#baib meta | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

transprincecaspian · 1 year

Text

I mean @demandthedoodles I’ll talk about it even more [twirling my hair]

For anyone curious, we’re referencing this post!

Mahanon’s intensity is probably the driving force of his own narrative! From the second his wedding is ruined, he doesn’t do anything in half-measures. The Grey Wardens, to Mahanon, are the chance to live the life he’s always wanted. The Blight is the one thing that stands in the way of what he wants, so he’ll do what he has to do to stop it—with only one caveat. He won’t give up his own life for it. Or else, what have all his efforts been for?

To quote K.A. Applegate, Mahanon becomes ruthless; all he can see is that bright clear line from beginning to end, and he doesn’t care about anything but the solution. He makes tough calls that the rest of the group REFUSE to make. He kills Connor, he kills the werewolves, he defiles the Ashes. Everything he does is him making a decision that he deems necessary.

What does this have to do with how he feels about Alistair (or any of the others)? Put simply, Mahanon feels, to an extent, that he’s owed their loyalty. They weren’t the ones to make the calls, they shunted the decisions onto him. If they didn’t like what he did, they should’ve done something about it themselves.

Despite his resentments, he does CARE about the people he travels with (in my canon the Blight takes about a year to a year and a half to settle in full). He wouldn’t have stuck with them so long if he didn’t care about them. He falls in love with Morrigan, and in each other they find mutual healing from their pasts. He grows close to Zevran and Shale and Wynne; Leliana is almost an annoying little sister, and Alistair is like the brother he never had.

Mahanon and Alistair were (to quote Lingua Ignota) “brothers in arms / brothers in each others’ arms”. Alistair was one of very few men that Mahanon could trust and even grew to love (platonically, but there was a little homoeroticism in there). But when the Landsmeet came, when all that time had passed, when Mahanon’s ruthlessness had alienated some (such as when he took the Reaver blood, such as his double crossing spirits at Soldier’s Peak and drinking more blood, such as his cutthroat way of handling their foes the closer they get to the end of their quest) Mahanon could ONLY focus on that bright, blinding solution.

He couldn’t see anything else. Sparing Loghain and recruiting him into the Wardens would force a powerful general onto their side! This is a brilliant political move! And Alistair can have his vengeance, Loghain will be their sacrifice to the Archdemon! Everything works out!

Mahanon can only see the solution.

Alistair can only see Mahanon’s betrayal; after everything, after being willing to even kill Morrigan’s mother for her, Mahanon would refuse to do this one simple thing? How could he?!

Mahanon can now only see Alistair’s betrayal of the cause. He’d leave because he can’t get his pound of flesh?! He’s a traitor, too! I could have him executed!

Mahanon still loves him. He rejects Morrigan’s offer (he has to) and refuses to let her bring it up to Alistair or Loghain. Morrigan leaves, and Mahanon is left with only the solution. He finds another. It won’t be him and Alistair at the End of All Things, but it WILL be him. Loghain, in some ways, knows this. The ruthlessness of a brave young man not yet ready to die.

Alistair’s arrival at the last second—his sacrifice, the attempt at reclaiming the responsibilities he abdicated, undermining what Mahanon had to do once he was gone and what he had to prepare himself to do—it’s a final betrayal. It’s selfish. It’s sacrifice. Mahanon rages for weeks. He can’t even yell at his god because Alistair has been wholly consumed; there is nowhere within the Fade that his rage can reach that Alistair would be able to know it.

Mahanon’s final betrayal, his final selfishness, is by abandoning the Wardens immediately once Vigil’s Keep has been arranged for him. He goes to find Morrigan, and leaves Loghain to clean up the mess. Loghain is sent to Orlais; Elyon is brought from Orlais. They cross paths with each other at the border—both older men, both whose families have been lost to ruin, both who have been exiled from their homelands, and both who know their hearts best to the death-march.

May the Dread Wolf take me.

May Andraste light your path.

#hehe :3 #lots of stuff here oopsie daisy #I hope this was a good read I needed to get this out of my system #dragon age #dragon age origins #mahanon tabris #elyon andras #alistair theirin #dragon age origins fanfic #baib #baib meta #Cas meta #text post #my mutuals my beloveds

13 notes · View notes

ndwompafie · 5 years

Text

Chikel Baibe – My Ttime ft. Teephlow (Prod By Danny Beatz)

Fast rising Ghanaian female songstress Chikel Baibe finally comes out with her much anticipated tune dubbed “My Time”.She featured award winning rapper Teephlow on this jam.

[sc name=”Google Adsens”] Chikel Baibe – My Ttime ft. Teephlow (Prod By Danny Beatz)

View On WordPress

#Chikel Baibe #Danny Beatz #My Ttime #TeePhlow

0 notes

transprincecaspian · 1 year

Note

Cas I am obsessed with the archdemon situation in your worldstate out here. The selfishness undoubtedly seen as some national-level people's heroism at a personal level without accounting for Mahanon or Loghain's warden status, the anger after death, the lack of room for closure for anyone involved including Loghain??? Steel chairing into the position of martyr under their noses. And yes Mahanon comes out of it alive but seething??? Chewing on it 👀

Talking about Thedas having a print news cycle earlier, too, can you imagine the spins and public takes on that whole situation? Delicious.

LAST OF THEIRIN BLOODLINE: SACRIFICED

Mahanon stared down at the water-logged scrap of parchment trapped underneath his boot. 'Sacrificed' was hardly a new claim. He'd seen several circulating about Alistair in the weeks following his death. Warden. Hero. Prince. You name it, the people were happy to affix it to the dead man like the crown he had so long denied. It made his blood boil.

Once the sun had set, the rain had followed suit. No longer a torrential downpour, it was only a misty drizzle that chilled the back of Mahanon's neck as he stalked through the city streets to the memorial for the fallen warden. It was dark and late enough now that no mourners or zealots were crowding the site with their tears and their flowers. That was good; it meant that Mahanon could say his piece alone.

He sat on the edge of the lead coffin and took a long sip of his drink. The cheap alcohol burned all the way down his throat, but it was nothing compared to the reaver's blood running through his veins. Since the death of the Archdemon, his blood had been burning him from the inside out. He couldn't have been so lucky to be like poor Andraste, able to quench that fire on the end of a blade.

"You're a bastard," Mahanon said quietly. His mumbling slowly turned into laughter. "A royal fucking bastard! You just couldn't stand it that I called you out for what you were. You selfish prick!" He threw the bottle down and smashed it. Shards skittered across the wet ground, reflecting his own face back up at him. "You just had to get back at me, didn't you? You couldn't live with the consequences of your actions, could you? Not even at the very last."

He wasn't sure how long he sat there and seethed, spitting curses on the dead man's name. Long enough that he'd given up sitting and drinking and taken to pacing around the coffin, as if he could shout at it loud enough and long enough that the man inside might rise back up to tell him off. He was there long enough that, soon, he felt a hand on his shoulder that pulled him to a stop.

"We should go," said Loghain, unsure if he should be grateful that he was spared. He knew that Mahanon's intention was to place him in the path of the Archdemon, and he had been willing to take that fate upon himself. Instead, Maric's remaining son had died for them both.

They were all a bit selfish.

UHHHH sorry lex you possessed me but ummm yeah this is the vibe. this is the vibe, right???

12 notes · View notes

transprincecaspian · 1 year

Text

Mahanon Tabris Meta Post

This is going to be a long one, boys. Read more under the cut. tw: brief discussion of SA

Gender and Gendered Violence

For Mahanon Tabris, the journey he undertakes in Dragon Age: Origins is one that is centered around his gender, and gendered violence. Despite the Andrastian faith being the prevailing religion across Ferelden (and Thedas as a whole), we’re still treated to the typical misogyny in-world as we can come to expect from any pseudo-medieval fantasy game released in 2009. Ranging from snide comments made about the capabilities of a fem Warden or what can be extrapolated as parallels from real-world allegory as headcanons (click here to read my headcanons about Ghilan’nain), the world of Thedas is not so different from our own in regards to subtle if enforced ideas about gender roles and norms.

Enter the City Elf origin. Regardless of whether you first played it with a masc or fem Tabris, it leaves a sick feeling in your stomach about the underbelly of nobility of Thedas and their treatment of their lessers–elves, servants, and, well, women.

Mahanon Tabris lived most of his life in Denerim performing as a gender-conforming woman because that is what was asked of him. Although his mother Adaia indulged him in many things; the art of weaponry, whispers of a life beyond the Alienage walls, and the gift of a new name for her son once he asked for it, the narrative demands that Adaia dies. The wife dies, the mother dies, the woman dies to further the story. That is the very first thing that Mahanon Tabris learns; the woman will die.

His father, Cyrion, asks him to put aside the notions of masculinity that his mother had humored. Not for a lack of love; in fact, it is an outpouring of Cyrion’s love, concern, and fear that drives him to make that request. Mahanon, who has learned that deviation from the norm equals death, acquiesced to the request. From there he continued to stifle everything that made him “Mahanon”--that which is now intrinsically tied to his mother, and by virtue, her death. (These themes relate to how Mahanon interacts with his Andrastian faith. I’ll discuss that in another post).

I decided not to start Mahanon’s story (Born Again in Blood) with the wedding day, and the horror that it was. Instead I started his story in the immediate wake of it; being led out of Denerim by Duncan, after he had silently witnessed his life trade hands three times. From his own, to Valendrian, to the Arl’s men, and then finally to Duncan and the Grey Wardens. Truthfully, it was hearing that Duncan had once wanted to recruit Adaia that fostered trust once they were far enough away from Denerim that he was willing to speak.

Duncan gave him that chance; let him announce his new name. On the way to Ostagar, Mahanon cut his hair. There is also an instance in which he speaks with the armorer and it appears this stranger recognizes his plight.

His lips twitched downward at the thought, but his chest bloomed with new breath. He could give any name that he wanted. He could weave any lie, any tale, any story to make it palatable on the tongue. If he was a Grey Warden now–at the least, a recruit–his life would never be the same. He remembered the name his mother gave him when his father wasn’t listening, her hands soft and warm on his cheeks. The name they shared in whispers together as she taught him how to wield a sword to defend himself. The same name Shianni muttered as he lifted her up off of the floor. “Mahanon,” he said. “My name is Mahanon Tabris.”

Fingers closed around the cold hilt and he brought it up to his neck without much of a second thought. He cut through the wet tresses just where they brushed against his collar; it would have been easier, he realized, were his hair dry, but he had already begun to cut it away now. He braced his feet in the mud and stood there, cutting, until he felt a weight fall free from his head and he could breathe freely. Left in his hands were the twenty years of his life. He would let the river take them, too.

“I think I have something that will fit you,” he said. “Put this on underneath. Those bandages don’t do shit beneath the plate.” Mahanon looked down to see something reminiscent of a corset in his hands, though the leather strands could be more tightly bound, and it did not go as far down the torso. Confused, he looked back up at Gareth.

The smith didn’t bluster as he collected pieces of a plate set. “My daughter went off to become one of them Templars. I still see her at the Chantry sometimes. But she has a similar issue. Things can’t get in the way; I get it.” (paraphrased).

These are three experiences on the way to Ostagar alone that Mahanon is allowed to express himself the way he would prefer. There is an acknowledgment from Duncan that everything in Denerim is dead and left behind, and so he gives Mahanon that space to let it go and embrace a new life, which he eagerly grabs onto. That being said, Mahanon has just walked away from the most horrifying instance of gendered violence that one can articulate within the Dragon Age series. Reeling from that trauma, it changes how he interacts with the world.

Behind his gleaming amber eyes, Mahanon’s mind went blank. He wasn’t sure where Kallian ended and he began anymore, but all he knew is that he was a liar again; a liar wearing a beaded wedding gown. It was green once, he remembered that. Then it was red. Red, red red, and dripping with the lifesblood of men who had tried to take his own. Her own. Took Shianni’s. Took Nelaros’s. So he took theirs. Everyone whose hands had touched and stolen and dirtied. All of them. Like dogs. “I killed an arl’s son for raping my friend,” Mahanon snapped, and he took a step forward.

Finding the first of the recruits, Daveth, was a simple but stupid affair. Mahanon had stumbled upon the man harassing one of the women in King Cailan’s army. It took Mahanon planting himself firmly between them and introducing himself to give the woman a chance to run off. Not that he blamed her. Daveth introduced himself as a thief from Denerim. Not that Mahanon couldn’t tell. The accent gave away where he was from. His attitude gave away the fact that he thought he was entitled to take what he wanted even if it didn’t belong to him.

Mahanon did not sleep soundly that night. In his tent, which he erected far from the others, he remained tense. Rest did not come for him, and he did not close his eyes. Instead he curled his body around his sheathed sword, his bleary gaze locked upon the flap of his tent. A camp full of strangers. Stronger than him, faster than him, deadlier with a blade. He would be a fool to think that he could rest soundly and safely when surrounded by them.

“Come on,” the man said, forcing a smile to his face. He clapped a hand on Mahanon’s shoulder. Alistair withdrew his touch when Mahanon flinched away from the wall and his hand, scowling. Alistair’s smile turned apologetic as the pale light of the sun began to rise.

“I am sorry,” he said to Mahanon. “I was told what occurred in Denerim. It should not have happened to your friend.” There was pity in Loghain’s gaze. Mahanon loathed pity. With that, he swept away into the tent, and Mahanon was left breathless. Reeling, he felt like the only eyes left to pull him apart were his own, as if he could step out of his own body and watched as he forgot how to breathe. He watched himself stand there as the world drowned out with the roar of blood in his ears. He didn’t need pity. Apologies. He needed them to understand. He had been the one to cradle Nelaros’s bloody corpse to his chest. He had been the one to carry Shianni out of the arl’s home as she sobbed silently into his torn sleeve.

Duncan found him later in the kennel with the ailing Mabari. It took him a while. The sun was up. He could only assume that he was tough to find, or maybe Duncan wanted to give him space enough to collect his composure. The dog had begun to perk up, the kennel master had told him when he had come by. Food and water had been partaken of, and so Mahanon had plopped down inside and let the dog rest her slobbery head on his lap. He wasn’t sure what brought him here of all places. Maybe it was the fact that the Mabari brought a rare feminine touch to a place where he had only been pitted against men who, unfortunately, were surpassed by dogs where tact was concerned.

“Do you know who removed them?” Mahanon asked. He put a hand out towards Alistair’s chest to deter him from saying anything else. Jory was quaking at the sight of the woman, but Daveth’s face had smoothed into a steely regard, and there was a dark glint in his eyes that sat ill with Mahanon. Like a knife that caught moonlight through a dirty window.

That’s a lot of examples, but I wanted to lend significant insight into how Mahanon views the world around him in the wake of his trauma. He may be a man, but he does not trust other men. He has spent too long and too wary to make the mistake of doing so, even if they do not treat him with the same regard as they would if he were still presenting as a woman. At the core of Mahanon’s masculinity, he carries with him his own violence that comes with existing as a woman–and the inherited gendered violence that he carries from his mother, and his grandmother, and so on and so forth all the way back. (Andraste ties into this as well. We will readdress this in the religious meta post).

Mahanon’s masculinity is centered around his femininity, and his outward masculine expression is another way to protect that part of him. Yes, he is trans, and has been a man from the very first breath, but he will not abandon that girlhood of his, he will not sell it out and lie abed with the men who tug and tear at women like his mother until there is nothing of them left.

Mahanon saw the Grey Wardens as such:

Death to his old life.

A chance to live his new life.

But the Joining was a baptism of blood, and inherently feminine. You must consume tainted blood, let it pass through you, to become Greater? It is baptism, it is birth, and it is life. It is everything that a mother does,and it is his mother who remains the straight arrow in his mind that guides him. Mahanon’s themes and the way he grapples with his own gender is the idea of death, life, and rebirth, and everything that he has to live with. He cannot any longer deny any part of himself.

He looked down at the chalice in his hands; blood, tainted. He looked up at the statue of Andraste that peered down upon them all. He thought of her when she died a martyr. He thought of his mother, lifesblood, the breath she gave for him at birth. He thought of himself, a child, blood-red and slick from between his thighs. He parted his lips and drank deeply.

25 notes · View notes