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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 4 years

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Enchanter Come to Me

When Cullen comes to the Tavern one night, Lydia dances and enchants, hoping he will come to her even if she knows he won’t. She hopes to tell him something, something important, though the night may offer more than she initially thought.

Cullen x Lydia Trevelyan, about 4,000 words. Smut. NSFW. There is some serious lemonade making in this. The piece also talks about his past in Kirkwall, with some first times, oral sex, and sexually confident, lightly dominant Cullen. (With more in the next chapter.) This is part one of two :)

READ ON A03

He’s here.

The Commander doesn’t often habit the Herald’s Rest, so his presence draws attention from many men and women alike. When Lydia first sees him enter she also sees the rush of soldiers rising from the tables with their mead. So sorry Commander, reporting for duty at once sir, yes sir! Cullen, mildly amused, assures them that they are off duty and it’s alright. He’s off duty himself.

He’s never off-duty, Lydia thinks to herself, but indeed he doesn’t wear his armor or mantle—thank the Maker—but a simple red tunic with breeches. He takes a seat by Captain Rylen, one of the only people who can crack his professional façade and make him laugh. Except, of course, for her. Once. Mildly embroiled with a thing often called jealousy, she watches Cullen laugh at something Rylen says.

Once, he laughed at her ridiculous quips that she always used to offer to Josephine when it came to the visiting Orlesian nobles, and when they played chess not too long ago in the garden, she saw him smiling from the corner of her eye at her concentrated face before eventually giving up and giggling. He was patient with her novice chess skills, and she’s certain he let her win. He may be obstinate, but he is kind. He always used to ask if she’s alright, if she’s holding up. We asked so much of you, he said once. And when never wondered if you were alright. From Haven, he found her in the snow and carried her home.

She knows. He’ll never talk to her again.

She knows that, so she doesn’t bother. So, unbothered, when the band begins to play, she’s nudges Sera next to her for a dance, making sure she’s in his line of sight. To the gentle beat of the drum and lute, their hands linked, they make time to the music. She’s thankful for her choice in outfit, as she wears a blue gathered skirt that dances with her, and as she quickens her pace her sleeves drop from her shoulders and her brown hair falls from it’s bun. She’s painted her lips red as well—a favorite shade of blue-toned red that matches both her vibrant blue eyes and light brown skin. When Sera lets go, tired, she finds herself next to Dorian, and he laughs and they dance together. From one companion to the next—Bull, Krem, Cassandra even with some goading after a noise of disgust—Lydia dances. They clap for her, her people who have given their lives for her cause without truly knowing her, but at least on this night, they know she loves to dance. Indeed, she dances with one after the other learning their names—Bevel, Ophelia, Connor, Falia, all until she’s in the arms of a scout named Jim. He can’t move, he’s blocky and his starstruck attitude prevent the concentration he needs in his footwork, but Lydia laughs it off and promises he’s doing well.

“Your ladyship,” he says, far too excited as Lydia is forced to take the lead, “your hair smells like jasmine.”

“My perfume,” she says, the two of them heading into a corner next to the bar. “Oh…please don’t, you’re going to step on my foot…oh I think you should practice more…”

“Pardon. Allow me.”

Jim says it before Lydia can, “oh, Commander, of course,” and wordlessly Lydia take’s Cullen’s hand—his ungloved hand—and he pulls her into his frame just as Maryden begins to sing “Enchanter.” Before she can think this isn’t happening, as she was convinced he wouldn’t speak to her again, she smells the elderflower and oakmoss from his shirt, (a trick his mother taught him to keep clothes fresh, he confided once.) she knows it’s real. It’s him. He has her in his arms.

“I’m afraid I can’t dance,” he says, self-deprecatingly so, and she lets him pull her closer, to where she can feel his beating heart. He’s somewhat right—he’s unsure of his footwork and where he should take them on the floor, but he holds onto her hand, the other on the small of her back, and he keeps his eyes on her, even as the music changes to a softer, melodic lute.

“You’re not bad,” she compliments, a small offering of peace after his own offering. Of course they’ve been pleasant to one another in the War Room or when she comes to his office to discuss the Red Templars, but not since she spoke to him in the garden have they spoken as acquaintances, friends, more.

He thanks her with the slightest of blushes, and they sway together, his heartbeat never truly easing as Maryden sings, enchanter come to me. She apologized in the war room hours after their confrontation, Leliana of all people inspiring her. (“I know you are frustrated. I am too. But…he has been through so much he’d rather forget. Sometimes I think he looks at me and remembers. He cares for his soldiers, and the Inquisition. I believe now is what matters.”) After her apology, he said it was “forgotten,” if not forgiven before he moved on to the Red Templars. He was too business-like after, too cold, and he must have seen how her heart ached.

But she did it all herself. He had such warmth before when he spoke to her. Smiled at her, rare for him, and he wasn’t beyond light teasing when they played chess together. After she confronted him, he erected an icy wall that only cracked after her apology. Even now as they dance, even as his eyes remain fixated on her lips and her eyes, she knows. He doesn’t want to be hurt again.

But why is he dancing with her? Why did he take her into his arms?

The questions ignite a fire, and she can’t take it anymore. “Cullen,” she says, “May we speak elsewhere?”

She plans on speaking outside the tavern, but it’s crowded with soldiers watching a friendly sparring match and she knows she can’t do it there. Before when she confronted him it was in the garden, and she was fully aware that a crowd gathered to watch the Inquisitor’s tongue lashing at the Commander. Inside the hall, she thinks, , but there are people there as well, visiting nobles from Orlais and Ferelden both that she will not let into her world. With no other option, she suggests, “My room?”

There’s apprehension. “is it proper?” he asks, but she assures she wants private, and when Josephine hired only the master masons for Skyhold’s repairs, she asked the Inquisitor’s chamber be just that, a private oasis.

“It’s practically the size of my old quarters that I used to share in the Circle,” Lydia says. “And there’s a fire going. It’ll be warm.”

Still apprehensive, he none the less agrees and follows her up the stairs and into her room. Once inside, she remembers the decanter of sweet wine she swiped from the kitchens with permission from the cook Emmaline (“You need a treat,” she said, one of the few who ever said such thing to her_ and pours both herself and Cullen a glass in a silver goblet. As she heads over and hands him the wine, she decides to crack the unease by way of light jokes, prattling on about actually seeing him out of his armor and mantle. Not only that, but he isn’t working. Surely now griffons will fly across Skyhold. He smirks. “I saw Cole before coming to the Tavern” he says. “He told me he didn’t know the armor came off.”

“Wasn’t sure if I did either.”

He grins. “Well. As you can see….”

Certainly, she sees. His burgundy shirt is open at the collar, the briefest bit of golden hair peeking through. The mantle and heavy plates have hidden his physic, she sees. His arms, forearms and shoulders are broad, typical of many Ferelden men she has met. However, it is his bare hands that she is drawn to. She’s so used to his brown gloves that his bare hands seem too intimate. They too are broad, and his fingers long. There are scratches here and there, but they only make them look more lived.

She offers him to sit on the throw rug near the fire, and he does as Lydia readjusts her gathered blue skirt, setting her wine down on the stone floor next to the furred rug. “Cozy,” he comments, and she agrees. She tells him there is always a fire in her room when she comes home, curtesy of too many kind people who take care of her in that way.

But as she talks more of her room, the blue curtains and blue bed sheets, the four poster from the Marches, and the majestic view outside the open window, she realizes she’s stalling. She has to say what she wants to say. He deserves it.

“Cullen,” she begins, thinking of that life, what he has done and what he will continue to do, not before, because he’s given her no reason to think otherwise. “I wanted to tell you again.”

She observes his face. His amber eyes are trailed to her, kind, but they don’t forget.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, words meaningless, but offering them anyway. “When Hawke told me about Kirkwall and the things that happened, I shouldn’t have asked you like I did.”

He sighs. “Inquisitor—”

“I know I already apologized. But things haven’t been the same between us. I thought we were friends. And...” Her cheeks turn hot. “I ruined it didn’t I?”

“No.”

She feels as though he has inched closer to her, his fingers mere centimeters away from hers. “I wanted to tell you. I planned on it—first thing I was going to do when you came back from Crestwood,” he said. “Truly, I wanted to tell you for so long. But I was worried you’d…think less of me.”

She thought about it for a long time after Hawke told her the truth about him in Crestwood, that it took him ten years to see through Meredith, and he thought less of mages during those ten years. But she never saw that when he was with her, when they talked and laugh. She saw a man who worked too hard to keep his men safe, who poured over reports and missives for hours, and who respected her, a mage. He defended her to Roderick in Haven, after he called her mage, infidel. He respected her. Talking with him, she felt her titles strip away until she was only a woman, only Lydia. In turn, he was her Commander, he was Cullen.

The past mattered, but the present mattered the most.

“Inquisitor—”

“Please, call me Lydia,” she says. “You called me Lydia after you found me in the snow and you carried me home, but you haven’t since. Please.”

He looks into her eyes, the fire crackling. So she pleads once more, “forgive me please.” Then, she adds, “I was wrong before in the garden. You’re not a coward. I should have never called you that.”

“But I was once,” he says with a long, defeated sigh. “I couldn’t see. I was blinded by rage. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner, known I was complicit. Lydia…” He looks away from her eyes, toward the fire. “I…I understand if don’t want anything more than friendship, or even if you don’t want that. I shouldn’t have come to the tavern, but I thought…”

“I liked your hands on me Cullen.”

He meets her eyes, though she is the one that inches closer. “Forgive me,” she beseeches again.

She can’t help but notice how he looks at her painted lips. “Forgiven,” he mutters. “But, forgive me. Not for my past. I know you can’t, no one can. But forgive me for not telling you sooner. I was too afraid you wouldn’t…” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think you would want me.”

That was something that hurt, she realized moments after she called him a coward and saw his face. She did still want, because she knew who he was then. Her commander, Cullen. It took nearly loosing him to find out, and that hurt most of all.

“From now on, tell me everything,” she whispers. “And I’ll do the same.”

“I can’t stop thinking of you.”

She stares, her heart beating quickly. She has a river of thoughts but she cannot speak, and when he mistakes her silence, he rises from the rug, hurt again.

And Maker she doesn’t want him hurt again.

“I should go,” he says. “I’ve taken too much of your time. I—”

“No.”

She rises and grabs his shoulder. He stops. She knows, she tells him. She has known. She senses it every time before when they were together, knew it when he saw his face fall after she called him a coward in the garden. And she keeps her vow, by telling him the same. She can’t stop thinking of him.

“You knew I’d be there tonight,” she says. “You wanted me in your arms. You came for me.”

The enchanter she was, she came to him too.

He nods. Her hand finding his, he pulls it into his. It is her marked hand he holds. She feels as though she should pull away, and yet his amber eyes speak a different tale. He will not harm her, he will not turn away. And then he presses his lips to her palm, against her mark. One, and then another. Desperate kisses, anguished kisses, kisses that say I need you.

They’re in each other’s arms, and fingers twist through his hair, his hands splayed against her back. He kisses with his whole being, pours every ounce of his soul as he captures her bottom lip and she answers in turn. They pull away, but not completely, their foreheads pressed together.

“Don’t go,” she pleads.

“If I stay longer, people will talk.”

“You care about that?”

She feels his smile against her. “No.”

“Then stay.”

“It’s too soon to stay,” he mutters, though she can see that veneer of a blushing gentleman is disappearing with each gentle rock of her hip against his. He’s hard, already.

It’s thrilling.

“Too soon,” he says again. “Lydia…?”

“Why?”

The question flummoxes him. His bare hand caresses her cheek, warm and gentle.

She reminds him of their recent promise.

“I’ve thought of you since I saw you,” he answers, needy, hungrily. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you since I saw you by the rift. But…you’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war, and you haven’t always seen me in the best light.”

“I don’t care. I want us to be together.”

She speaks it with such desperation, but she knows it’s true for him. She can feel his want pressed against her.

“Lydia…”

“We don’t have to. I understand. Maybe it’s too fast or it’s not proper, but—”

Words she means to say fly away. She loses herself in the tangle of arms and lips, and when he says, “fuck what’s proper,” she soars, she dances, she is, and she exists as a nothing but wanted and hungry woman in the arms of her lover until they are standing at the edge of her bed. She’s not the Inquisitor, she’s Cullen’s lover. The word ignites her, lover. Has she thought of herself, what she had needed during this time? Has he? Fuck the world at war. In her room, they can be each other’s.

Indeed, they dance like they did earlier, but with entirely different steps as they touch, kiss, feel as she leads them backwards to her bed. “Fuck what’s proper,” she says, mirroring his words. “Be rough.”

The words alight him, and yet even though he holds her, she can feel a wall between them erecting.

“Are you sure? Now?” he asks.

“Maker, yes,” she replies.

“We don’t have to. We can be slow.”

“We’ve talked as friends, we’ve argued, we’re back again, here. Cullen, Knight-Captain, Commander, when you were in Kirkwall, did you think of what you wanted? Were you selfish?”

He shakes his head. “Be rough,” she says, “be greedy. Tell me what to do and what you want. I have everything to give.”

“Let me give it back.”

Her fingers twist in his shirt. “Do you know what it’s like, to be the Inquisitor? I’m not a woman to these people…I’m not Lydia. I’m a symbol. I don’t want that with you. I want to be wanted, desired, tasted.” She holds him, and whispers in his ear, “I want it from you.”

“I…I’m scarred,” he tells her, as if he’s ashamed. “You’ll see and—"

She holds his face in her hands, kisses his forehead before he can finish. “I don’t care. I want to see.”

“Lydia—”

She unbuttons her shirt, assuring him it’s alright when he asks what she’s doing. It flutters to the floor, and she gulps before she reaches behind her and tugs down at her breast band. With her breasts free, she lets him see. It’s a jagged scar across her chest, pink from where it healed, and barely touching her left breast. He stares with awe, he stares with something else in his eyes.

“A templar.” she says. “When the Circles fell, I tried to go back home. Ironically, I got this when I was trying to go back to the Circle.”

His fingers lightly ghost over the pinkish mark, against the valley between her breasts, but carefully avoiding them, for now. He traces lightly before he places his hands over her bare hips, and he kisses the mark, grazing his lips over her skin. Her hand wraps around his hair, mussing the waves into curls, keeping him there until he rises to kiss her. They fall against the bed, his body pressed flush against hers. He only pauses his ministrations to kick off his boots, and Lydia does the same, tossing off her flat shoes with a dull thud to the floor. She tosses off her skirt, Cullen helping her until the only thing covering her body is her undergarment. He though, is still covered. When her hands reach to remedy that, he helps her.

She wants to see. She rises when his shirt is gone, skimming his hands over his shoulders and the blonde hair on his chest, kissing the reddish burns from fire, the marks from swords, and then finally, the scar across his lip, rough yet smooth underneath her darting tongue. Their lips meet again, and she settles against the pillows, his body acting as her blanket. He mutters words of how sweet her kisses are, how beautiful she is, and then he grows lewder. He never imagined he’d get to feel her, never thought he’d bury himself inside her.

“More,” she urges, enflamed. “Tell me what you want.”

“Put your hands over your head.”

She obeys with ardor, and his hands skim against her arms, lips following where he touched. He nips her chin and then his warm mouth is over her neck, and even in places where she never thought there should be kisses—underneath her arms, underneath her breasts. He kisses again that scar before he palms her breasts, pinches her nipples lightly and makes her cry out.

“Be loud,” he instructs, husky and low, and slipping her undergarments down. “I have everything to give you.”

He does. He peeks from between her thighs as his tongue darts against her inner thighs. He licks her clit once, and then again before using the pad of his thumb. She could never pleasure herself the way he pleasures her—her hands are too delicate, too unlived. His are strong, and she grabs the other as he slips a finger inside, moves in and out until her thighs quake around him. She shudders with the bliss that his tongue brought, and Maker, he laps her arousal, he kisses her with his arousal still on his lips and tongue.

She could spend the night kissing him, and kissing him only, her hands wrapped around his cheeks, the way he poured his whole being into each press. And yet he rocks against her, and she instinctively allows her hand to travel. He gasps when she caresses his clothed cock, allows her to help him take the off his breeches. He’s warm against the juncture of her thigh, straining as he moves against her thigh to abate himself somewhat.

He looks at her in the eye, breathing heavily and pupils blown wide. She nods. She thinks he meant to be slow, but she’s warm and welcoming from the art of his hands and mouth, and she did tell him, rough. He obeys, as he’s inside all at once, filling her to the brim.

She meant not to cry out, and she succeeded, but her face betrayed her.

“Lydia,” he breathes, exasperated, cradling her face head in his hands, “you’re a virgin.”

A man…Cullen is inside her. That alone thrills. “Not anymore,” she assures.

“I should have known. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says with a smile, moved by his concern. “I wanted you.”

“Does it hurt?”

He’s remained inside her during their dialogue, and though it never truly hurt—it was more an adjustment to the feel of him inside, a slight burn at the stretch. She shakes her head, and she gasps as he moves, holding onto his arms, squeezing the sinews. She throws her head against the pillow and he rewards her with reverent kisses against her neck and collar, and then again to her lips, catching her sighs of delight.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as he moves, grounds her to the bed, centers her world from the Inquisition to only the two of them.

“I didn’t want you gentle.”

“I’d prefer to make love to you, not fuck. There’s a difference.”

She plants her feet against the bed. “Oh. Have you fucked before then?”

He smirks, a silent, now Lydia, truly? And she knows the answer. It doesn’t matter, she absolves, as they belong to the moment.

The moment continues, her Commander wrapped in a bliss she’s never seen from him before. “Wrap your legs around me,” he asks, and when she does, she angles her hips just so, to where his feel is deeper, more intense. He asks her to touch herself, he won’t last much longer, and she obeys, sticking her hand between them and rubbing her clit before he decides he’d rather his hand there. He stimulates inside and outside, an intoxicating duet, and her second orgasm comes again with fervor and heat, a rush. She falls when he pulls out, mourns the loss of his cock, but the feelings are brief. His earlier action inspires her to slap his hand away, bring him his end with her hand. Flushed, illuminated by the fire, hair in disarray, golden, and at her mercy, his moan as like music, and he spills onto her belly. A moment and a lifetime together, both ended too soon.

And yet she feels deliciously satisfied, and wanted. Loved.

Her heart still races as his hand rummages through the bedside table, finding a cloth. He lays by her side to clean his spent, and she can’t help but blush—though she obviously knows why he pulled out, she never thought of a man’s seed on her skin before. Romance novels often didn’t touch on that, or the sweat, or the moments between when they re-adjusted positions and spoke. Lydia finds she prefers it their way to the novels.

Eventually, their eyes find each other, and his smile is radiant. He leans by her side and that kiss is the sweetest.

“Don’t you dare talk of going now,” she says to him. “Stay.”

Enchanted, spellbound, he says he will. And she asks again, because she finds she must, do you forgive me?

“You ask me after I’ve been inside you?” he asks, holding back a chuckle. “Lydia, dear. Yes.”

She tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and she tells him that the man she is with now, she likes what she sees in more ways than one. He boyishly admits he’s glad of it, also in more ways than one.

“Golden lion,” she mutters. “Beautiful, radiant man.”

“Lion?” he repeats, amused. “Maker…”

She doesn’t ask if that makes her a lioness. Rather, she calls herself an enchanter, and she casts a spell on him, so the night can stretch longer than the hours it usually lasts.

“It’s not over yet,” he tells her.

“No. But I want you to sleep. I have you now not working, so please sleep while you’re here with me. You deserve it. Darling.”

Darling. She likes calling him that, and indeed he has the softest of smiles on his lips as she wraps a blanket around them, kissing his forehead after. Truly, it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and he falls asleep. When he’s asleep, she promises him what she’ll promise come morning: she’ll never hurt him again.

She knows, without a doubt, that the same is true for him.

A/N thanks for reading! If you are familiar with my long fic in Waking Dreams things operate differently there, but I was inspired to explore a different way to write their coming together. thank you for reading!

#Cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #cullen fic #lemons #SMUT #smuttty smut smut smut #will put on a03 tomorrow #also Lydia is in my profile and mobile sidebar #:)#lemonade

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scurvgirl · 4 years

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Live

Holy moly I actually wrote something. And while in grad school no less.

Zevran/Male Surana; my boy’s name is Faleris (Fal)

Synopsis: A mage's phylactery is a leash, and they are done with leashes. All they ever wanted was to live, free of the Crows and of the Circle. Fal freed Zevran from the Crows, and it's time for Zevran to return the favor.

Warnings for: Blood, self-harm (for blood magic purposes), near death experiences, implied sexual content

This is also available on AO3 under the same title.

Please remember that reblogs and comments make a content creator’s world and will prompt content you like!

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It did not escape his notice that of all the buildings to sustain damage during the battle, Denerim’s Chantry was one of the least hit. Not to say it wasn’t damaged, but it wasn’t rubble. There was a smudged but clear ring of darker dirt surrounding the abbey, marking the place where so many people decided they would die fighting to protect the Chantry. He could contemplate the sadness of the loss of life, but now was not the time. Rather, it was fortunate for him and his purposes this night.

Zevran slipped into the Chantry, quick and unnoticed, the shadows concealing him like a familiar coat. His steps made no noise, his eyes were quick, his decisions quicker. Not so long ago, he would have been reveling in this, the knowledge he was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be, about to do something many did not want to happen, but also something some did want. So much had changed in a short amount of time. He wasn’t that man anymore, and thank the Maker for that.

“The elvhen word for love is vhenan.” Fal whispered, gently running his finger down Zevran’s arm.

“A pretty word,” Zevran murmured sleepily.

“I think...I think my father was Dalish, because he would say that sometimes. I remember him saying my name and that. Vhenan.”

“Amor…”

“And this word, I want it for us. I want it for you...vhenan.”

The corridor was lit with the bare minimum number of candles, casting large shadows that made this easy. None of this was easy though.

The door he wanted was located in the Revered Mother’s quarters. Zevran happened to know she was currently occupied at the palace, praying over the brave souls who risked their lives during the battle. The Chantry had unfortunately been too small to house all of them, and the newly minted King had graciously allowed the use of the palace to serve as an infirmary.

Zevran opened the door with the key he had swiped from the Mother earlier in the day. The door lead to a dark downward sloping staircase that Zevran descended swiftly. There were no sounds of activity, but there was another barrier he would need to pass in order to reach his destination.

His ears pricked and he stopped, listening carefully.

“I love your ears,” Fal purred, nibbling at the sensitive lobe.

Metal scraped against stone - Templar. A lone one given the limited sounds and the fact that he knew that the Templars were largely called to assist in other areas of the city that had sustained significant magical damage.

Relying on his hearing and hands, Zevran finished descending the stairs. The landing was small and the templar stood guard at a wide, metal door. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, but Zevran was nothing if not skilled. Leveraging all his quickness, Zevran rounded the edge of the room, maintaining himself in the templar’s blindspot. He dropped to the floor behind the templar, struck out with his legs, knocking the guard to the ground.

“Oomf!” Zevran grabbed hold of the helmet and slammed it into the ground once, twice, until he was sufficiently knocked unconscious. There. He’ll wake up with a nasty headache and bump on his head, but he wouldn’t be dead unlike many of his fellows.

Zevran picked up the key loop from the templar’s belt and went to the task of opening the door. There was a total of four keys to open the damned thing, but he was determined.

“You’re quite talented, you know,” Fal said, fully clothed in broad daylight, watching Zevran sharpen his knives.

Zevran quirked a brow, “I am happy to show you my talents.”

Fal rolled his eyes, “Outside of lovemaking and death. I mean, your mind, you’re clever.”

The door swung open and there he was, standing inside a vault full of blood, but he only wanted to find one.

“I wish I wasn’t a mage sometimes,” Fal confessed, his body turned away from Zevran’s.

“Why? Your magic is beautiful, and quite enjoyable.”

“It’s a leash. No matter how good I am, how much I try, they’ll always hunt me down if they so much as think I’ve stepped out of line. An elven mage? We’re hunted.”

Zevran turned over and wrapped his arms around Faleris, holding him tightly, angry at a world that seemed determined to villainize his lover. “I won’t let that happen.”

There were thousands of vials, hallways full of racks of blood with neat labels. His skin itched from the magic permeating the air, making him angry at the hypocrisy. It was blood magic, using a mage’s own blood to track them, not that the Chantry would ever admit it.

Fal relaxed in Zevran’s arms, “When I don’t dream of darkspawn, I dream of them. I prefer the darkspawn.”

As clever as Fal believed him to be, Zevran had no idea how the vials were organized. He started with the obvious thought, alphabetical, but it there were only clusters of alphabetized vials. There were no consistent...wait, there. He gently moved a vial to the side, finding a plaque reading “9:1 Dragon”. Of course, they were organized by the year each mage was harrowed. Fal had told Zevran of the Harrowing, how they stuck demons inside of apprentices and expected them to resist it otherwise they were killed. Or even worse, they weren’t even Harrowed and were made tranquil.

Zevran moved through the racks faster after that, checking the dated sections, going further back and to the left until he found a half-full section labeled “9:30 Dragon.” This was it, Fal’s phylactery had to be here...and there it was. There weren’t many phylacteries for the year, given the state of affairs, but there was Fal’s - a small, glass tube that looked like every other vial in the room. The blood was bright red, the stopper laden with magic.

“I want you to feel something,” Fal whispered, leaning over Zevran, already naked and wanting.

“I already feel it -

“Not that, silly! But this.” Fal ran his hands down his sides, incredible pinpricks of energy and pleasure sinking into his skin. Zevran gasped then groaned.

“It’s my magic, for you. I want you to love it like I do.”

Zevran flipped them over, kissing Fal deeply, “Oh I love it.”

There was no pleasure with this magic, but the prickliness was familiar. The blood was familiar too, though he wouldn’t have known it if it were not for the label. All blood looked the same, but this...this was taken from Faleris when he was just a child, to be tracked if he ever deigned to leave the confines of that prison they call a Circle. Or if he dared to use magic they deemed wrong.

This was it, Zevran thought, this was how he died. It was terrible too, just when he had decided to live again, when he discovered what it was to love and be loved in turn.

“Vhenan! No! No! You can’t, you can’t!” Fal...he was crying and screaming.

“Shh, shh, amor, it’s alright.” He tried to speak, but there was too much blood in his mouth. He knew they were out of the healing poultices. He knew that Fal had no real skills as a healer. He was so gifted in his magic, but healing...it wasn’t one of them. And Wynne wasn’t near.

“Vhenan, I...I won’t lose you. Just...just hold on for me, please.” How could Zevran not do as Fal asked when he sounded like that, when he looked like that - broken and crying, the dirt and blood on his face making his hazel eyes stand out even more?

Fal reached down and pulled out a knife Zevran kept on his belt, and before Zevran could process it, Fal was dragging the knife across his palm. Forbidden words slipped past his lips and the blood spilling from his hand began to move. The pain in Zevran’s body faded slightly, and Fal cut himself again. More pain faded. Another cut. Less pain.

It took five cuts for Zevran to find the strength to reach up and snatch the knife away.

“You will not kill yourself because of me!”

“I’m...fine.” Fal collapsed in Zevran’s arms, bloody and exhausted but alive.

Back at camp, Wynne healed them both and she thankfully said nothing about the obvious carnage done to Fal’s hand.

Zevran left the vault with the vial tucked into his cloak. He had “accidentally” knocked over a couple of the other vials in the vault to make it less obvious that Fal’s vial was missing. After everything Fal had done for the world...the world owed him his freedom at least. Zevran knew that the world wouldn’t give what wouldn’t be taken, so he took it for Fal.

He sneaked his way back into the palace, up to the private bedrooms where a specific elven mage lay unconscious and healing.

He closed the door to the bedroom behind him and took off his outer layers, palming the small vial.

“I know it’s late, mi amor, but when has that stopped us?” He asked the silent man.

“Mm, yes, the Deep Roads. You hated it there, never in the mood for anything fun if you couldn’t feel the sun the next day.” He climbed onto the bed and kissed Fal’s temple gently, careful not to touch any of the bruises that still colored his body.

“I love you, how can I...even if I liked that, how...would you forgive me?” Fal asked, pain clear on his face even in the low light of the fire.

“Mi amor, you have found a way to live. I beg you, live.”

Fal had taken Morrigan’s gamble, and still he was here in this bed, nearly motionless, breathing shallow, and barely clinging to life. Zevran would have hunted the witch if he didn’t know that even this much was a miracle thanks to her.

Zevran crawled into the bed, careful not to jostle Fal. He took Fal’s right hand, pausing to run a thumb over the ugly scar that marred his palm. He kissed the scar for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping it wasn’t his last. He took the vial out of his shirt pocket and pressed it to Fal’s palm.

“You’re free, amor, they won’t ever be able to hunt you. You’re safe.” He kissed Fal’s lips, his heart hurting terribly in his chest. “Now, please, live. Live. ”

#zevran #zevran arainai #zevran x surana #zevran x warden #warden #dragon age #fanfiction #fic #my writing #faleris surana #angst

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herald-of-dirthamen · 3 years

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@liliumsunshine said: May I ask why?

Honestly... where do I start.

I suppose, if I were to put it in a very brief way, it’s because the natural instinct is to fear magic and hide it away, unless they can find a way to use it.

I was lucky to be born among the Dalish, where we see magic as a gift, and treat it as a part of everyday life instead of something to be locked away and feared. We’re taught how to control our magic without it being surrounded by fear and disdain, treated not as if we’re ticking timebombs that are doomed to inevitably become a demon abomination and therefore to be watched under lock and key 24/7, forbidden to venture into the outside world unless you either have money or you have extremely special circumstances that require your skill, such as the potential of the end of the world, but instead treated as though we’re people like anyone else who can make their own decisions and will not make a deal with a demon at any chance they get, which we won’t, if we’re treated with basic respect and dignity instead of mistreated at almost every step.

Like... no one is denying that magic is dangerous and requires respect. Magic can be dangerous, precisely like how fire can be dangerous, or even a basic tool can be dangerous, if used the wrong way. I’ve heard people argue that mages think our magic cannot be dangerous, and it’s like-- who are you talking to that even says that? I use magic casually and trust me, I know that it takes a great deal of focus and control, which does get easier with practice, but that’s because you learn precisely how much focus you need to shape Fade energy to do what you want it to do.

Er... I should probably... cut this post. It’s very long, I’m very sorry.

But I guess I’m going a little off-topic there. It’s just. Frustrating because some of these people act like we don’t know we’re dangerous, and it’s like... how can we forget that, when we’re constantly reminded of that every step of the way?

It’s just... everyone acts like only mages, or only this race, or only this country can commit atrocities when the fact of the matter is that everyone is capable of committing atrocities, and it feels like they forget that because they think they’re in the right, that they’re doing it for the greater good, that what they’re doing is protecting people at the cost of so many other lives.

Like... gods. There are humans who waged war with my ancestors because my people didn’t help enough. Were worshipping our own gods instead of Andraste. None of them remember the people they’ve killed and most of them don’t care because it was a religious war, an Exalted March, and because we didn’t want to give up our culture and give up our gods, what little of them we remembered, they came and they slaughtered us and they put up statues and memorials dedicated to their prophet in what used to be our homeland and they said it was Good.

...I keep going off topic. I just... there’s a lot and I don’t know what isn’t important and what is so I’m giving as much context as possible, I guess.

It’s just, so much of their fear of magic is rooted in how their prophetess was killed, but she was killed because she was leading a slave rebellion, not because... it’s just... yes, I know Tevinter, ruled by mages, is also a horrible place. I know slaves are still allowed there. I know many of them practice blood magic even if it’s technically “illegal” because they view that as the most powerful school of magic, I know so many magisters there are awful and sacrifice thousands, I know, I know, I know, but there’s a BALANCE that has to be struck, and clearly they’re just as imbalanced as the non-magical countries.

And I know now that... apparently my ancestors, back in Arlathan, were just like Tevinter.

But that doesn’t mean that treating mages like potential abominations, murderers, slave-owners, and so on and so forth is okay. You learn that history. You take that history to heart. And you try your hardest not to repeat it. And you can only do that by knowing the history and the ideas borne in it.

It’s just. Hard for me to not be afraid. People act like it’s such an unthinkable idea that we should be treated like anybody else. “What will you do when they commit crimes? Who should judge them?” I don’t know, gosh, maybe a jury of their peers? Magic and non-magic?

This fear of magic is so prevalent that people have even written books about how to prevent magic from manifesting in your children. Superstition that encourages you to do things like place leeches all over your infant’s limbs, before burning said leeches without breathing in the smoke, and wrapping your child’s limbs in cloth specially blessed by a Chantry sister. Superstitions that encourage you to nearly drown your child showing signs of magic, holding them underwater until they almost lose their breath, saying that if their magic is weak, that the magic will die before your child does. Families are so ashamed of having mages in their family that instead of sending them to Circles, they’ll simply lock them away in their homes and ignore them, refusing to let them even learn how to control their abilities until it’s too late.

It’s so hard not to be afraid when those tasked with protecting the common people from mages - and even if they say they protect mages from the rest of the world too, it can’t help but feel like a lie - do horrific things. Abusing us, blackmailing us, even going so far as to cut our connection to the Fade and rendering us as people who can no longer feel or have desires and barely any self-preservation instinct and can’t effectively say no to anyone and being abandoned and left to die. They kill us for not passing Harrowings where they deliberately summon demons to tempt these mages, and some people are so afraid of being unable to pass that they’d rather just be killed then and there.

In fact, if a Circle is deemed too out of control, too beyond saving, they’re allowed to pass a Rite of Annulment, where they just kill every single last mage, every man, woman, and child, and just... start anew. Because most Circles think it’s better to do that than do anything else.

And templars would raid my clan to drag mages to their Circles, their prisons, or would kill us if we proved to be too hostile, too resistant. I’ve lost family to these raids.

And then everybody wonders why so many mages turn to making deals with demons, turning to blood magic... they’re scared and they’re desperate. They’ve decided that if the world is going to treat them like monsters, if the world is going to always treat them like this, then what hope do they have? What else do they have to lose? They decide things can’t possibly get that much worse. That no matter what happens, even if they were good, that they’d never get to be treated like a person because someone will always find a reason to hate us.

Even if all mages are free of Circles now... how long is that going to last? With the war, even though I resolved it... people aren’t going to just forget four years of templars and mages killing each other, killing innocent people, ruining so many lives because it was inevitable that eventually things would come to a head and explode and now there’s even less of a reason to treat us like people.

It’s. It’s just. I don’t know. People have every reason to be afraid of us but by treating us the way they do, they’re only just... causing a vicious cycle, one that I fear has been going on for so long that it might be impossible to break, no matter how hopeful and optimistic I want to be.

It’s just. It’s funny. I’m one of the lucky ones who was treated like a person worthy of respect when I was growing up, my family celebrated when I developed magic, I know I didn’t experience the worst of things for a mage. I know I was born lucky to not grow up in fear of myself and my own abilities.

But I’ve had to learn how to act in the world outside of my clan, and... so many people want me dead for the abilities I have. So many people act like I’ll go out of control. And it’s... how can I not be afraid? Truly?

I’m sorry, I know this meandered a lot and went to a lot of places. I’m not... much of a professional when it comes to writing. Or talking. And there was a lot that I felt was important to share.

I just think that... at least here, for your average person... they may be afraid of us, they might hate us, they have valid reasons to, but I don’t think they’re ever going to quite understand the terror we feel knowing that they’re never really going to want to see us as people who are just as scared as they are.

#liliumsunshine #revas blogs #slavery m ///#abuse m ///#{dear god i do not know how to tag this}#{ALSO GOOGLE DOCS SAYS THIS IS OVER TWO PAGES LONG.}#revas never getting to the fucking point m ///

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ollifree · 4 years

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👀 1, 5, 8, 11, and 13 for the four wardens gang pls. especially caedan. 👀👀👀

1. What is one word to shut them up?

Terron: I’ve been staring at this ask for days and I still can’t think of one for him. This question has haunted all my waking hours. I’m looking at the road but all I’m thinking about is what is the one word to shut Terron up.

Lanni: Failure. She knows she’s not infallible, and takes minor failures in stride. Used right, though, and the word reminds her of what she couldn’t protect and what she’s lost. What she might lose if something like the Highever massacre happens again.

Caedan: Kirkwall. It doesn’t even have to be said to him: the word grabs his attention and sinks ice into his heart. He tells people he’s from the Circle and he’s been there such a long part of his life it’s true; he doesn’t know a culture outside of it to identify with. The Wardens are probably the closest and he was only with them a few years. If pressed, he’ll go so far as to say he was born in the Free Marches. He doesn’t remember Kirkwall. He doesn’t want to remember Kirkwall.

Nasi: Worthless.  It’s a long, hard climb for her to believe she’s more than a Duster. She has skill and knowledge to put any caste dwarf to shame, and once she’s named Paragon very few would be able to go against the ingrained rigidity of the class structure to even insinuate otherwise. “Worthless” though hits, literally, too close to home.

5. List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear.

Terron: Surface: Getting lost. In the Brecilian forest, it meant a spirit or the forest itself was changing the terrain. He could pop out in a familiar area in a few moments, hours, or days. Or, he might not pop out at all. It lessened the longer he spent in human settlements, but when he first started entering them after joining the Wardens he had no idea how to navigate them. Repressed: This is listed down in triggers below, but mirrors. After what happened to himself and Tamlen? He doesn’t trust them for a long time. And full-body ones? He won’t want to be around those ever again. Dark: The corruption taking him. He left his entire life behind when presented with the possibility of a cure. Finding out what he might eventually become at the end of his Calling? It was the single worst event of his life.

Lanni: Surface: Not fire, as one might expect, but definitely dragons. She actually has a bit of a delayed reaction to fire now because “it’s not that hot”. Has to be reminded that even if it doesn’t melt her flesh it’ll still give her burns. Quote-unquote-repressed: Everyone can tell just by looking at her if something reminds her of the attack on Highever. Seizes up and is both distracted and non-direct in her speech. A lot of on-going “uh-huh”s and generally only speaks when someone prompts her. Dark: More-so for her solo canon where she’s actually seen one, but broodmothers. More specifically, turning into one.

Caedan: Caedan’s are all nicely layered together like a cake (or an onion). The first layer is the Chantry deciding, no, being conscripted actually doesn’t count, back to the Circle with you. The next layer down is the safety of himself and his closest friends in the Circle. Sure, he and Surana got on fine because they were mentored by two relatively respected senior mages, but that didn’t mean nothing could happen to them. It just meant more questions would be raised if something did. And Maker knows what would happen if they got their hands on Jowan. This leads directly into the deep dark fears: what happens when they’re not safe in the Circle. Tranquility is, of course, the worst thing that can happen to a mage. Before they hit the rite, though, there’s dungeons, whatever a Templar who’s taken a physical fancy to a mage can do, and torture. Remember that Caedan doesn’t want to remember Kirkwall? That’s why he doesn’t want to remember Kirkwall.

Nasi: (Literally) surface: The sky?????? The fucking sky????? Why the fuck is anything allowed to be that big and empty?????? And stuff falls from it?????? Repressed: She fears circumstances that could lead to her losing respect: be it a plan falling through or her strength failing her. Now that she’s had it, she doesn’t want to go back knowing what it felt like. Dark: Stone, don’t let her be like her mother. Stone, don’t let her be like her mother. Stone, don’t let her...

8. Do they have anything that triggers them?

Terron: Mirrors. Smaller ones he can handle so long as he doesn’t see their reflective side. Larger ones, such as the ones on vanities or that hang in hallways, leave him uneasy. Eluvians or similar? No thank you. The end of Witch Hunt was...bad.

Lanni: All of Redcliffe was one giant trigger for her and she was one (1) mishap away from a full-blown PTSD attack while she was there. But, let’s not worry about the trauma she never addressed. She needs to know people are safe.

Caedan: He has an entire list of triggers thanks to the Chantry and the Circle. The biggest one is the “Magic exists to serve man” canticle of the Chant. The one most Chanters say outdoors loudly, for everyone to hear? That one. He’ll shut down entirely upon hearing it.

Nasi: Keep your drinks away from her; she doesn’t need the reminder of her home life. Physical touch isn’t a full-on trigger, but she is somewhat touch repulsed. If she doesn’t someone touch her without express permission, she pretty much trusts them with her life. Do not pick her up.

11. Do they have any vices?

Terron: Is Terron just emotionally mature? Is that what’s happening? Not a vice so much as a bad (from a non-Dalish viewpoint) habit of up and disappearing for a few days. Sometimes it’s for hunting, sometimes it’s because he needs to be out of a stone keep in a forest right-fucking-now.

Lanni: Workaholic. Of the “compelled to take on every task on her own” type. Look, Ferelden’s got to get back on its feet and she’s in the position to do the most to make sure that happens. Alienage needs rebuilt after the darkspawn attack? Show her where to do the heavy lifting. Going to scout southern Ferelden will take a few weeks? Well, they did promise the Dalish land there and she wants to make sure they won’t be cheated out of anything or put on a plot of uninhabitable land, there’s a few Chasind settlements there we should make sure conflicts won’t happen because we didn’t know that’s where their homes were. Oh yeah we promised soldiers for Orzammar someone should look for volunteers and make sure we’re sending more than two people. And while we’re doing that we’re going to be in talks with the Chantry about loosening the restrictions of mages. Yeah sure there’s time in the day for making sure the nobles aren’t about to oust us. Going into labor? There’s time for a few more documents. Gave birth two hours ago? Strap that baby to her chest we got more shit to review. Happened a second time? Of course it did. There’s the possibility of a cure out there? She’s checking into it. What the fuck is delegating?

Caedan: Bottoms up. His drink of choice is wine, he’s not one for the taste of beer or ale. His heaviest drinking is done during times of emotional crisis. He’s steered very close to alcoholism at a few points in his life, but his social circles have kept him from it. He’s grateful for it, and they know this, but he’s pissy about it since he doesn’t like having his actions reproached.

Nasi:  Does bloodshed count? She doesn’t process her emotions, and prefers to deal with any feelings by finding the nearest darkspawn and hacking them into so many pieces even she doesn’t remember what kind they were before. This year’s fall fashion line in Orzammar is black blood stains.

13. Which of the 7 Deadly Sins best describes them?

Terron: Envy. For the kind of safety, standing, and knowledge that humans possess. Even non-Andrastians (ie. Avvar and Chasind) know their history. Most humans can travel without fear of harassment, or can expect justice should something befall one of them.  His people don’t even know their own language.

Lanni: Greed. She could have lived in comfort and contentment as a Warden, though she’d have always joined in taking Highever back for her brother. Instead, she’s taking the queenship. Shouldn’t have called her bluff when she was trying to get you out of imprisonment, Anora. 

Caedan: Pride. As if he wasn’t already enough of a smarmy bastard to begin with, he went and made an agreement with Mouse, a pride demon, when Avernus taught him blood magic. He knew he was one of the best mages in the tower, and being out in Thedas at large hasn’t changed that impression much. The one mage he’ll say is better than him? He built a life with her. And don’t even get him started on what a prodigy their son is. 

Nasi: Wrath. A good chunk of the carta, and pretty much all of Dust Town, knew not to cross her path if she looked any more pissed than usual. She turns it into a real strength when Oghren teaches her berserker techniques. Bhelen knows he’s only got his throne so long as Rica’s happy and cared for.

#ask #greyvvardenfell #rey #dragon age #warden #oc things #terron mahariel #lani cousland #caedan amell #nasi brosca #long post /#this took up so much brain juice but god now i wanna do even more for 'em #i love my wardens so gd much

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hawkbucks · 4 years

Text

It’s AUnytime which means I finally have an excuse to post a myriad of AU’s. Dragon Age!AU because I said so and also because the 4th game is coming out and I’m very, very excited for it, I love Dragon Age so much, thanks. Also: ROGUE 4 LIFE.

Idk when this takes place, so please do not ask me hgfjdksl I’m inclined to say after Inquisition but we all know how nothing is really set in stone with me so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Do not ask me where this takes place either, because I also don’t know. Ferelden? The Free Marches? Orlais? Nevarra? Who knows, because I certainly don’t. I said that but teyrn is a specifically Fereldan term, so they’re in Ferelden, I GUESS. Let’s pretend that Kinloch is… better (which would probably put this after Origins and sometime before Inquisition or… god, I should stop).

Anyway, basic stuuuuuuuff:

Anthony is the son of the influential teyrn Howard Stark. He comes into his magic at the age of 8 when he burns–and scars–a young Tiberius Stone after Tiberius kept harassing him. All his life, he’s grown up hearing about the dangers of magic: it’s a punishment bestowed by the Maker upon mankind for their ambition and greed. Wielders of magic are usually taken from their families when their powers manifest and brought to schools called Circles. Anthony, scared of both the implications of being imbued with magic and the very real threat of being separated from his family, flees.

‘Course, he’s 8 so he doesn’t get very far. They find him in a wheat field, scorched earth forming a circle around him. Maria begs H*ward to keep Anthony with them. She’ll find a teacher, pay them well, just please don’t let them take Anthony away. H*ward doesn’t really give a shit, though. Mage children cannot inherit land or fortune, so what’s the point of keeping Anthony? Plus, he’d be accused of nepotism and his reputation would go down the chamberpot.

He lets the Templars take Anthony away. It’s a shame, really. Anthony has shown great prowess with an anvil and a pair of blacksmithing tools, and Howard has no doubt that Tony’s natural charisma would’ve been a great help in the court of Thedosian politics. The only thing they allow him to bring is a plush mabari that his mother bought for him when he was a wee bit younger (he named it “Dummy” and he’s refused to part with it ever). There are tears, yes, quite a bit of them. When Maria pulls away, her entire shoulder is soaked, but there really is nothing that she can do. As much as she hates H*ward’s decision, she also knew it was the only way Anthony could stay safe.

It is in the Circle that he meets one James Rhodes, the child of a fisherman and seamtress from some town near a lake whose name Anthony finds to be somewhat familiar. James is maybe a year or two older than him, and he’s the only one who didn’t scoff at him when he arrived. Plus, he helped get Dummy back from a bunch of other children who wanted to tease the new arrival. He’s also much kinder to Anthony than what Anthony would’ve expected, whether that means James giving Anthony the rest of his broth if he notices that he still looks rather hungry, or James draping another blanket around Anthony’s shoulders if he notices him shivering.

(This is, of course, thanks to the fact that James has been in the Circle for a good amount of time and he knows how crushing it can be to remain alone. In Anthony, he sees this kid who’s confused, scared, just had his blood taken to make a phylactery, and who reminds him so much of how he was like when he first came in, so he tries his best to make it better. He is far, far too young to be acting this old.)

Anthony eventually nicknames James “Rhodey,” and it sticks. However, James only lets Anthony call him that. He, in turn, nicknames Anthony “Tones.” “Tony” for something slightly shorter. They spend pretty much any moment that’s not studying or learning or sleeping with each other.

(Just adding this, but Tony is shown to be adept at Primal magic, particularly fire, while Rhodey has talent in the Force side of things.)

Also, Harrowings! Harrowings are good and not at all traumatizing! Rhodey goes through his first. He’s just sitting there, eating some nice cheese with Tony, and bam! A couple of Templars take him because the enchanters decided he was ready. Thankfully, he’s able to resist the temptation of the demon and exit. Tony, when he sees him again, admits to nearly crying because he’s heard of the Harrowing—even if he doesn’t know what it specifically entails—and he was worried for Rhodey.

When Tony is taken for his Harrowing, Rhodey just prays to the Maker that he doesn’t find his best friend Tranquil or worse: with a sword driven through his body. But it’s all good. Tony comes back.

The Templars are hardasses, and some are just downright creepy, but thankfully none of them try to antagonize Tony or Rhodey.

I do want to have Pepper in this, but I was thinking of introducing her by having Tony and Rhodey eventually leave the Circle [whether through egress or me backtracking on my previous statement of not knowing when this takes place and having it be when the Breach appears in the sky and it All Goes To Hell therefore giving Tony and Rhodey a better chance to leave and not be found out] and coming across her humble little farm. She’d be older than they are and she’d have a husband, Harold/Happy, and she’d basically take them under her wing. “You’re not put off by the fact that we’re mages?” Rhodey would ask, and she’d shake her head. “Why should I be? You’re human like the rest of us. It just happens that you both are—” she’d look at the both of them up and down, taking in their robes, their silver rings, and the staves strapped to their backs— “more… talented than others.”

As for other characters, I am considering making Steve a Templar. His mother was a devout Chantry goer, and during their trips he’d see them and think they were doing the Maker’s work. Of course, he was a child, so he didn’t really… know about how terrible Templars can be, he just thought they would help protect the mages from people that wished them harm and from themselves if need be.

The only thing about him being a Templar is that I cannot see him putting aside his morals to blindly trust the command of a superior. He can’t be that emotionally rigid. “A Templar’s obedience to the Chantry is more important than their moral center.” “Bullshit,” Steven Grant Rogers replies, throwing his sword down on the ground.

If he were to be a Templar, he’d be one of those Templars that does not stand for any other Templar’s shenanigans. He calls out everyone and anyone, whether they be a lowly recruit or the goddamn Knight-Commander. He’s got a mouth; he’s going to use it. (He’s pretty sure there’s a contingent that’s planning his assassination. He wishes them luck, because he’s rather skilled in swordplay.) He’s not going to let them stray from their duty of protecting mages and the outside world.

There’s also lyrium and all that. Which brings me to Bucky. I could also make Bucky a Templar, and… it would make sense, right? A bit? That’s where him and Steve meet, and the both of them have such strong moral compasses that they hit it off almost immediately. It’s like they’re both going “Same hat! Same hat!”

Then, at some point, Bucky leaves to visit his family and he just doesn’t come back. I’m still rough on what happens, but obviously that would be the “Winter Soldier” part of his life where either a) whoever has him drastically increases his lyrium dosage to further heighten his abilities at the expense of horrific lyrium-induced nightmares and episodes of paranoia or b) red lyrium which is infinitely more worse and you know what, nah, I can’t do this to Bucky :(

Natasha is definitely a bard. Full stop. She’s a master in deception, manipulation, espionage, and she knows her way around a blade or two. She also has a delightful singing voice. However, even with the adrenaline rush of a job done right, the thrill of being caught spiking through her veins, she can’t say that she enjoys her job. It’s just that she’s good at it and Orlesian nobles are stacked with royals.

(Another option would be her being an Antivan Crow, because it certainly is as brutal as her backstory, but I just felt like her being a bard suited her better?)

Okay, that’s it for now before this gets too big gjfdkls

#da au #Idk what to name it so it's just 'da au' for now lol

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kestrellavellan · 4 years

Text

Time Past - Chapter 58

Word Count: 1,382

Warnings: The End

Find this fic in its entirety at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880/chapters/53360149

The journey back was a leisurely one. They had a whole caravan of Kestrel’s mounts from Skyhold to take back to Tevinter, afterall. After a tearful goodbye from Dennett, at least the harts and horses, and a light pat to the drascolisks and giant nug, they set off with Dalish and Taeven joining them. Neither knew how to access the eluvian that had brought them to Skyhold, and Dorian promised a concerned Dalish he’d help him with the studies he was missing.

The journey back was an uneventful one. Kestrel practice attuning himself to the quirks of his new arm with Taeven’s aid while Dorian and Dalish worked on his magic studies. Kestrel often found himself staring at the two of them, admiring their growing bond during the trip.

The journey back was an emotional one.

“You know, there is a path to adoption,” Taeven whispered one time when Kestrel found himself staring again with a fond smile.

Immediately, his attention was on Taeven. “There is?”

“Sure. If you have a magister sponsor the adoption, no one will even look twice. He’d take the Pavus name and become an official heir.”

“That’s wonderful news! I have to check with Dorian, but I’m sure he would agree.”

“Would I?”

Kestrel jumped and turned his attention to Dorian. Both him and Dalish were watching him with similar expressions full of love and amusement, although Dalish’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. That could only mean one thing. “You already went through with the adoption, didn’t you?” Kestrel said, prodding Dorian in the chest with the accusation, struggling to keep his own tears in check.

“Before we left for Skyhold, I had the papers drawn up. I was going to surprise you with them once we returned home. Everyone was to keep quiet until then, but then I guess some of us are better at keeping secrets than others,” Dorian answered, looking pointedly at Taeven. “Dalish kept the secret better than you, you old man!”

Taeven grinned and shrugged. “My memory must’ve failed me.”

They all started laughing and didn’t stop until they were wiping tears from their eyes and embracing.

Kestrel had gained so much in the last month, it overshadowed everything that had been taken from him. He’d gained a husband, a son, friends, both new and old, and they all made up his family. That found family was his true happiness.

EPILOGUE:

Dorian sliced a carrot in the kitchen, preparing the vegetables for a stew while Kestrel had the less appealing task of skinning and gutting the rabbit he’d shot earlier. Summer had come and gone, and fall shed the leaves from the trees and made the ground crunch underfoot as the herald for winter. Dalish would be returning home from the circle for Satinalia in the next few weeks, and Kestrel was a restless ball of energy, waiting for his return.

They’d fallen into a healthy cycle of rest and relaxation over the past months after the house was finished and set-up as Kestrel preferred on the outside and how Dorian preferred on the inside. Sure, there were trips made into Minrathous when the Magisterium was in session, or trips around Tevinter for other Lucerni work, but their life was relatively quiet. Dorian could tell it was wearing on Kestrel who spent his days hunting to get out of the house. Their larder was full of enough meat to last them well through spring.

A knock on the door drew Dorian’s attention from his thoughts and the mangled carrot in front of him. He still wasn’t great at chopping vegetables and doubted he ever would be. Not a horrible loss in the grand scheme of things.

“Kes, if you have your hands full of more dead animals, I swear--” Dorian opened the door to find Cullen there dressed in his leather traveling armor, red cloak slung around his shoulders, but missing that distinctive fur mantle.

“Ah, Dorian,” Cullen greeted in his typical, endearing, awkward manner.

“Wonderful to see you too, Cullen. Please, come in,” Dorian said with a smirk, turning sideways to allow him past.

“You have a beautiful house here. Very peaceful,” he said, hands twisting together as he looked around the entryway.

The nervous action wasn’t missed by Dorian. “Yes, and we prefer to keep it that way. What can I do for you, Commander?”

Cullen glanced around, refusing to meet Dorian’s gaze. Straightening his shoulders, he asked, “Is the Inquisit--Kestrel around?”

“I thought you’d retired to help other retired templars, Cullen. What are you doing here?”

“We have word on his location through Leliana’s network. He never stays in one place long, so we must act.”

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t ask this of Kes!” he said sharply.

Cullen finally met his angry gaze. “Solas helped him when he was enslaved and let him and his kid use the eluvian network. Kestrel is the only one who might be able to get close enough to him to…”

“Cullen!” Kestrel said, coming from the kitchen. His nose and cheeks rosy with the outdoor cold, but it did nothing to dampen the bright smile offered to their visitor.

Kestrel had come so far in the last several months. It’d been at least a month since his last nightmare and longer still since his last relapse into the depths of his trauma. Dorian and Dalish had nurtured him along with their unconditional love, bringing the light and life back into those beautiful sea-blue eyes of his. He was not about to let Cullen or the shadow of their former organization he still represented take that away from Kestrel again.

Cullen smiled in response to Kestrel’s warm welcome before it faded into a concerned frown.

Dorian could only hope Cullen saw the change in Kestrel too and would think better of his request.

Kestrel linked arms with Cullen and led him deeper into the house. “Come, you must stay for dinner. So long as you don’t mind your vegetables butchered. Dorian’s the smartest man I know, yet he can’t chop a carrot to save his life.”

Laughing, the two disappeared in the back.

“Kaffas,” Dorian cursed under his breath, and it wasn’t about the insult to his culinary skills either.

He hurried after them. He cleared the doorway into the kitchen as Kestrel dropped the diced rabbit meat into the pot, along with Dorian’s poorly cut vegetables. Kestrel poured a mug of ale for Cullen from a small cask on the counter and handed it over, before pouring himself one. Leaning against the counter, he watched Cullen over his cup as the man chugged the entire contents before setting it down on the table.

Dorian joined Kestrel at his side as Kestrel said, “Now, Cullen, as much as your visit is welcomed, you’re not the type to drop in unexpectedly without something important to say. Out with it, so you can enjoy your meal without it hanging over you.”

Cullen pinkened and swallowed heavily. “I...well, we’ve tracked Solas down, but we can’t get to him. We think you might be able to.”

“Where is he?”

“In Tevinter. About a day’s ride away.”

Kestrel grabbed Dorian’s hand.

Dorian squeezed is reassurance, already knowing what words were going to come out of his mouth. He also knew there’d be no point in arguing.

“We have to be back in time for Satinalia. Our son is coming home for the holiday.”

Cullen nodded his head. “If all goes well, that should happen. We’ve planned a week.”

Dorian snorted. Since when did their plans go well?

Kestrel turned to him and said, “You can stay, ma vhenan. I know you have a big meeting with the Lucerni coming up.”

Dorian waved his comment away. “Mae can handle it. I’m never leaving your side again, amatus. If you believe this course of action is best, then I’m with you. Better together.”

Kestrel cupped Dorian’s cheek with his hand, the metal of his gold ring cool against Dorian’s skin compared to Kestrel’s palm. “Better together.”

Whatever Fen’Harel had in store for them, whatever other obstacles Thedas conjured to throw in their path, Dorian knew they’d be okay if they stayed together. He’d never let the world or his own stupidity tear them apart again.

#time past #chapter 58 #pavellan #dorian pavus #kestrel lavellan #cullen rutherford #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age inquisition #this is the end of Time Past guys #very bittersweet for me #it's a 163k long!fic that's been the past 2.5 years of my life #so many ups and downs in that time but I love how it all turned out in the end #I hope everyone else does too

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darlingrutherford · 5 years

Note

Lana - 2, 6, 16, 25, 32, 48; Sarya - 3, 5, 9, 15, 21, 26, 35; Frederick - 7, 12, 18, 24, 30, 42, 49. Sorry, that's a lot but your babies are so fascinating!)

@liveinthehills asgjkhkjshg thank you so much for all the asks!

From the Super Detailed Questions About Your OCs list

For Lana Surana-

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Redcliffe are really the only two titles Lana has received (the obvious ones, from saving Redcliffe during the Blight and ending the Blight itself). Lana never becomes the Warden Commander of Ferelden, wishing instead to focus on assisting the wardens rebuild after the Blight with Alistair's help, rather than lead them. Alistair likes to refer to her as the Goddess of Ferelden, and does so often that at least a handful of people in Ferelden actually think that it must be the correct title.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Lana was very studious inside the Ferelden Circle. She enjoys quietly reading on her own, and spent a lot of time reading up on various magical theories as well as Andrastian history. She wasn't very fond of hands-on studies, not being too keen on casting spells even though she was very good at it. Irving would have had her take her Harrowing at a much younger age because of how quickly she grasped onto knowledge and magical skills, but her hesitancy to use them was what held her as an apprentice until she was 18.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

Once she leaves the Circle, Lana collects a tiny rock from each place they visit. The first one she collects is from the shore of the Circle. She does this as a reminder of where she came from, where she's been, and as a reminder of everything that's happened. She keeps them in a small pouch at her side.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

Lana adores Alistair's sense of humor. She's been through a lot herself, so she can appreciate the self deprecation of his humor. Lana may not have the worldly experience to get some jokes, but she can feel the levity emotion of the situation and enjoys hearing people's laughter more than anything. She doesn't crack many jokes herself, although when she does they're usually rather sarcastic.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

In the Circle, Lana tended to gravitate towards mage robes that had purples or blues in them, same for her nightgowns. After leaving the Circle, Lana wears the blue grey warden mage armor. Because of her height, most armor tends to be much too long on her and she ends up having to modify it, so she doesn't stray much from that uniform. She has a long tunic she never took in that she wears to sleep, although once she and Alistair start sharing a tent all the time, she either steals one of his clean tunics or otherwise they go without. Lana's hair is red (think very bright copper), and straight. It's to the middle of her back, and she always wears it in a tight French braid that begins near her left temple and ends at the right at her neck. It's a habit she still clings to of when her mother would do her hair growing up.

48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend?

Lana's a bit nervous around large groups of people. She has a bit of trauma related to being attacked for being a mage, so she's always worried of how people will react to her if she doesn't know them. With her friends, however, tight knit celebrations are something she can enjoy. She's had to be dragged into a few she definitely didn't want to attend (a status such as Hero of Ferelden will do that), but her fear of disappointing someone overrides her fear of being judged.

For Sarya Lavellan-

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Sarya enjoyed her childhood very much. Growing up without her parents, Keeper Deshanna raised Sarya to be kind and groomed her for a role of leadership at an early age. Sarya took to it with stride, really enjoying everything she learned and the opportunity to be an asset to her clan at such a young age. Her fondest memories are of the harvests she would participate in, as well as all the times she would sneak out at night to explore the Free Marches (sometimes alone, sometimes with her close friend Shala). A more bad memory would be when her clan visited Wycome for trading. Sarya witness a young child burning himself on a forge, and so she quickly helped cool his hand by dunking a cloth in a bucket of water and freezing the cloth with a bit of ice magic. The kid was excited at the show of magic and grateful, but the adults around became concerned and alerted the Chantry about her. Even though the Chantry has an understanding with the Dalish’s ways of having a few mages in one clan, they sent a couple of templars to investigate anyway. They confronted her in the forest outside of Wycome, but ultimately left without incident. Sarya is convinced that, if she hadn't been with a group of their hunters at the time, she would have been carted off to a Circle. This experience grew a small fear of humans for her that nagged at her mind for a small while when she was brought to Haven.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

Sarya was an only child, so no siblings for her. She is very close with a lot of people in her clan, though, and thinks of them as siblings. Renan is the most prominent one, since he's always been one to stay close to her and want to protect her. Her relationship with him became strained once his feelings for her grew into more than friendship, feelings which she never returned. I'll leave it at that, since it effects her in ways that would spoil later chapters of To Weather the Storm ;)

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

I like to joke that Sarya is my “Disney Princess” OC. She gets on incredibly well with animals, and they seem to be drawn to her calm demeanor. The halla that traveled with her clan always knew they could find a treat in her pocket, and it's not uncommon for her to be able to calmly talk herself out of a bad situation with a bear, something that catches Cassandra entirely off guard in the Hinterlands.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

Sarya enjoys cooking. She's good at taking what she has on hand and making something edible out of it. Because of this, she's usually the one who ends up preparing food at the campsite with her companions, and she does it gladly. After the time they let Varric make the stew, she now offers her services first thing.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Sarya has the patience of a saint, but she absolutely loses her temper when she's pushed too far. She never screams or throws things, but she's not above yelling and pointing her finger. Cullen knows better than anyone, having been at the end of her temper a few times just because of how stubborn he can be, always in cases of him not taking care of himself or not allowing her to help him (most commonly with his lyrium withdrawals).

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

Sarya hums when she's happy, and smiles a lot. She wears her emotions on her sleeve when she's in a good mood. If they get a few drinks in her (or one or two particularly strong ones), she's a very happy drunk and will spend a lot of time singing and dancing with a bright smile on her face.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Sarya loves sweets. This would probably be considered an unguilty pleasure, since she does nothing to hide the fact, so much so that it's not uncommon for nobles to send sweets along with their letters in hopes of gaining the Inquisitor’s favor (her favorite are the hard cookies with orange zest dipped in chocolate that Gaspard sends with his correspondence). As for a guilty pleasure, Sarya has secretly read one of two of Varric's books in her spare time when no one is looking. She never had access to romance books like them, and finds herself quite engrossed in the stories.

For Frederick Trevelyan-

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood?

Frederick's parents had him spend a lot of his time studying, so he didn't have a lot of close friends growing up. He did have a friend, Caleb, whom he considered his closest friend growing up, though they grew apart once Caleb settled down.

12. What is their favourite food?

Frederick would never admit it to his parents, but he's a sucker for Orlesian cuisine. He loves the sweetness of their foods, preferring it to the more lightly seasoned vegetables and meat one gets in Ferelden. Frederick isn't vegetarian by any sense, but he does tend to gravitate towards vegetables and fruit over meat. He's especially fond of carrots that have been glazed with honey.

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else

Frederick loves poetry. He and Cassandra have been known to sneak off together to read aloud with one another, just two friends enjoying a romantic prose. He has a wealth of knowledge when it comes to Ferelden history, but he had to study so much of it as a kid that his reading of it is more out of habit than anything.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

Frederick sleeps like the dead. Once he's out, he either needs to wake up on his own or else be shaken awake. He doesn't move much in his sleep, although Dorian will often shove him over onto his side to stop the snoring that ensues when he's on his back. He definitely prefers a softer mattress, and eagerly returns to his bed after a week with his bedroll on the hard ground.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

Frederick does yoga every morning. It's a ritual to him, something his mother encouraged from a young age to calm his high energy. If he's unable to do it he's off for the day: he'll be a bit less level headed than usual, antsy, and turning a few heads as he runs back and forth across Skyhold trying to busy himself. Frederick still has quite a bit of energy even after his morning routine, but it grounds him and allows him to take the day a bit more slow.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Frederick only wants to do his family and the Maker proud. He feels a bit of guilt, knowing that he can never make them happy in the way they had imagined before he came out, and works his hardest to make them proud in other ways. After being with Dorian, this extends to him as well. He realizes that family isn't only blood, and he finds himself wanting to do everything he can to make Dorian proud of him. Frederick would sacrifice anything for the safety of others. It makes him reckless, but it's something he feels very passionate about. As far as secret ambitions, Frederick does want a family, although he isn't sure how that will play out with the path that was given to him.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

Frederick was never sentimental before. After Trespasser, the message crystal Dorian gifts him becomes his most prized possession. With Solas’ threat and everything Dorian has to take care of in Tevinter, they have to be apart for some time, but Frederick always keeps the message crystal close to his heart and converses with Dorian multiple times a day.

#liveinthehills #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age origins #sarya lavellan #lana surana #frederick trevelyan #my ocs #oc asks

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sassylavellen · 5 years

Text

Retribution: Chapter 4

Story: Dragon Age Retribution

A short(?) story by Sam Shenberger

Words: 1,956

Evelyn felt extremely bad for what was happening to the family. It didn’t really affect her, but despite her intentions she really was feeling a connection with the family. She had expected it with Holli, and tolerated it with Stephen, but apart from Amanda she bore no ill-will towards any of them. The parents didn’t like her, but they still allowed Evelyn to stay in the cottage on the estate and didn’t bother her or interfere with Holli’s training. She sat in her kitchen, absent-mindedly flipping a knife and staring at the fire in the hearth, deep in thought. Amanda had said the Ostwick Circle of Magi had fallen… The word she had used was “fallen”. That was the exact same way it had been described in Kirkwall when their Circle of Magi had collapsed.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughtful trance and she shook her head hard. “Door’s open” she called. She continued to flip the knife as an elven servant came into the room. “What’s up?” she said casually, still flipping the knife. It was clear the servant was intimidated by it.

“His lordship requests your presence. I am to take you to him.” He said timidly.

She tossed the knife high into the air without looking and still caught it skillfully. The servant jumped. With a roguish smile, Evelyn stabbed the knife into the table as she stood up and brushed her blouse off. “Lead the way.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The servant lead Evelyn into the estate, past where Holli had taken her that night to see all the portraits. He stopped in a hallway and nodded towards two large doors at the end. “His lordship will waiting for you just inside.” He said shortly. With a nod, Evelyn continued to the doors and threw them open.

“Alright Stephen, what’s…” she began but then she stopped dead in her tracks. Stephen was indeed in the room, but so were around twenty others. All eyes were on her, most of them with condescending looks of judgement on their faces. It was immediately clear that she stood in front of the heads of the Trevelyan family. Flustered, Evelyn quickly straightened up and bowed to them, not entirely sure what to do. “My lords and ladies…” she said quickly.

“You will speak when spoken to, elf!” barked one man standing in the corner.

“Calm down, Percival” said another voice. A bearded man wearing Templar armor stepped forward. “My niece summoned her to speak, let the elf speak.”

Evelyn was extremely confused, but at that moment, Holli emerged from the crowd and put her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Uncle Markus.” She said as she led Evelyn to the middle of the room. Most of the people Evelyn didn’t recognize, a few noble faces she had seen in passing in the Market at some point but never knew were related. She did see Stephen and Amanda sitting on a couch nearby, as well as a woman who looked so much like an older version of Holli that Evelyn immediately knew she must be her mother. “Ev,” said Holli as she turned to her. “You have heard about the Ostwick Circle, yes?”

“I did, yeah.” Said Evelyn, uncomfortable.

“Ev, we were wondering… we called you here hoping you might shed some light on the situation.”

Evelyn was more confused than ever now. “What can I tell you? I wasn’t there.”

“But my niece tells us you know of when the Kirkwall Circle of Magi fell.” Said Markus.

Evelyn looked around the room. “You want my story? I’m just an elf, I’m no Templar… surly you must have…”

Amanda stood up. “We are asking you because you were there. You bore witness to it.”

Evelyn looked around again, then cleared her throat. “I was there, yes. I lived in Kirkwall for several years. I wasn’t there when the fighting began but I was there when it ended.”

“Tell us,” said Markus “This attack on the Ostwick Circle was performed by a group of unknown yet highly skilled persons. Is this what you remember in Kirkwall?”

“No.” replied Evelyn. “The Kirkwall Circle fell due to the actions of one man, not a group.”

“And what was your involvement?” asked Amanda, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

Evelyn shrugged. “I was neighbors with one of The Champion of Kirkwall’s associates. When the fighting began, I was there in the Gallows fighting to defend the…” She stopped short, realizing she was in a room full of Templars and Templar supporters. She cleared her throat. “I was trying to defend innocents from the fighting. The entire city was in chaos, there were many average workers who got caught in the crossfire.” Several of the nobles began whispering to one another. Evelyn cleared her throat. “If you’re thinking the Ostwick Circle and the Kirkwall circle are connected, I sincerely doubt it.” Evelyn continued. “From what I’ve heard on the streets, all the other circles that have fallen since Kirkwall have collapsed from the inside, not the outside.”

“She’s right about that.” Said Markus.

“Can we trust her?” asked Amanda, turning to Markus. “She’s an elf, she’s admitted she was associated with a companion of the Champion, a known mage supporter. She’s held her tongue back from admitting she fought against the Templars.”

The murmuring grew louder at Amanda’s words. Evelyn began to feel nervous. At that moment, a weak voice came from behind her. “That’s quite enough, Amanda.” The room went deathly silent as everyone turned to look at the back of the room. There, sitting in a chair was a sickly looking old man. He attempted to stand on his own, but his knees gave out and he fell back into his character. Stephen leapt up and took his hand, helping him stand. Even Amanda bowed her head.

“Father, I’m sorry…” Amanda began, but her father held up one hand as he walked with Stephen’s assistance towards her. Realization dawned on Evelyn, she had never seen Lord Jonathan Trevelyan in person before. He looked different from his portrait, much older, much frailer.

“This discussion on the elf’s involvements is not why I summoned us here.” He said.

“We are here to discuss what happened at the Ostwick circle, and what happened to my eldest daughter.” Everyone in the room remained silent. Evelyn was impressed that even in this weakened state, the man still carried an aura of power and authority. He turned to Evelyn slowly. “Thank you for your insight my dear. From the sound of it, what happened in Kirkwall and what transpired last night are not connected. You may be dismissed.”

Evelyn bowed awkwardly again. “Thank you, my lord.”

Holli nodded. “If I may be excused, I wish to escort Miss Lavellan back to her cottage. There is a matter I wish to discuss with her.”

“Very well, my daughter.” Said Jonathan as Stephen helped him back into his chair.

_______________________________________________________________________

Holli had remained silent the entire walk back to the cottage, making Evelyn feel a little off-put by it. Holli was normally very talkative, but despite what she had told her father, she seemed to have nothing to discuss. Once back in the cottage’s kitchen, Evelyn finally broke the silence. “Want anything to drink? Water? Tea?” Holli shook her head glumly. “No? How about something a little stronger?” Holli nodded. “I think I’ll join you there,” Evelyn laughed as crossed over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “It’s been one shit day for us all.”

“That is has.” Said Holli finally.

“Oh, she speaks!” said Evelyn as she handed her a glass.

“I speak, I’m just… not sure how to say what I want.” Replied Holli.

Evelyn sat down across from Holli as she uncorked the bottle, pouring a generous amount in each glass. “Then just say what you can. The rest will sort itself out as you talk.”

Holli raised her glass and took a large sip. She shuddered and coughed as the liquor burned her throat. “Everything has just happened all at once,” she began. “First my father’s illness gets worse, then I find out I’m going to be his heir after all, and now this… Ev, I know you’ve never met Alyssa but she’s nothing like the rest of us. She’s not a fighter, she’s so gentle… I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry… I wish I knew what to say.” Said Evelyn.

“You don’t need to say anything.” Sighed Holli. “I’m sure this isn’t easy for you either. I am sorry I put you through all that, but my uncles were arguing about what happened in Kirkwall and I mentioned that you lived there when it happened…”

“It’s alright.” Evelyn reassured her.

“I just want to take my mind off of all this for a bit.” Sighed Holli.

Evelyn sat in silence for a moment, pondering the day’s events and staring at the whiskey glass in her hand. “Do you need to go back to your family right away?”

“Probably” said Holli, helping herself to another drink. “I don’t wish to… I want to just run away from it all.”

Evelyn stood up and drank the entire glass in one big gulp. “Then let’s run.” She said, wiping her lips.

“What, right now?” snorted Holli.

“Yeah, right now! Go get your horse and we’ll go riding away – far away from your troubles and your woes. Besides, a good nature ride is good for the mind, clears your head.”

“You’re serious…” Holli laughed.

“I may not know much about nobility and protocol, but I know how people work.” Evelyn said, “I know a place, a real quiet place in the woods that will make even the most anxious idiot feel calm.”

Holli stood up, took a deep breath and chugged the remainder of her glass as well. After a short coughing fit, she looked at Evelyn, eyes watering from the whiskey but full of excitement. “Let’s run away.” She said.

Evelyn smiled. “Go get your horse!” _______________________________________________________________________

Stephen walked down the hallway, lost in thought but somewhat numb inside. As he turned to enter another hallway, he noticed Amanda standing at the far end with her husband and son. As he watched, Amanda took her husband’s hands and kissed him before kneeling down and kissing her son. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but it was clear to him she was saying goodbye. After another moment, they both departed, leaving Amanda standing alone by a window. She leaned against the windowsill, her head bowed. Stephen slowly approached.

“Amanda…” he said gently.

She looked up at the window, seeing his reflection in the glass. “Stephen.” She said quietly. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know.” He said.

“Nor I.” she sighed as she turned to face him. “Uncle Markus is leading a team of Templars to go after the bastards that attacked the Circle. I was supposed to remain behind but I convinced him to include me.”

“That’s good.” Stephen nodded.

“I swear to you, little brother,” said Amanda as she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “I will find Alyssa. We will bring her home safe.” Stephen nodded again, words failing him. After a moment Amanda cleared her throat. “I leave tonight. Have you seen Holli? She disappeared after that knife-ear left.”

“I have not.” Said Stephen. “I assume she’s down in the cottage. You might be able to find her there.”

“No matter,” Amanda shook her head as she began walking away. “If you see her, let her know I’ll find Alyssa.”

Stephen nodded, then turned back to the window. Down beyond the garden he saw two horses riding away towards the woods.

previous chapter - next chapter

#Dragon Age Retribution #My Writing #My OCs #Evelyn Lavellan #Holli Trevelyan #Stephen Trevelyan #Amanda Trevelyan

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aldmerii-blog · 6 years

Text

oc interview ~

hey laurel @henantier did this and I Don’t Feel Like Doing Work so.

It’s Matilda Time.

What is your name? “I’m Matilda.”

What is your real name? “Great question. I’m Matilda, certainly. People called me Talarin because that was my mother’s surname, and my mother was well-known in the alienage. Now, as an adult, I sometimes tack on Enansal’s surname. So we’ll say it’s Matilda Talarin-Lavellan.”

Do you know why you were called that? “I do! When my mother, Eola, and Enansal eloped together, they lived in Kirkwall’s Darktown. Matilda was the name of the midwife who delivered me. She could tell that my parents didn’t have much money to pay her, so she didn’t ask for any money. And my parents were both so grateful to her that they named me after her, that I might inherit her generous spirit. This according to Enan.”

Are you single or taken? “Ah, a simple question with a complex answer.”

Have any abilities or powers? "I have a certain talent with healing. Fleeing Kirkwall was rather a trial by fire for those particular skills, with so many needing medical attention and so few people to provide it.”

Stop being a Mary Sue. "A -- what?”

What’s your eye colour? “Blue. I once had a boy in the Circle tell me that he spent so much time with me because he missed the sky and my eyes reminded me of it. It made me blush at the time.”

How about your hair colour? "Ginger.”

Have you any family members? "My mother, Eola, and my father, Enansal. They’re no longer together.”

Oh? What about pets? “We were never allowed pets in the Circle, and I simply haven’t had the stability an animal needs since then. But when I settle down with a family, most certainly.”

That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like. "Of course I hate the Circle, and templars, and the Chantry. But I hate people who act like every refusal to accept abuse is out of line. Who make neutrality their position, instead of seeing injustice and standing against it. Also, the taste of basil.”

Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing? "I really enjoy baking. One of the nice things about being on the run is that I’ve gotten to observe different kinds of food. Orlais is terrible, but they do know what they’re doing when it comes to pastries.”

Ever hurt anyone before? “Oh, sadly, yes. Only in self defense.”

Ever… killed anyone before? "Again, only in self defense. I don’t relish it. Well -- once. It was still a situation where he would have killed me if I hadn’t killed him first, but I greatly enjoyed it.”

What kind of animal are you? “What a peculiar question. Perhaps a rabbit.”

Name your worst habits. "I -- ah. I can be vicious. I tend not to trust people’s intentions and have more than once latched onto something someone said and used it to discredit them when doing so was wholly unnecessary.”

Do you look up to anyone at all? "Orsino. He was brave, you know. I don’t think most people know that. And he cared about his people so, so deeply. Every time a new mage was dragged away from their family and would sit and cry for their mother -- he never said how much that pained him, but you could tell. He was desperate in the end, but I still try to be as clever and cautious as he was.”

Gay, straight, or bisexual? "I’ve been attracted to women before, but I’ve only ever been intimate with men. What does that make me?”

Do you go to school? "I did, I suppose? The Circle was a prison, but it was a place of learning beneath that.”

Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day? “Oh, yes, very much so. I only had three apprentices by the time the Circles rebelled, but they were bright points in my time there.”

Do you have any fanboys/fangirls? “I wouldn’t call them that. I know some among the rebels admire me greatly.”

What are you most afraid of? “Oh -- hm. I’m afraid of being mislead. I don’t give my trust freely, but there’s always a chance someone could slip through. I’m afraid of being abandoned. I’m afraid of people getting hurt because of me. And templars.”

What do you usually wear? "When I’m working, cotton prairie dresses and an apron. Otherwise, I like long flowy dresses. How eloquent of me. I know I should try wearing pants -- you know, express my freedom from the Circle -- but I just can’t stand the feeling.”

Do you love someone? “Desperately.”

When was the last time you wet yourself? "I don’t recall.”

Well, it’s not over yet! "Take your time.”

What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class) "High class, I suppose. I don’t labor for what I own, and I want for nothing. I try to live modestly, but I could easily live decadently.”

How many friends do you have? "Oh, a few. I think more people consider me their friend than I consider them my friend. Lysas, an elf among the rebel mages, is a dear friend. There’s Ser Margot, a knight from Highever. Queen Rosanna of Fereldan. Marian Hawke.”

What are your thoughts on pie? "All-butter crusts are best. A benefit of magic is that I can knead the dough without melting the butter. And I love all sorts of pie -- apple, peach, and strawberry-rhubarb are my favorites.”

Favourite drink? “I usually flavor water with fruit juice. Dragonfruit is a favorite.”

What’s your favourite place? “I have a cottage near Ansburg. It’s quiet and safe.”

Are you interested in someone? “’Interested’ is an insult to my feelings about him.”

What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy? “Oh -- uh. Suffice it to say I’m not particularly well-endowed.”

Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean? “Lake. I’ve gone swimming in Lake Calenhad more times than I can count.”

What’s your type? “Tall, kind, erudite sorts. I tend toward other elves.”

Any fetishes? "I wouldn’t know. I don’t like being hurt or made to feel inferior, if that’s what you mean.”

Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive? “Ah. Hm. Uke, bottom, submissive. Not overly so. I just don’t know what I’m doing or what I like and it’s nice to have someone I trust make those decisions for me.”

Camping or indoors? "Indoors, I suppose. I like being outside but being in the wilderness scares me.”

Are you wanting the interview to end?! "I’ve taken up enough of your time, surely?”

Now it’s over! “Thank you so very much.”

#okay NOW i'll start the papers that are due in a few hours :)#carly tells tales #carly's ocs #oc: matilda

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vhyral · 6 years

Text

Noone's around so! it's the perfect time to talk about my cryptids Trevelyan family.

First, Bann Jean-Phillipe Andrien of Ostwick. The Trevelyans in my canon hold from an old line of merchants, sea masters that arrived at the city when she was still young and freshly built and made her the center of their operations. They brought much coin to Ostwick and secured themselves a place amongst the nobility by a series of clever marriages, deals and offering a steady stream of jobs to the general public. The extensive network of blood relatives to the Trevelyan family derived from all the Trevelyan kids that for years and years refused to sit their asses down and sailed instead, using their charm to find suitors in faraway noble bloodlines. Jean-Phillipe sailed too when he was young, only briefly yet he retains the merchant genious of his anchestors; the Trevelyans are the most wealthy of the noble families of Ostwick and control quite a bit part of the city's trade. The Bann does not shy away from "new money" as much as the rest of the big five families and regularly trades with Ostwick's Grain Lords.

Lady Bedelia Adalyn Callista Trevelyan - Van Markham, previously of Nevarra. Callista is a gifted sculptor and musician, a firm woman of noble birth that carried with her her unparalleled Nevarran talent to plan and set in motion the most efficient plans for whatever she wants to achieve. Though her husband often calls her His General, Mother Trevelyan worked hard to bring Nevarran art to the Free Marches instead of war advice. Festivals organized by her every Spring and Fall are very highly regarded in the Free Marches and many nobles travel from afar to make an appearance. Callista has a sharp instinct when it comes to taking care of her family' social standing and expects from her children to respectfully uphold both their famed heritages.

Their firstborn son, Claude Ernest Valentin, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi of Ostwick. Valentin was born a charismatic leader and speaker, a people's magnet and loved by all since he was a child. Having the makings of the perfect heir and being the apple of his parents' eyes, he manifested his magic at the age of eleven in a glorious shower of sparkles raining down his birthday cake.

The revelation came as a blow to everyone and especially Valentin himself but his parents, Callista heavy with child, did not give up on him. They could not keep him from the Circle but they did their best to make sure the boy did not feel forgotten. They visited regularly, pushed through their old ties to the Templar Order and the Chantry, donated generous amounts of coin to the Circle. And after a period of one and a half years of battling with depression, Valentin thrived. He studied and excelled, used his noble training to his advantage and grew into a fair First Enchanter with strong connections within Ostwick's Templars and Chantry, strengthening the Trevelyans' standing even within the Circle. Twice a year his mages exited their tower, attending his mother's festivals and interracting with Ostwick's people, citing ancient Nevarran traditions.

The secondborn brother and future head of the family, Simon Basil Bastien, living in Valentin's charismatic shadow of what-could-have-been and managing to emerge from it by his own intelligence and trade smarts. Though never as sociable as his older brother, Basil was born with the very potent combination of his father's trade genius and his mother's capabilities of counting possible outcomes and choosing the best one for him and his own. More strict than Valentin ever was, he demands the best from everyone because he is always giving it his own. Basil began taking care of the family's finances from very early on, after his own demand and under his father's watchful guidance. Both of his parents are very proud of him and as the current heir of the Trevelyan family, he is well received by the rest of the noble families. His social skills are the result of hard work and, though he would never admit it, Basil likes nothing less than meaningless chatter and nothing more than a tranquil garden with a book in his hands and a good, aged red in his glass.

The only Trevelyan daughter, "Lycoris" Maelle Rosette, the White Rose of Ostwick. Socially gifted but completely uninterested in it unless there's something to gain. Rosette was promised to the Chantry as an infant after a particularly high fever that had her parents turn to the Maker for mercy for their baby girl. She did not though fit well in the Cloister and the Sisters made sure to let her family know that the girl was more into studying science and uncovering secrets than learning the Chant. Taking life in her own hands, Rosette soon brushed aside the private tutors her parents had gotten her. Instead, she applied to the University of Orlais, bringing her acceptance letter to her parents with her suitcases already packed. They agreed, unsure but intrigued and Rosette, now naming herself Lycoris, bloomed in the Orlesian Capital, an eager student of chemistry, alchemy and human anatomy. There she also met her first Bardmaster and was called to study the art of spies, an offer her own love for secrets and intrigue would never allow her to deny. Lady Josephine Montilyet became a good friend through this training for they shared the same tutor and even though the antivan girl never finished her courses, the two of them kept their friendship. From the end of her studies and on, Lycoris used her Bard status to further her own network; not much is publicly known but she has since worked as a middlewoman for her family's trade affairs that reach outside the Free Marches.

The last son, Damian Regis Antoine Trevelyan, commonly known and introduced as Antony. Being the youngest son, he had his life mapped out for him from a very early age; he was to serve as a connection between his family and the Chantry, dedicating his life to the Templar order. Having been raised as a devout Andrastian and being easy going by nature, the path of the Templar Knight felt like a secure guideline to the boy and a sure, safe way to benefit his family. Beside his Templar duties, Antony also breezed gracefuly through the circles of nobility in Ostwick, with the naivety of youth and the charm of a high quality education. While though, the young man was always eager to please, he had no care for politics or the Grand Game, something that made both Bann Trevelyan and Basil anxious. More than a few times had Antony received warnings from the heads of the family to keep more to his religious training and be careful in social events but social life chased after him even when he pretended to try and stay away from it. When the war between Templars and Mages erupted, began the most confusing part of his life, filled with a sense of insecurity he had never experienced before. Suddenly, being a Templar wasn't the esteemed profession it used to be and, even though most of Ostwick's Templars remained faithful to the Chantry and there were very few cases of knights abandoning their positions, witnessing part of the Order throw its honour to the mud was a big shock for him. When the announcment of the Conclave reached Ostwick, it shined like a beacon of hope for Antony; he had been stewing in Ostwick's Circle for months, bothered by the lack of responce from the Chantry in a time of great need and feeling his faith being shaken. When it was decided that his sister, Lycoris, would accompany their oldest brother, Valentin, to the Conclave, he stubbornly insisted for the first time in his life to join the select troop that would guard the First Enchanter through his journey to Haven.

#here they aaaaaare #trevelyan #ohhhh i am unsure about how to tag it so i won't #vhyquisiting

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carabas · 7 years

Text

Leandra used to love to walk along Hightown’s narrow street of luthiers and other instrument-makers, the scents of wood and varnish, the rows of fiddles and mandolins hanging from the rafters, stretching all the way between her home and the theater district. She’d bought her lute from an Antivan woman who smiled little but could coax wood and strings into the most playable, beautifully-toned instruments Leandra could have wished for.

The first winter night in Amaranthine, when she starts to play, she looks up to find a wisp of light floating around her, gradually resolving into the shape of a bird, like something out of a dream. A lark to sing with her. And Malcolm watches the pair of them with a fond smile playing around his lips, so proud of himself for his little trick.

“What, not a hawk?” she teases.

“They can’t carry a tune.” He gestures to himself, self-deprecating; this Hawke’s no better.

And after a moment, he speaks of the lark that used to sing in the courtyard of the Gallows. Unusual for a songbird to make the trip across the water. He’d suspected one of the templars was feeding it.

And she’d never thought of the Gallows as a place anyone might be homesick for, but it had been a home of a sort. And she hasn’t seen any larks in Amaranthine, except for Malcolm’s.

The price she gets for her lute in the Amaranthine market isn’t half what it’s worth, and not nearly what Lord Amell’s daughter would have gotten for it back in Kirkwall, but it’s still more than enough to go to the Mages’ Collective and buy a templar’s silence. And Malcolm looks stricken when he realizes what she’s done, but it was just a lute, and it’s already gone, and there’s no use being silly about it.

And he kisses her, murmurs, “Brave Leandra. Is there anything you can’t do?”

There are quite a few things she can’t do. Laundry, for one.

Leandra’s hands are sore and reddened, and when Malcolm puts his fingers over hers, she reluctantly says, “We shouldn’t.” The caress of healing magic already sinking into her skin, tingling, soothing. “Who ever heard of a washerwoman with soft hands?”

“You can set a new trend.”

“That makes no sense at all,” she says, trying not to smile.

And what she should say is no more magic. That would be safest. Smartest. It’s on the tip of her tongue.

But she thinks it would kill her to ask him to stifle that part of himself completely, even here in their room, even when it’s just the two of them. He’s meant for wonders. Though she’s the only one who gets to see it.

Brave, he calls her, but she hasn’t felt brave at all, not even when stepping on the ship to take her away from Kirkwall. It’s just that she’s found something she’s not willing to let go.

Their little room overlooks the edge of the alienage, this room that was supposed to be temporary, just until Malcolm found work on one of the outlying farms, somewhere with a few less neighbors, a few less templars. But he’s as skilled a farmhand as she is a laundress, and before she knows it it’s Summerday, and she stands at the window and holds the curtain aside and watches an elven girl in the street below weave a bridal crown out of daisies and Andraste’s Grace.

She’s always known exactly how her wedding would go. The chantry she’s gone to all her life decked in flowers, Mother Elthina speaking the words just as she did for Leandra’s parents. Guillaume’s guests and hers, the list of names nearly unchanged since she was eleven. The ceremony wouldn’t be on Summerday itself, of course. Too old-fashioned. But sometime in the week before.

It’s not forbidden for a mage to marry outside the Circle, strictly speaking. She’d asked Mother Elthina soon after Malcolm proposed. Trying it probably would have gotten Malcolm transferred to the back end of the Anderfels before she could blink, but technically, it’s allowed in the eyes of the Maker.

An apostate, on the other hand. Nothing an apostate does is allowed in the eyes of the Maker, strictly speaking.

It doesn’t matter. As far as anyone in Amaranthine is concerned, Leandra and Malcolm are married. They’d better be. Their landlady wouldn’t have rented to them otherwise.

Malcolm wraps his arms around her from behind, rests his chin on her shoulder, looks out the window with her to where the elven girl has finished her crown.

“I heard an interesting story in the market today,” she tells him. “An old Alamarri Summerday tradition. They used to marry by stealing their brides and running off with them.”

He hums, thoughtful, and raises his head, his beard tickling. “I kidnapped you, did I? Is that what this is?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, I kidnapped you. Stole you right out from under the—”

She shouldn’t say Circle, not in front of the open window. But she doesn’t need to say it, and Malcolm presses a soft kiss to her cheek.

Harvest time comes, and work comes along with it, and on the day they move out of Amaranthine and into their room on one of the outlying farms, Malcolm brings her a lute. It’s not the one she’d brought from Kirkwall, and it can’t produce the sort of clear tones that would fill a Hightown salon, but the sound fills their little room just fine. And quietly, she plays a lullaby.

There are so many ways of checking a child for magic, or preventing it, or driving it out of them. After what happened with her cousin’s children, she’d heard more about it than she ever wanted to. Feed them nothing but crushed embrium blossoms, submerge them in ice water. The most horrible superstitions, and not a one of them true.

But the impulse to search for some hint, some sign, to be able to prepare—she understands that.

Malcolm is meant for wonders, and if anyone else but her ever sees that then they’ll lock him away. And he’s a man grown and in full control, and she worries as it is. She doesn’t have the slightest idea how they’ll begin to explain this to a child, learning to keep secrets right alongside learning to talk.

But a glowing lark floats above the cradle, bright as candlelight, drifting here and there in response to a wave of Malcolm’s hand, as if he were conducting. Singing along with the lullaby. And their little Hawke reaches toward the light.

And every moment like this is one more secret to keep, one more risk, but they’re beautiful and they’re hers and they’re worth the keeping.

#dragon age #da2 #leandra amell #malcolm hawke #hawke family #my writing #crossposting my black emporium exchange fic here now that the authors have all been revealed

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mass-effort · 6 years

Text

We Who Walk The Night

Summary: Sellia Lavellan and Commander Cullen meet for an evening walk around the lake. It’s a chance for them to get to know each other, and an opportunity for awkward flirting to ensue.

A commission for @slothssassin :)

Wordcount: 1202

Links: [AO3]

Commissions are OPEN!

“Lady Lavellan, I’m glad you could come.”

Cullen approached Sellia with all the formality of a true Commander – a straight back, his head held high, and a voice that rang clear. They had arranged to meet this evening outside the entrance to Haven, and it was a perfect night for it. The cool breeze caused the trees to dance gently, and the light of the setting sun filtered through their branches in little ribbons. Sellia didn’t mind the cold so much, for she was wrapped in fur-lined leathers and a fur cloak that kept her quite toasty warm. A little wind would not deter her from this evening anyway, it was something she had been looking forward to – a chance to get to know the Commander in a less informal setting. Until now, all the time they had spent together consisted of them both being hunched over the war table in discussion of Inquisition matters. He seemed friendly enough and, although he was a Templar, she had to admit that the man intrigued her. Templars could be…discourteous towards mages, to say the least. However, Commander Cullen had only treated her with respect.

“Shall we walk?” Sellia said, making a vague gesture in the direction of the lake. Cullen replied with a wordless nod, and a silence fell over them as they walked – one which neither of them seemed to know how to navigate. The awkwardness lasted for a good moment, until Cullen cleared his throat with a polite cough and spoke.

“I hoped this meeting would provide an opportunity for us to talk about something other than politics and battle strategies. Though, now I must admit I find myself at a loss for words.” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, “It seems I am not apt at small talk.”

“We could start with something simple?”

“A perfect suggestion.”

Sellia paused, attempting to think of a question that was not too personal, but not too customary.

“Didn’t you mention that you left to start your Templar training when you were very young?”

“Indeed I did, I was thirteen when I first went to the Circle.” That was incredibly young, thought Sellia.

“Surely you must have missed something from home once you left? Something special?”

“A very good question. Your conversation skills already far exceed my own.” Cullen’s face brightened with a grin, and he laughed heartily. The sound filled Sellia with warmth, like the feeling someone might get after taking a sip of Antivan whiskey. His smile soon faded however, and he looked onto the lake with furrowed brows before answering her question.

“I seem to recall missing my tree-fort the most.”

It made Sellia laugh, how adorable! Though she quickly ceased when the laughter was not returned. No elaboration on the ‘tree-fort’ was offered, for Cullen seemed to be lost in thought. Sellia regarded his frame - the pale moonlight and dark shadows sculpted his face, making the angles of his cheekbones more chiseled and sharp. But his eyes were soft; a feathery brown. She too became lost in contemplation, which was unfortunate when Cullen emerged from his own daydream and caught her staring. By the dread wolf, please stop my cheeks from blushing. Though, it seemed to be Cullen’s cheeks that had turned more crimson.

“I- err- It’s a little embarrassing. The story of my tree-fort, I mean.” He scratched the back of his neck again, clearly embarrassed but too deep into the conversation to stop now. “There was a tree that I used to climb, it seemed so high when I was a young boy. I used to spend many happy hours there, pretending I was the lord of a huge fort and my foes were at the bottom. Foolish, really.”

“Not at all, children have wild imaginations. It’s a shame we lose that when we grow older.”

“Mmm, I suppose it is. I went back to that tree, what? Around ten years ago now. It is not as tall as I remember it. I’m afraid to say that it would not shield the Inquisition against a horde of demons.”

Sellia chuckled, “That is truly a tragedy.”

“Truly.”

They stopped to find that they had wondered to the bank of the frozen lake. It was a beautiful sight; the great, swollen moon was buoyant in the navy-blue sky that embraced her like a velvet blanket. She cast her distorted image on the ice of the lake, but it was still just as enchanting as the real thing. Though, Sellia had to admit that the cold was now beginning to breach her thick furs, but it wasn’t too unpleasant. No air was quite as fresh as that of the Frostbacks – not even in the woods where her Clan lived. She would miss this, if ever she went back. Her eyes passed over the horizon, taking in the night-time serenity. Eventually they rested on Cullen, who appeared to be observing her the entire time. It didn’t make her uncomfortable, but curious.

“Is...everything alright?” She asked.

“Oh! I am sorry” He averted his gaze. The poor man looked abashed. “Your eyes- ”

“My eyes?”

“Yes! They’re- well, they’re amber.”

“Well, yes. I suppose they are.” The remark was strange, and Sellia didn’t quite know how to reply. Did he not like the colour?

“I apologise, I’ve caused you offense,” he said, and turned to her with an earnest expression. “They’re very beautiful, like sunflowers. I’ve never noticed before, well I have- I just- Oh, Makers Breath!”

This stuttering, blushing man was not one that Sellia recognised in the Commander; he who stood with such confidence in front of his troops, who charged forward with his sword and no fear. This man was like a cub who remained hidden within a bear.

“Thank you.” Was all that Sellia replied, placing a hand on his arm. And she meant it.

*****

Before long, they had again found themselves descending into a comfortable silence. The cold was bracing now, and she thought she ought to mention that they should be getting back. However, Cullen had already turned to her with an inquisitive frown.

“I’m afraid I didn’t ask. Is there anything special you miss from your own home?”

The subject had not crossed her mind since she joined the Inquisition. So much had happened, and there hadn’t really been any time for reminiscing. Sellia considered the subject for a moment.

“I miss my family of course. Though I do like the privacy here, there weren’t many opportunities to get time to myself in the Clan.” She pondered on the thought. “I think I’ll work on finding a hobby while I’m here. Sewing, or something similar.”

“A worthy task. I would help, if you like.”

“I would, yes.” For an intimate moment their eyes were fixed to each other. That is, until the Commander politely offered out his arm. “Now allow me to escort you back, Lady Lavellan. It’s getting deathly cold.”

“I shouldn’t think we’ll die from the cold with all the furs we have on, but yes, thank you.” She chuckled, linking her arm with his. “But by the Dread Wolf, please no more ‘Lady Lavellan’. Call me Sellia.”

“It is safely Sellia.”

#my writing #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #cullen rutherford #sellia lavellan

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queen-of-the-crows · 7 years

Text

Survivors of Ostagar

Mina Cousland, Clea Mahariel, Alistair, and Morrigan

word count: 2912

It was early afternoon before the remaining two Ferelden Grey Wardens along with Morrigan, a Witch of the Wilds, left Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds after she rescued them from the Darkspawn at the Tower of Ishal. The battle at Ostagar was two days lost by this point after Teyrn Logain’s men abandoned the king’s army and the Grey Wardens and leaving them at the mercy of the Darkspawn who laid siege to Ostagar and took out everyone, extinguishing all hopes of ending the Blight then and there. The only two Wardens to survive only did so because they were sent to light the signal fire instead of joining the battle on the ground, it was there in the tower that Flemeth rescued them after the Darkspawn broke through stating that the Darkspawn threatened everyone including her and only the Wardens could stop them and that is why she saved them and sent her daughter Morrigan along with them to aid them in their quest to recruit an army, slay the archdemon, and save all of Ferelden.

Of the two Wardens left alive, one was a new recruit who knew hardly anything of the order and the other was still only a junior member. Alistair was the more senior member of the order. He was a young man of 20 who was raised in the Chantry and was formerly a Templar before Duncan recruited him into the Grey Wardens. He was still reeling over Duncan’s death as he was like a father to him and felt like he abandoned him but not being on the battlefield. He had been silent most of the walk causing the other Warden to watch him carefully as he had not been this silent the whole time that she had known him which admitted wasn’t more than a couple weeks.

The new recruit, the now junior member of the order was a young woman also of 20 by the name of Mina Cousland. She was the youngest child of Teryn Bryce Cousland and was recruited into the Warden’s once Arl Howe murdered her entire family and she alone escaped with Duncan. Duncan had come to her home hoping for more recruits for the coming war and was taken by Lady Mina who had been trained from a young age by her father and brother to be a warrior and that she was, outdoing many of the men in her father’s army. Mina’s father had originally forbidden Mina from joining the order since he didn’t want her to join her brother Fergus in the war to come. His mind was only changed once Duncan promised to take Mina to safety and her father promised his daughter aid in fighting the Darkspawn, Mina’s joy was only overwhelmed by her sadness at the loss of her parents and possibly her brother. Duncan made good on his promise and took Mina to safety and then on to Ostagar while Arl Howe destroyed her family’s home. There at Ostagar was where she met Alistair who oversaw her joining much as he had done for the weeks before with all the new recruits. Everyone at Ostagar seemed to take notice of Mina as she was just as beautiful as she was powerful. Mina had short thick hair that hung down to her shoulders and was the deep rich dark brown of chocolate. Her eyes were a deep piercing ocean blue that seemed to suck in all who caught her gaze and appeared all the brighter for her dark hair and her light skin that seemed to hardly ever seen the sun despite the time she spent outside training. The only thing people seemed to find more shocking than her beauty was her skill with a blade, or two blades as the case was for her. Mina’s weapons of choice were a longsword and a dagger with a twisted blade. She was fast and she was deadly and she struck hard. In the short time she had been at Ostagar, she had bested many soldiers while sparring and caused many others to refuse to engage her. Many people looked to her to eventually take a general’s position once everything was settled but the chance was never given. Everyone fell leaving only her and Alistair to recruit an army and defeat the Blight as well as outing Logain for the traitor that was he and keeping him from the throne that was left vacate by King Cailian Theirin’s death at the hands of the Darkspawn.

“Alistair, you can’t brood forever. It’s getting rather dull.” Morrigan quipped soon getting bored of hearing nothing but their footfalls and the sounds of the Wilds as they made their way towards a small town on the outskirts of the Wilds called Lothering at Morrigan’s suggestion.

Alistair chose to ignore her instead of fighting with her as he would have under other circumstances. Mina glanced to him and saw the sadness in his hazel eyes and decided to leave him to his grief for the time being. Morrigan was about to open her mouth to say something else when Mina reached her hand out and shushed her. “Did you hear that?” She reached behind her back and withdrew her sword and dagger. She heard Alistair do the same as she looked around for the source of the noise that she had determined was a human voice.

“It sounds human to me.” Morrigan commented as she raised her staff.

Mina nodded. “I agree.” She scanned the treeline looking for any signs of life.

Alistair began walking towards what appeared to be the source of the noise. “Over here!” He yelled, the first words he had spoken since leaving Flemeth’s hut. He sheathed his sword as Mina approached him and also sheathed her dagger but still held her sword as she followed Alistair’s gaze to what appeared to a woman hunched over on the ground at the base of a tree partially hidden by some bushes. They would not have noticed her if she hadn’t moved. Mina lightly kick the woman’s leg and she twitched and groaned in pain. Mina sheathed her sword and instead crouched down to look over the woman.

The woman wasn’t human at all but was actually an elf, most likely Dalish due to the gold tattooing that framed her delicate face. She was also most likely a rogue due the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back and the dagger that Mina noticed on her back at the waist. She had long black hair that had originally been tied into a tight bun but was now falling loose and tumbling down her back. Her eyes were barely open but Mina could see that they were a vibrant green and her pale skin contrasted greatly with her black as night hair. She was wearing what Mina guessed was traditional Dalish armor because she had never seen anything like it before.

“Help me.” She coughed. She had a very light voice with a somewhat mystical quality to it that many elves seemed to hold, light and airy.

Mina followed the elf’s arm to where her hand rested on her bare stomach covered in blood no doubt from the wound that she was protecting in her side. “What happened to you?” Mina asked her as Alistair crouched down beside her and pulled bandages from his pack to bandage her wound and stop the bleeding. Mina also noticed some more much smaller holes in the woman’s shoulders and upper chest and one in her thigh, no doubt left from arrows that she had pulled free herself.

“Darkspawn. I was at Ostagar. I’m a Grey Warden”

Mina looked shocked as she looked into the young woman’s face. She couldn’t be much older than Mina herself was and she knew that she didn’t recall seeing a beautiful raven haired elf at Ostagar, let alone even a single Dalish elf. Alistair’s hands stilled at her words and he looked up from his bandaging and caught her eyes instead.

“I remember you. Duncan recruited you from a Dalish clan to the north, said that you had the sickness and brought you to us to save your life and also cause you were the best hunter in your clan according to your keeper. She’s telling the truth. I oversaw her Joining weeks ago, back when Duncan and Cailan first started to amass their army at Ostager.”

“She was there for weeks? How come I never met her then? I was there long enough to see many people but never her. I think I would have remembered seeing one of the Dalish.” Mina still seemed skeptical despite Alistair’s insistence she was telling the truth.

“I stayed with the soldiers and never ventured out into the main camp after my joining. I stayed and trained and engaged no one. Even being one of the Wardens, the soldiers would give me looks like I didn’t belong. I kept to myself.” The woman spoke up.

“You were new to the Wardens and wouldn’t have been allowed to make camp with the rest of our soldiers because Duncan still had much to teach you and much to tell you. Same with all new recruits. The difference was that Darkspawn came, the battle started, and there was never a chance.” Alistair finished her bandages and helped her to her feet.

Mina nodded. It all made sense. So her and Alistair weren’t the only remaining Wardens after all, not that she thought one more of them would make much of a difference anyway, they were hardly an army. “I’m Mina, Mina Cousland. This is Alistair in case you never caught his name and this is Morrigan.” She gestured to where Morrigan stood outside their little circle just watching but saying nothing.

“My name is Clea Mahariel, adarin atishan.” Clea greeted them in elven, showing that they were friends, welcoming them.

“Hopefully this one shows more promise than Alistair.” Morrigan told her in greeting earning her a glare from Alistair and a look that told her to be nice from Mina.

“You were in the battle then?” Mina asked, slowly coming to the realization of exactly what that meant.

Clea’s bright green eyes grew dark and sad, her face shadowed. “Yes I was there.” She stated simply, not volunteering anything else.

Alistair perked up this, his eyes gaining a light they hadn’t had since waking up in Flemeth’s hut. “You were in the battle and you survived! Did you see what happened to Duncan?! Did he survive?!” Alistair probably would have grabbed her shoulders in his desperation if Mina hadn’t reached a hand out and lightly touched his forearm.

The elf’s face told him all he needed to know and just as quickly as the light returned his eyes, it vanished.

“Tell me what happened, please I have to know.” He almost begged her.

“Trust me Alistair, the battle was a bloodbath, you don’t what to know the details of what happened out there.”

“I do! Duncan was family to me, I have to know.”

“If you’re sure, if you’re both sure, I’ll tell you what happened.” Clea said sounding resigned. Ostagar wasn’t something she wanted to relive and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to talk about to someone who had cared so deeply for someone who died there. The horror of the battlefield of Ostagar was something that would haunt her dreams for as long as she lived.

Clea Mahariel signed and pulled her long hair loose letting it fall down her back and around her face, almost as a curtain against the story she was about to tell. “It started out just as we all knew it would, King Cailan sent out the hounds and gave the order to loose the arrows. Darkspawn started to fall but it seemed that just as quickly more came from the wilds. It was then he called for the attack, his army and the Wardens to charge the darkspawn ranks and that we did. Intially we appeared to have the advantage, each one of us took out a slew of those monsters but every one we killed, there were two more who would appear. We all waited anxiously for the signal fire that seemed to take ages to light, everyone covered in sweat and blood, most of us thinking the next parrying would kill us.”

By now the small band had stopped walking and even Morrigan seemed focused on the tale being told. Mina’s mabari, Lucifer, also sat attentively at her feet watching the elven woman with his large dark eyes. Clea lifted her eyes from Lucifer and instead raised them to meet Alistair’s for the first time since starting her tale. The anticipation she found there brought a small lump to her throat knowing that what she knew would break his heart all over again and Clea didn’t take joy in being cruel.

It was with a heavy heart that continued her story. “When the signal fire finally went up, the relief was evident on everyone’s face; some people were even smiling. Loghain’s army was joining the fight, we stood a chance again. Except they never came. As the fire continued to burn and the army didn’t show themselves, the hope slowly died on everyone’s face and was replaced with despair and a sense that we all knew we were doomed.”

Clea paused and drew a deep breath to steady herself for what she needed to tell next, the hard part of the story. “That was when the ogre grabbed the king from the field. He roared in his face, like an act of defiance and then crushed his body in his fist. Your king was already dead by the time his body hit the ground; even his heavy gilded armor held the imprint of the creature’s fist. Duncan saw it all go down and moved his attack in the ogre’s direction. He leaped at the creature and buried both of his blades into its heart and twisted. The creature in its dying rage threw him aside. When he hit the ground he didn’t get back up, he was too badly wounded from injuries he had already taken. I ran to him, even called for a healer, but there was nothing anyone could do, he was already gone. He died avenging his king and killing darkspawn, I don’t think he would have had it any other way. When I looked around I saw much the same every where else on the field, soldiers dying, fewer and fewer still able to fight. Then I took a darkspawn arrow to my shoulder and another to my chest. One pierced my thigh as I was attempting to pull the others free and I just missed one shooting through my hand before my shoulder. It was only feeling the slice of a darkspawn sword against my side that took my mind from the arrows. It burned red hot for only a second before it was too much and I passed out. When I finally came to, the battle was done and we had lost. The darkspawn had quit the field but I could hear them not far off. The majority of the horde had moved off together but I still heard others back at the ruins of the camp. I wrapped my side as best I could and stumbled into the wilds just trying to put as much distance between myself and that place as I could and I made it here to where you found me.”

Alistair was trying his best not to cry but his efforts were in vain as the tears fell silently. Mina’s eyes were misted over as well as she placed a comforting hand on the young warden’s arm.

“I’m so sorry Alistair, I told you that you didn’t want to hear it.” Clea told him softly finding it hard to look at the pain in his face and turned her gaze to Mina instead.

“You were right, I didn’t but I think I needed to. Can we just move on now? I don’t want to think on it in this dreadful place any longer.” Alistair was already continuing on their intended path as he spoke, not waiting for any of the others to join him.

“I’ll go to him.” Mina said shaking the sadness from her face. Her admission wasn’t necessary as neither Morrigan nor Clea were going to volunteer. Instead the two of them continued further back and out of earshot.

“Tis remarkable that you survived at all without a healers aid.” Morrigan remarked once Mina was gone.

“The Dalish know quite a lot about bandaging and healing wounds, especially hunters. You don’t want to be stranded in the forest after taking a wound from a wolf or bear and not know how to bandage it enough to keep you alive for a couple days. I wouldn’t have lasted much longer had you not come along though. I had accepted my fate.”

“It seems that fate had not accepted your death.”

“So it does. I’m sure there will be many more things to come that will give fate a chance to change its mind.” Clea said, feeling lighter now that Mina and Alistair had moved on ahead and a dark cloud no longer hung over her.

Morrigan chuckled at that, thinking that she actually liked their new companion. “Of that I have no doubt.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfic #alistair #morrigan #mina cousland #clea mahariel #my wardens #alistair x cousland #first dragon age fanfic ive written #more to come at some point #thoughts?

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extraordinarymage · 5 years

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DA OCs’ name meaning (Part 2)

Now, I will be tackling my League of Extraordinary Magi universe. Specificially, I go into the Amell and Hawke family lines in detail.

Here is Part One. This is Part Two.

Fausten Amell: Alright, Fausten’s name was taken the canon Amell line because I really wanted to emphasize Warden Amell and Hawke’s family ties as I went through the conceptual process. To me, it made logical sense to me that Revka (Fausten’s mom) would name her children after her family due to being nobility and having all of her kids taken away to the Circle. A namesake can give someone so much identity and I believe Revka wanted that for her children, even if they were mages who were meant to hold no titles. So, Fausten is named after his maternal grandfather. Officially, Fausten denies that he cares about the Amell name and its legacy, but in action - he seeks titles and political power innately by being King Alistair’s advisor, becoming Arl of Amanranthine, and allying with his cousin, Dov Hawke, who had retrieved the historic Amell estate. Really, as Hero of Ferelden, Fausten is a revolutionary mage to be openly holding so much power, outside of Tevinter.

On root level, I interpret the name Fausten as an allusion to the names Austin and Faust. In this case, the element of Faust is more important because it references Faust from the German legend who made a deal with the devil. Actually, this ends up parallelling Fausten’s own life because he routinely has traded his morality for temporary power and prestige: he betrayed his friend, Jowan, in loyalty to the Circle, Fausten wanted to join the Wardens considering what the organization could do for him politicall, he allows Avernus to continue unethical study for a Cure to the Calling, and Fausten encourages Alistair to become King because it was politically convenient. It takes Fausten some time to realize his mistakes during Origins and grow as a person beyond being a pragmatist. Eventually, he turns his efforts to empowerment of mages universally instead of just being out for himself.

Donovan “Dov” Hawke: Initially, I went with Dov because I just liked the way the syllable sounded. It is pronounced like “daw-ve”. Obviously, there is a a joke with “Dove” and “Hawke”, but it was a passing one. I went with Donovan as his full name because it reminded of Carver and Bethany in naming conventions. And since Dov is my canon Hawke who is actually biologically related to Malcolm, I felt like that similiarity was critical. Donovan is a Gaelic name that means something the lines of “brown” or “dark”.

Hudson Trevelyan: I’ll be honest, I just chose the name Hudson because it seems like a solid name. According to Behind the Name, Hudson means “Son of Hudde” which derives from Hugh, perhaps - which means “heart, mind, spirit”. Which I absolutely LOVE for Hudson because he is a spiritual and loving man. Really, his peacefulness is central to his character and his struggle against his upbringing. His parents never admitted him to the Circle when he was boy, instead he lived with a Templar who watched over him. It was not a safe place for him, but eventually he ran off with their elf servant into the Ferelden countryside. He loved his wife dearly and they had a daughter named Embriana. Now, Hudson tried to have an honest life as farmer, but his parents tracked him down through their Chantry connections. They gave him an ultimatum, give yourself up to the Circle and save us the embarrassment of your death. He agreed on the condition that his wife and child will be taken care of financially. His wife ended up passing away, but his daughter, Embriana, became the heir to the Trevelyan legacy. Although, once Hudson becomes Inquisitor, you know he got custody back of his daughter using his political leverage.

Bonus:

Embriana: Hudson’s daughter! I love her dearly. She was raised by her grandparents for most of her life. To be honest, they indoctrinated her with Andrastian beliefs and denied the fact she was half-elf. Once she was removed from her grandparents’ custody, she lived with her father at Skyhold . She was 14 then. Anyway, her name is based off the Inquisition plant Embrium. Hudson is an herbalist and I loved the thought that he named his daughter after the plants he found in Ferelden.

Astrid Thalrassian: This is Fausten’s oldest sister. Like Fausten, she was named after family, specifically Aristide Amell who was Leandra’s father. Astrid is a trans woman and Revka was aware of this early on and encouraged her daughter. Unfortunately, it could not last. After being taken from her mother after being revealed to be a mage, she was arraigned to the Kirkwall Circle. At a tender age, she was put through the Harrowing yet survived. Due to her incredible force of will and nobility, she was on the radar of the Tevinter Imperium for years. Eventually, a plot from the desk of Egnatius Thalrassian, the brother of Dorian’s mother, plucked Astrid from the Kirkwall Circle. There is speculation that Revka Amell may have arranged a marriage. Long story short, ever wonder why the Amell estate might have ended up in the control of slavers? Yes, Gamlen was an idiot, but I think there was more to it. Regardless, Astrid became the apprentice of Egnatius until she obtained Tevinter citizenship and eventually married him, becoming a step-mother to his children.

Also, the name “Astrid” means divine beauty. It is also a common name in the Norweigan royal family line.

Revanne Amell: This is Fausten’s second oldest sister. Obviously, her name is a combination of Rev- from her mother, Revka, and -anne just to supply a suffix. In my canon, the Amell family is from Rivain so Revann’s name is sort of a pun also. Fun fact, Anne is derivative of Hannah which is a Hebrew name meaning “favour, grace”.

She was sent to the Hossberg Circle in the Anderfels. She excelled as a battle mage, but had a penchant for debate. The Hossberg Circle ensured her a position with the Grey Wardens, who were thoroughly impressed. In time, Revann became a respected Warden, traveling as a diplomat representing Weisshaupt throughout Thedas. When Fausten and Revanne meet again, they develop into a great friendship, although they sometimes disagree fundmentally with each other on what Grey Wardens are meant to do. Revanne has been at the center of Weisshaupt politics most of her life and it informs her decisions.

Ealon Amell: This is Fausten’s younger brother. I have a lot of OCs whose names are deriative from Ilan, a Hebrew name meaning “tree”. Now, it’s a running joke with myself to just keep making new OCs with alternative spellings (right now, I have Ealon. Ea’lin, my Surana. And Ilan, my Adaar, who actually goes by “Veil” mostly).

As far as his story goes, Ealon was discovered to be a mage and sent to the Starkhaven Circle. By the time, he was growing up Revka was incredibly depressed and had difficulty advocating for her mage children anymore due to the Amell family’s decline. Unfortunately, Ealon was a sickly child and it hurt his skills as a pupil. After Astrid had left to the Tevinter Imperium, a request was put in by the Kirkwall Circle to have Ealon transferre there. Within a year, Ealon was made Tranquil. Clearly, it was an act of vengeance for Astrid’s escape. When Fausten was trying to reconnect with his siblings post-Origins, he was torn apart when he found out what happpened to Ealon because they had been so close as children. Fausten and Dov Hawke worked together to step in and take custody of Ealon and remove him from Kirkwall before the Circles fell. As of now, Ealon lives with his older sister, Revanne, at Weisshaupt.

Niel Amell: This is Fausten’s youngest sibling. They were the closest with Fausten because he took care of them until he was 8. Niel was taken to the Val Royeux Circle in Orlais. By the time, Fausten tracked them down, Niel still had not gone through their Harrowing yet. With Fausten’s political position, he was able to send letters to Niel and help them through their studies.

#dragon age #spatzi speaks #txt #oc: hudson trevelan #fausten amell #oc; dov hawke

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