#warden rosalie tabris

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I need to gush about Origins and discuss Duncan okay, listen- DAO is so good for a plethora of reasons but it’s the origins, the thing that it’s literally named after. Which origin you play is the important decision on the players part that has an impact on everything you do, especially if you go hard into the roleplaying of it all, it makes me want to scream. I adore it so much.

So Duncan, right? Great character, love that dude. I read The Calling and he's one of the best parts of that book. If you haven't read it, I recommend it just for Duncan alone.

I enjoy reading opinion pieces on Duncan, especially when the poster mentions which origin their warden is. I find it so interesting because your origin can change your entire perception of him.

Playing as Aeducan or Brosca? Duncan has great respect for dwarves just as the dwarves do for the wardens. Duncan’s your hero. He saved your life. You would’ve been executed or left to rot in the Deep Roads if not for him. And since the wardens are so respected, it’s honestly an honor to join them, no?

Playing a Cousland? You’ve lost everything. Duncan not only does what he can to keep your father alive long enough for you and your mother to find him, but he saves you and gives you a shot to avenge your family by becoming a warden.  

Playing as Amell or Surana? Your best friend lied to you about being a blood mage and chances are you tried to help him escape rather than turn him in, and now he’s gone and Greagoir demands you be punished. But here comes Duncan to conscript you, to take you away from the prison known as the Circle of Magi.

And I know this can vary depending on how you play or what kind of character you’ve created, but I believe you’re waaaay more likely to have a better opinion of Duncan in these origins… but if you play as Mahariel or Tabris?

Mahariel’s more obvious, here. You’re Dalish, and odds are, you and Tamlen are on the same page about humans. Duncan, a human, dragged your ass back to your clan after the eluvian gave you the blight, and sure, that was nice of him… except when you go looking for Tamlen and Duncan destroys the mirror, he’s so dismissive. He doesn’t care about Tamlen. There’s no point in going looking for him, he’s dead. Also you have the blight and Duncan’s taking you away from your family to make you a warden and no, you have no choice in the matter. He'll force his hand if he needs to. Say goodbye, forget about Tamlen, you’ll never see your family again, you’re a warden now. Hope you have fun involving yourself in all these human affairs while everyone points out how different you are!

First off, I think most Mahariel players would agree that they’re still not over Tamlen. How many of you had the thought, “If we look just a little longer, we could find Tamlen and make him a warden, too!” only for Duncan to ruin that? I don’t blame any Mahariel for throwing a fit when he and the Keeper agree you need to go, nor do I blame them for any ill feelings toward him.

And Tabris? This one is personal; my canon warden is a female Tabris, Rosalie, and Duncan really gets to me.

Rose's already being made to marry a man she's never met, some human nobles made their first attempt to crash the wedding, and now here’s this other human waltzing in. Duncan is such a little shit here, too. When you try asking him to leave, he actively tries to push your buttons just to see what you’ll do. But that’s nothing. When Rose and the other women are taken by Vaughan and his buddies, Soris and Nelaros go to Duncan who pulls his bullshit “wardens can’t get involved, they must remain neutral, best I can do is give you a sword and crossbow, good luck.”

Duncan KNOWS what will happen to those women but nope, can’t get involved. Wardens must remain neutral, can’t upset the nobles. I firmly believe that if Duncan had gone with them, Nelaros wouldn’t have been killed and maybe they could’ve made it to Shianni in time, and that infuriates me.

And yeah, in the end it’s Duncan who saves Rose from the guard, but you expect me to be okay with going with him? Alone? After everything that just happened?

It almost feels like Duncan was more interested in testing you, to see if you COULD get out of that situation or what you’d do when the guard showed up. That gives me a lot of complicated feelings about Duncan, and the way the Grey Wardens do things in general. Because let me tell you, Rose hurls that “Wardens must not involve themselves, they must remain neutral” out the fucking window, even post DAO after the blight is over and things return to “normal” for the wardens.  

Side note, I like to think that the wardens out at Weisshaupt or wherever contact Alistair at some point like "What the hell is Warden-Commander Tabris doing over there??? She's breaking every rule we have??" and Alistair's just shrugs like "My wife killed an archdemon to end the Blight and survived, she gets to do whatever she wants forever and honestly, I love that for her."

But anyway-- I get it, Duncan. The Grey Wardens were booted outta Fereldan once before and we don't want a repeat of that. Sure. Fine. Makes sense...but also Rose doesn't give a shit about that? She may come to understand it eventually but that doesn't mean she accepts or forgives it, or would ever be willing to adapt the same attitude.

And I'm not even going to get into everything with the Joining and Ser Jory, because oh my god.

Everything Duncan does influences Rose's views on the Grey Wardens and their duty, like if there was ever anything she and Alistair have straight up argued about, it's Duncan and the concept of "being a warden is an honor."

And I think that's neat. Duncan's a consistency in every origin and even though he dies so early on, his influence remains with the warden no matter who they are.

[exalted-dawn]

“Some bonds break because of too much care.”

The Tabris Cousins, 9:41, Ten Years Post Blight. Featuring @inquisimer’s Ariya Tabris, @rosella-writes’s Rosalie Tabris, and my own Shaesa Tabris. The Shadow. The Pillar. The Vanished.

Close-ups below the cut!

[rosella-writes]

Roooooo Ro Ro Ro it's Friday! And you have Rosalie/Leliana in bold today, so how about them with 'Running a bath for the other, and possibly help them bathe. There’s a saying that says “love means never having to wash your own back"' from the Non-Sexual Intimacy prompts?

Thank you!! For @dadrunkwriting, exactly 150 words.

~~~

Rosalie Tabris's hands were strong.

That was the only thing on Leliana's mind as she leaned forward in the bath, her arms hooked around her bent knees, nose-level with the steaming water. She gazed into the reflection of her own bleary blue eyes and lost herself in the sensation of her love's hands.

"Your muscles are drawn as tight as your damn bow," Rosalie muttered, but there was a flicker of pride, or admiration, in her voice too. Her fingers kneaded at a knot just below the curve of her shoulder blade, and Leliana melted.

"Mon cœur," Leliana sighed. "Je t'aime."

"You say that every time."

'It's true!"

Rosalie murmured the strange syllables of a language that wasn't hers under her breath. Her hands continued to scrub soap and comfort into Leliana's back. Leliana hummed and stretched, as languid as a cat under her lover's attention, and closed her eyes.

[lords-of-fortune]

OC tag game

Tagged by @gvnseylike (thank you!!) I'm sticking to dragon age ocs for the dragon age blog because I have made so many ocs I don't think I'd be able to make these choices otherwise lmao

Favorite OC: This changes almost literally hourly. Right now I'm leaning towards Rodaine but Tierce is so close behind it's barely a difference lmao

Newest OC: of dragon age ocs I *think* it might be Halen's brother Ephraim. I just recently figured out quite a few of his character traits and renamed him so he's basically a whole new guy now lmao

Oldest OC: I literally wouldn't be able to answer this if I wasn't doing just DA ocs lmao. Of DA ocs, though, my oldest is the apocryphal Nico Tabris who was my very first Warden ever. He was a massive contributing factor to my absolute obsession with dragon age lmao

Meanest OC: I think it's Tierce? But Rodaine isn't close behind. Tierce tends to be very blunt when asked for feedback and he can also be rather glib in situations where dicking around maybe isn't appropriate. Rodaine is also very blunt and he doesn't always realize when that bluntness should probably be tempered a bit to soften a verbal blow. He tends to be a lot more apologetic about when something he says lands differently than he intended it to where Tierce tends to just shrug it off or double down because he's stubborn as fuck so that is why I think he's meaner lmao.

Softest OC: Probably Alding? Or maybe Serenity, who is Rodaine's younger sister. Hard to really say though because most of my character have a very tough edge to them even if they tend towards softness. I like that Alding and Serenity both choose that softness despite the difficult things they've been through.

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Rodaine. He doesn't mean to be, he's just quiet and has a resting bitch face most of the time. He's very serious and is slow to trust so he comes off as unfriendly and unapproachable and he isn't good at picking up social cues so he doesn't immediately realize when people are trying to befriend him and that sometimes makes him seem uninterested in friendship when that isn't true.

Dumbest (Affectionate) OC: all of my ocs are dumb in their own ways but I think I'm going to go with René, who's Rodaine's brother. He's just a jock and he's at peace with that and I think that's the right mindset but also he's just a himbo.

Smartest OC: Rodaine. Big gifted kid energy. He's not great with social stuff but he's smart in most other areas, clever, tries to think things through before he does them. He loves magic and has spent so long studying his craft and he's a nerd who likes to read history books

OC I'd Probably Be Friends With: this one is hard... I think maybe Alding? Soft boy but he knows how to have fun. I think Rodaine and Tierce would intimidate me in different ways lmao. I think I'd also like Annika and Rosalie (Rodaine's sisters) and Aned (Halen's sister)

This took me a second to get this one done lmao and I will tag...

@iamonlybutaneel and @my-dumb-obsessions

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

For the DADWC, from the Medieval prompt list: ❛ shed no tears for me. i will be back before you know it. ❜ for Shaesa Tabris

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOI THIS ONE ENDED UP BEING PAINFUL. Thank you so much for the juicy prompt ;w; This takes place in Shae's cousinverse!AU with @inquisimer's Ariya and @rosella-writes's Rosalie, and is roughly ten years after the events of DAO, after Shae and Alistair return to Ferelden in search of leads about Corypheus. There is a lot of drama and its big oof in my heart, but it was a ton of fun to write <3

for @dadrunkwriting

Rated G: Angst, Rough Family dynamics, ~1.1k words

Foolish Hopes | By Exalted_Dawn

‘Shed no tears for me, I will be back before you know it.’

Sheasa read the wrinkled, half-rolled piece of parchment with a detached sort of fondness. She could tell the author by the penmanship alone, even after all these years. Her fingers ran across the ink, but even if she half expected there to be stains left on her fingers, they came away clean. The note was long dry. Long written. 

“It’s been about two months since her last visit,” Cyrion provided, stepping up beside her. His hair was now streaked with silver, and the lines on his face were far more pronounced. He looked tired, but Shaesa thought that might have just been due to the emotions of the day. After all, it had been quite a long time since either had seen each other. 

She made a non-committal grunt of acknowledgement, and he continued. 

“She splits her time between here and Antiva, when she isn’t traveling.” He brushed past her, taking a pot of water from the fire to begin filling three cups for tea. Alistair lingered behind her, uncharacteristically quiet as he watched the two, but Shae couldn’t wholly blame him. Even she was uncomfortable with the situation, and she had been the one to suggest it in the first place.

“Glad to hear she is keeping busy. Ariya never did well sitting still for too long,” she huffed, and then turned away from the letter and the door post it was pinned to. “What of Rosie? I sometimes catch word of her, but…” It was hard to get news when you never stayed in one place. 

She pulled out a seat across the table from her father, and Alistair followed behind her, shedding the dull blue cloak from his shoulders, wet with rain, and draping it across the back of the chair to dry. Shae had somehow forgotten how Fereldan rain managed to so thoroughly chill the bones, so when her father passed her the cup, she accepted it with relish. 

“Amaranthine keeps her busy. I receive letters from her every now and again, but she is… sparing with the details of her day to day. Something about Warden protocol. But you know Rosie as well as I– I pity anything that dares to trouble that girl.” He sighed heavily, eyes cast low towards the cup he kept cradled between his hands. All three of them fell back into silence.

Though not much about the house had changed since she’d last seen it, Shaesa felt the loneliness as if it had seeped into the floor boards. This had never been a quiet place, but now it seemed pervasive. So thick that it was choking.

Shaesa scowled into her tea even as she sipped it. She could not help but feel guilt for her part in that. 

“...Why are you here, Shae?”

The question hardly stirred the stillness of the house, but still it felt like a hammer to the gut.

She swallowed, and ducked her head. “What? Am I no longer allowed to visit?”

Immediately, she knew that was the wrong answer.

For the first time since meeting him at the market, she saw anger in her father’s eyes, instead of exhaustion or relief.

He glared at her. “One would wonder, considering how long it has been.”

Her gut clenched. “It isn’t as though I wanted this. After what happened-”

“Do you think I care about your childish squabbles?! Reasons aside, at least they have enough care to let me know that they are alive. Which is less than I can say about my own daughter!” 

The accusation rang louder through the house than the storm outside, and it took everything for Shaesa to bite her tongue in the face of it. How could she have expected him to understand? He didn’t know even a fraction of the truth of it. What that man had put them all through, and how they had the nerve to defend him-  

But in spite of herself, the words still soured in her gut, something deep in her knowing that he was right. Maker, she hated that.

“Listen,” she said, grinding her teeth. “If I am no longer welcome here, then that’s fine. I can go find Shianni and Soris on my own. I didn’t come here to argue with you– I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” 

His frown deepened. “Shaesa.”

“No,” she shot back, shoving to her feet. “I refuse to sit here and be ridiculed after being the only one of them to care about this family. I am sorry that I’ve been gone so long, but I don’t regret a second of what I’ve done. Alistair and I have done a lot of good work these last ten years, meanwhile Ariya has been running around doing who-knows-what and Rosalie has been sheltering the man who tried to sell you into slavery!” 

Alistair’s hand brushed hers, a warning furrow in his brow. “Shae…”

She slapped his hand away. She didn’t want to be talked out of this. “No. I’m done. I thought maybe you might be happy to see me after all these years, but I see now I was wrong.” She spun on her heel and grabbed her things, quickly throwing them over a shoulder as she stormed towards the door. 

 Behind her, she could hear Alistair’s muttered apology and the scrape of his chair, but all of it was muted beneath the rush of blood hot in her ears. Alistair had been right to be hesitant, this had been a mistake. Her head throbbed and her eyes stung, but she threw open the door with a strength that belied ten years of hard fought battle and survival. 

Immediately, the rain swallowed her as she stepped outside, seeping into her clothes and soaking her hair to the base all over again. The cold was biting and scornful, no longer familiar to her skin. Shunning her, as it would an outsider. Alistair’s footsteps splashed after hers, but she neither waited nor even slowed for him. She just wanted to get away now– out of the rain and far from here. A place where she could warm her hands in peace.

 They were blanched white now, though. Clenched and shaking against the cold and anger. Her skin stung where a simple silver band sat snug on her finger, only freshly put there for a few weeks now.

She had meant to share the news.

She had been a fool.

[cj-writes-stuff]

watercolors of some Dragon Age gals my warden Rosalie Tabris, my friend's inquisitor Snow Adaar, and I already showed my inquisitor Ash Lavellan off but figured I might as well put her with the other two.

[whereismywarden]

Sad Mages Worldstate

OC Page (with full biographies) | Fanfictions

Ana Surana

LIs: Daylen Amell (pre-DAO); Alistair (DAO); Carver Hawke (post-DAO) Class and specialization: Mage (Arcane Warrior/Battlemage) Links: tag; fanfictions; visual references; masterpost

Born in the Gallows. Mother is Violette Surana and father is Orsino. Was then taken to an orphanage in Highever until her magic manifested and she was brought to Kinloch Hold.

Was close to Anders, Amell and Jowan while growing up (and Finn to a lesser extent).

Had a baby with Daylen Amell, Neriah, who was taken to an orphane in Kirkwall.

Main DAO choices include: romancing Alistair, making him king and the two of them breaking up as a result.

Finds her daughter after the Blight and adopts her with Alwyn Hawke’s help.

Starts dating Carver (whom she actually met at Ostagar where they had a brief fling before the Battle). Marries him after the Kirkwall Uprising.

Starts hearing the Calling shortly before DAI.

When Leliana finds her, she refuses her offer to become Inquisitor but is persuaded to become Commander of their forces. She brings Samson with her as her second in command.

Meets her mother after the explosion of the temple and learns that Cullen is her half-brother.

Retires after Corypheus’ defeat because she’s still hearing the Calling.

Eventually disappears without a trace.

Alwyn Hawke

LIs: Anders (DA2); Rylen (post-DA2) Class and specialization: Mage (Force Mage) Links: tag; fanfictions; visual references

Purple Hawke.

Had a sister, Violetta, who died in a boating accident when they were young.

Carver becomes a warden.

Supports the mages.

Is in an on and off relationship with Anders during the course of the game but breaks up with him for good after the Chantry explosion, wishing he’d trusted him enough to share his plan with him.

Later falls in love with Rylen before fleeing Kirkwall.

Is the first one to learn about Ana hearing the Calling.

Carver is his contact in the Grey Wardens during Here Lies the Abyss. Carver stays behind in the Fade.

Violette Surana

LIs: Orsino (one night stand, pre-DAO); Torin Rutherford (former husband, pre-DAO); Raleigh Samson (DAI) Class and specialization: Mage (Necromancer) Links: tag; fanfictions; visual references; masterpost

Hates the Chantry.

Orlesian who grew up serving King Meghren in Ferelden during the occupation.

Was taken to the Gallows at age 13.

Was a close friend of Malcolm Hawke.

Had a baby (Ana) who was taken by the Chantry.

Escaped shortly afterward and met Torin Rutherford with whom she had three children (Cullen, Branson and Rosalie; Mia was born to a previous marriage).

Failed to prevent Cullen from joining the templars.

Trained Rosalie after she turned out to be a mage.

Was caught by the templars after they witnessed her use her magic to protect her familly during the Blight.

Was taken to Ostwick’s Circle.

Attends the Conclave in the hopes that some of her children might be there.

Meets Ana for the first time after joining the Inquisition.

Starts sleeping with Samson.

Cullen is Corypheus’ general.

Hardened Leliana becomes Divine.

Is reunited with the rest of her children.

Disbands the Inquisition and swears to stop Solas at all cost.

Helps the Wardens in their search for a cure to the Blight, hoping to save both Ana and Cullen from the corruption.

Other OCs

Neriah Amell-Hawke: Ana and Day’s daughter, later adopted by Carver when he married her mother; Anders trained her as a healer.

Daylen Amell: died during Broken Circle.

Elaine Cousland: Nathaniel’s ex-wife, now married to Sebastian.

Kallian Tabris: escaped the slavers who kinapped her and her father during the Blight; returned to Denerim; became Alistair’s mistress.

[et-dracones]

Muses

A working list of the muses on this blog. Will update as muses are added and also do character pages for each later.

Alistair Theirin 

Anders

Anora Mac Tir

Aurelia Tabris (City Elf Warden OC)

Aveline Vallen

Bethany Hawke

Cailan Theirin

Callum Hawke (Purple/Red Hawke OC)

Carver Hawke

Cassandra Pentaghast

Claire Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Cremisius Aclassi

Cullen Rutherford

Declan Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Evelyn Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Everett Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Fenris

Gabriel Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Hava Lavellan (Elf Inquisitor OC)

Josephine Montilyet

Kenton Hawke (Blue/Purple Hawke OC)

Lauryl Cousland (Human Noble Warden OC)

Leanore Hawke (Purple Hawke OC)

Leliana

Maxwell Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Nathaniel Howe

Nelaros

Oghren

Persephone Trevelyan (Human Inquisitor OC)

Rosalie Amell

Shianni Tabris

Soris Tabris

Theron Mahariel

Varric Tethras

Zevran Arainai

[dracotempora]

Muse List - to be updated

The Wardens

Aurelia Tabris - Hayley Kiyoko

Lauryl Cousland - Sophie Turner

Rosalie Amell - Zendaya

Theron Mahariel - Jay Park

The Champions

Callum Hawke - Jonathon Groff

Kenton Hawke - Ben Barnes

Leanore Hawke - Lily Collins

Abigail Hawke - Katheryn Winnick

The Inquisitors

Gabriel Trevelyan - Bradley James

Maxwell Trevelyan - Valery K

Evelyn Trevelyan - Natalie Dormer

Everett Trevelyan - Drew Van Acker

Hava Lavellan - Chou Tzuyu

Hissera Adaar - Rihanna

Macaria Cadash - Amber Rose Revah

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

My favorite thing my warden says in combat is "Have you no concern for your own existence!?"

She says it in every fight, I love it so much. Every time I replay, Rose needs to have the wise voice, I need to hear her say her battle catchphrase a million times per playthrough.

But my favorite time she's ever said it was when we went back to Ostagar. We've got Rose, Alistair, the mabari, and Wynne all together reliving the trauma of the battle right before we head to the landsmeet. We're actually super close to the end game so tension's high.

We're fighting darkspawn, but uh oh! "Look there--a cunning trap!" over by the stairs!

I rush Rose over there to disarm the trap, only to get interrupted by the last hurlock jumping in my way... and I see Alistair step in the damn thing just as Rose shrieks, "Have you no concern for your own existence!?"

I know in my heart of hearts that she actually said that to him. Alistair cannot stop himself, if there's an obvious bear trap on the floor, my man's gonna step in it.

By the way, I wanna know other people's favorite things their warden says. I know the ladder comment is a popular one for the violent voice, but I wanna hear all the others.

[rosella-writes]

Rooooooooo you keep opening your prompts and I keep handing you Rosalie/Leli fluff, that's the deal right? I'm making that the deal. So for Rosalie/Leliana, from the ways to say I love your prompts, "Through a song" 🥺

YES I think so!! seems fair enough. 💚 Also for @a-song-in-the-stillness who requested the same prompt for the same pairing. For @dadrunkwriting

Relationship: Leliana x Rosalie Tabris Rating: T Words: 322

Leliana always fell asleep under Rosalie’s watch. Rosalie didn’t mind. She watched over her, as she wished she could have watched over Shianni, as Shianni had watched over her the morning of her wedding day. It was almost a little gift the bard had given her, this chance to look at her face lit by the fire, unmarred by piety or artificial laughter. She almost looked… sad, as much as she looked peaceful in dreams. 

More nights than not, Rosalie found herself humming songs she had known since she was a small child. Her memories of the words were distant, filtered through many drowsy evenings and too many sleepless nights, but she could still hear them in her mother’s voice. She hummed them to Leliana as best she could — little tuneless mumbles, paired with the odd Elvhen word she could recall. Sometimes Leliana’s vivid blue eyes would blink back open, bleary with sleep, and she would smile as Rosalie hurriedly hushed herself and looked away. 

~~~

After a while, Rosalie began to hear that familiar hum, as pervasive and near as the darkspawn’s sickly music in her mind but much more sweet. It thrummed ever stronger as she received blows and dealt them — as she gored a hurlock with her dagger — as she cleaved its head from its shoulder with the longsword in her main hand — as she turned first to Leliana to be sure she was unharmed, then the others one by one. The song, whether she herself hummed it or it was a figment of her imagination, felt as if it strengthened her strikes along with her resolve.

It was only when Leliana smiled, slid her bow back onto her back, and said, “Quietly she goes, right?” that Rosalie realised the song had ended. As they pieced through the rubbage and burned the putrescence of the slain darkspawn away, the humming resumed — it was beautiful in the tones of Leliana’s voice.

[rosella-writes]

and here's the thing, I was looking at the prompt list and I was like but what if. what if I also sent one for Loghain & Tabris uwu

❛ you’re not getting rid of me that easily.❜

>:] thank you beloved. For @dadrunkwriting

Rating: T Words: 617

~~~

The Warden was naught but a girl, but she carried a familiar sense of indignant rage — it did not help matters that she still wore her hair in two braids, pinned at the nape of her neck, as the ladies in Denerim did. The rage — and the blonde wisps of hair coming free of her plaits — was as familiar to Loghain as the back of his own hand. 

But he blinked, and the remembrance of his own daughter was gone. 

Rosalie Tabris still paced before the fire. She had not removed the armour she’d met Riordan in, and it was stained with an echo of blood in its seams from her encounter with Loghain’s second in command. Loghain doubted that the rusty red would ever come out. 

“You heard the man,” Loghain grumbled. He turned his gaze towards the hilt of his sword, and picked at the leather wrapping it until it swung from his hip. “He plans to take the fall, but if he fails —”

“He won’t fail,” Rosalie snapped. 

“If he fails,” Loghain repeated, and he heard the same tone in his voice as he’d used in conference with Cailan, “we must be prepared. It must be one of us. Better that I make the final blow, if I am to be any further use to Ferelden.”

The fire crackled on the grate. Rosalie’s pacing resumed, and her boots clicked on the stones. “I could leave you at the gate. Guard my retreat, prevent them from following and cutting us off. That’s how your mind works, right? You’ve got it full of military strategies and —”

“No,” Loghain sighed. 

Rosalie halted in her tracks and glared at him through lividly gold elfin eyes that reflected the fire near her feet. “You’ll do as I say.”

He felt a sad smile crease his craggy face. “You will not be rid of me so easily.”

Rosalie’s jaw tightened. Her ears flicked back, one at a time, with the force of her anger.

“We will remain at one another’s backs,” he insisted. “I am surprised at you. You should know better than to give me a chance to repeat the same tactic I used at Ostagar.”

Her expression did not change, but the droop of her ears still betrayed her. “I had hoped,” she finally grumbled, “that you would, in fact, quit this particular field. It would be utter folly to kill off all Fereldan Wardens in one fell swoop.”

Loghain shook his head tiredly — his braids brushed his shoulders with the motion. He closed the distance between himself and the Warden with a few loping strides, then took up her hand with awkward hesitance. She turned that hand into a fist between his palms, but she did not jerk it away. 

“Against all odds,” he muttered, “I have grown fond of you. You are a better friend than I ever thought to find, and all despite the harm I have done to you and your family. Let me give you this.”

Rosalie’s glare was scorching, but her eyes were no longer hard mirrors of flame. They instead were oddly glossy and wet as they stared up at him from beneath furrowed brows. He gave her hand a quick shake of emphasis as he went on. 

“Think of your bard. Think of the flowers you have yet to give her. Think of the songs she has yet to sing to you. I would not deprive you of them, not when I have so little life of my own worth living.”

Rosalie finally lowered her gaze and clenched her eyes shut — two tracks of tears fell down her cheeks, cutting through the dust upon them like rivulets of melting snow.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

[half agony, half hope] ch4: in the quiet desert, reminders are sought

ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 Read on AO3

Pairings: Warden!Carver/Merrill; some side M!Hawke/Anders and F!Tabris/Alistair Rating: M Chapter Summary: Having acquired confidential records from the archives of Weisshaupt Fortress, Warden-Commander Rosalie and her companions have a lead in the right direction. Unfortunately, Warden Carver won't be able to accompany them as he and his beloved companion have a long trip to Kirkwall to make, and a lot of feelings to sort out. But first: dwarven ale.

Note: I wanted to have this chapter out sooner but silly me got sick and needed some recovery time. I'm feeling better now, and was able to finally have some fun with Carver and the Grey Wardens.

I also want to note that this story takes place in my King Cailan Lives AU; it's not super relevant or important right now, but has a greater purpose in later chapters. Just throwing that out there since he's mentioned a few times. I promise it'll make sense, you just gotta stick with me! Thank you for reading!

-x-

In the southern Anderfels, there’s a desert made of dusty windstorms and prickly edges; a jagged butte rightfully called the Broken Tooth. Weeds and thick vines, some as dark as coffee grounds, others as light as tea leaves, grew all around Weisshaupt Fortress, the desert’s centerpiece. As impressive and intimidating as the Grey Wardens who occupied it.

Within the walls of stone, all decorated with elaborate tapestries that honored the order, whispers breathed new life into the stale air with piqued interest and anticipation. Not all were impressed, though; among them were a few dubious glances and cynical grumblings.

It was the second visit to the fortress made by the Hero of Fereldan; the only Grey Warden to ever kill an Archdemon, to accept the soul of an Old God within, and to survive.

An elven woman from the alienage of Denerim, conscripted upon facing execution for the murder of an Arl’s son, Warden-Commander Rosalie Tabris was a topic of speculation within the order. Most believed the story she spun for them—a witch saved her and Warden Alistair at Ostagar, and another witch’s magic ritual saved them against the archdemon.

Other’s believed it a fabrication, and spat scrutiny at the way she commanded the wardens under her at Vigil’s Keep.

But this time, Rosalie did not walk through the gates alone.

On her left was a dwarf with hair the color of fresh blood and the smell of an entire brewery on his breath; Warden Oghren, another hero of the fifth blight. On her right walked another dwarf with a casteless tattoo on her cheek, dawning armor pieced together of both Grey Warden and Legion of the Dead outfits; Warden Sigrun, recruited shortly after the Grey Wardens settled in at Vigil’s Keep.

And then there was the man who followed closely behind them with the distinctive chin and prominent dimples in his smile—Warden Carver Hawke, who towered over his companions, an impressive warrior with the silverite greatsword on his back.

And interestingly, if not amusingly, a rather large nug followed at his heels, of all things. The creature was larger than the average nug; fleshy pink with a grey patch around the right eye and a stripe down the back, creepy looking feet, and a ringlet for a tail; and had the temperament of a protective mabari.

Carver’s face was the one most at Weisshaupt recognized. Stroud brought him there as a warden still recovering from his Joining, but he had little time to form any long-lasting bonds.

Though he hadn’t intended nor expected it, Carver brought the Hero of Fereldan to Weisshaupt the first time. Rosalie showed up unannounced and demanded to see him, refusing to divulge her reasoning or say how she knew he was there at all. While questions were pressed, no one could deny her.

After speaking for only an afternoon, he agreed to go back to Fereldan with her.

Now Warden Carver served at Vigil’s Keep with great loyalty to the Hero of Fereldan and her cause, one that wasn’t so different from the order’s, but strayed enough that it had to be kept secret.

While that might’ve been a difficult task given that cause was the reason for their visit, the Grey Wardens were always good with their secrets. The wardens spent most of their visit in Weisshaupt’s expansive library, discretely inquiring after information and whispering to the shadows.

They found the information they sought, and departed in the dead of night with barely a goodbye.

-x-

Among all the coarse sand hills, insignificant boulders in every shade of brown, and the yellowing grass somehow thriving in the dry conditions, a makeshift camp was settled by the travelling Grey Wardens.

Three tents pitched around a lively fire, bags acting as extra weights to keep gusts of wind from blowing them away. The scent of dinner, a vegetable stew they scrapped together, still lingered with the smoke.  A distant howling, perhaps a wolf excited by the bright moon in the inky sky.

It would’ve been peaceful if not for Oghren’s abhorrent snoring. He didn’t even make it into his tent, but no one paid him much attention. Sigrun went to do a perimeter check, and to meet back up with Zevran, who the group hadn’t seen since he passed off stolen documents to them from the shadows.

That left Carver, his commander, and The Destroyer of Darkspawn on watch by the fire, but the most they fended off were the irritating bugs buzzing around.

Sat cross-legged on a heavy blanket a relaxed distance from the fire, Rosalie sifted through a stack of papers while Carver rested on his own blanket beside her. The Destroyer of Darkspawn—or DeeDee, if you prefer—lay at his side with her head in his lap, the heavyset nug peacefully snuffling in her sleep.

A restless night, like many, but this time it wasn’t due to the burdens of being a Grey Warden; nightmares of dripping black ichor, the screeching and gurgling of darkspawn, the whispers of broodmothers tingling behind his ear like a fingertip, tracing over the helix and down the back of his neck. It wasn’t even the buzz of new information they learned during their research that brought an anxious fluttering to his guts.

No, tonight his thoughts raced with conflicted cocktail of anticipation, enthusiasm, and dread over Kirkwall and everything that awaited him there. 

Admittedly, he thought he’d outgrown tantrums by now, but when Rosalie told him of Edgar’s letter and that she granted the request to give Carver leave, he was this close to throwing one.

With a hard tug, his hand was free of the gauntlet to rub at his face. Then off came the other, tossed over on packed bags, all stuffed with everything he and DeeDee would need for the journey and stay in the damned City of Chains.

The nug acknowledged the disturbance with a huff, long ears perking up, but relaxed when Carver soothed his hand down her pudgy back. Was it just him, or had she grown even bigger since they left Fereldan? She seemed heavier on his leg than before.

She’s definitely grown since he found her in Orzammar not that long ago. The Grey Wardens were regularly welcomed by King Bhelen for dinners and provings in their honor, and the last time Carver joined Rosalie, Alistair, and King Cailan, a “delicacy” of surface nug was on the menu.

Supposedly, DeeDee was found in the Arbor Wilds by dwarven butchers who sold exotic meats to Orzammar’s nobility, but Carver had no idea how she could feed anyone, not even a dwarf. Within the iron cage, she was a pathetic little thing like most other nugs. Noises that may have been the nug equivalent of growls emitted from her tiny body whenever anyone approached her cage. Maybe it was just chance he and Alistair happened by at the right moment, but whatever it was, he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating something so… helpless.

“Hey, distract the butchers for me. Keep their eyes off me.”

“Sure… wait, why?”

Not only did Carver gain a companion in DeeDee, who seemed to understand what fate he’d saved her from and followed him after he tried to set her free, but he also learned that Alistair made for a terrible dancer. It got the job done, though. 

DeeDee stretched out her legs and yawned, twisting to peer up at him with those beady eyes. Carver couldn’t help but grin down at her. The Destroyer of Darkspawn, as he initially named her, wasn’t the sort of companion he would’ve thought for himself, but he absolutely adored her.

Hopefully she got along with Fleabag. DeeDee and the Commander’s mabari, Griffon, often played and chased each other around the yards, but his beloved nug wasn’t exactly the friendliest creature when it came to first impressions. He didn’t want to hear Edgar complain about DeeDee beating up his dog.

Carver’s smile faltered.

Maker, he hadn’t even told his brother about DeeDee yet; hopefully his brother didn’t object Carver’s companion.

They wrote as often as they could, but Carver was far less elaborate on the fine details of his life; “Dear Edgar, how are you? Fereldan’s still Fereldan. Killed some darkspawn the other day. King Cailan visited Vigil’s Keep for dinner. Going to Orlais next week. Alistair says hello. Give my love to Mother. Your brother, Carver.”

It’s mostly because he couldn’t share certain things about the Grey Wardens, but also the vulnerability that came with sharing his life now became distressing. He knew his brother too well. Every letter Carver sent was probably waved around and shared with anyone who would listen. Not out of malicious intent, but because that’s just how Edgar was.

He always asked if Carver could come home to visit in every reply without fail, too. That part wasn’t anything new, except this time his brother changed his strategy, no doubt succeeding thanks to the sewer dweller he was smitten with, the bastard.

And given Rosalie and Alistair raised their daughter, Aria, in secret at Vigil’s Keep and often visited family in Denerim, allowed Oghren to take leaves to visit his son and ex-wife, as well as Nathaniel to see his sister… it’s unsurprising that they granted the request.

It’s not that he didn’t want to see his brother or return to Kirkwall, but Carver had a calling now. A duty to fulfil that his brother couldn’t possibly understand; to help save the world from facing the twisted corruption brought on by the taint… to make sure no one he loved ever had to face the underground horrors of broodmothers and their children, to succumb to destructive madness.

Even though the taint flowed in his blood, there was a freedom that he hadn’t felt before. Once Carver was a child with a collection of maps and flags. Now he’s a man who travels to those places he once dreamed of seeing with a purpose.

The Grey Wardens didn’t merely tolerate him. They all experienced the Joining, and witnessed the deaths of those who didn’t survive taking the taint into their bodies. All had made their own sacrifices, suffered nightmares and grief. Some bonds were stronger than others, but they all shared the same home now and there was comfort in that. Even if—even when they found the cure they sought, there was little fear in his mind that they would all part ways forgotten.

He had a Commander who recognized his worth and trusted his judgement out on the field. He had DeeDee who would follow him everywhere and looked at him with the adoration he once thought only a mabari could have. He and Alistair went for early morning runs and had afternoon tea with Aria and all her toys. Drinking contests with Oghren. Debates and—mostly—good-natured quarrels with Velanna about mundane things. Prank wars with Sigrun that always ended with Nathaniel as the loser despite not even participating. The newest warden, Ivun, a one-eyed elven fellow Rosalie conscripted to prevent him from hanging for theft, shared Carver’s interest in Fereldan history and lore.

 He trusted them all with his life down in the Deep Roads, when facing the soulless horrors of darkspawn, just as he cherished their time working together at Vigil’s Keep and Amaranthine.

He's more now than he ever was before the Deep Roads Expedition. Being a Grey Warden finally brought him out into the light away from his big brother’s shadow, and part of him wanted everyone who ever doubted him to see that. Five years ago, Carver was just Edgar Hawke’s little brother. A tagalong only put up with because everyone liked his brother, and he could swing a sword well enough. Yes, he was an ass back then. It did little to improve his popularity, he could admit that.

But he’s older now. He’s a respected warrior of the Grey Wardens, serving under the Hero of Fereldan. Everyone at Vigil’s Keep, and most citizens of Amaranthine, knew his name. He had more than enough coin flowing to never worry about living comfortably. Carver drew the eyes of the lovely noblewomen, unmarried or otherwise, who casually inquired after details; “Tell me, has anyone caught the fancy of Warden Hawke?”

And he wished… he wished Mother could see him. Bethany and Father, too. See that he did become someone uneclipsed and worthy, someone they could be proud of.

Carver would love nothing more than to boast all of that to Edgar. And to Aveline. And to all of his brother’s friends who believed he wouldn’t amount to anything, who didn’t even like having him—

“If you had a pet griffon, what would you name it?”

“A griffon?”

“I would name mine Feathers. Griffons don’t eat people, do they? What if it got out and ate the neighbors?”

“Eh, if it did, the neighbors probably deserved it. Actually… that’s what I’d name mine: Neighbor Eater.”

“Really?”

“That way no one can complain if he eats anyone. I’ll just tell them the name’s a warning; if you get eaten, it’s your own fault.”

“That… is the silliest name!”

“Is not!”

…No, that wasn’t true. There was…

Shit. Shit.

“I should go with you.”

The Commander only paid Carver half a glance. Another obnoxious snore rang from Oghren, followed by slurred grumbling.

“Kirkwall can wait a little longer,” he said, composing himself. DeeDee peered up at him, listening as well. “We finally have a good lead. If it’s true, and Fiona’s in Montsimmard, I should be there when you talk to her.”

A slow nod. Rosalie read the documents like if she glared hard enough, the pages would forfeit some secret information hidden from the eye. And who knows, maybe they would. He’d certainly spill his guts if she ever looked at him like that.

They’ve already discussed the information Zevran snatched from Weisshaupt’s confidential archives, courtesy of his inability to be sensed by other Grey Wardens and his deft thievery skills. They wouldn’t have resorted to stealing the documents if the Grey Wardens were more forthcoming, but somehow the Commander knew they wouldn’t let her waltz out of Weisshaupt with the only case reporting of a Grey Warden being miraculously cured of the taint—hence the forethought to sneak in their thieving confidant.

They wanted crucial information that could potentially bring the cure of the taint to all Grey Wardens, saving them from the fate of the Calling? Perish the thought!

Yet even for as thorough as they were, something in the reports didn’t add up. Carver wanted to go to Kirkwall, but he wanted to know how ex-warden Fiona cured herself of the taint from the woman herself even more.

“If you don’t go,” Rosalie finally spoke with a perked brow, but still didn’t pay him any glance, “then can I expect another letter from your brother? Or should we have a room made up for him when he inevitably storms the keep?”

Carver chuckled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, there are more important things than my brother’s bullshit. He can wait.”

That got a snicker out of the elven woman. “Have you ever told him that?”

“More times than I care to count,” said Carver flatly, then sighed. “Look, if you’re going to the Circle, you’re going to need me. The templars may have no authority over you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try something.”

“I’m aware.” Rosalie finally looked to him with an amused, knowing smile. “Many templars tried to take Anders away after I conscripted him, and I hear Greagoir threw a fit when the rumors about Justice reached Kinloch. Then one of their seekers showed up to have a chat with me. Lovely one, that.” She rolled her eyes, straightening out the stack of papers to tuck them in her bag. “And they think I don’t know about their attempts to send undercover templars to snoop around the keep. I’ve only met a few in the order who aren’t complete pricks. Alistair says it’s part of their oath.”

There’s a sentiment Carver shared. His whole life centered around not drawing attention from the Chantry and its templars. He could still only name enough decent ones on a single hand. Alistair once told him that if Fereldan wasn’t left in a such a delicate state after the Blight, King Cailan would’ve sought an effective way to “kindly shoo them out.”

“That’s why I should be there.”

“Your concern is sweet, Carver, but you needn’t worry about us. Besides, we’re not going to Orlais so soon. Unfortunately, there’s still much to do here.”

“I have to go through Orlais anyway,” Carver pressed. “I see no reason to separate just yet. What’s another month or two?”

The Commander looked at him then, studying, but not unkindly. “I thought you’d be more eager to get away. Even if you get sick of your brother and Anders, surely you can busy yourself with other fun things.”

“You’ve never been to Kirkwall, have you?”

“Alistair said it was a charming place until the qunari started attacking people.”

“Most places are.” Carver shifted, fidgeting with the indigo material of his uniform. “I still don’t feel right about leaving, and for that long.”

“I’m sure you’ll have so much fun that it’ll pass before you know it.”

“Maybe. But…” Carver shook his head, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

Silence fell over them, save the continual snoring of Oghren, as Carver avoided the quizzical stare of his commander.

In truth, Carver debated confiding in her or Alistair before about… about certain things, given their relationship. Except doing so would mean he’d actually have to talk about the night before he left for the Deep Roads expedition and…

The distant memory of a sweet laugh echoed, paired with a smile just as adorable. So familiar, so poignant. Eyes like the vivid forest of the Emerald Graves, brightened by battle and triumph. Many evenings spent at the tavern, drinks in hand. Enthused ramblings about everything and nothing. Delicately inked markings over flushed cheeks—

 “Uh, you have mud on your face.”

“Oh? …Did I get it?"

"No, other side, uhm… May I?”

Maker’s breath. He believed he’d outgrown blushing just as he’d outgrown tantrums, but a shame long pushed out of his mind crept back to paint his skin scarlet. In vain effort, Carver ran a hand over his face to wipe the tire from his eyes, and perhaps to hide from the inquiry of his commander.

He’d done so damn well to not dwell on stupid faults anymore. Hadn’t he wasted enough time coping with his own bitterness and remorse for what happened? No matter how many times he replayed it all in his mind, nothing changed—he made a mistake and ruined everything.

“Carver?” Rosalie’s soft voice sent a jolt through his gut. “What’s bothering you?”  

Carver stared into the fire. Or through it, not truly caring to see the mesmerizing dance of the flames. When he spoke, melancholy teased his tongue.

“Merrill.”

Her name hung in the warm night air, unable to be taken back. Real. True. When he finally glanced at his commander, she asked a simple question.

“And who is Merrill?”

Too bad the answer was complicated.

“A girl I knew,” Carver replied quietly. “Before I caught the blight.”

Rosalie nodded, then asked, “A girl you knew, or a girl you knew?”

A silent wince. Carver scratched behind his neck.

“A friend. My only friend from Kirkwall, actually. We…” he trailed off, throat gone dry. He swallowed thickly, shifting uncomfortably and disturbing DeeDee. Alert to the new tension radiating off her master, the heavy nug sat up in search of danger in the surrounding area. “We parted on… I don’t know. Bad terms? No, I- I made an ass of myself and…”

 And he did something he shouldn’t have done; in a moment of quiet tenderness amid a thunderstorm, knowing that morning would come, and he’d spend Maker knows how long in the blighted Deep Roads… he almost kissed her.

He’d hoped that the way she looked at him meant something more, that she went out of her way to spend so much time with him because she returned his affection… but he should’ve known better. Merrill’s heart was kind, and she treated everyone like that; he wasn’t anything special.

“I take it you two haven’t spoken since then?” Rosalie interrupted his thoughts.

“No.”

“And this will be the first time you see each other in…?”

“Five years. Give or take.”

Damn… how has it been that long?

Concerned noises rumbled in DeeDee’s throat as she scrambled up into Carver’s lap, planting her feet against his chest plate, nose twitching up toward his chin. He believed the nug was too smart for her own good, attempting to soothe her unease by scratching her neck. Without thought, Carver said, “I bet she’ll adore you.”

Shit.

Merrill would be there with the rest of them. It’s inevitable that Edgar would drag him to the Hanged Man and there she’d be… sitting at the same table they always sat at as if no time has passed.

“You’ve never written to her, I assume.”

Carver shook his head. “And she’s never written me.”

That’s how he knew. Edgar and Mother wrote him, and Gamlen sent a few letters hoping to squeeze coin out of him. Varric occasionally wrote, too. Even Isabela sent him a package once with a book baring a scantily clad templar on the cover; “it reminded me of you, Little Hawke.”

Not a single letter from Merrill.

“May I ask what you did to make an ass of yourself?” asked Rosalie.

“I told her how I felt.” Carver chuckled, the sound more bitter than he intended. “But she’s Dalish, and since I’m human… well, we all know how that goes.”

“Oh.”

 “It was stupid,” he grimaced. “I didn’t plan it or anything, not exactly. I overthought everything, and it felt right, in the moment. The look on her face… Now I wish I hadn’t said anything at all.”

“I see.”

Carver maneuvered DeeDee off of him, who snorted in protest, settling her comfortably at his side so he could better stretch out his legs. He continued, “I didn’t really have anyone else. We lost everything when we fled Fereldan. No one but mercenaries and thugs wanted to hire me. Ed was always running off without me. Merrill just came to the city from her clan, and somehow we grew close.… I don’t know, we got along. She was odd, very odd; not at all like the other elves in the city. But she was sweet.” He swallowed thickly. “I liked that about her.”

He had liked a great deal about her; kind, witty, perplexing, beautiful Merrill. Brilliance touched her mind in a way that made her, in Carver’s opinion, the most resilient and impressive mage he ever met. Sure, Anders was Circle-trained, and Father taught Edgar and Bethany to wield their magic well, but none of them had the quirks Merrill had. The only comparably skilled mage he knew was Velanna. Maybe it’s a Dalish thing.

The blood magic made him uneasy at the time, but even then he knew it wasn’t inherently evil like the Chantry preached. Merrill never used it when she didn’t have to, nor did she allow it to corrupt her mind. Now that Carver was a Grey Warden and had to stomach everything ugly but necessary, Merrill’s ways with blood magic didn’t seem nearly as consequential. After all, what was the Joining if not a blood magic ritual used to create more Grey Wardens?

But what mattered was she saw him as more than just Hawke’s little brother or the tagalong, she didn’t shy away or grow intimidated by his presence like a lot of city elves did, and she was the truest friend he had in a long time. Carver didn’t quite know how to accept her off-hand compliments or encouragements, even after spending so much time together, but they meant everything to him. If there was ever anyone he cared about in Kirkwall, aside from his brother and mother—and maybe Aveline, if hard-pressed enough to admit it—it was Merrill.

From beside him, Rosalie scooted over to grab DeeDee, who huffed at the Commander for foiling her plans of sneaking back into Carver’s lap. “Just a stab in the dark,” she started, brow arched, “but it sounds like you still care for her.”

“No,” Carver responded, defensive yet surprised at his own firmness. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t care, but I’ve moved on. I’m a Grey Warden. I’m on borrowed time, and I won’t waste it pining over something that’s never going to happen.” He meant every word, too. “I’d rather focus on what’s important, like what we’re doing; fighting darkspawn, and investigating this stuff with Fiona.”

“There will always be an endless pit of darkspawn, and a need for Grey Wardens to fight them. There’ll even be future Blights,” Rosalie said. “And as important as that is, I’m of the opinion that other things can be important, too.” Then, she smirked at him. “That’s why I’m so unpopular with Weisshaupt.”

Carver laughed. “Unpopular? Come on, some of those men wanted to worship you at your feet.”

She wrinkled her nose at that. “And the rest believe I’m a liar and undeserving of my title,” she reminded him. “My point is that I appreciate your dedication to this. I couldn’t ask for a better warrior.”

Pride swelled in Carver’s chest, yet found himself sheepish in looking away.

“But sometimes we need a reminder of what it is we’re actually fighting for,” the Commander continued. “Why devote our lives to a battle with darkspawn to save the world from their corruption if we’ve nothing to save? Why seek a cure to the taint if we’ve nothing to live for?”

A glint caught Carver’s eye; the fire that reflected off the golden band his commander wore and twisted on her finger.

“I have Aria to think of,” she said softly. “And Alistair, and my father. Shianni, Soris and his family. Everyone I left behind and lost in the alienage. Those who fought at my side during the Blight. All of you, and everyone back in Vigil’s Keep. King Cailan, and all of Fereldan. They’re who I do all this for, and—” Rosalie knocked her shoulder with his, “—I think it’ll be good for you to go home and gather your reminders, too.”  

Carver hung his head with a heavy sigh.

His reminders, huh? He already had reminders all around him. Reminders that lived inside him and wore Bethany’s face and crippled Father’s body, that screamed the terror of his fallen comrades at Ostagar, all haunting his nightmares. Every letter he received from his brother. Every thought about Mother that brought the reality that she was gone, and he’d never see her again. Memories of fleeing Lothering as it crumbled. All the little things he tried to ignore because he refused to keep mourning what he and Merrill had.

But… he understood what the Commander meant.

“And I think you and this friend of yours have a lot to discuss.”

“Do we?” he asked dryly. Merrill didn't want anything to do with him now; she made that loud and clear.

With another bump to his shoulder, Rosalie nodded over across the fire to beyond the camp where two familiar figures approached. DeeDee took the opportunity to escape her lap into Carver’s, long ears standing alert as she sniffed the air.

“You’ll have plenty of time to think about it,” Rosalie said, arm raised to greet Sigrun and Zevran. “You have a long journey ahead of you yet.”

Right. Getting back to Kirkwall wouldn’t be a short trip, but he had the coin to make the journey easier. At least this time he wouldn’t spend two weeks in a stuffy ship of refugees. At least DeeDee seemed to like the traveling they did, though how the people of Kirkwall would react to seeing an aggressively protective nug, he didn’t know.

“Look who I finally found!” Sigrun called. “For a while there, I thought he might’ve fallen into a sinkhole or something.”

Zevran laughed, hand pressed to his chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time, but alas, it turns out it’s far easier to break into Weisshaupt Fortress than it is to break out. Who would’ve thought? Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You had our expertise to help get you in,” Sigrun offered with a grin. “Seems that you’re not so sneaky on your own. Or competent.”

“Madam, you wound me!”

“Huh? Whazzat?!” Oghren jerked up, thrashing with drool matted in his beard. “Where are they?!”  Whipping around, recognition slowly spread in his eyes, and he relaxed. “Oh, s’just you.”

“Please, please, my stocky little friend, don’t get too excited at my return,” Zevran snickered, dropping a bag down on the ground. “I know how hard it is to contain yourself. You must’ve been sick with worry at my delay!”

“Bahh!” The dwarf managed to heave himself up to make a rude gesture toward the grinning elf. “I wipe my ass with worry, elf!”

“Smooth, Oghren,” said Sigrun, plopping herself down beside Carver and pulling off her helm. DeeDee eyed her, a cautious noise in her throat as if she believed she was the most intimidating creature in the desert. But Sigrun was hardly deterred, instead giving the nug a quick pat on the head before jerking her hand away with a giggle. One wouldn’t think it, but nugs can bite pretty hard.

Oghren wiggled his brows. “Heh, you’re smooth.”

“Ugh.” Sigrun rolled her eyes, holding her hand out to the nug as a sign of peace, telling DeeDee, “And just like that, I wish I fell into a sinkhole.”

 “Oh yeah? Y’know, ol’ Oghren can show you a real—”

“Oghren,” Rosalie snapped, shooting him a stern warning. The dwarf promptly shut up with only a further small grumble.

There was some strange comfort found in the fact that while Carver wasn’t always the most charming flirt or some suave womanizer, at least he wasn’t Oghren. He almost felt sorry for the man and both of his failed marriages… until he opened his mouth. The Commander seemed to be the only one he’d listen to when told to shut up.

“Come now, put away all the sour looks,” said Zevran, rummaging through his pack and shooting a smile at Carver. “I understand we’re to part ways soon, yes? I came across something terrifying yet intriguing among the racks when I crossed through the cellars on my way to the archives, and thought to myself, ‘Why, this could lead to a great many mistakes, potential trysts in the sand, and headaches in the morning. I must take it! This will give our rugged warrior something to remember us by while he’s off galivanting without us!’”

A dark, glass bottle with a worn, burgundy label was brandished for the group to see. Oooh’s sounded from the group. But, Of course, this piqued the interest of Oghren the most, who sniffed at the air as if he could tell what the unopened bottle contained through that snout of his.

Carver eyed the bottle. “Is that…?”

Sigrun clapped her hands together, startling DeeDee. “It is!”

“Fine dwarven ale!” Zevran laughed, admiring the bottle. “Old, too, given the layers of dust I had to blow away and how the label crumbles off at the touch.”

“Well, shave my ass and call me a nug!” Oghren hollered gleefully. “You actually did something of worth, elf!”

Rosalie scoffed. “Yes, because infiltrating Weisshaupt Fortress was a small feat.”  

Oghren gave a dismissive wave, then gripped at the air for the bottle like a hungry baby. “Whattya waitin’ for? Give it here!”

“Ah, ah, ah, I think not,” Zevran wiggled a condescending finger at the dwarf. “I did not steal this for you, my smelly friend.” The agile elf circled around the group to hand Carver the bottle with a wink before settling down beside Sigrun. “If anyone gets the first drink, it’s our dear friend who we must tragically part from soon.”

“But—but… augh,” Oghren conceded, though reluctantly. “Fine. But don’t go drinkin’ it all!”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” the Commander laughed. “One shot of that will knock you on your ass.”

“Hah! Maybe for a dainty little elf!”

Heavy in his grip, the black liquid inside sloshed thick against the glass, and while he couldn’t smell it, Carver still felt like gagging. Dwarven ale—nasty shit, like a sickly skunk pissed in a bottle of wine. Made the memory of the swallow at the Hanged Man seem luxurious.

Yet he couldn’t contain his wide, dimpled grin.

“Thinking of me, were you?” he asked Zevran.

“Your figure tends to dance across my mind at inopportune times, I admit,” the elf teased back.  “It is such a shame that once you depart, the only ruggedly handsome shoulders I’ll have left to admire are the ones in my memories.”

“Pfft,” Carver attempted to shrug that off, but the flattery flushed the tips of his ears anyway. “Sorry, Zev, it’ll take more than this to sweet talk me.”

“Is that so?” Zevran smirked. “I will keep that in mind.”

“Hey!” interjected Oghren impatiently. “If you two girlies are done paintin’ each other’s nails, let’s get drinkin’ already!”

“Keep talking, ass face, and I’ll let Sig down the whole thing,” threatened Carver.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would!”

“Ooooh, can I?” asked Sigrun gleefully. “Bet I could do it all in one gulp!”

“Heh, there’s a woman after my own heart.”

It’s amazing how quickly the man could switch from temper tantrum to perverted in a blink of an eye.

With a dubious look toward the Commander, who gave Carver an encouraging nod, he uncorked the bottle. The sickening scent was like a fist to the face, and DeeDee made an offended squeal as she attempted to knock the bottle from his hand.  

“Ah, as foul as I remember,” Rosalie recoiled, leaning away from Carver and coughing. “It’s like I’m back at Tapsters.”

“Maker, when was the last time we had this stuff?” he cringed, keeping the bottle in the air away from DeeDee. “After Ivun’s Joining?”

“Poor guy,” Sigrun said, snatching up the protesting nug to hold her close. “Made him drink darkspawn blood, then he survives only for us to give him a mug of dwarven ale to celebrate. I'm surprised he didn’t flee then and there. Or die, I guess.”

“Aye, that was a good night,” chuckled Oghren.

“I heard one of the groundskeepers found you face-down in the gardens in nothing but your smallclothes the next morning.”

“Heh heh, sure gave that old hag a good scare.”  

A disappointed sigh from the Commander.

“It was worth celebrating,” added Carver, growing solemn. “We finally had someone survive the Joining in… Maker, months? A year? I think it was well deserved.”

A murmur of agreement from everyone, then all eyes turned to him, anticipating the first sip of the bottle. A short sniff of the rim was enough to burn his throat. While he wasn’t as familiar with the ale as the dwarves were, Carver never forgot the taste or the way it burned his guts the first time he tried it.

“On the march to Ostagar, one of the soldiers in my unit brought a whole keg of this to camp,” he began. “Never heard of it before, but everyone said you had to be tough to stomach it.” Carver’s confidence faltered a little. “I was barely eighteen. Never had anything more than cheap beer before, but I wanted to impress all the older soldiers so they’d take me seriously. When it was my turn, I chugged down a full mug without stopping.”

Rosalie shook her head knowingly. “Oh no.”

“They were amazed until I vomited in the bushes.” Luckily, he built up a better tolerance since then, so Carver raised the bottle in a toast; “To a successful infiltration of Weisshaupt, and to finding our cure.”

One gulp. A second.

Everything inside him wanted to die a death even the taint couldn’t fathom.

Cold sweat perspired on his skin, and his heart raced.

A gagging cough.

“Gah, fucking void!” he choked.

All around him a joyous laughter erupted, and Carver found he was laughing through the pain, too. For good measure, as if his guts didn’t hate him enough, he took another swig.

“Shit! That’s—” he rasped, coughing. “That’s… pretty weak shit.”

Oghren threw his head back with an obnoxiously loud chortle. “Atta boy! Looks like you do have some stones on ya, after all!”

“Ha! Just for that, I’m drinking the rest!”

“What? HEY! PASS IT HERE, NUG-HUMPER!”

The bottle eventually made it Oghren, but not before the others had a taste, with Sigrun nearly downing the rest out of pure spite. She was nice enough to leave him an amount that wouldn’t even get DeeDee drunk. And yes, he pouted and grumbled for the rest of the evening before retiring to his tent.

Sleep didn’t come as easy to Carver as it did the drunken dwarf. Some nights were better than others, depending on where the day took him. Though the ale in his belly helped, it did little to fend off the anticipation of morning, nor did it keep his mind from wandering.

Kirkwall awaited him. A whole month spent living in an estate with his brother, being… normal. Whatever that meant. Familiar places and faces…

As he lay there in his tent, DeeDee curled up at his side, a murmur escaped his lips.

“I am a Grey Warden. I’m a damn good warrior. Let them see me as such.”

And let Merrill…

“Hang what Merrill feels. I don’t care anymore.”

A huff from DeeDee.

“I don’t care.”  

Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

Hey so you've posted a bit about replaying DA and I wanted to know if you have a canon run through

I do! I'm currently replaying through my canon run right now [with a few deviations here and there] because every time I finish a run, some time passes before I'm like, ".........I miss them." It makes doing an alternate run harder, too.

For DAO, I play as a rogue lady Tabris named Rosalie, or Rose. Dual-wielding ranger and dualist. Her most used party dynamic is Alistair/Morrigan/Zevran. She named the mabari Griffon after the tales of Grey Wardens and their griffons. Rose romanced Alistair, kept him a warden and made Anora queen. She considers Morrigan one of her closest friends until Morrigan reveals her true intentions for coming with them. I've written about that whole thing before. Honestly, as far as companions go, Rose becomes close friends with most of them... except Wynne, they tend to butt heads in a lot of ways.

Rose didn't want to become a warden and thinks most of their rules and secrets are bullshit. Duncan's excuse for not coming to help her and the other elven women Vaughan took is a driving force for her to defy that "we can't get involved" rule as much as she can during and post-blight. She sided with the mages in Kinloch and with their help saved Connor, made Bhelen king of Orzammar, and settled things between the Dalish and the werewolves peacefully by convincing Zathrian to end the curse. She executed Loghain at the Landsmeet since, y'know... he sold city elves, nearly including her father, to Tevinter slavers to fund his war so... in her eyes, he doesn't get to live after that.

This playthrough I did make a save to reject Morrigan's dark ritual to see what happens when the warden makes the ultimate sacrifice and it's the most unsatisfying ending. It's such a, "No no noooo we didn't deserve this! After everything we went through! Just for it to end like that??" hopeless feeling... which was then fixed when I went back and made my canon choice of begrudgingly accepting the deal [even though it mostly goes against Rose's character but I'm weak and selfish and want her and Alistair to live].

In DA2, I play as a male mage Hawke named Edgar, or Ed. Force mage and blood mage. His most used party dynamic is Carver/Merrill/Anders until Carver goes to the Grey Wardens, then it's Isabela/Merrill/Anders. He's mostly purple in personality, but occasionally dips into blue, and I can count the number of times he's gone red on one hand. He named his mabari Fleabag after Malcolm bought the pup from a traveling merchant who failed to mention he was flea ridden. Several baths later, the mabari was finally flea free but Ed decided he should never live it down and named him Fleabag.

Ed maxes out the friendships with everyone [yes, including Carver, Ed tries so damn hard with him] except Aveline, he maxes out her rivalry. They all side with him and the mages in the end. He romanced Anders. I once did a run where I romanced Fenris with Ed and even though I liked it, the whole playthrough felt wrong because romancing Anders is, like... a fundamental part of Ed's story now... Even though they break up in the end.

I've done all three options across different playthroughs when it comes to Anders; I've spared him, I've killed him, and I've told him to leave. My canon choice is to tell him to leave, and then let him join my party later after we've sided with the mages. It's hard to explain without writing a full essay, but Ed and Anders are pretty much life partners at this point. Even if it's no longer romantic because a huge amount of trust was broken, even if they never get back together in that regard, even if Anders will now be on the run for the rest of his life, whether or not Ed agrees with him [he does and he doesn't, it's complicated] like... Ed loves him and he'll always love him, y'know? He won't abandon him even when everyone tells him he should.....but then DAI happened uhhh

Finally for DAI, I play a lady mage Lavellan named Ashalle, or Ashlaen, or just Ash. She's a knight-enchanter who mostly does storm magic. I'd say DAI is the game where I have a pretty even party use that I rotate between; Cassandra/Varric/Vivienne, Solas/Sera/Blackwall, The Iron Bull/Dorian/Cole. She sides with the mages in Redcliffe and left Hawke in the fade [sorry Ed, and sorry Anders... and sorry Carver... and Varric]. When it came to picking a ruler for Orlais, she figured all options sucked but went with Celene and Briala. Ash drank from the well, and then disbanded the inquisition in Trespasser.

I dislike how DAI just kinda plops your inquisitor into existence with only a small paragraph explaining why they were at the conclave; I wish it had a DAO approach so that's what I did for my inquisitor. Before I start the DAI playthrough, I boot up DAO. Before she was Ashalle Lavellan, she was a circle mage named Ashlaen Surana who escaped with Jowan after he lied to her about being a blood mage. In the ten years pre-DAI, she lost Jowan. In her grief, joined the Dalish, changed her name, and eventually ended up at the conclave. It just adds a lot more meat and spice to the choices and interactions with companions and advisors since she keeps that part of her backstory a secret. After all, she helped a blood mage and then was accused of being one herself before fleeing; she doesn't want the inquisition to know that. All of her crafted staves are named after Jowan while her crafted robes are usually named after her conflicting identities and pieces of her past, too..... Oh, speaking of past, she romanced Cullen. Because of course.

With the context of all this, it becomes them reuniting after they may or may not have had a thing going on in the circle, but then she escaped and he believed she was actually a blood mage for ten years. Cullen sees her like "Ah. Yes. You. Whom I haven't met. Hope they're right about you. We've lost a lot of people to get you here. Glad you survived." when internally he's screaming "I know who you are, those tattoos fool me not! Why are you here?? To torment ME specifically??" Then there's Ash who takes a little longer to recognize him, and when she does, it solidifies that she needs to run after this because he knows who she is and why she fled, that's not good, she's not going back to the circle after all this is done.

But y'know... they work it out. Eventually.

That's my canon run through of all three games. I keep trying to talk myself into doing a full alternate canon run, but the only game I've successfully done a different route in is DAI with my male rogue Tristan Trevelyan whose backstory was that he's a pro-mage ex-templar. That was fun to see how different things play out, but I haven't managed it for the other two.

I'd like to play DAO as a more cutthroat warden who, unlike Rose, won't go out of their way to do kind things; they'll do what they deem necessary. I'd like to do a lady warrior Hawke run with Bethany as the surviving sibling, and I've tried before but every time I hit a point where I'm like ".....I miss Carver so much" and abandon the run. Like there's always something that makes me abandon the run. I almost abandoned Tristan's run, too, but somehow I pushed through and got invested. I dunno. One day I'll put on my big girl pants and just do it.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

some screenshots from my most recent playthrough of DAO featuring my warden Rosalie Tabris, her romance with Alistair, and her attempts to convince him that they should take a dragon egg home with them.  

Bonus: Rosalie bringing her very tall human boyfriend [who may or may not be next in line to become king of Fereldan] home to meet her father... 

[et-dracones]

Like for a starter from one of the Wardens: Aurelia Tabris, Lauryl Cousland, Rosalie Amell, or Theron Mahariel