as they all but pushed her out of the room. Alistair followed with a group of noblemen, including his uncle.

“I bet you’re looking forward to this, m'boy,” Tegan grinned, falling into step beside Alistair, as they made their way through the halls of the castle.

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied flatly, his face feeling warm not just from the wine.

Tegan clapped him on the back. “You are one lucky man, my boy,” he said with a sigh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so quiet in all the time I’ve known you. Your mind has been elsewhere this evening - and I’m not the only one to notice.”

Dread tugged at him as he climbed the stairs. “Yes, you’re right and I’m sorry, but-”

“Sorry!” Tegan repeated with a snort. “You’ve no need to be sorry. Most men are as quiet as a mouse in anticipation of their wedding night. And one can’t certainly blame you: your wife is simply lovely.”

“Yes, thank you, Tegan,” Alistair ground out, shrugging his shoulder lose of his grip. But rather than be offended, the man laughed and Alistair clenched his fists. Never before had he been so tempted to knock his uncle around the head.

They arrived at his chamber door and inside more nobles awaited eagerly. The king’s bed had been arranged neatly, but there was no expectation for him to sleep there tonight. Instead, he eyed the connecting door where he knew his wife would be waiting for him, surrounded by the noblewomen.

“Are you going to leave?” he asked, looking around the room, but the men just laughed, and chatted, some making obscene gestures. He grimaced, hating the sheer manliness in the room. His manservant came forward to help him undress from his finery and removed his crown. Once he had been disrobed save for his smalls, he threw on his white cotton nightshirt and ran his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow.

There was a faint knock at the connecting door, and one of the servants hurried forward and exchanged whispers with the servant on the other side. Alistair paced anxiously and took a very keen interest in a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. The men around him were talking about absolute filth, and he squeezed his eye tight shut, in the vain hope that his ears would squeeze shut too.

Finally, the connecting door swung open and the servant stood aside. Alistair was rooted to the spot, fear coursing through him. Are these people… going to watch ? He thought with horror.

He was quite content with where he was until Tegan elbowed him in the ribs. “Nervous?” he said with a wink.

“Yes. No! I mean, no !” he said hurriedly, his face burning.

“There’s nothing to be scared about. She’s going to be a wonderful wife to you in so many ways…”

“Shut up,” Alistair groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. Honestly, he was this close to hurling Tegan out the window.

But before he could entertain that thought further, the men in his room were pressing him through the door and - oh Maker no - were also following him. He entered the queen's bed-chamber to find a gaggle of ladies with rosy cheeks flutter their lashes and lick their lips seductively at the men. But Alistair was anything but aroused when he finally turned to the large, four-poster bed, to see his wife and queen.

She was a perfect painting of innocence and virginity in crisp white sheets with a matching white nightdress. Her hair had been unbound and combed neatly and she sat as still as a statue, her back and posture absolutely perfect for a queen. The covers were pulled up to her lap, and her hands rested delicately entwined: her sparkling wedding ring the only jewellery that remained.

He refused to meet her eyes as he slowly walked around to the other side of the bed. He pulled the covers down amidst the chatting of the court and when he finally sat beside her, a good arms-length away from her, the court finally - finally - turned to leave. Several clapped, the women exchanged knowing looks with the queen, who smiled politely in return, and the men, now incredibly drunk, ambled from the room, wishing Alastair luck and reminding him of how lucky he was.

Finally, blessedly, the last person left the room and closed the door with a gentle click .

☆☆☆☆☆

To the new queen’s dismay, the first thing her new husband did as soon as the door had shut, was leap out of the bed as if he had been scalded. She frowned as he strode towards the door, and for an awful moment, she thought he was going to leave. But no: he reached to a small side table and found a key and locked the big oak door to her chambers, followed by locking the conjoining door from the king’s bedroom.

Still not saying anything, Alistar strode around the room, pulling open curtains and wardrobes, trunks and cabinets.

“What in the world are you doing?” she finally asked, her patience running thin. The man had barely spoken to her since their vows in the Chantry in the morning, and now he was examining every nook and cranny of her chambers?

He paused by her bookshelf and flicked her a glance over his shoulder. “Checking,” he replied, before shifting a few books.

“Whatever for?”

He sighed in exasperation. “To make sure that we are alone! Andraste’s arse, I thought they were going to stay at one point and watch to make sure we… we… erm…” he coughed and busied himself by peering under a chaise lounge.

She got out of bed and dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed. Thankfully, there was no one there, but she had to admit that the same fear had crossed her mind. Even though she knew that wasn’t the common practice, sometimes nobility did take things a bit too literally…

“We’re safe,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips.”There’s no spy, no peephole, no nothing but us.”

Alistair finally stopped his fidgeting and turned to her from across the room. For the first time in a long time, they were utterly alone. Normally, they would’ve fallen into each other’s arms by now, but something was stopping her, and she could tell that something was also stopping him. They stood on opposite sides of her room, the bed imposing and glaring at them, whilst the distance between them felt as vast a chasm. And that was something neither of them had experienced before.

“Everything is different now, isn’t it?” she said quietly, looking down at her hands clasped before her.

Alistair also seemed to be studying his fingernails. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

She played with the hem of her pure white night-dress and frowned. Conversation with her now-husband had never been this stilted. So she switched tactic to one he would hopefully relax with: humour.

“You know, for a good ten minutes, I honestly thought they were all going to stay and watch,” she said with a wry smile. She knew they wouldn't - being brought up as a noble lady had earnt her some education in these things - but Alistair needed not to know that. For it worked:

“Maker! You did too?” he exclaimed, letting out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t think they would, but I began to doubt myself.”

She took a step towards him. “Hence your paranoia about spies?”

He nodded. “Yes, hence the… paranoia ,” he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, but there was a smirk on his lips, which made her heart soar.

The man she knew was peeking through, so she took another step closer. “It’s an archaic tradition anyway,” she said. “I know for a fact that they do not practice it in Orlais.”

Alistair snorted. “Perhaps the only redeeming factor of the Orlesians.”

“Hmm, that and the cheese,” she smiled and finally, finally , her new husband met her eyes.

They both burst into laughter and she saw his shoulders sag. She bit her lip and placed a hand on his cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don't want to,” she said earnestly.

His face reddened. “But I do! I do want to! With you, that is! I just… it’s just…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as he sought out the right words.

“The pressure of it all?” she supplied.

“Yes!” he gasped, relieved. “To know that we cannot come together unless it’s for a purpose. That purpose,” he mumbled, pointing to her stomach.

He was going inside himself again, so she took his hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Think of it this way… it’s for the good of the country that you fuck me senseless any time of day and night.”

Alistair spluttered at her bluntness but she just laughed as she slipped her hands from his and moved past him. There was a small table laden with food - to help keep up their energy for their excursions, no doubt - so she helped herself to a goblet of wine and poured one for her new husband. “You’re probably one of the only men in the world who can use that excuse,” she smiled, popping a grape in her mouth.

“You…” he grinned, walking over and taking the other goblet from her hand. “You are a minx.”

She pretended to be shocked. “You’ve only just realised? And here I thought you only married me because you knew I was.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, kissing the top of her head. “One of many, many many reasons,” he replied.

They stood content in silence, their thoughts elsewhere when she finally spoke again. “I meant what I said. We don’t have to do anything we’re expected to do tonight.”

He gulped but nodded. “I… I know. And I appreciate that, but please don’t think it’s because I don’t want... need you,” he said quietly, his grip on her tightening.

“It’s not like we’ve not done it before,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “Even if this gown pretends to be evidence to the contrary.”

“Yes, and we have done it, many, many times…”

“And we will many more,” she confirmed, popping another grape in her mouth, the sweetness washing over her tongue. She turned to him: “but not tonight.”

“Thank the Maker I married you,” he murmured, downing the rest of his wine.

“But I do have a wicked idea…”

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“We should take all of this food and eat it… in bed.”

He laughed, so genuine and delightful that her gut warmed pleasantly. Suddenly, in one swift motion, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, his other hand grabbing the cheese board and marched over to the bed. He threw her down, and she tried to not be too aroused by the action, but her pert nipples through her night-dress gave her away. Determined to make sure Alistair was as happy as could be, she reached forward and pulled him onto the bed and instead of kissing him, grabbed a handful of cheese and squashed it into his mouth.

The King of Ferelden snorted with laughter as he tried to eat the cheese, before doing the same back at his new queen. He pecked her on the nose and rose to collect more food and wine, and soon they were sitting leaning against the headboard, a delectable spread of food between them. And they gorged.

☆☆☆☆☆

The sun peered through the lattice windows of the queen’s chamber. The light was white and bright and brought Alistair blinking out of his deep slumber, momentarily confused at his location. He looked up at the canopy above him and duly noted the olive green drapes of the Queen’s bed. He’d never slept in here and was momentarily disoriented until he remembered the day before.

In his arms, still and sound asleep, was his wife. Her hair was splayed on the pillow and tickled his nose. He couldn’t see her face, but today it felt more real: this woman who had become his friend and companion, lover and hero of Ferelden, was now his wife… his queen . He gently propped himself onto his elbow, so as not to wake her, and gazed down at her face, noting the way the sunlight accentuated her high cheekbones. This wonderful, beautiful and exquisite woman is my wife , he thought with quiet awe. His chest flipped with uncontained joy and gone was the trepidation of the night before.

He studied her face as she slept, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sighed contently in her sleep. He lay back down and pulled her close to him, tightening his grip on her, and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicatingly sweet scent. The silk nightdress was so smooth and thin, and his hands couldn’t help but wander up and down, his fingers gently brushing the material over her skin, like water. Without realising it, he found himself rutting against her arse, which was tucked up cosily to his groin. He tried to still himself, she's still asleep ! But his wandering hands could not be stopped as one slowly crept up her torso and cupped a breast. The shift was so thin, that he felt her nipple harden with the barest of touches and that’s when he realised that her hips were moving too.

He pushed himself up to an elbow again, and her eyes, dark and hooded with desire stared back at him. Her lips parted with a hitched breath and he flicked her nipple with his thumb. Moving his hand downwards, he swallowed her breathy moan as his fingers teased the hem of her smalls, mouth crashing down on hers in simple, uncontained desire.

They had not so much as kissed since they had said their wedding vows in the Chantry, he realised. And as his tongue licked her upper lip, he swore to himself that he would never leave it so long to kiss her again. Her mouth opened with a sigh and their tongues danced as he continued to rut, and she squirmed against him as his hand finally slipped into her smalls in search of her bud.

He stifled a groan as he found her hand already there, gently touching herself. His fingers joined hers whilst they moved their hips and she guided him with her hand. He slipped a digit inside of her and she gasped, squirming against his erection, straining against his smalls, and he pictured feeling her growing wetness around his cock. With impatience, he slid her nightdress up so she was exposed and he pulled his cock out and rubbed it blissfully between her cheeks. Her soft skin was as smooth as silk as he rocked his hips, gaining pleasant friction with her arse.

“More…” she whispered, as her fingers joined his, pumping inside her. And with his control waning, he obliged eagerly.

Alistair rolled her onto her back and pulled her hands over her head as he pinned her down. Her legs fell open for him, and as much as he wanted - no needed - to be inside her, Alistair knew what his lady wife needed more was to be spoiled. If it were up to him, the king would love to stay buried between his wife’s legs for the rest of his days, as her taste was so sweet. He trailed kisses down her neck, and her hips lifted up to meet his, and his resolve almost broke as her core was teased against his cock. But being a Warden had one excellent perk: incomparable stamina.

He continued down, kissing her heaving breasts as they rose and fell erratically with her breathing. Playing with one in his hand, he took her other nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, her perfect bud hard and round in his mouth. With his hand, he squeezed her other one tight, and had her gasping: but he was nowhere near done. He let go of her breast in his mouth with a pop and glanced up at her to see her mouth open and delicious, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He grinned and kissed her stomach, then pulled back and positioned himself on his elbows, taking in the sight of her splayed out on the bed, rosy cheeks and breathy moans all for him. He pressed his lips to her knee, then with each kiss, his stubble tickled the inside of her thigh as he moved up her legs, finally reaching that gloriously warm and wet apex in between that was just begging for him to taste.

Desire surged through him and without wasting any more time, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and licked her dripping wet folds. She cried out in pleasure as he rolled his tongue over her, and her fingers grabbed his head, nails digging into his scalp as he worked his mouth. She tasted as good as she smelt, and her hips rose up to meet his mouth, jittering as she climbed higher to her peak. He wanted to spoil her because she deserved it and more. So he reached up with one hand and squeezed a breast and flicked a nipple again, loving the way her hips bucked in response. Her nails dug deeper into his scalp and raked his chestnut hair as his other hand kneaded her arse, lifting her up so he had the best angle to eat her out.

He teased and tortured her with his mouth, and finally sucked on her clit.

“Ah...ah...Alist-ah!” she cried out, her thighs clamping around his head as she came. He tasted her orgasm on his tongue and without missing a beat, rose and positioned himself at her entrance. Her eyes flicked open to look at him as she felt him move, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her exquisite mouth. That was all he needed.

So tormentingly slowly, Alistair finally entered her, the warmth and wetness so indescribably perfect that he couldn’t help but let out a moan. He fit her perfectly and when sheathed completely, he paused and stared into her eyes. Her breathing was still fast from her orgasm and he captured her mouth with his, letting her taste herself. Then he rolled his hips and started to slowly make love to her, not once tearing his gaze from her face. He noticed every single expression that flickered before him as he thrust and teased: a hand on her hip and another once more on her breasts.

She wrapped her legs around him and he plunged unbelievably deeper inside of her, making them gasp and moan in unison as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time. As they moved, the pleasure and pressure mounted, but Alistair had much more control than a boy still wet behind the ears - he wanted to give her so much more before he -

“Ah!” he gasped, as she took him by surprise. She had crossed her ankles behind his back and with her strong legs, twisted so that he was forced to roll and let her sit on top of him. Incredibly, they did not lose touch, and the angle was different but just as pleasurable. She smirked down at him as she pressed her hands to his chest and began to slowly roll her hips, her breasts rising and falling beautifully as she took him. Alistair was entranced as he watched his love move quicker with a growing need and he held her hips tightly to control her pace. But she didn’t need any assistance, as she moved faster and faster, his thrusts coming up to meet hers, flesh slapping flesh. Her moans crescendoed, and the erotic sight before him of his wife move above him with a wonton need to claim her pleasure...well he could feel his control slipping. He wanted to spill himself inside of her, and see his seed drip down her legs…

“Fuck!” she cried, reaching her second orgasm, as Alistair dug his fingers into her thighs to stop himself from joining her peak of pleasure. She fell back and Alistair seized his moment to regain control and topped her again.

Fully sheathed once more, he deliberately moved slowly, as he knew that if he picked up the pace then he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. But she caught his eye and licked her lips.

“Please, Alistair,” she panted, her hands digging into his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Mmmm?” he replied, biting her earlobe and slipping out of her, making her whimper.

“What do you want?” he teased, stroking himself as she looked up at him with uncloaked desire.

“It’s more than what I want ...it’s what I need ,” she whispered, sitting up to meet her lips with his, her hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, making his muscles tense in anticipation.

They kissed delicately, fervently, noses touching, breath mingling. “And what do you need?”

She pulled away and lay back down on the bed, her legs falling open. She traced one finger down the length of her, and his eyes followed.

“Take me, my king,” she begged, touching herself in front of him.

Almost roughly, because he couldn't bear to not be in her again, he flipped her over, brought her to her knees and lined himself up to her entrance. He kissed her salty back, sleek with sweat and breathed in her ear. “As my queen commands.”

He thrusted inside, and she took all of him. She threw her head back and he grabbed her neck, pulling her up to him for a searing kiss, their tongues dancing as he thrusted fiercely, the globe of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. She moaned in his mouth as she touched herself; legs shaking as he pounded into her over and over; sweat mingling, with moans loud and needy, filling the chamber. He pumped with such animalistic need and she cried in pleasure and she gripped the bedsheets for support as he took her, unrelenting in his passion.

With a shaking arm, he reached around and touched her pearl and she cried out, her orgasm sudden and huge.

“Fill me!” she pleaded as she continued to come.

He snapped and finally, wonderfully, he reached his peak too and exploded inside of her, his vision blurred and black at the edges, as he emptied his seed inside of her - for the first time. And Maker, did it feel incredible to finish like this; in a union of bodies so perfect and natural.

Alistair, as breathless as if he had just swam the length of the Waking Sea, collapsed on top of her, laughing with joy.

“I...I love...you,” he panted, their legs entwined and he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began.

They stayed like that for some time, and Alistair was tempted to fall asleep just like this, but she wiggled underneath him.

“Mmmm, as much as I love you inside of me,” she murmured;” you are crushing me somewhat.”

He reluctantly slipped out of her, trailing kisses all down her back and arse, making her hairs stand on end and her toes curl. He gathered her into his arms, the sheets around them a total mess, but he was loath to care as she lightly ran her fingers over him. His limbs felt like jelly, all loose and relaxed.

“Hey, Alistair?”

“Hmm?” he replied, barely opening his eyes.

“There’s some cheese leftover from last night.”

He sat up suddenly and looked over to where she pointed.

“Cheese for breakfast?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Cheese for breakfast,” she confirmed.

fin

[laurelsofhighever]

I have thoughts on the exalted council in DAI and i’d like your opinion of it. In a game where Alistair is king and leliana is devine why in the hell would it have gotten to the council to be had in the first place? I mean 2 of the most influential people in thedas are on a first name basis and surely would rather skip the theatrics. Especially considering that alistair has first hand experience in saving the world and the lines one needs to cross to do it 1/2

I mean alistair IS a grey warden and his wide is the Commander of ferelden’s grey wardens so why would he be bothered by the fact that the wardens join the inquisition bother him based on the fact that they are helping people and killing demons/darkspawn? Like that whole thing during the exalted council where teagan lists off ferelden’s grievances feels so... fake? Like if anora or loghain were on the throne? - ok. But alistair? I just feel they needed a way to go to 2/3

They needed a way to go to tevinter and possibly disband the inquisition and they chose the most convoluted nonsensical way to go about it... what do you think? (I don’t mean to bother you with these i just think you have a v good grasp on these games and i’m just curious on your thoughts. Feel free to ignore this if i’m bothering you or you don’t feel like answering.) the end 😅

--

I’ve been wanting to think about this, because it’s a very interesting topic, and when I start thinking about Dragon Age I find it very difficult to stop, but it’s been so long since I played Inquisition that I had to go back and watch it to see what Teagan says. And hooooooo boy I have some thoughts on this.

So, first, it’s important to point out that the issue with Trespasser is it’s trying to cover the scope of the entire franchise, which means the writers had to account for all the possible decisions players might have made through three games and somehow still have the Inquisition in the same position with just a few changes to the dialogue. That said, a lot of the problems I have personally with the structure of the council come directly from the massive plot hole in Inquisition that is Ferelden’s absent power structure. Teagan’s complaining about Caer Bronach? Why were the Inquisition the ones who had to sort that out? Where were the bannorn militia, or the royal army? Why did Fereldan’s monarch let rogue templars rampage across the countryside and dig in at Therinfall Redoubt? Why aren’t Fereldan forces helping out in the Hinterlands? Orlais has the excuse of being embroiled in a civil war, but Ferelden, whoever is in charge, has spent the last ten years recovering from a Blight, it has a stable monarchy, and they should at least have a standing army to deter any thoughts of invasion from across the border. The actions of the Inquisition make no sense and it means all of Teagan’s complaints are pretty much spot on.

But. Ignoring all of that.

You’re right that Teagan’s arguments seem a bit... off. The first thing to point out is that the Wardens never actually invaded Ferelden. Sofia Dryden, who had been a Fereldan noble before she was conscripted, joined forces with the Couslands to depose a tyrant, and they lost, and then the Wardens were driven out as punishment It’s unclear how common this knowledge is among Fereldan nobility, but considering his fear is that the Inquisition represents a powerful occupying force, it’s a wonder why he decided to focus on the Wardens when there’s another VERY OBVIOUS example of Ferelden being brutally invaded and occupied that happened nonly a single generation ago. It makes less sense considering even more recently than that, Wardens were what saved Ferelden from a Blight (and as you say, depending on circumstances, Fereldan’s king and queen were Wardens).

The root of Teagan’s animosity here, at least as I see it, is the fear that the Inquisition is in cahoots with Orlais, with the long term goal of invading and occupying Ferelden again. The Inquisition already has a foothold, and enough of an army to make a stand if they wanted to keep it for themselves, and Orlais has just ended a civil war and will be looking for a rallying point to unite their people again - what better way than a war with a foreign power that most Orlesian nobility consider nothing more than a backward province? A lot of the nobles remember what it was like having Ferelden under the heel of Orlais, and a lot of them liked it. Everything Teagan is doing is to try and prevent that from happening again, and from his perspective the Inquisition is a legitimate threat to his nation: they think nothing of deciding the throne of Orlais, or marching their private army wherever they think it’s needed, or interfering in politics across Thedas in ways that only add to their own wealth and power.

Specifically thinking about why Alistair and Leliana didn’t just sort this out in private is... complicated. From a game mechanics point of view, not everyone will have that worldstate, and they can’t just have an entirely different story for that one circumstance. In-game, however, I have some theories. For a start, the Inquisition and international relations is a political matter, not a personal one. The council was probably called to avoid accusations of back-handed deals on either side, because Orlais would take it as a slight to be left out of important negotiations, and Ferelden (as mentioned above) would be afraid that the Inquisition and Orlais were colluding in order to invade.

But also, specifically with Alistair as king and Leliana as Divine? Alistair can’t guarantee that Leliana would fight Ferelden’s corner. Her life is politics, and he can’t trust that. Whatever its dressing, the Chantry is an Orlesian institution, and the Game is a pressure breathing down her neck constantly. As Divine, she can’t show overt favouritism, but at the same time the Grand Cathedral is in Val Royeaux, a lot of the Chantry’s wealth comes from wealth comes from aristocratic (Orlesian) patrons. A lot of people think of Alistair as a fool, but he cares about his people, and he understands how the Game is played, and he (and Teagan, by extension) is the only one who will put Ferelden first, no matter what else happens.

What really doesn’t make sense is why it’s Teagan representing Ferelden and not someone like Leonas Bryland, who has better ties to Orlais, a less important role as advisor to the king, and is probably far better at the Game because he grew up with it instead of in the Free Marches. But BioWare just looooooves shoving nostalgia in our faces whenever it can, regardless of whether it makes sense or adds anything to the narrative. But that’s a rant for another time.

I went on a bit longer than I meant to - thank you for giving me something to chew over, and I hope I didn’t get too rambly there towards the end...

[anchanted-one]

Stories you want to write

But for some reason haven't. Thanks so much for your tag @kunstpause!

Dragon Age

I created a small ensemble of Heroes from the DAO storyline: one for each Origin. And they are all alive, both during the Fifth Blight and after. Only three of these are Wardens: Dalish Elf, Mage Elf, and Casteless Dwarf.

I have already written Cousland's story in brief, where he rises to the Throne of Ferelden (alone, no Anora). I have also planned his three-way romance with Leli and Bethany, but this will probably be (hopefully NSFW) drawings more than stories.

But there's the others:

Warden Mahariel, who becomes more and more abrasive as the Eluvian's taint courses through his veins. He also dislikes human society--including City Elves and Elves from the Circle. But he takes a liking to Morrigan, who shares his disdain for all things Andrastian. They start a physical relationship, and when he finds out that he is expected to sacrifice himself to save Human Kingdoms he grows so angry that Morrigan offers him the Dark Ritual option, and they keep the plot secret. Once he kills the Archdemon she spirits away his unconscious body, making it appear that he fell off Fort Drakon in the explosion. The ritual has the added effect in his case of saving him from the Eluvian and Darkspawn taints too

So he is left completely free, while she gets Kieran from the bargain. The two part ways as good friends, but Morrigan is the only one who knows that Mahariel survived. To the rest of Ferelden, he's made the Ultimate Sacrifice and is treated as a martyr.

Surana becomes Warden Commander. She is the one who deals with the Architect.

Another I want to write is the tale of Queen Aeducan, who after she's exiled, finds her way to the Dead Legion with whose aid she finds Branka, wins her support, and returns to Orzammar at the same time the Wardens visit. Like, Warden enters the city, heads to the assembly, and Aeducan is already there with the whole Legion at her back and Branka's crown on her head. She takes the throne, then denounces the Nobles for their eager role in her betrayal (especially Bemot). She takes the throne, killing two thirds of the nobility and outlawing the remainder because she has no faith left in them in them whatsoever. When Alistair shows her the treaties she sneers in his face, saying that the Dwarves don't owe the Surfacers anything since they abandoned the dwarves to fight the Spawn alone. Despite her brutal takeover, I want to write a story of an enlightened Ruler who genuinely cares for her subjects. She accepts King Cousland's formal apology for their abandoning the Dwarves, and Ferelden's aid in fighting the Darkspawn. She also uplifts the Casteless and neuters the Caste System.

DA2 has Rowan and Shona Hawke. Shona gets involved with Alistair (and they become lovers), and she does the Warden Prison part of the story after Act 2, and this plus cleanup keeps her busy for years later. Rowan is Merrill's lover, and he takes the Mages' side in the Final Act. He kills Anders because he feels betrayed by how Anders used him as distraction to plant his bomb, but he regrets it afterwards.

I don't have an Inquisitor yet, but it will probably be a weak character, who was unready for the sort of burdens that were placed on them just because of the glow hand. No romance for this nervous puppet, just everyone trying to manipulate them. Even if they're well-meaning manipulators. That story would have involved a lot less Corypheus and more Mage Freedom war. It will also have open war between Ferelden and Orlais towards the end, probably because of the Elves massacred in Halamshiral.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

This is the story of a Dragonborn who has entered his late fifties after slaying Alduin, and has retired to his Homestead in Falkreath. He has many dragons answering to him now because he defeated their Lord (Al that is) and is thus a legitimate power despite only wanting to be left alone. Cyrodil is constantly trying to recruit him, as is Ulfric Stormcloak. The Thalmor are constantly keeping watch on him and are plotting to kill him but are too scared of reprisal from the Dragons.

In this backdrop a Thalmor agent in the College of Winterhold unleashes the Eye of Magnus, and the Dovahkiin is forced out of retirement to clean up the ensuing mess.

To this end he needs three Elder Scrolls. Unfortunately he only has one, and must bargain with Vampire Queen Serana for her two.

Ends with him becoming a Dragon in truth, one who can shift back into human form when he pleases.

Final Fantasy 14

I've pretty much given up the idea of writing this one, aside from prompts like September's Write Prompt. However I do intend to draw these when I can, with emphasis on pairings. What can I say, I'm a sucker for OTPs

1. Ryosen (non-WoL Samurai) x Minfilia

2. Desmond (Ninja) x Y'shtola

3. Erika (Paladin who becomes a Dark Knight during her stay in Ishgard) x Haurchefant.

4. Olivier (Dragoon) x Lucia

5. E'nisse (Bard) x G'raha Tia

Lord of the Rings Online

Likewise, this will remain confined to drawings only.

[jewish-gay-elves]

Oh, Calamity

“I don’t believe in the Maker,” he says, breaking the silence that followed your coupling.

A soulmate/reincarnation au fic where I play around with the idea of soulmates without identifying marks or timers that have to find each other every lifetime!

Words: 4803, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of the Stephan Cousland: There's Never Much of a Choice for You

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Male Cousland, Goldanna, Cailan Theirin, Anora Mac Tir Relationships: Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Cousland, Alistair/Male Cousland Additional Tags: ok just wanted to cover all my bases on the ship tags lol, also goldanna/cailan/anora's presences in the fic are v limited, like a sentence each p much, Songfic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Reincarnation, please let me know if there should be more tags!, also please ask if you have questions!

“I don’t believe in the Maker,” he says, breaking the silence that followed your coupling. You lift your head and rest your chin on his chest, mulling over his words. Morrigan is always scolding you for saying the first thing to come to mind, and this feels like it requires a more thoughtful approach.

“Okay,” you say, and it is. Truly, it is okay. His belief or lack thereof in the Maker has no impact on how much you both care about each other. Your own faith in in the Maker hasn’t been the most unshakeable, who are you to decide whether or not he’s wrong? You can feel the tension in the arm he has around your waist lessen until his grip is as gentle as it was before. He was never really one to go in the Chantry and it makes sense to you now why not. You thought he just wasn’t really one for all the anti-magic shtick that they preach.

“One of my tutors, he came from Rivain,” he begins, offering an explanation. “While we still had Aldous, my parents wanted Fergus and me to have a more rounded education. He kept his lessons mostly academic, but I enjoyed his company so much I often stayed after and he told me of Rivain and their beliefs,”

You rest your cheek against his chest again, still listening but curling closer to him. He waited a minute, just listening to you breathe before continuing.

“He said that everything in Thedas and beyond were made of energy. Humans, elves, dwarves, qunari, and all the other beings. That energy exists in a cycle. Once the energy in a being has been exhausted in say, an old man, it would go then to a newborn. This continues the cycle, with the same energy and souls from before, just reborn. He said the stress of childbirth erased the memories from the past life, making it harder to remember things from before,” he explained.

“Have you ever remembered anything from one of your past lives?” you asked, wondering if stray dreams may have influenced his belief in the Rivaini.

“No, and I doubt I will remember anything from before. This is a fairly new line of thinking in Ferelden and if it’s true I doubt that any of my past lives believed in it. I think that increases the chance of never remembering those lives, just thinking that nothing came before solidifies the experiences in this time. As sad as it sounds I’m not even sure I’d like to remember those lives,” he said, puzzling you.

“Well, why not?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him again.

“I can’t know if those lives were as lucky as this one to have been able to find you,” he says, lifting a hand to your cheek as you two look at each other. You both lean in for a kiss and you think to yourself that it’s hard to imagine never meeting him in any kind of life.

When I was younger I was certain I’d be fine without a Queen Just a king inside his castle, with an ocean in between Now all I do is sit and count the miles from you to me Oh, Calamity!

You sit on your throne, looking out at the crowd gathered in light of festivities. Teagan stands by your side, Maker bless him. Eamon and young Connor are back in Redcliffe, Isolde caught fever and Connor insisted Eamon stay with them until she recovered. The other nobles are all drinking heavily, well into their cups and you are painfully aware of the missing Arl of Amaranthine. You know he passed on the title back to the Howes and Nathaniel years ago before he even began his search for a cure but, he should be here.

You can see Fergus from your throne speaking to the nobles around him, some minor lordlings from South Reach looks like. They must be discussing politics for you can see Fergus’ top lip twitching. His brother had the same twitch that tells when either of them are about to seal a good deal. Probably speaking of possible marriage arrangements for Fergus’ boy.

You wonder if he thinks about his first son often but as the lordlings turn to retrieve more drinks you see a wave of grief pass over his face before the mask is back in place. You were able to return Highever to the Couslands but in the years since you’ve wondered if they even wanted it back. Nothing either of them said to you indicated otherwise but whenever you visit and they are both there they get certain looks on their faces. As if they were forced to eat Orleisian cheeses.

He must have noticed your eyes on him because Fergus turns to look up to where you sit. The grief is still in his eyes as he gives you a nod before returning to the festivities. You always wondered if he blamed you for having to remarry and raise heirs, knowing that his brother was otherwise occupied as Warden Commander and would never have given Highever heirs of his own willingly.

Seeing as you won’t be making heirs either and that the throne was mostly going to one of his sons you doubted that he could hate you forever. You make a mental note to later write to Fergus about the idea. Provided that you spoke to your fellow Warden about it as well. As soon as he returned of course. Because he would return, he’s the Hero of Fereldan for Maker’s sake, and also because you have had a cold spot in your bed for far too long. Teagan leans over and makes to whisper in your ear.

“Stop thinking about the Prince-Consort, you have the most unwelcoming look on your face,” he says before leaning back. You shoot him a grin upon seeing his sly smile.

“I’m that transparent am I?” you ask rhetorically, straightening your back with only two or three pops compared to the normal five or six. The chair (Eamon says you must refer to it as the throne but in all honesty, it’s just a chair) is far too uncomfortable and you wish said Prince-Consort was here to complain to but that will have to wait for another day.

We get older by the hour, watch the changes from afar. Keep forgetting to remember, where we’ve been is who we are. Now all I do is wonder why we ever set the scene Oh, Calamity

You lean against your shovel, looking up at the sky. Your eye is drawn to where they say the Breach once tore the heavens asunder. You think back to the stories the older servants tell of being children while the world was thrown into chaos by the Archdemon.

They say that among the rubble of the Temple of Sacred Ashes the Inquisitor arose as the Herald of Andraste with a hand sparkling green with ancient Elvhen magics. That they had been touched by Fen’Harel himself. Your knowledge of the Elvhen Parthenon is limited, but the savior of Thedas being touched by the Dread Wolf seemed a bit ironic to you.

It had been almost a century since the sky was closed by the might of the Inquisition and while it still had power, Ferelden no longer felt torn. Struggling to choose between the Inquisition and the throne. While the Inquisition started in Ferelden it had no power over country affairs. King Alistair and his Prince-Consort, may they rest at the Maker’s side, supported the Inquisition in that it would close the Breach was sure to remind them that true power in Ferelden laid with the crown.

To be honest you preferred the late monarchs of Ferelden, may they rest at the Maker’s side, to the Inquisition. The two surviving Grey Wardens of the Battle at Ostagar, saved by a Witch of the Wilds to unite Ferelden and prevent civil war in order to fight the darkspawn.

No one quite knows when or how the two Wardens got involved after ending the Fifth Blight, or whether or not they weren’t together before slaying the Archdemon. But they stood together against the nobles at the Landsmeet, declaring King Alistair the rightful heir and their engagement to each other. You always thought it was very romantic, the last two Grey Wardens standing together against nobles and darkspawn alike.

“What a lazy arse you are Marc!” a voice you recognize as Quint’s called from behind you. You turned to see him walking down the hill towards you, his hands dirty from where he was likely gardening in front of the main house all day, an equally dirty spade tucked between his belt and trousers. You gave him a smile as he approached, knowing that the work day was likely over and he was coming to collect you for dinner.

“I happen to know that you like my arse, whether it’s lazy or not,” you said back to him. Your mind’s eye flickered as he smirked at you, a delicate golden circlet with lavish jewels appearing on his head, the spade at his side now a decorated sword. You frowned, shaking your head to clear the vision. As he reached you he slid his arms around your waist.

“You alright, love?” he asked cautiously. You smiled for him, returning the gesture and wrapping your arms around him as well. You wondered if Quint had ever had a moment like that. As if a memory placed itself over the current view you had. Doubtful, Quint was likely more focused on his next meal.

“Fine, I’m fine. Just tired I guess,” you said blinking the strange vision out of your eyes. “Let’s go see what Cookie’s whipped up for tonight shall we?”

“Hey I heard that the Lord has a visitor from Rivain staying for a while,” He starts telling you earnestly, already coming up with all sorts of wild tales.

It’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me Oh, Calamity.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had one of these visions Neil! There has to be some meaning behind them I just can’t figure out what!” you exclaim, curling your hands into fists against your temples. Neil sits on the cot a foot or so away from where you are curled in on yourself.

“Okay, okay, Wil I believe you,” he says extending his hands out in a placating manner. You peer at him, lifting your head from where you pushed it against your knees. He’s looking at you earnestly with his wide honest eyes and you find your initial fear of him ridiculing you disappearing.

“Just start from the beginning, when did they begin?” He asks you patiently. You take a deep breath and lower your arms to wrap around your calves. You collect your thoughts and decide to be honest.

“I think I’ve always had them, but I could never remember them until after I met you,” you start out. “It’s like I’m living another person’s life, but it just overlaps my own. I’ll see my papa start walking towards me but then his face isn’t his but instead its some Rivaini dressed in the Grey Warden uniform from before the Fifth Blight. My mother gets replaced by someone in servants clothing patting my cheek. And you, you have five different faces. All of them look like they lived centuries ago. There is maybe a century between each of them, with the oldest one from before the Breach.”

“Lived before the Breach? Wil that was back in what, 9:34 Dragon?” Neil says concern clear on his face.

“The Breach opened in 9:41 Dragon,” you correct him.

You’re scared to tell him that he doesn’t take on the face of just anyone from before the Fifth Blight but the face of the Warden who defeated that Blight. You’re scared to tell him that sometimes you look in the mirror and it’s not your face that greets you. That you have five different faces as well. And the oldest face that you see is one drawn in countless history books from the royal portrait archives to your classroom textbook. King Alistair, the last of the Theirins to sit on the throne before he gave it to his Prince-Consort’s nephews, he looks at you in the mirror. He’s always much younger than in the portraits but you know it’s him.

You’re scared that if you tell Neil he will remember the history lessons that covered King Alistair and his Grey Warden Prince-Consort. That they would only be known as the first two men to rule Ferelden as a couple together if they hadn’t also defeated a Blight. You’re scared because this is too new with Neil, you aren’t even sure if you like like him that way and what if he doesn’t like like you like that either? He’s been your only friend since you moved to Lothering a year ago. You refuse to lose a friend like him for something- something like this!

Neil is just as quiet as you, now that you’ve finished your tale. A moment passes before he scoots nearer to you on the bed and slings an arm around your shoulders and drawing you closer to him.

“We’re going to figure this out, ok Wil? I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but we'll figure it out,” he says and it disturbingly sounds like a promise falling from his lips and you look at him in surprise. He has a soft smile on your face, and a little twitch in his upper lip and you’re almost overcome with another déjà vu vision but you tamper it down and stay in this moment where there is just you and Neil.

You find yourself nodding with a grin spreading across your face. His good mood and attitude becoming infectious as you sit on the little cot.

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs, I remember Ma said there was a visitor from Rivain who checked in yesterday,” Neil invited you, standing up and offering you a hand up. You gladly take it and you both head downstairs together.

I’ll remember nights alone, waking up to dial tone Always found my greatest moments in the sound of your hello. Now I struggle to recall the reasons you would come to leave. Oh, Calamity

You didn’t want to call Elijah, you didn’t want to call Elijah, but you wanted to call Elijah. Damn it, you thought to yourself, picking up your telephone. You impatiently pushed the rotary around waiting until it finally put you through. Thankfully, it wasn’t either of Elijah’s, frankly lovely if not a tad overbearing, parents who answered the phone.

“Hello, this is the Philips?” he said, sounding a bit confused by the late call.

“Elijah, it’s me. Benjamin,” you replied. This was a bad idea, you can already tell. You both don’t really know each other how can you be sure it’s him? Your parents always said it took a little while to know if someone was your soulmate. They told you it took time before you could be sure that the overlapping faces were truly the person you were meant to be with. That sometimes, if you rushed it, it wouldn’t be right. But you’re scared, scared it’ll never be right and if you never say anything you’ll never know what you missed.

“Oh hey, Ben. What’s up? Did you forget something at my house?” He asks, not picking up on your nerves at all. You can’t tell if he’s just dense or extremely considerate. Either option is endearing to you and makes the lump in your throat that much harder to speak around. Should you even tell him?

“Uhh no, no I’ve got everything, I just, wanted to call?” it comes out as a question and you want to hang up and then beat yourself over the head with the receiver. You can hear him pause and huff out a laugh of sorts. You want to smile because you’ve seen that laugh in person and can imagine him doing it in your head but it was at your expense and you are so nervous.

“Well, so you’ve called me. Are you feeling okay Ben?” he asks and you almost panic because he can tell, he can tell can’t he, that you don’t know why you called and you want it to be more than what it probably is but you are propelled by fear and nerves and find yourself confessing.

“Eli have you ever met someone and felt like you know them? Like you meet them and something clicks and it feels like you’ve known them all along?” you ask nervously, your voice cracks in the middle but you power through because you are not going to let your sixteen year old voicebox ruin this for you. You listen to Eli suck in a breath of surprise and pause before cautiously picking out his words.

“Ben, I uh. I have felt that way about someone before,” he says to you and you can feel your heart slowly crawl its way out of your stomach and into your throat. You want to ask who, and whether or not it is you. Whether or not he knows what you’ve been going through. However it seems as though you let your indecision carry on too long because Eli is speaking again.

“I’ve felt that way about you Ben, and I don’t know if you ever would feel that way around me but, the dreams stopped after I met you Ben. I don’t see my soulmate in the Fade anymore and I’m scared about what that means but I think I caught a flash of him on your face the other night when you smiled at me and I. I don’t know what this means but I, I would very much like to find out.” he rambles, his voice barely louder than a whisper, almost too quiet for you to hear over the blood rushing in your ears.

“Elijah, oh Elijah, I want to find out too. I want to find out so very badly,” you say twisting the cord between your fingers, nervous about what you’re about to ask him. “Do you maybe, want to go to the fair with me tomorrow then? And come over afterward?” you have the cord wrapped so tightly around your finger that you think it’s starting to cut off circulation but you’re too busy waiting for a response to answer.

“Yes,” he breathes out, like it was the only way to respond “Yes, I’d love to go to the fair with you Ben,”

It’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn, it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me. Oh, Calamity

          You always dreamed of a man when you were younger. A man who was as gentle as the breeze and as strong as the oaks in your backyard and he was the right kind of funny. A man who was sharper than knives and had a tongue to match his quick wit. He didn’t always look the same, his hair would change color and length, he’d get short and then tall and then short again. His eyes however, no matter what color they were, always looked at you with the gentlest expression.

You’re five years old and you only see him when you sleep, wrapped in the Fade together. You both play tag chasing each other round floating bookcases and sheer cliffs.

In time you realized that this was what your parents called “nature’s way of showing you your other half”. There were more technical terms for it now but you weren’t really interested in that. You were excited about this other half business. As a child you wondered if he liked playing with toy cars too, or if he was one of those boys who’d rather build towns only to wreck later, pretending to be great archdemons from old.

You’re twelve years old and your mother finally sits down and talks to you about how sometimes it doesn’t happen. That you aren’t always guaranteed a happy ending due to location and distance.

Your teachers explained that as you grew older, your soul began to recognize that it was missing something. Missing your soulmate, to try and amend this, your body produced dreams and visions of previous lives and people who your soul had found time and time again. Your body doesn’t know what your soulmate looks like this cycle so you can’t see who it is now, but you can dream, and remember. That’s why you see the boy in your dreams.

You’re nineteen years old and lonely and tired of searching and tired of disappointment. Despite this, no matter who or when someone offers a night to alleviate the pain a bit, you decline and dream of your boy who smiles at you with the same sad look in his eyes that you’ve started carrying in your own.

You wake up the morning before your birthday alone in your apartment when your brother calls to tell you that he’s found his soulmate. He invites you to dinner to meet the girl and you accept it, happy to share this moment with your brother. You get there and are reminded that in this lifetime happiness is for the man once called Cailan who died before he even knew he had a brother. Happiness is for the woman once called Anora who watched her father get executed in front of her. Happiness is not for you.

You’re fifty-four years old and playing with your nephews despite your angry knees and their arthritis. Your only niece sits with her mother because the mud just wasn’t her cup of tea and you can hear the perceptive little ten year old ask “Momma, why isn’t Uncle married like you and Daddy?”

When the alzheimer’s starts to take you, it gets hard to remember your niece’s name even though she was always your secret favorite. She still visits you but it’s hard on her and you can tell. She reminds you that she’s in college for her Master’s degree but you still don’t know what the degree is. You are forgetting a lot of things these days, but when you close your eyes the same familiar face greets you every time and you feel young again.

You’re eighty-seven years old and that is the best description of you. Old.

If I catch you on the corner will you even know it’s me? Will I look familiar to you? Do you offer me a seat? Can we find a new beginning? Do you turn the other cheek? Oh, Calamity!

Job hunting sucked. End of story, no other options, game over, it sucked and that was it. Thankfully Gwen (you wonder if she remembers yelling at you in that dingy house back in Denerim) said that you only had to do it for a few hours and three hours seemed long enough to you at least. You walked to the closest café, pulling the messenger bag higher on your shoulder as you turned the corner. The day was nice enough; maybe you could stop and sit down at one of the outside tables.      

After ordering (a tea of some sort and a cheesy croissant) you went back outside looking for a table. Sadly other patrons must have had the same idea that you did and most of the tables were already full. A particularly rowdy group of teens had already occupied one corner of the outside arrangements and you’d like to sit as far away from them as possible. You walk over to see if perhaps there are more tables around the side of the building, you’re out of luck but no one’s sitting in such a dense group as at the other tables.

You gaze around and finally you see someone sitting with a laptop and a few papers. You aren’t sure how friendly they are but they seem a better choice than the dodgy old man who glares at anyone who comes near. You walk up to the table with the man and his laptop, not the old guy, and hesitantly get the attention of the man sitting there.

“Oh uh hello, uhm may I sit here? This café is strangely busy and I’d rather not sit by all those teenagers. Not that I have a problem with teenagers but it’s a tad distracting when they scream random memes. Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling, I can find another table somewhere else,” the words fall out of your mouth in a somewhat coherent pattern and you hope he understands what you said.

“No, no you’re alright. Please, sit,” he says with a gentle smile, he even shuffles his papers closer to himself so you can set down your cup. You sling your bag over the back of the chair and sit down across from him. After sitting you smack yourself in the forehead before speaking again.

“Where are my manners today I’m sorry, my name is Van, pleased to meet you,” you say, extending your hand across the table to shake his. He has a strong grip and you’re glad you can return it in kind.

“The pleasure is mine, you can call me Ryan,” he says to you. After a moment, he watches you as you meticulously take apart your cheesy croissant. You flush under his gaze in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I’m just a little curious as to what you’re doing?” he asks looking over your mangled food.

“Oh! Well, you see, they hide the good bits under all this bread in some attempt to even out the flavor. However the truly tasty part is the lovely cheese blend they make here and I think they should just sell that on it’s own but the dear owner disagrees with me. Quite strongly in fact,” you explain to him. He chuckles at your explanation and then adds his own input.

“You know, the last time I met someone so in tune to the finer aspects of good cheese, he was a very strange man who spent time remembering his former life in a monastery where the boys had some fascination with lamp posts,” he says, and your eyes snap open to take in his features anew, yes there’s the twitch of the upper lip. You smirk back at him and take a second to remember a highlight in your relationship.

“Well, have you ever licked a lamp post in winter?” you drawl out hoping that your voice in this lifetime sounds similar to when you first said it back in the ninth age. He full out grins back and stands up to lean over the table and grab your shirt tugging you in.

“Congratulations on coming back to me again, my King,” he retorts, ignoring your question.

“I think you’re the one I should be saying that too Mr. Grey Warden who simply had to push me out of the way so that he could deal the last blow to the archdemon,” you snark back at him, remembering that fateful night. He just rolls his eyes at you and closes the distance, leaving the past memories in favor of making new ones.

It’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn, it’s such a shame that we play strangers No act to change what we’ve become Damn it’s such a shame that we built a wreck out of me Oh, Calamity

“Almost makes you wish we could just fight another Blight and be done with it?”

“I’d take a Blight over a hundred awkward first dates, maybe not actually. There are too many darkspawn during those. And with our first dates I’m more likely to get laid now,”

“The one thing the movies never have, a shambling horde of shrieks and genlock to ruin our day,”

“The movies do end up with me back at your place more times than not surprisingly, seeing as you were the last one to lick a lamp post in winter between the two of us,”

“Oh we’ll see who’s licking the lamp post this time around Warden,”

“You know I’m not one of those anymore, especially since it’s been what, five centuries since the order died out?”

“Yes but this is probably our twentieth first meeting and it gets confusing if I try to remember all of the names you’ve had,”

“True enough, you royal bastard,”

Oh, Calamity, come back to me.

[red-wardens]

Red-Warden’s OCs: Champion of Kirkwall

Worldstate 1:  Akono Hawke the “Chaotic Chill Champion of Kirkwall”

Basics: anarchy and wit and chill. Jack-of-all-trades mage (knows one basic spell from each school of magic) but specializes in Ice magic. Is also a skilled Spirit Healer. Magic manifested at age 11 when he made it snow indoors on a very hot summer’s day to keep the twins cool. Varric’s nickname for him: “Frost”. Gay/Grey-sexual. Fenris Romance.

Physical: age 25-32 (DA2) and 36 (Inquisition), 6′4, tall, strong well-muscled build, very muscular arms, colorless/silver eyes, black hair in thick cornrow braids, brown skin tone, black well-trimmed beard, dark purple face tattoos, handsome. Modern AU he is half white/half African-American coded with Nigerian ancestry. 

Psychological: Purple Hawke (almost exclusively, except a few Blue moments with Leandra and Carver). Chill, funny in a dry way, introverted, shy, impressively patient, brilliant visionary and planner, prefers not to lead directly but pull strings from the shadows or behind a mask. There’s a million ideas always running through his head but he focuses these many ideas, narrowing down those that are illogical and discardable. His intelligence propels him in everything he does, shaping his values, shifting his actions. Akono is passionate about equal rights and overthrowing oppressive establishments- but still maintains a healthy sense of humor and ease. Painfully empathetic but hides it; Devout Andrastian but anti-chantry. Chaotic Good

Decisions: Carver became a Grey Warden, Dueled the Arishok (was not Basalit-an), Sided with Templars publicly most of Acts 1 and 2 (lets mages escape when Templars weren’t involved) to gain their trust (his plan was to get Meredith alone somewhere to assassinate her). Did not help Anders place bomb in chantry. In the end, sided with Orsino/Mages. Killed Anders by his request (to become a martyr the mage rebellion could idolize). Privately agreed with Anders, but publicly will deny it. Survives Adamant (Loghain left in the Fade).

Relationships: Full/high Friendships with everyone (including Carver) except  Merrill, closest with Isabela and Varric. He looks out for her as if she were his little sister but she doesn’t forgive him for not giving her the tool to fix the Eluvian (full Rivalry). Considers Aveline Vallen and Sebastian Vael family, but has few other close friendships due to his shyness and preference for privacy. Main party: Act 1- [Carver, Isabela, Varric] Act 2/3 - [Fenris, Isabela, Varric]

After Kirkwall: Stays for a little while to help rebuild Kirkwall, but leaves a few months after, using his gold to buy Isabela a new ship. Leaves his mabari “Tor” to Aveline. Brings Fenris with him and the three become pirate liberators on the seas, hunting down slaver ships and freeing the slaves (while adding gold and ships to their fleet). Does this for years up till Inquisition while accumulating wealth to hire mercenaries. Is planning to lead the last slave rebellion of Tevinter and overthrow the Archon. Will seek aid from Inquisitor Adaar. Writes to Warden Carver regularly (they’re very close).

Links: Aesthetic Tag // Pinterest Board //

Worldstate 2: Henley Hawke the “Red Queen of Starkhaven”

Basics: tired eyes and sharp edges and spite. Arcane/Earth focused Mage (Specialization: Blood Mage). Has great difficulty learning any kind of creation/healing spells. Magic manifested late at age 16 when she caused a small earthquake while in a very bad mood after being slighted by a nobleman bachelor. Varric’s nickname for her: “Queen of Hearts”, formerly “Queen of My Heart.” (”Queenie” for short). Biromantic/Asexual. Sebastian Rivalmance.

Physical: age 25-32 (DA2) and 36 (Inquisition), 5′10, tall and slender, gray eyes, shoulder length burgundy red hair (secret: exact color is maintained with magic) styled into loose curls daily, pale skin, dark smoky eye make-up to hide dark raccoon eyes from lack of sleep. Suffers from anemia, chronic insomnia, and night-terrors since childhood. Resting bitch face but is strikingly lovely anyways. Modern AU she is Irish coded. Faceclaim: Elizabeth Gillies

Psychological: Red Hawke (almost exclusively, except a rare Purple remark at Varric). Difficult to faze but stubborn. Vain, selfish, paranoid, antisocial, but well-educated and can hold stimulating conversation on a wide variety of subjects. Is often mean for the sake of getting people’s reactions; full of blunt criticism. Too straight-forward to ever lie or be sarcastic. Exceptional memory for names of people and places, important events. Can mingle with mobility effortlessly. Easily bribed, considers every deal with demon but rarely actually accepts. Very motivated by the goal of an easy, luxurious life and more than willing to marry money to achieve this goal. Is unbothered by any killing she does to get her way but does not actively enjoy it. Neutral Evil 

Decisions: Carver became a Templar, Refused to duel the Arishok and instead team battled (was not Basalit-an), Sided with Templars most of Acts 1 and 2 so they wouldn’t bother her. Helped Anders place bomb in chantry. In the end, sided with Orsino/Mages after flipping a coin (she didn’t care for either side and would have picked Templars if Meredith had paid). Approved of Anders but executed him to keep Sebastian. Survives Adamant (Alistair left in the Fade).

Relationships: Full Rivalry with everyone (including Carver) except for Varric Tethras (full Friendship). Generally, she is awful, and Varric is the only real friend she’s had in her life and she is begrudgingly in love with him through the 3 years between Acts 1 and 2. After he betrays her in the Fade, she begins to pursue Sebastian out of desire to become Queen of Starkhaven. Over the years, she comes to tolerate and eventually love him. She is loyal to Aveline though they dislike each other (like sisters with a love-hate relationship). Oddly attached to her elf servant Oranna, she considers her “hers” and is very protective possessive.  Main party: Act 1- [Carver, Varric, Anders] Act 2- [Aveline, Sebastian, Anders] Act 3 - [Aveline, Sebastian, Varric].

After Kirkwall: Leaves to Starkhaven with Sebastian most immediately after defeating Meredith. Gives her mabari “BC” (”Better Carver”) to Merrill. Brings her servant Orana with her as she is the only one she trusts to serve her loyally. Becomes Arcane Advisor to the Prince of Starkhaven and eventually his fiancé then wife. Becomes known as “the Red Queen”.

Links: Aesthetic Tag // Pinterest Board // 5-Gif Summary

Worldstate 3: Claira Hawke the "Bluebird"

Basics: conversation and anxiety and adaptation; Alyss Amell’s cousin. Short-bow Rogue (Specialization: Shadow). Varric’s nickname for her: “Bluebird”. Bisexual. Anders Romance (after Fenris Rivlamance). 

Physical: age 25-32 (DA2) and 36 (Inquisition), 5′5, average build on the softer side due to eating carbs and sweets constantly, toned legs maintained by daily running and stretching; wide hazel eyes with under-eye bags, dark brown hair down to mid-back kept in a messy bun on top of her head, fair skin tone, freckles, red lipstick, wears a red-hooded cape.  Faceclaim: Lydia Graham

Psychological: Blue Hawke (60% Blue, 40% Red); devoted but dynamic, brave but panics easily, smart but naive, easily excited but easily depressed; friendly but with a savage temper, values peace, foul-mouth though tries to control it. Doesn’t really know who she is but does her best. Devout Andrastian but kinda slutty (in just her time in Kirkwall she sleeps with: Athenril, Fenarel, Fenris, Isabela, Templar Hugh, Cyril de Montfort, Anders, a tal-vashoth, and propositioned Seneschel Bran but he turned her down); uses hookups and casual sex as a coping mechanism for stress, also may have commitment issues. Modern AU she is English coded and has diagnosed Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Panic Disorder. Neutral Good

Decisions: Bethany died in the Deep Roads, Dueled the Arishok (was Basalit-an), Vocally and actively sided with mages all Acts 1 and 2, Emotionally manipulated into helping romanced Anders place bomb in chantry. Sided with Orsino/Mages. Spared Anders and tells him to “just go”. Survives Adamant (Stroud left in the Fade).

Relationships: Full Friendships everyone except for Fenris (full Rivalry) due to bringing him everywhere while being very vocal and helpful to the “freedom for mages!” cause. Gets along well with everyone due to intense desire to please and be liked but has few close friends (Aveline and Merrill). Main party: Act 1- [Fenris, Bethany, Merrill] Act 2/3 - [Fenris, Merrill, Anders]

After Kirkwall: Flees Kirkwall with Anders immediately and though she’s broken up with him out of anger for the lives lost (disapproved) in the Kirkwall Chantry, she comes to forgive him eventually but they do split up and go their seperate ways. A couple months later she realizes she is pregnant and sends a distress raven to her friends. Aveline is busy in Kirkwall holding off Sebastian’s invasion, and Varric is already captured by Cassandra, but Merrill, Fenris, Isabela come and help keep her safe through her pregnancy. They eventually part ways again about a year or so later, except for her best friend Merrill who stays by her side. They eventually become romantically involved, raising Claira’s son Silas together.

Links: Aesthetic Tag // Pinterest Board // 5-Gif Summary

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