#where they are asked to ''prove'' themselves to ''real fans'' by reciting a number of deep cut trivia and hard number-based stats

[kinnoth]

If I see ONE MORE FUCKING PERSON be like "well I played and finished the dlc, but I'll wait to draw my conclusions about the lore until after the vaati video comes out"

FUCKING WHAT. It's not vaati's fucking lore! That man is just another fan, just like you! He is not your authority!!! Fucking dig up your own lore! All the information you need is there! Walk around the fucking game, open your eyeballs, and draw your own fucking conclusions!!!!!

I swear to fucking God you are all such cowards about "getting it wrong" that you are denying yourself half the fucking experience of the game by refusing to engage with the lore until someone tells you what to think about it.

Get your heads out of your asses!!!!!

[lavendermenaceart]

The ouroboros effect

Genre: Fantasy, Semi-post apocolyptic

Themes: Death, spirituality, witches, magic, reincarnation

Words: 2,379

Reincarnation is a finite resource in Vidia's world and it's running out. Children are being born without souls, and her High Priestess believes she knows what they need to do.

It started 2 years ago. The religious will tell you it was the rapture, but there was no end to it. Babies being born with some kind of defect. All the tests were clear, fine. But, something was wrong. They were empty-eyed, their voices hollow and flat, even when they cried. The religious were saying they were soulless and scientists weren’t able to explain it.

People made memes about it, made videos describing their explanations, but nothing came as close to explaining it as the idea that souls were in fact real, and these children were born without them.

The amount of infanticide rose by 46% the first year, even higher in the second. People were becoming too scared to have children, so birth rates dropped significantly. The government tried everything to get people to start reproducing again to little success. Countries that struggled with birth rates struggled even more. Everytime scientists thought they had an explanation, it vanished into thin air.

As these children grew up, they would simply sit there. They could not talk or walk or eat on their own. There were people deemed “radicals” for still caring about these children’s lives. Despite cries from more conservative groups who believed these children were sent from satan himself, the government did nothing to alleviate the situation except for dumping more and more money into research.

With all that said, the religious were almost right. They almost hit the nail on the head. They failed to take into consideration the second most widely held belief in the world: reincarnation. Yes, reincarnation was real and as the human population grew the number of souls available dwindled and dwindled.

The things that the news cycle rarely covered alongside the soulless, was the changing of the seasons. Winter didn’t last longer than 3 months anymore and most days could be described as summer weather. Southern states known for their heat were becoming uninhabitable. People moved in mass from these states, midwestern and northern states becoming so crowded that all resources were spread thin. People were dying more and more often from things like hunger and thirst. The apocalypse was upon us.

And so people began prepping, people like Vidia Knoll. Vidia was resting on her bed, the ac in her cramped apartment going full blast as well as multiple fans facing her bed. She scrolled idley through her social media apps. Doing anything that involved more movement than need be was now frowned upon. Moving meant you were losing water, and you wanted to need water as little as possible in this new world. Vidia followed a lot of preppers, they all didn’t believe the same as she did but it was enough of a shared interest for her to keep tabs on certain people.

As she scrolled through her feed, a message notification slid down from the top of her screen, a light ding sounding. It was a message to the group-chat of her coven. Vidia felt anxiety roil in her stomach as she tapped on the notification.

It simply read “Get ready, we’ll be starting within the next two hours.” It was from the high priestess.

And so Vidia prepared. She was in charge of creating the ceremonial robes and bringing candles. Other witches in the coven would be bringing herbs, lighters, food and drink, as well as chalk. This was going to be a big ceremony, a very heavy spell. Vidia and all her coven would probably be sick for a while afterwards. It is going to take an immense amount of energy to complete the spell her coven had planned

She grabbed all of the robes, made of velvet with silk detailing. The symbol of her coven, a albino raven perched on a branch, embroidered in silk on the left breast, and intricate twining lines outlined the deep purple of the robes. It was some of her best, and hardest, work to date.

Vidia felt the discomfort in her stomach grow as she mulled over the spell and her coven’s goal. To make life on earth an ouroboros. Time would begin looping, from the start of the world to the end of it, and all the life around her would be recycled over and over until something changed. Until a better solution was found. She kept telling herself a better solution would be found. A way to generate new souls would be found one day.

She took the duffle bag with the robes in it and headed out of her cramped, plain apartment. It was a hot day, like every day was. There was nothing special in the air, no odd feeling, no feeling of greatness appeared to Vidia as she pressed the down button on the elevator.

People loitered outside their apartments, wishing for open space instead of the cramped 4 walls they all lived in. No one spoke to Vidia so she spoke to no one as she entered a crowded elevator. Soon she was making her way down the 50 floors of her apartment, awkward coughs or the shifting of clothes puncturing the silence. As she stepped out of the elevator and out of the high rise apartment building, the only kind that existed anymore, she was confronted with the hot pavement, that blocky and gray highrises all around her. Some apartments had balconies, no doubt the more expensive ones, where people sat and watched the street below. Some people dried their laundry by hanging it over the railing of their balcony. Watching water drip and then dissipate in the heat, Vidia made her way towards the slowly darkening horizon. Night was a rare thing, a small blessing in a world full of heat and stench and crowded buildings.

The streets were quiet and empty as she made her way to the cafe her high priestess owned. It was a small, quaint little shop with 4 or 5 tables inside, as well as the bookshelves that held their meeting place.

Vidia was craving one of her vanilla bean frappuccinos as she walked in and the smell of cold drinks hit her. People rarely ordered hot coffee anymore.

“Merry met, High Priestess Nora.” Vidia smiled and waved as she entered the empty cafe. The walls were a warm brown, fake plant life lining where walls met in sharp corners, and more fake plants hung from the ceiling in baskets.

“Merry met, Vidia. Did you bring everything?” Nora asked, a tall and buff woman with dark tan skin and the darkest brown eyes Vidia had ever seen.

“Yes, I have all the robes and candles. Everything looks beautiful.” She smiled as she leaned against the counter and Nora flipped the open sign to closed. “All the robes took me a while but I think you’ll be really happy.” Vidia bit her lip as she patted the duffle bag she had placed in the chair next to her. She couldn’t deny she was anxious for the Priestesses’ reaction. She had worked so hard on them, and work was something you did only when you had to, not in your free time. Work meant water, body heat, sweating.

“I’m so excited!” Nora clapped her hands together, walking back to where Vidia sat and opened the duffle bag. Nora looked tough, but she really was just a big softy on the inside. The thought made Vidia smile through her anxiety.

“Oh, Vidia, they are absolutely wonderful. Where did you get this fabric?” She held up a robe, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers, tracing the embroidery with an index finger. She looked back to Vidia with curiosity in her eyes.

“Oh, my grandma had an old store of fabrics from when she was younger. Velvet and silk are too expensive but I wanted these to be special.” Vidia shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though the praise made butterflies float around in her stomach.

As Nora placed the robe she was looking and feeling over back in the duffle bag, 5 other women walked into the cafe at once, chattering and giggling amongst themselves.

“Merry met, High Priestess, Merry met Vidia!” One of them, a blonde with green eyes, waved in greeting.

All five of the girls were carrying different things, one carrying satchels no doubt full of herbs, another carrying bundles of chalk, another carrying food, and the other was most likely carrying lighters in her purse.

“Merry met, ladies. Looks like we’re all prepared?” Nora was smiling, walking over to the bookcase and pressing on a bright green book that accepted the pressure her hand placed on it and the bookcase opened before her, leading to a dimly lit room. “I’ve got all the food, and I know Ruby and Damien have all their stuff.” A girl with bright aqua hair and brown eyes spoke up, looking to either side of her as everyone followed the High Priestess into the dim room.

“I’ve got all the lights!” A girl with brown hair and green eyes spoke up, shaking her purse.

“And i’ve obviously got all the herbs…” A woman with dark flowing hair and darker brown eyes lifted the satchels to prove her words.

As Vidia walked into the room, she took in her surroundings. It was a wide open space, with cool air blowing from an industrial AC. The walls were a dark lavender and the floors were interlocking planks of walnut. A table big enough for all seven of them sat with a black with golden trim table runner draped across it, and comfortable wooden chairs place around it to the left of the room.

“Alright, let’s light these candles and do this.” Nora said with determination shining in her brown eyes.

A trickle of anxiety filled the air as the girls set to work placing the white candles from Vidia’s bag in a circle in the middle of the room. Lighters were passed around and quickly heat filled the room as all the candles were lit one by one by the coven.

Nora turned the lights on, just the glow of the many candles filling the room and illuminating the women who gathered there.

They all came together in a circle, Nora, taking a piece of white chalk from Ruby, drew a circle around all of them, reciting what sounded like a poem in a booming voice.

“With this circle, I protect our energy. With this circle, I protect our work. With this circle, I cast out all unneeded energies. With this circle, I cast out all who wish us harm.” Nora finished the circle as she spoke the last word before walking to stand in the middle of it.

Vidia couldn’t help but think she looked beautiful in the warm candle light.

“So will it be.” The coven said all at once.

“Rose, scatter the herbs into the candles and speak what you must.” Nora nodded towards the dark haired girl.

Rose circled around the inside of the circle, throwing a mixture of petals and leaves and stalks onto the flames of the candle. An earthy, flowery scent filled the room as the candles flickered, smoke dancing up and up.

Rose returned to her space in the circle, whispering a little prayer that only Vidia barely heard. Surely, it was a prayer for protection.

“Ruby, offer The Energies food so they may be energized and see us fondly.” Nora nodded towards a girl with bright red hair and brown eyes.

Ruby made her way to the head of the circle, placing a plate of delectable meats and vegetables, saying a short prayer to the energies that made the world what it was to look on us kindly and offer help.

“Damien, offer the energies wine so they may be in a good mood, and so they know they are welcomed as family.”

Damien poured a glass of red wine at the head of the circle, next to Ruby’s food.

“And so we shall begin. Hold hands and concentrate all your energies. Follow my words.” Nora reach her hands out to either side of her, the circle slowly connecting and joining together.

Vidia could feel electricity in the air, and felt a slight wind blow through the room as they all connected hands. The Energies were pleased with the offering and with the politeness of the group. Vidia couldn’t help but smile at the magick that surrounded her. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she looked around the circle, everyone else smiling and a few giggles bubbling up from the group of women as the wind tickled their faces.

“Energies, Hear our plea.” Nora spoke loudly, not to the other women, but to the air in front of her. She looked so determined, her brows set. She was putting all of her energy into her words, so Vidia did when it was the circle’s turn to recite the words back. Energy tingled and danced in her chest, Vidia trying to manipulate it to lend power to her words.

“We….hear….your...plea.” Voices of unidentifiable gender spoke, quiet and soft. Vidia couldn’t help but jump a little. The coven had done magick together before, but never had The Energies talked back.

Nothing appeared before them, but they could all feel it. All around them, strands of energy twinkled and danced. White lines, passing through objects and through herself. Vidia watched as all the lines converged in the middle of the circle. Lines reaching from each woman, dancing and twining together. Another line, thicker than the rest, grew up into the ceiling. No, past the ceiling. Vidia watched it all happening before her eyes and couldn’t help but blink away tears. It was beautiful, and she was part of it. She helped bring such a sight into being.

Nora bowed gracefully to the energies, even though they came from everywhere.

“We are here to ask for your aid. We wish to bring an end to the soulless plaguing our reality. We ask that you do whatever is in your power to help us. We will praise you for the rest of our days in return.” Nora spoke, her eyes searching all around her as she waited for the voices to speak again.

“We...will give...what you….need...but….not...what you…..want.” The voice spoke so slowly, like syrup melting over warm pancakes. The Energies existed all around and inside of Vidia, she could almost hear what they were going to say before they spoke it.

“What is it that we need?” Nora asked hesitantly, human curiosity getting the better of her.

“New….souls.” Was all it said. Vidia couldn’t help but feel like it was spoken too simply. Were the energies that powerful that they could just make new souls? Why hadn’t they done this before? Maybe it just wasn’t brought to their attention. Vidia’s mind raced with questions and answers. She wanted to ask, to regurgitate all of the words spinning in her head, but she decided against it. Who was she to question Gods?

Nora sank to her knees, still holding onto the women at either side of her. She looked drained, her skin turning pale. She was still conscious, but worn out from the amount of energy she was expending.

“No….more...soulless...In...return...Your magick.” Slowly, one by one, the circle began collapsing. Vidia felt the world around her spin and blacken. The last thing she could remember seeing was Nora laying on the ground, peacefully sleeping.

And so the witches slept. They slept and slept, and slept. If the tenant hadn’t found them a week later, who knows if any of them would still be alive. All Vidia knew was that she was uncomfortable and cold, laying in a hospital bed hooked up to IVs to replenish her strength. Even though she was still so tired, she could at least manage to be awake for a few hours at a time. In those hours she watched the news. The news told stories of previously soulless children coming to life. No more were being born. But when Vidia closed her eyes and tried to focus her energy, she felt nothing.

Her magick in exchange for souls. She was sure it was a fair trade, but she couldn’t help but feel empty without her magick. She hadn’t fixed the world, but at least she helped fix something. She gave families closure and happiness. She gave children new lives, and ensured lives for future generations to come. Vidia let a silent prayer to The Energies fall off her lips, thanking them. In return, she felt a gentle breeze. Even if she had no magick, she had their favor.

[rebeccaheyman]

reading + listening 9.29.20

It was another week of soaring highs and middling mediocrity, but fortunately no DNFs. Notably, I’ve been dragging my heels on PIRANESI by Susanna Clarke, which has been sitting on my desk in gorgeous hard cover since release day. You ever want to love a book so much that you’re afraid to actually read it? No, no, me neither. Here’s hoping I get brave this week. In the meantime...

It’s Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake (Claire Christian), eBook ARC (US pub date February 2021). I loved this book so much that I’m already looking forward to owning the aBook once it’s available, just so I can relive the magic in a new way. Here’s my five-star NetGalley review: 

I have discovered the antidote to the unmitigated disaster that is the year 2020, and it is IT'S BEEN A PLEASURE, NONI BLAKE. I inhaled this book in under 24 hours and feel soul-satisfied in a way I forgot existed. NONI BLAKE is a rom-com that's so much more than a rom-com; it's as much a character study as LESS and as much a travelogue as WILD, with the sweetness of Mhairi MacFarlane, the delicious heat of Sally Thorne, and the humor of every best friend you've ever gotten drunk with. It is, in a word, perfect.

When I say this book has it all, I am not kidding. In it, you will find: - an average-bodied woman finding sexual empowerment and body positivity - a Scottish book boyfriend for whom you do not need to travel through time - healthy adult friendships - A+ Bechdel Test score - adventurous, consensual sex that is at times hilarious and at other times really, really hot - situational comedy that will legitimately make you laugh out loud - adults who talk openly about their feelings in an authentic, mature way - portrayals of grief that range in severity from mourning the loss of an unborn child to coming to terms with years of self-criticism and negativity - rich, descriptive prose that does not drag down pacing - excellent plotting, perfectly balanced with the protagonist's complex internal journey

...the list goes on. This book is joy exemplified. I can't wait to give it to every woman I know. My only complaint is that the world needs this book immediately to inoculate us against the tidal wave of awfulness bombarding the globe, and yet it won't be released until 2021.

Notably, Australian readers have access to NONI BLAKE as of... today (!), so if you happen to be reading this in Australia, please do yourself a favor and buy this book immediately. And if there’s someone you especially like elsewhere in the world, maybe box up a copy and spread the love.

Act Your Age, Eve Brown (Talia Hibbert), eBook ARC (pub date March 2021). I know, I know -- how many contemporary romcoms with the exact same title structure can I read in a single week? Real answer: 2. But based on how fabulous both these titles were, I’m open to more. Here’s my four-star NetGalley review:

I've decided it's entirely impossible to read the Brown Sisters series without feeling amazing. Hibbert's writing is so smart, funny, and full of A+ banter -- not to mention scorching-hot heat -- that it almost feels like we don't deserve her books' nuances, diverse representations, and patriarchy-shaking feminism.

But we do deserve it, actually, and it's all there in ACT YOUR AGE, EVE BROWN.

If at first Eve seems flighty and difficult to connect with, don't discount the intentionality of her characterization. In a tidy narrative trick, Hibbert gives us the very experience that defines many of Eve's friendships: while the youngest Brown sister may have made a great first impression in Chloe and Dani's books, her flightiness feels off-putting once she takes center stage. But sticking with Eve -- instead of pushing her to the margins of our two-person social circle -- has a massive pay-off, as she soon reveals herself to be intensely focused on helping others, spreading joy, and baking delicious cake. It's a side of Eve too many of her "friends" never get to see -- but Reader, we do. And it turns out, Eve is a wonder.

Many of Eve's quirks align with behaviors on the autism spectrum; while Jacob's autistic presentation is perhaps more conventional, Eve's traits are equally validated by Hibbert's sensitive, nuanced treatment of the disorder. Romance + autism usually means antisocial behaviors, rigidity, and/or Asperger's-like presentation (The Kiss Quotient/Bride Test, The Girl He Used to Know, The Rosie Project... the list goes on). But ACT YOUR AGE explores the all important "spectrum" side of "autism spectrum disorder," and urges us to resist believing we understand what these labels mean just because we understand one small aspect of a very large picture.

All of this happens while a truly compelling, heart-melting romance unfolds. Eve and Jacob are incredibly fun to watch, and Hibbert keeps things moving at a lovely clip. I especially appreciated her resistance to the "h/h have to spend totally unnecessary time apart after an argument/misunderstanding" trope in Act III, which is a convention I would happily see go the way of the dinosaur.

Fair warning to your TBR pile: If you don't reread Chloe and Dani's books prior to picking up ACT YOUR AGE, EVE BROWN, you're going to want to afterward. There's simply no other way to maintain the rosy glow of post-Hibbert reading.

Finally, I'm predicting here and now that Mont, Alex and Tess are the next sibling trio to get the Hibbert treatment. (Please? Like...PLEASE please?)

Set My Heart to Five (Simon Stephenson), aBook (narr. Christopher Ragland, Rachael Louise Miller, Lance C. Fuller). If you combined the signature humor/love combo of David Nicholls, the deeply felt nostalgia of Ready Player One, and the bots-with-feelings hypothesis of Spielburg’s AI, you might come close to understanding what makes SET MY HEART TO FIVE so good. In the year 2054, the world has taken some unexpected turns: humans have accidentally locked themselves out of the internet, Elon Musk blew up the moon (also accidentally), and humanoid bots have been integrated into society as second-class pseudo-citizens. We meet Jared -- bot, dentist, cat-owner -- who has begun to experience curious malfunctions. With a friend’s help, and a heaping dose of old movies, Jared realizes he can feel real emotions. He resolves to journey west to Hollywood, where he’ll write a movie that changes the way humans view bots and paves the way for his bot brothers and sisters to enjoy the full range of human experience. 

Jared’s explanations of human behavior provide a satirical commentary on our curious, often contradictory behaviors (”Humans. I cannot!”). Since films from the pre-bot age figure so prominently in Jared’s emotional awakening, that same satirical analysis is applied to movie synopses, which are rendered with necessary frequency but occasionally feel like overkill. The book relies heavily on a lovely trick of narrative reciprocity; Jared is on an archetypal hero’s journey, even as he strives to write a formulaic screenplay according to the “golden rules” of the fictitious script expert, R.P. McWilliams. But SET MY HEART TO FIVE never feels hackneyed, and in more than one way proves the rule that great stories are all in the telling.

With the innocence and clarity that can only come from being something of a stranger in a strange land, Jared embraces his existence with infectious enthusiasm and charm. It’s virtually impossible not to cheer for his success, even as we’re warned again and again that a great story will “eff us in the heart” at its conclusion. Audio is brilliantly narrated by Christopher Ragland, who manages to imbue the bot cadence we expect with believable nuance and big style. 

Well Played (Jen DeLuca), aBook (narr. Brittany Pressley). I’ve got bad news for fans of WELL MET: If you wondered whether your enjoyment of Deluca’s ren-faire romcom debut of 2019 was due in large part to the book’s setting -- and more specifically, the way h/h’s interactions at the faire advanced the storyline -- the answer is yes. And why is that bad news, you ask? Well, because WELL PLAYED has none of the crackling Emily/Simon tension that carried the first book through its narrative stumbles. In book 2, the glacially slow Act I relies heavily on Stacy’s recitation of what makes her life humdrum, and a long series of email exchanges we *know* are coming from the conspicuously introduced Daniel -- even though Stacy, apparently suffering a traumatic brain injury, convinces herself it’s idiot playboy (and Daniel’s cousin) Dex. Sorry not sorry for the “spoiler,” which is impossible not to see coming from many miles away. Once this pseudo-conflict is resolved, the book boils down to situational fluff: a wedding, a squeaky mattress, the literal number of pumpkin spice lattes Stacy drinks over the course of a month. If it sounds like this is not a plot, that’s because it isn’t. The romance is low-stakes, the “uncrossable divide” that eventually separates h/h is the width and depth of a puddle, and the last third of the book is pretty much solely devoted to setting up a Mitch/April romance in book 3.

Notably, I found references to Stacy’s body-consciousness extremely strange. If we want to normalize average-sized women in romance, maybe we do that by not including, apropos of literally nothing, how “unflattering” woman-on-top sexual positions are?! Stacy is not characterized by self-consciousness, so the moments when her interiority veers toward self-criticism don’t feel necessary. I’m not saying these aren’t authentic thoughts and feelings plenty of women have, but an editor should have pushed DeLuca to answer the question to what end? Why include body hyperawareness in the precise moments when it appears? Like too much of the prose in WELL PLAYED, these inclusions felt like word-count boosting instead of dynamic character development or plot production. Sad as I am to say it, this book was a missed opportunity that shows the danger of rushing book 2 to market. 

The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics (Olivia Waite), aBook (narr. Morag Sims). This book has been on my radar since its publication last summer. Gorgeous cover aside, I’m always here for diverse historical romance. Sadly, for me, the external stakes here were simply too low, and relied overmuch on the baffling revelation that men -- especially in this historical moment --  underestimate and undermine women. I never felt discernible chemistry between Lucy and Catherine. This could be due, in part, to Morag Sims’ narration, which pitches Catherine’s voice in a low, husky range that accentuated the women’s age difference. From the outset, we learn that Catherine is the widow of one of Lucy’s father’s colleagues; while Lucy is the more sexually forward woman in this partnership, there’s something a little An Education about the whole arrangement. 

On my radar this week:

Piranesi (Susanna Clarke) 

A Deadly Education aBook (Naomi Novik)

We Can Only Save Ourselves ARC (Alison Wisdom)

Angel in a Devil’s Arms (Julie Anne Long)

The Project ARC (Courtney Summers)

The Love Square ARC (Laura Jane Williams)

[luxalupinlvr]

Your Worship: Chapter Fourteen

My list of excuses this time: I didn't get less busy, and while I wrote this over my break, I was delayed in posting this because I am now studying abroad in the UK. You might be groaning and thinking "she won't write another chapter for six months!" and while that's not an impossibility, I really want to write the next chapter (much) sooner than later, as I'm excited to have finally hit the point the story has. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Read it on ff.net or ao3.

Jethann wasn't sure about this whole being-everyone's-guide thing that Solas was on about, not when it took him half an hour to even find north on a compass. He couldn't speak for anyone else, but their weeks spent traveling to Solas's claimed new home did not go quickly. Firstly, they spent a couple days arguing in their little camp, deciding which way to go. Josephine had initially wanted to find refuge with a court, but that would ally them too closely with any one nation. Cullen wanted to go back to Haven and rebuild it, but they all knew that Corypheus could still be there, and he could come back at any time before they were ready. Haven had not been meant to be permanent, and Cullen conceded that point before long. Leliana wanted to murder some people, although Jethann wasn't sure to what point. She had one, but no one quite followed it. Cassandra had no plan, but she did enough angry grunting and sighing to make up for it.

Solas's plan won out. Jethann could have told them that it was going to, but they had decided not to listen until they'd exhausted every other possibility. And they said time was sensitive! Jethann was getting the feeling that it was anything but.

But the getting there…Jethann was not a fan. Day after day of traveling in the snow with only the food they managed to hunt was not his idea of a good time. He complained to Varric and Varric only, though, as it was no one's idea of a fun time, and he had no intention of making everyone think of him as a whiner who didn't care about them when he was, in fact, a whiner who did care.

Still, even though his boots might not have existed for all the good they'd done him, even though he rolled his eyes every time another sprinkling of snow heralded a new snowstorm, even though he spent his evenings rubbing out sore feet, he couldn't help but stare at the castle that Solas led them to. Of all the things he'd expected, this wasn't one of them.

"This whole castle, all to myself?"

"No," said Solas. "We'll be there too."

"If you must," was Jethann's reply.

It wasn't easy to mask what he felt as he looked down at that castle. No, that wasn't the right word for it. Fortress. Small city. New start. Large city. The way it looked made him feel like it was created from the hills themselves, not built from new stone but carved out of the craggy mountains, every block of hard rock chipped away at until this fortress stood, waiting for Jethann and the Inquisition at his back.

He couldn't help it. He smiled.

At first, nothing changed. When they made it to the mountain fortress—only accessible from a single bridge crossing a huge chasm—the Inquisition's first action was to set everything down and go about making sure they were allowed to be there, while the quartermasters, seneschals, and other administrators of the Inquisition went about making sure that everyone had somewhere to sleep where they weren't tripping over each other. Josephine was the leader of these, and it wasn't until she received word from both Orlais and Ferelden that this place didn't belong to anyone, that they really began to move in.

Jethann filled these days with a mixture of being useful and making himself as scarce as possible, something, as contradictory as it sounded, he often managed to do at the same time. It was quite simple; blend in and help some other elves move boxes or assist some workers with cleaning out the untouched rooms of the fortress. When he wasn't doing that, he was playing cards with Varric and Bull, or talking with the three, plus Cassandra, that he'd affectionately begun mentally referring to as the Advisors about the state of their new home and the Inquisition. The Inquisition's prognosis? Not deathly ill, anymore, which was nice.

He knew, after a week or so, that it wouldn't last. He was more surprised by the realization that he didn't want the temporary anonymity, brought about by necessity and a set of common clothes, as much as he thought he would. He itched to do something, and when, after walking out of the fortress to blend in among a few former Alienage elves who'd arrived the day before, Cassandra beckoned him over, he found himself glad. How times changed.

He was a little more concerned when the others parted like water, leaving him along with Cassandra. Not that he hadn't been alone with Cassandra plenty; he was still getting reading lessons from her, after all. Still, it was hard to put the past behind him, even if it was from a future that had never really happened. It made it all the worse that Cassandra had no idea about it, as it made any strange behavior on his part impossible to explain.

Oh well. There were more important things to worry about now that they had relocated to the fortress Solas called Skyhold and that they knew a terrible darkspawn of some sort was out for their blood. Even the beauty of the trees around them (especially after the snows they'd trekked through to get there) were tempered by the fear that Corypheus could pop out under any rock and smite them all. At least, Jethann assumed other people had that fear. He'd feel silly if he was the only one.

"They arrive daily from every settlement in the region," said Cassandra. Jethann looked around to see what she was talking about, instead of at the combination of armor and regular clothing that Cassandra combined to make her present outfit, which was more aesthetically pleasing than Jethann would have given her credit for being capable of. He wondered if it was on purpose or not, and if he was being uncharitable in thinking probably not. Who knew? Maybe Cassandra had many sides to her that he hadn't seen. Most people did, after all.

When he looked around, however, he knew what she meant. New people were constantly streaming into Skyhold, buffeting their defenses and building their civilian forces. Even thinking in such military terms gave Jethann the shivers. Right now the new faces were all from local areas, but it wouldn't be long before they came from all over Orlais and Ferelden. If this lasted.

"Skyhold's becoming a pilgrimage," continued Cassandra. She walked backward for a moment, her eyes locked with his face. He was about to comment on the strangeness of the position before she turned and began to walk normally, Jethann following her as she kept speaking. "If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated."

They were walking up steps now. Jethann appreciated the feel of the warm air on his face as they did so, its presence a constant reminder of how glad he was to get out of the frigid mountain air. Haven had been okay, but the year-round snow had gotten old, and it cheered Jethann that he'd be coming back to green grass and trees bristling with leaves after a mission.

"But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus. What drew him to you."

"The Mark, you mean?" said Jethann. "Or the Anchor. That's what he called it."

"The Anchor has power, but that's not why you're standing here." Cassandra's expression softened, and it was then that Jethann realized that she'd been rehearsing this speech to herself. She'd been pretty good in her recitation of it so far, so good that he hadn't realized that it was pre-planned until now. That was saying something, at least as far as his own belief in his own ability to read faces and intentions went.

Cassandra was walking faster now. "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature's rival because of what you did— and we know it. All of us."

There were lots of steps. Jethann wasn't an idiot, and he knew she was leading him up somewhere high, somewhere were, perhaps, a lot of people could be addressed. He could feel his face warming up. That combined with her words? He wasn't sure what was happening, but he could tell it was big.

"Cassandra," he asked. "What are you saying? What're you saying, really?"

"The Inquisition requires a leader." She paused, taking a moment to stray from her script. "Jethann, you have already been leading it. We have been taking your orders without realizing it, and you have shaped us—often in ways many did not expect, and sometimes in ways many did not like—without us even realizing in the moment. I know I have not always been your staunchest supporter, but I believe this is the right move. You once told me that the Inquisition cannot hide who their Herald is, but had to embrace you for all of you, including your past. I can think of no better way to show our support than this."

Jethann's mouth was open in shock, although he didn't remember opening it in the first place. "Wait? This is for real?" He could see Leliana standing to his side, holding a big ceremonial sword. That was answer enough. "Cassandra, I only just recently accepted that I was ready to be a part of the Inquisition in general, but to lead it? I'm not ashamed of who I am, but that's completely different than leading an entire group of people!"

Leliana raised her head slightly. "You will not be alone. You will have help."

His nickname of the Advisors really was apt, he realized. That he'd already named them that internally only proved Leliana and Cassandra's point. "You want this, both of us? Josephine, too? And…And Cullen?"

"The Commander was not ecstatic," said Cassandra, a smile playing about her lips. "But he said that you had inner strength enough to play the part."

"I wouldn't play with any part of it," said Jethann. "Having advisors is one thing, but being an actor is another."

Leliana was smiling now too. "Only a turn of phrase. You sound ready to accept."

"You two are lucky I've spent so much time coming to terms with the Inquisition recently," said Jethann. "Not just the Inquisition itself, but what I'm willing to do for it." And to use it for, in some ways. He was still no devoted servant of the Maker, but he would wield peoples' faith to enact some good. He'd change the minds he could and make the world a little less uptight, both when it came to things that happened behind closed doors and things that didn't. It already seemed to be working on Cassandra. Maker, he was already thinking like the Inquisitor they wanted him to be.

"You're right," said Cassandra. Her tone was serious now. "We are lucky. I more than the rest, for you had to convince me of more than you did many others. I would look at the world with a narrower view without you."

Jethann couldn't help but smile. "Are you saying you approve of my brothels now?"

Cassandra took a deep breath. He felt a little bad; the tic at her temple told him that he was taking advantage of her good will. "I…understand the need for them. But please, the people are waiting for you."

"Still," said Jethann softly, betraying a part of himself that he had tried to keep hidden more than anything else. Later, he would think on this moment and think of it as one of the few times he'd let a crack in his armor open so wide. At least it was only to Cassandra and Leliana (although the latter could do much with the information). "All this, to an elf, and one of my background?"

"I would be terrified to hand this power to anyone, but I believe it is the only way. They'll follow you. To them, being an elf shows how far you've risen. How it must have been by Andraste's hand. What it means to you, how you lead us, that is for you alone to decide."

Before now, the word Jethann would have used to describe his feelings about his involvement in the Inquisition was "reluctant." He wasn't sure what he would replace it with, but he can at least say he knows that that word no longer fit.

"Well," said Leliana. "Stop dallying, and get up there."

"If only I'd been told ahead of time," said Jethann. "So that maybe I'd have some time to think about it, and wouldn't keep everyone waiting for what's going to happen."

"If only," said Leliana. "Unfortunately, that was completely impossible. Up you go!"

He climbed the last few steps, grateful for the laughter to mask the butterflies in his stomach. "I feel like I'm at the world's biggest surprise party," he grumbled, but if Cassandra and Leliana heard, they didn't say anything.

Jethann looked at the sword that Leliana was offering to him. It glittered in the sunlight that pushed past the mountain peaks to land on this blade, with its golden dragon hilt. He thought of the giant and the dragon he'd seen battling on the Storm Coast when he saw it, and of the battle with the Blades of Hessarian that he'd undertaken because of it. He wasn't sure if the sword was just ceremonial, but considering its size, that's all it was destined to be. He took the sword; it was as heavy as it looked.

He turned to face the people below. Not everyone currently burrowing into the corners of Skyhold in the name of the Inquisition was present, but he would say that most of them were, all crammed into the courtyard together, faced turned up eagerly at the news. Did they already know what was happening, and were looking forward to it? Were they all just captured by the excitement of the moment, letting themselves be corralled into the courtyard by the very few who actually cared? Were they all just thinking about dinner and hoping he finished up whatever he had to say as soon as possible?

Regardless of what they were thinking, he was going to speak. Maybe being a leader was being self-centered enough to think that paying attention to you was the most important thing in peoples' lives.

Jethann raised his voice to "let the entire Blooming Rose know that the latest customer is actually two customers in a trenchcoat" levels to make sure everyone heard him. "I have been asked to lead, and I will. Someone must stand against Corypheus, and I will be that person—that elf and a former prostitute, as many people will try to forget. You are the people who will not forget, and for that, I thank you. I will try my best not to fail you, and I could not do it without you. The Inquisition is for all, and we stand for Thedas."

He stopped speaking, feeling like the biggest idiot who'd ever gotten in front of a group of people, but Cassandra was smiling when she stepped up next to him. "We will go where you lead us." She took another step forward, addressing Josephine, who stood in the audience below. "Have our people been told?"

"They have," said Josephine, stepping forward. He'd seen her smile many times before, but he didn't think he'd ever seen it so wide. "And soon, the world."

"Commander, will they follow?" crowed Cassandra, loud enough that Jethann wondered if Corypheus, wherever he was, could feel the echo reverberate around him.

Jethann hadn't spotted Cullen in the crowd until then, but now he was impossible to miss as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd and bellowed, "Inquisition! Will you follow?"

He would have waited with baited breath for the audience's response if they had given him time to; instead, they roared, and he knew the answer. It had all happened so fast. One second he was helping a couple newcomers fix up Skyhold and the next he was standing above the inhabitants of the whole fortress, pledging to lead them, and, amazingly, getting a positive response. He scanned the crowd and did find a few sullen faces, people who, for one reason or another, had not accepted him enough to get swept up in this excitement. He hoped that was normal; in this atmosphere, with praise for him on the wind, he was inclined to believe so. He lifted the sword into the air at Leliana's subtle nudging, and the cheering rebounded.

"Will you fight?" shouted Cullen.

The cheering continued. Jethann wouldn't have expected such a rousing of the people from Cullen, but here it was. The man sure could put on a good show. After all, he'd been doing it for years in Kirkwall.

"Will we triumph?"

The cheering, if possible, grew louder. Jethann realized he was smiling too, and not just some coy smile that he'd plastered on to trick his way into getting what he wanted. It was the kind of smile that had snuck up on him when he wasn't looking, and now he just couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"Be careful," said Leliana behind him, quietly enough that Cassandra didn't look over. "You don't want it to go to your head, now." The admonishment was gentle, but some of the elation faded. Would Leliana had said that to an Inquisitor with different origins?

"I know," said Jethann. "It's just nice to enjoy the moment."

"Of course," said Leliana. "But it is not wise to go seeking more."

"I'm going to ignore you now," said Jethann. "In favor of appreciating this one while it lasts, since you're so determined to be a buzzkill."

The attention was nice. It said a lot about how good he felt that he bounced back from Leliana's words, ones he wouldn't have expected from her; she'd always seemed to be on his side, so to speak.

"Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!" was Cullen's final shout, unsheathing his own sword and pointing it towards the platform on which Jethann stood. If he'd been told a few years ago that Cullen Rutherford was going to point his sword at him, he would have said two things: first, he would have asked which sword, and second, he would have said that that could be by no means a good thing. How different things had become.

Jethann felt good. That had been rare before and after the Conclave, and he knew this feeling wouldn't have been possible without it. For better or for worse, his fortunes had been raised from that tragedy. The Anchor pulsed in his hand, beating to the rhythm of the cheers.

After the whole cheering-their-new-leader thing was done, Jethann had to forget the nice warm feelings it brought on and remember that, as the new leader of the Inquisition, he had to go and do things befitting his position. Namely, ordering people around. The weight that dropped onto his shoulders as the realization of his new responsibilities set in was twice that of before, and he briefly wondered if it wasn't too late to say never mind to this whole Inquisitor business. Unfortunately, he knew it was, and he followed the others into the main hall of Skyhold, which had remained untouched as the Inquisition had moved in. The others, except Cassandra; she disappeared once the cheering was over. Apparently she was not going to be one of those advising him in the coming…was it months? Surely not years. Years was a much longer term commitment than he was used to.

They opened the huge from doors to find…well, a mess. That's all Jethann could describe it as at first glance. There was old wood everywhere, and the stained glass windows were covered with dust and grime. The stone walls looked like they had seen nothing but scurrying mice for three times as long as Jethann had been living.

"Well," said Jethann, surveying it. "It could be worse."

"That's the spirit," said Leliana.

"So this is where it begins," said Cullen. For all that Cassandra and Leliana had said about him, and all that he had done in rousing the Inquisition to his leadership, Cullen stood the farthest from Jethann at all times and only addressed him when he talked to everyone. Jethann, for his part, returned the sentiment.

"It began in the courtyard," said Leliana. "This is where we turn that promise into action."

"But what do we do? We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark," said Josephine.

Jethann paused, waiting for someone to give her the answer. A beat passed before he realized he was the one they were waiting on. Some advisors they were. "Well, we know a little more than that. He wants to restore Tevinter, which implies that he himself is from Tevinter. So we're not starting with nothing. My bets are off on him attacking us directly again after the mess of Haven, at least for a while—we should get as much information on him as possible."

"Yes," said Josephine. "One must know their enemy, after all."

"And we do have an advantage," said Leliana. "We know what Corypheus is going to do next. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."

"Imagine the chaos her death would cause," said Josephine. "With his army…"

"An army he'll bolster with a massive force of demons. Or so the future tells us," finished Cullen.

Jethann didn't struggle to keep track, but it certainly did not escape him that his new position was not an empty one. Without him, Thedas could fall. He didn't love everything about the world, but damn it, he lived in it. That was a lot of responsibility for anyone.

"Corypheus could conquer the entirety of southern Thedas, god or no god," said Josephine.

"I'd feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with," said Leliana.

Jethann was about to open his mouth and respond, his thoughts swirling, when a new voice entered the conversation.

"I know someone who can help with that."

Jethann smiled at the sight of Varric, wearing a red, open-chested shirt with embroidery that glittered in the shafts of light from the door, as he walked in.

"Ah…everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend. She's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. She can help."

"Well, that solves one of our problems already," said Jethann. "We wanted information on Corypheus, and you've delivered someone who has it. Good on you, Varric."

"Don't get all blubbery on me on your first day on the job," replied Varric. "We need you in top shape."

"Blubbery? Is there some rumor going around that I tear up at random times? Of all the vile rumors going around about me, that one might be the worst."

"No, there isn't. Your reputation is safe," said Varric, smiling.

"From that at least," said Jethann. "When does this friend of yours get here?"

Varric looked around, which piqued his interest. "She's actually already here. Parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you to meet privately. On the battlements. Trust me—

it's complicated."

When Jethann glanced around him, he saw that Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen were looking at each other in confusion. Then he and Leliana met eyes, and Jethann found himself smiling. She'd figured it out too.

"I'll see you at cards tonight?" said Varric, in a tone of voice that made it sound like he'd already suggested it to Jethann prior. "That is, if you haven't been worn out by the time night hits."

"It takes a lot to wear me out," said Jethann. Varric waved as he walked away; Jethann watched him go. It felt good, knowing Varric was his friend.

"If Varric has brought who I think he has," said Leliana as Varric left the room. "Cassandra is going to kill him."

Jethann couldn't help but laugh at that one. They talked for a little longer about their plans, about how quickly they could get Skyhold fixed up and what their approaches to learning more about Corypheus and taking their stand against his plans would be, before Jethann felt comfortable excusing himself. They'd only talked for a couple of hours, but he was exhausted. The sun was still going strong, which felt unfair; shouldn't the day tire when he did?

Then again, he was grateful it didn't. After all, it would be a pretty gloomy world if that was the case. He left the fortress's main hall and went back outside, unsure what to do with himself for a while. He had all these responsibilities now, but no way to alleviate them. He'd have preferred to have just gotten them all done at once, like ripping off a band-aid.

If that was the case, he knew where to go; the battlements. Jethann was already finding himself a hypocrite in the band-aid scenario, because instead he snagged an apple and found himself a seat away from the hustle and bustle of a group of people attempting to make an old fortress livable again. This ended up being behind a tree, where Jethann sat on a stump and crunched away the apple to his heart's delight.

He'd just reached the core when a voice close to his ear said, "Inquisitor!" Jethann wasn't proud of how high he jumped.

"Sera!" he said, turning to face her. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

"It is Inquisitor, then?" she said. "I like it. It's gonna give some bigwigs some big headaches. Ha, see what I did there? Big and big."

"I see," said Jethann. He looked around for somewhere that Sera could sit, but his stump was all on its own. Sera solved his problems by plopping down in the grass and wriggling about until she was comfortable and her knees were covered in grass stains.

"Remember that war we talked about stopping?" asked Sera, hands reaching to tug grass from their roots in the soil as if by instinct. "Full of little baddies I can stick with little arrows?"

She took an especially large clump of grass and flung it at Jethann, who dodged most of it but still had to sift it out of his hair, which was in better condition than he'd expected it to be by now.

"That's not a friggin' Archdemon, is it?" said Sera, tone increasing in volume with the anxiety in her voice.

"What, you think I saw that one coming?" asked Jethann. "I'm not happier about it than you are, or any less surprised. I'm probably the one who's going to have to face up against it or whatever." He hadn't really thought about that before, and when the terror of the idea hit his lower stomach, he decided right then and there that he wasn't going to think about it again.

Sera scoffed. "Are you sure you're as surprised as me? A surprise would be, 'Oh, I stepped in dog shit." No one says, 'Oh, a magister god monster, I'm surprised. Impossible things aren't surprises."

"There's no use in getting mad at me," said Jethann. "Besides, I'm pretty damn sure I was even more surprised than you. It's not your jaw he broke."

Sera's eyebrows shot up. "He broke your jaw? I didn't know that."

Jethann shrugged and, unable to help himself, winked. "I know it's hard to tell, what with how perfect my face is."

Sera's snort was legendary. "You make me wish I had stepped in dog shite just so I could throw it at you."

"You'd put your hands in dog shit just to throw at me? I'm touched."

"That's what friends are for. We are friends, yeah?"

Jethann couldn't hide a smile. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Good. Friends get to tell other friends when they think they've mucked it up along the way."

Jethann felt worry wash over him, but he kept his tone light. "What did I muck up? I know it wasn't my makeup."

"Back in Haven, when we were leaving and Coryphy-shite was raining his army down on us and all that. You said the little people would understand if we had to leave some behind. People who got trapped or slowed down and all that. That surprised me. You're a little people, or you were."

"Yeah," said Jethann, his chest heavy. "I know what you mean. You're right."

Sera's expression of surprise was so exaggerated that he didn't know whether to laugh or to be insulted. "What?" she said, voice high.

He shrugged. "I said it to get things going. It wasn't right. Of course those people wouldn't understand why I was leaving them behind. Maybe a couple would, but most of them? They'd want me to save them. If I were in their place, I'd want to be saved."

"Then why'd you say it, if you knew it wasn't true?" said Sera, narrowing her eyes.

"Because true or not, it boosted morale enough for us to do what we needed to do. We couldn't save them, no matter how much we wanted to. And trust me, Sera, I wanted to."

He shot her a grim smile. She stared at him in reply for several long moments before saying. "I get it. I don't love it, but I get it."

"That's what friends are for," said Jethann.

She punches him in the arm; it was harder than he'd have liked. "Don't get a big head about it," she said. "I'm gonna go stake out the fancy rooms—see if there's anything fun in 'em. I wanna talk about Coryphallis more, but not now."

She scampered off before he had time to blink or even say bye. He liked Sera, even if he didn't always agree with her. He was glad to know she liked him enough back to call him a friend. He wondered if she would have warmed up to an Inquisitor that wasn't from the same kind of background as her so quickly.

Jethann had only gone about thirty steps on the half-grass, half-gravel path when he nearly ran right into a familiar, well-dressed figure. "Ah, Vivienne," he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Vivienne let out a semblance of a laugh. "You owe it to yourself, for nearly running into me. I'm half-tempted to say you look a mess, just to fuss over you, but that would be untrue. You do not look a mess. Your version of style is in top form."

"Is that a compliment? Coming from you?" said Jethann, his tone teasing rather than spiteful.

"I did not say I like your version of style. But I can respect it."

She was looking up at the fortress with appraising eyes. Jethann had never had a truly deep conversation with her. The closest they'd come was a talk about what he planned to do with the rebel mages, and he could tell that she wasn't satisfied with his answers, thinking him foolish and inexperienced for wanting to free them.

She hasn't been overly hostile to him, though. That was always a good sign.

"It was a mistake to use Haven as a base of operations. The town was completely indefensible."

"We did all sort of sit down in the ruins of the Conclave, didn't we?" said Jethann. "I'll be the first to admit I didn't know any better. I'm new to this whole thing."

"It is a credit to you that you do not attempt to push the blame on someone else," said Vivienne. "Inexperience is not in itself a sin—but you must make up for it quickly."

"No pressure or anything."

"The enemy struck a serious blow against the Inquisition. We must recognize that. You must."

"I do," said Jethann. "I am not as inexperienced as all that."

"Good," said Vivienne. "Our enemy advances, Inquisitor. We must not sit idly by. Act first, and teach them to fear us."

"You think I can?" he said, genuinely curious.

"Yes," she said. "We are not close, but I am not blind. You can become the leader the faithful require, but you must do it soon."

"I'll do everything I can," said Jethann. "And before you say it, yes, I know. I'll make sure it's enough."

Vivienne's smile was definitely not a figment of his imagination. "You took the very words out of my mouth."

He bid her farewell and deliberated what to do next. He saw Blackwall and considered walking up to him for a conversation, but he had some more pressing personal business he'd been neglecting. He needed to see Cassandra.

He found her, but it took a while. Instead of relaxing (or in her case, the opposite) in the outdoors like the others, she was inside Skyhold itself, past all the boxes and crates being unpacked. More importantly, she was with Varric. Most importantly, it turned out she'd heard who was waiting on the battlements for Jethann.

"You knew where Hawke was all along!"

"You're damned right I did!"

"You conniving little shit!"

She swung for Varric, missing him only because she didn't adjust for height. Jethann found himself bounding up the stairs. Varric was his closest friend, and he found that he cared for Cassandra more than he realized. He definitely didn't like seeing them going at each other.

"You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?"

Jethann was going to intervene, there was never any doubt of that. But he did doubt how he should do it; and that hesitation meant, when he put skidded into the room and put himself between them, intending to shout at them both, Cassandra's next punch landed on him.

He landed on the floor, pain blossoming in his jaw. Cassandra and Varric were both staring at him in horror.

"Now look what you've done!" sais Varric, voice rising with real anger. "You've gone and punched the Inquisitor!"

It took a few seconds for Jethann to recover from the pain, but when he did, he said, "Hey, someone's gotta knock me off my pedestal, right?"

From Cassandra's look of horror, Jethann concluded that she didn't think it was funny. Even Varric wasn't laughing. His own attempt at humor ended as the pain flared back again. His hand shot to his cheek and came away with blood.

"Now look what you've done!" said Varric, turning to Cassandra.

"I didn't mean to—you can't get out of this because—Inquisitor, are you all right?" Cassandra seemed torn between her anger and concern for Jethann. Touching.

Jethann reached a hand in his mouth to make sure all his teeth were where they were supposed to be. Satisfied on that front, he looked up at both of them, not bothering to get up. "Well, what do you have to say for yourselves? Cassandra, did you start this?"

His jaw was aching something fierce, but he had a feeling that this fight wasn't going to stop unless addressed, and he hated the way they were looking at him.

"We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. Leliana and I looked for the Hero of Ferelden, but he had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but…" Cassandra cut off, shaking her head. "I don't want to do this now. I cannot believe I punched you. I am so sorry."

"It was an accident," said Jethann. "Not that it doesn't hurt. I just don't want it to happen again."

"It won't," said Cassandra fervently. Varric's expression was so derisive that Jethann was grateful that her gaze was trained on his and not the dwarf's.

"That's not what I mean. This fight. I don't want to have to stand between you two, or anyone else for that matter. We can't afford to into fights like this. I need both of you, dammit. I can't do this by myself." His tone wasn't emotional, but it still took him quite a lot to say those words.

Varric and Cassandra both had the decency to look ashamed. "What is this about?" said Jethann, finally pulling himself up, wincing at the pain. "Is it just because Varric didn't tell you about Hawke, Cassandra? Is that really all this is?"

"You make it sound like so little," said Cassandra. "With Hawke, we could have had a chance to save the Divine. If Varric…"

"Varric was protecting his friend," said Jethann. "I think you've forgotten that I know Hawke too, Cassandra. She's only human." He paused, letting a joke pass him by because of the gravity of the moment. Maybe being a leader was all about not utilizing every opportunity for a saucy comment. "She couldn't have saved the Divine. Stop dealing in 'what ifs.'"

Cassandra stared at him. "When did you get so wise?"

"He's older than he looks," said Varric.

"Oh, now you believe me," said Jethann. "Cassandra, I know you're upset. But put yourself in his shoes."

"Everything he does," said Cassandra, whose gritted teeth either represented anger or an internal struggle. "Everything he does is for his own goals. Not for the Inquisition."

"That's not fair," said Jethann. "And you know it. Besides, he looks out for his friends, and I happen to be one of those. And I'm with the Inquisition."

Varric looked at Jethann with an eyebrow raised. "I do care about the Inquisition for itself, you know," he said. "But I get what you're going for."

Jethann turned to Varric. "Can you leave us alone for a bit? I'll see you later tonight at cards, after all."

"Really? She just punched you, you know."

"It was an accident."

Varric shook his head, clapping Jethann's bony shoulder on the way out. Cassandra moved to the window, staring out of it instead of facing him. He stopped right before he hit the top of the stairs. "You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, she'd be dead too. You people have done enough to her."

Jethann cast a glance back at him. He was pretty sure everything was fine between them, but he'd make sure that night at cards. Cassandra was more uncertain. He moved toward her, so many things to say that the words he was trying to keep suppressed ended up being the ones that bubbled out.

"Do you really wish Hawke were in my place so much? Am I doing that bad of a job?"

Cassandra straightened up, turning to him with a look of deep surprise on her face. She hardly ever looked so open. It's too bad it only happened when he caught her off guard.

"That is not why I am trying to say! I only wish Hawke had been there…she would have been able to save…"

"Varric didn't cause what happened at the Conclave," said Jethann.

Cassandra shook her head. She sat down on an old chair, leaning forward so that her hand was pressed on her knee. He sat in the chair across from him, all thin limbs. "You're doing a fine job so far. I apologize if I led you to believe otherwise."

"I suppose I can't complain," said Jethann. "I haven't done much of anything, after all. It's only a been a day."

"No," said Cassandra. "You've been doing a fine job for some time now. If I'd sat Varric down, made him understand why it was important to find Hawke, maybe she would have understood, but I didn't, did I? I didn't explain anything to him. And I clung to my hopes of who would lead us, without realizing who already was."

"But you agreed with the others, didn't you?" said Jethann. "When it came to picking me for that ceremony out there?"

"Yes," said Cassandra. "That is what opened my eyes. Began to. But now I see…Hawke was not the person we needed for this job. I judged you harshly when we met, but I was wrong to. I am angry with Varric, but it is unwarranted. The Maker sent the right person. I said as much earlier, but only now is it sinking in. I need to be better than this. I must be smarter, more open-minded. I don't deserve to be here."

He'd never thought she'd feel these things, let alone express them. "Yes, you do. I don't know what the Inquisition would do without you."

Cassandra lifted a hand to his cheek, brushing the bruise already forming. He didn't flinch, although it hurt a little. "You would not have this."

"Accidents happen," said Jethann. "I've had worse." Her touch was cold, the feel of a worn glove against fractured skin. He was still disappointed when she pulled away, gaze trained on her brooding eyes.

"That does not make it right," said Cassandra. "I don't know what is to come, Jethann, but you're more than I could have hoped for."

"No pressure," whispered Jethann, shutting his eyes ever-so-briefly, a second-long respite from the outside world, even as it threatened to break in.

When he opened them again, Cassandra was watching him. "I would not trade you for Hawke now. Know that."

Jethann nodded slightly, trying to let her know that he caught the sincerity that broke her voice when she spoke. "I've better get to Hawke before she starts wondering if I'm ever coming to those battlements."

Cassandra blinked several times, as though she were breaking a spell. "Oh, yes. Of course. I apologize if I've been keeping you."

"Not at all," said Jethann. "I'm glad I found this fight, although I wished I'd managed to intervene in a manner that cost me less of my pretty face."

"I will find you a balm for that," said Cassandra quickly.

Jethann leaned forward slightly. "I was looking for you, actually. I never responded to Serendipity. The reply is embarrassingly overdue. And I would like to send a second letter, to my…brother. I can't do it by myself yet."

Cassandra seemed taken aback, but after a moment she nodded, smiling uncertainly. "Yes, of course. I can help you with that. When you have a little free time, come find me."

He stood up. "Will do. Try not to get into any more brawls, will you?"

"No need to say it again," said Cassandra, looking slightly disgruntled. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was upset or if that was her natural state. He waved in reply, his last glimpse of her rewarded with a slight smile.

Jethann walked down the stairs, heart neither light nor heavy, but a mixture of both. He would process it all later. He had a Champion to greet.

[theswiftarmy]

#24 – Click, Click, Click… Flash, Flash, Flash…

Click, click, click…  Flash, flash, flash…  The red carpet whispers secrets from the present and the past…

Hollywood, like the music business, and the rest of the entertainment industry certainly has its share of stories to tell, but it also has many storytellers.  As Emma Watson mentioned in her British Vogue interview, if the story is indeed genuinely told from the perspective of who it’s told by and this writer would add perceived by that to whom it is told, then you may have many alternate endings to the same story.  Or, perhaps, you have many different stories entirely.  Emma Watson may have discovered the greatest tale in that we don’t know for certain if the person we think is the bad guy really is the bad guy.  How do we know which story is the real story?  How do you know who to believe?  Whose side is the side to be on?  Wouldn’t it depend on the version of the story you hear?  Or is it up to those told the story to decide.  But, here’s the thing, even if the story seems to come from one person, it may in fact be written by another person all together, after all, how many women recite lines of dialogue in Hollywood movie after Hollywood movie, lines that were actually written by men?  So, anyone watching a movie might think those are the genuine thoughts of that character, those words must be what she represents, or she genuinely thinks, or feels, and is the story to believe.  And one might argue, well, anyway, if she didn’t condone that dialogue why would that actress sign up for that part?  She could just turn it down after reading the script, right? But to have that kind of voice may just be a luxury many women in the industry don’t have, or perhaps, many women in the world don’t have, or maybe, there are just simply many people around the world in general who don’t have that voice, or choice.

And you say, well, maybe there are scripts written by women that have male characters in that same situation.  But, how many scripts were written by men and how many written by women?  Is it an even fifty percent?  I’m guessing it is not.  I’m guessing it is not close to being an even number in the least.  But what do I know… a humble industry outsider simply speculating based on the narrative of which I have been told, or, the story that I’ve pieced together.  I have to wonder though, how many lines in scripts were changed after the contract was signed and production started, and how many women decidedly wanted out of a role, but couldn’t for it would be a breach of contract, so they could not say or do anything about it, as they soon found that the contract made it impossible or at the very least exceedingly difficult to part ways.  Let’s not forget how much money was spent on filming already, and of course, if a career is on the line, well, just be a good girl and stick to the script that the men have written for you.  

I don’t know, maybe that’s never actually happened and I just have a really vivid imagination.  It makes me wonder, though, how much choice is there really?  How many women were locked into recording contracts they hated, but they had no choice?  If you continue with that thought and place the blame on the person making the choice, and you say “well anyone can make their own choices, so that’s their fault” then I give you the following to consider:  Take a Super Bowl game for example, the game itself seems quite rigged as to which roles women can even play.  I don’t see many women on the field for the duration of the entire game, do you?  I suppose there’s always the halftime show, which in itself seems quite limited to the roles women are expected to play even within that choice, there seems to be a certain expectation.  The choice already seems to be made for any woman trying to work in that specific scenario.  Where is the choice?  If by choice you mean, here are a few of the roles you may pick from: You may sing on stage, in a cute outfit, or you may dance around on the field, also in a cute outfit.  Really, just makes sure the outfit is cute.  Oh, and keep it short, the men have to get back on the field.  Just keep it cute and short.  If we filmed ‘Super Bowl The Movie’ one might see the following: Open casting call, roles for women limited, screenplay mostly written by men (oh, who are we kidding, it’s all written by men).  And they argue, well we certainly allow women, what about the half time show and the cheerleaders?!  Just keep the outfit cute and the performance short.  Sometimes choice just seems like a luxury certain individuals don’t have.

Depending on whom you ask, you may get a different story all together.  You may hear that the good girl is really the bad guy and you may start to believe it, even if it’s not true at all.  And maybe, just maybe, that story after it takes hold started with her simply being late to the red carpet.  And you think, “well, that seems quite innocent, how could that be such a big deal?”  Suddenly it becomes an excuse to prove that she’s not perfect, and she’s left behind trying to find a way back to where she was before, finding her own way back, because let’s be honest, if you’re anything but perfect, perhaps that means you shouldn’t get the job.  Maybe they should book someone else, give the music gig to another who won’t show up late, or cast another in that role instead.  Can’t have anyone showing up late!  Because what else does that say about your character?  

“She just shows up whenever she feels like it!  She did it that one time at the red carpet.  Who knows what other flaws she might have.”  Or, “Well, okay you can still have the part, we’re just going to have to pay you a little less because how can we be sure you won’t be anything but perfect, I mean, after all Miss, there was that one time when you showed up to the red carpet… late.  I heard the story from someone who heard the story from someone else, so it MUST be true!”

And you have to wonder, how many out there have that version of the story to tell?  And if you let those with a story to tell be allowed to tell that story, maybe you’ll find out there’s much more to the story if we would just listen.  But we don’t and instead she tells her story any way she can, she fights for a voice using words displayed on clothing, her weapon of choice, worn to the red carpet, or during a performance—an almost inaudible whisper to the world when she would rather yell, but what other option is there?  Sometimes having a voice is a luxury that some just don’t have.

Click, click, click…  Flash, flash, flash…  The red carpet whispers secrets from the present and the past…

Is she a good girl, or a bad guy?  No one can seem to tell the difference, but why?  Why indeed.  Perhaps because we have been programed to receive… Check out any time we like, but never leave, so we just stay checked out, and let our minds continue to receive what we’ve been told we’re supposed to perceive.

Click, click, click… That sound never really leaves you.  What the public usually doesn’t see is the massive chaos of paparazzi.  What the public also never sees are the red carpet nightmares, the time a celebrity woke up in the middle of the night hearing the shutter sound, the camera… Click, click, click.  

The paparazzi are a bit like obsesses mega fans that have very few, or, possibly no filters or controls.  They swarm.  Their cameras click and clack, even long after the photographs snap… that shutter sound never goes away.  For a celebrity, it becomes the worst sound, though they may not realize it’s happening until it’s too late.  At first it’s fun, the idea of someone taking an obscene amount of photos of you might feel intoxicating, all that attention, no apprehension, but after the first few drinks, after the buzz wears off, it changes, the click… click… click… a subtly almost silent alarm going off—that sound never goes away, but just gets louder and louder, each waking day.  Then come the flashes of light, at first such a delight, but those as well eventually take a toll.  You see them in your dreams, just one small flash here or there, until eventually, they’re everywhere…

What the public also never sees is that nakedness one feels on the red carpet…

Am I perfect?  Do I look okay?  Is my hair okay, how about my clothing, did I stand right?  Who will see this photo, and what will they say, will something go viral that isn’t perfect?  What if it’s an awful photo and it’s front-page news?

And then you think about it, over and over, “What IF something wasn’t right?” and that ends up out there in the world, shared to the masses.  You then think about the next time you have to walk the red carpet, and it becomes a hill to walk up instead of a flat surface—the incline gets steeper each time.  The days leading up to the event starts to take over your mind because it HAS to be perfect.  If it isn’t perfect there’s backlash, and it’s that backlash over that one tiny imperfection that everyone gossips about.  But you don’t want anyone gossiping, you don’t want to make a scene because that’s what they will talk about… Not how fantastic you looked, or your amazing performance, but that one mishap is like a trap you can’t escape.  

And isn’t that the plan all along?  It’s what the whales want.  The way the Hollywood Whales see it, you are your own best guard, and you don’t need someone to keep you in step, because you’ll keep yourself in step.  What better way to control someone than to have them control themselves with the constant threat of the their own career being pulled out from under them, the red carpet, in an instant, can be pulled out from under their own feet.  Just keep the paparazzi on them and they will always strive to be perfect since one bad photo can make people talk.  And maybe that’s how Taylor and other celebrities got so good at going out into the public incognito, it’s not because they love to dress up, it’s because they have to.  Because the Hollywood Whales are always there with their paparazzi to capture one wrong step, anything to use to control her, because when you have something someone else wants, you can make them do things you want.  Pictures are worth more than a thousand words depending on the picture.  But without even having that picture, just the constant possibility of any picture can change someone’s behavior.  The Whales know this, and they use it to maintain control.  But, pictures aside, The Whales have many other tricks up their sleeves.  For them it all comes down to owning what their adversary wants or needs.

So, you smile for the cameras, and listen to the whispers, it’s those whispers that you wake up from in the middle of the night.  The whispers where you wished you could have had that fight right then and there on the carpet, to just say what you really wish to say, how you think and feel, but the paparazzi is right there to capture it all and there’s nothing you can do but listen, and try your best to ignore the sound, the click of the shutters, the whispers and mutters, all around you, and you stare at the flashes of light and delay that fight.  And maybe it feels so real, you’re so sure the whispers are so close that one of them touched you on your back, or neck, but you’re not sure, and you can’t turn around to check, you can’t look away from the camera, you can’t tell your story because your story is just another of the red carpet’s tales for those Hollywood Whales to twist and turn and spin in their own way, and anyway who’s going to believe you over them, so the present quickly becomes another whale tale locked in the past…  Click, click, click… Flash, flash, flash…