#char: Leliana

[pisscrossiant]

Dragon Age: Origins characters headcanons

Alistair - Bi or Pan (could be either)

Leliana - Bisexual, Female Lean (canon)

Zevran - Bisexual, Female Lean (canon)

Morrigan - Lesbian

Sten - AroAce

Oghren - Straight (possibly bi curious?)

Wynne - Grey-Romantic

Shale - Asexual (she's a fucking golem)

I feel like they really should've made Alistair bi or pan because it just makes sense like?? There's no way that Twink is straight, even if he's never been in a relationship before it's clear that he would so fw men and women, like you can see it on HIS FACE.

Leliana and Zevran fit their canon of being bi pretty fucking well and honestly I couldn't see them having a different sexuality tbh.

Morrigan is a Lesbian. She was my gay awakening when I was 12, and honestly my P-ssy lover radar goes off when I see her. Like it goes off 24/7 when she's on screen. Also, she clearly shows a distaste for men, why they thought she'd be straight is beyond me but it's obvious she doesn't like men let alone like one enough to be in a relationship with them.

I genuinely could never see Sten dating or being married to someone, there is no way that man likes anyone in a romantic or sexual sense.

Oghren I mean he had a wife, and ofc that doesn't mean he's straight but like, the way he reacts to Zevran when he says "Oghren, if you wanted to bed me you could've just asked." Tells me that man would not be into another man, but also how he gets all flustered too kind of seems like he's bi curious not only that but that banter he had with Nathaniel in Daa were Nathaniel assumed he was into guys speaks to me in a way that says he's possibly bi.

Pretty sure Wynne had a kid if I'm not mistaken, but judging how she reacts to the Warden being in a relationship with someone I feel like she shows bitterness towards love (I haven't really got too invested with her lore so I don't know much about her past) so I feel like she'd wouldn't be Aromantic but definitely Arospec.

SHALE IS A GOLEM SHE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE THAT STUFF THERE WHY WOULD SHE HAVE SEX.

I'm probably gonna do a Da2 chars headcanons too but I haven't played the game all that much so I'm not aquatinted with all of the characters, I'm still in act 1 so I haven't gotten everyone yet.

#dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #dao #dragon age #zevran arainai #morrigan dragon age #leliana dragon age #alistair theirin #wynne dragon age #oghren dragon age #sten dragon age #shale dragon age #dao headcanons #headcanons #sexuality headcanons

[blackjackkent]

... I posted before I added the numbers, d'oh.

Shadowheart - 2, 6, 20, 24

(Character ask game)

Ahh, god's favorite princess. XD <3

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

I deeply love that Shadowheart has such a soft spot for kids and animals even early in the game before she's begun to question things really. (I read a Reddit thread a while back where people were speculating on what the people 'playing' the origin chars in a D&D game would be like - Shadowheart was identified as someone who wanted to try and be the super tough dark character but was secretly too nice to even do mean things to fictional characters. XD )

She has a sense of humor even early on, too - I love the conversation where you give her a night orchid and she gets her eyes all wide: "Oh, hells. You didn’t pick that by hand, did you? They’re deadly poisonous! ...JOKING!" Hector didn't get that conversation until Act 3 and it surprised him even then, but Delmak got it early Act 2 and it was super surprising and very cute. c:

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Probably the aforementioned soft spot for animals. XD And any time I try to be tough or edgy it breaks down immediately. :P

I do mostly wear black, though, so we have that in common too. XD And we both have dyed our hair partially as a representation of independence! :P

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

I've already stated that I'm kind of a fan of Shadowzel as a romantic ship but I think there's a lot of potential for platonic mutual support there as well. Obviously not in the early part of the game, but later on there are a LOT of parallels between them as far as having their faith upended when it was so central to them.

Karlach of course is another obvious answer here just because Karlach is buddies with everyone. XD

I think her friendship with Nocturne was also super important and formative for her and I hope the two of them are able to become close again post-game and Nocturne's able to get free of the whole Shar situation.

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Hmmmmmmmmm. 🤔

She has something of the vibe of Leliana from Dragon Age, I think it could be said. Her visual aesthetic is pretty different, but - religious fighter, clever and snarky, capable of being either hardened into a darker path or encouraged in her softer side depending on how you interact with her. It's a bit of a stretch but not too much I think. :D

#ask meme #astreamofstars #whee ty :D

[squadron-of-damned]

Find the Words

Search your works for the given words and post the context of what you find! My given words (from @ziskandra) were roast, love, shade & inclination.

ROAST

If you ever get strangled in Thedas and find yourself surrounded by the darkspawn, don't set fire to them. Trust me. The smell is not worth it. That advice goes for electricity too, because it also basically fries them. I had to throw two fire flasks to learn that lesson. Don't repeat my mistakes.

“They smell like lamb roast,” Leliana sighed and kicked a charred corpse.

“Yeah, but don't eat them,” Alistair warned her promptly. “It's practically poison. The taint will get you and turn you into a ghoul.”

I said. “Here is a thought – does that apply to Grey Wardens too? We are immune to the taint... in the very specific meaning of the word.” I noticed Alistair turning very green which meant he now was thinking about it, so I added: “Or maybe forget it. I have a vague idea where these things have been. Not even a ton of garlic could probably fix that.” Besides, I never have grown of lamb or sheep on the table. Most likely because I wasn't really used to it, but it just never vibed with me.

LOVE

��You seem incredibly at ease in our mismatched company,” Viviene remarks as she carefully pours herself another glass of eggnog. The eggnog has been Josephine's briliant idea: Everyone would drink eggnog at least a little so any potential tension would loosen up, but it wasn't wine in which certain people would try to drown, nor it was a beer which would look too informal. Everyone was just the right amount of tipsy.

Anora carefully dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Well, we both are used to what Master Tethras so aptly described once as a ‘merry band of misfits’.”

“Indeed,” Alistair smiles warmly: “Between a large ominous Qunari, a dark-skinned fellow of foreign morals flirting around the table, a dwarf with undisclosed past in charge of stopping the end of the world, a proficient mage of your cold demeanour, and Leliana I feel right at home.”

“The only change is the availability of cutlery,” Leliana notes at the same time Bull claims that there is nothing ominous about him. “And you no longer smiting people. I miss that, honestly. It would solve so much problems if you did some good smiting.

Alistair chuckles. Perhaps the eggnog wasn't that good idea after all, how much has he had? “You have no idea how much I'd love to! But unfortunately I am married and I have to run a whole country, I can't just sod off to another gruesome adventure.”

Anora pinches his cheek as if to say: “I am so glad you have more sense than Cailan.”

SHADE

Barok slowly turned to him and tilted his head to side: “Are you not a defence attorney, Mr. Naruhodou? I distinctly remember you having a Nipponese badge marking you as one, and the license to practice.”

The crucial moment of every trap is when the pry walks into it willingly. A mouse springs the trap breaking it’s neck when it picks up a piece of lard, a hare places its leg in a snare when pursuing greener grounds. And Professor Kowa…

Professor Kowa spoke to destroy any semblance of Naruhodou’s competency: “He had received his license from a proved murderer. Such a paper holds no weight in the unblemished courts of Japan.”

And now for the final gamble, Barok spoke with a thoughtful hum: “That is… true, yes. I had received my license from the hands of the same man, in fact. It is therefore impossible for me to prosecute. My apologies, Professor Kowa. After all these preparations, this example trial cannot be carried out after all.” He watched as the colour drained from the teacher’s face shade by shade, as Naruhodou’s somewhat reluctant translation settled in for him.

INCLINATION

“Someone is following us,” Javert whispers. 

“Here?” Valjean eyes suspiciously the trees sunk in darkness. It began raining and there seems to be little inclination of it to stop. In a desperate attempt to find some kind of a shelter, Valjean has lead them downhill into the forest. The countless leaves are a poor roof leaking in many places, but it is at least something. 

“Who could be following us here?” Valjean hushes his voice like Javert. 

The diviner looks behind them, although in the darkness he can make out only the most vague of shapes. “I am afraid we’ve crossed the border of Trynton.”

(whew, I didn't think I'd find "inclination" anywhere)

for @timesthatneverwere @sulky-valkyrie and @thiswaycomessomethingwicked: youth, hypocrisy, burrow, and biased.

#tag meme

[laurelsofhighever]

WSW: delicate?

Yes, we have delicate! I seem to be quite fond of the word, actually.

From two different chapters of As The World Falls Down:

The ruins of the Warden tower could be seen over the lip of the hollow. They had to cross a stream and mount a hill, following deer tracks past the charred remains of some ritual circle scattered with ash, but when they reached the circle of crumbling walls, Rosslyn doubted anything so delicate as parchment could have survived the weathering of what must surely have been ages. Bushes grew up between the old tiles and cracks in the wall, creepers strangled window frames whose glass had long since crumbled into sand, and a deep scent of green rot hung in the frigid air, trailing exposed skin like fingers. While Rosslyn and Daveth kept watch, the others forced their way into the tower itself, through a door that fell to rusty, mouldering pieces under the blows of axe and shield.

--

The village was not what they saw first. Instead, beyond the tangle of bare winter branches a column of white smoke poured into the sky, thick and greasy in the dull light, and even at a distance the stench of it gagged in the lungs. In the woods around them, the birds had fallen silent. “It smells like a pyre,” Leliana said, with a delicate wrinkle of her nose. For a moment, Rosslyn watched it billow. “Weapons loose.”

Thank you for playing!

--

Give me a word and I'll hunt for it in my WIP!

#word search wednesday #ellenembee

[strangesmallbard]

Top 5 Bioware characters

god this is the hardest question perhaps! bioware sure knows how to make a character. (what they do next, well. that's where we the get problems, trials, and tribulations.)

ANYWAY:

1. my various ocs. this is a cop-out response, but i would die for all of them. specifically miriam shepard, nalwren lavellan, lucy hawke, and phera tabris. terrible terrible kids who make decisions <3

2. dr liara t'soni - i cannot emphasize this enough: instead of grieving commander shepard, liara sells their charred corpse to a terrorist organization because they think (THINK) their necromancy technology works. and it does. then liara becomes the deadliest information broker in the galaxy. she's also an archaeology nerd who probably gets tenure at every university by age 400. the chutzpah in this bitch. i LOVE her.

3. cassandra allegra portia filomena pentaghast. she's entirely fascinating and bioware wasted every opportunity to do something meaningful with her blunt honesty, rigid sense of morality, and dedication to justice. she was like halfway to going "fuck the chantry, though" and yet she's the conservative divine? hello? on a different level, i am a huge lesbian.

4. leliana - what is with me and loving the andrastians in the dragon age franchise. anyway, she's funny, she's saucy, she has a tragic backstory, she tells you your eyelashes are cute. she goes through a crisis of faith and uses murder to cope. she has crows and a nug named schmooples. what's not to love, honestly.

5. miranda lawson - SHE'S MEAN. she's MEAN AND SHE'S SAD AND TRIES TO BE PERFECT but CAN'T and she REBUILDS SHEPARD and then is so mean to her and melts the second she gets some friends. she looks like yvonne strahovski.

honorable mentions: wynne, tali, morrigan, isabela, merrill, bethany hawke, alistair, and sten.

#explosionshark #ask

[insewolf1]

Awakening Morrigan/the Hero of Ferelden

Summary: Morrigan comes here to kill her longtime and first lover because it is the only way to save him.

Morrigan’s robe was the color of dried blood, like a blurred mist in front of the gaze of a dying man. Her pale skin smells like fragrant herbs, cold dark magic and freedom of bird that flies in the high sky. The witch is walking on the moss noiseless as a dailish. Her muscles are tense, her perfectly smooth face is emotionless. She looks the same, as Amell remembers her. She had not changed even after months since their parting.

He waits for her sitting on a log that turned black a long time ago. It was unknown if that log was a trunk of a century-old oak or a body of a cursed sylvan. The forest stopped being home of beasts and wild elves ages ago, turning into the mass of charred trees and dry poisonous herbs. Morrigan finally notices him, although her instinct had found him much earlier. She tries to hide her feelings, tries to turn the dark sorrow in her eyes into familiar cold and growing lights of fear and disgust into slight interest.

She is not good at it.

Amell stands up. He stares at the witch without blinking. The bright daylight doesn’t blind his eyes and doesn’t make him squint. He glances down her body that hasn’t became flabby after childbirth. He remembers the elasticity of her breech and breasts under his palms. His heart beats faster for a moment, then silences as quickly as the match fades after being thrown away.

Morrigan handles her feelings. There is no pain inside her anymore. Scornful half-smile snakes along her lips. Her hands squeeze the stave deceptively relaxed.

“So, you had decided to find me”, forest’s silence desperately resists the roughness of Amell’s voice that breaks it, but eventually loses. “Well, you have found me. But why?”

“The ring told me about the misfortune that had happened to you”. The Flemeth’s daughter's voice is as heavy as velvet. The velvet that once was advised by Leliana, that must protect Morrigan’s body from Ferelden’s cold weather and uncovered her bosom. “Although I couldn’t understand what is it, I could feel that your mind is like an ulcerous wound. I went here to do the one thing that can save you.

Amell tilts his head and sees the glitter of jewelry on his finger. He completely forgot about the magic ring. His fingers had become emaciated and have long claws instead of the usual human fingernails now, but the gift had not fallen off of them. The witch still talks sweetly, still her words turn the air into ice in seconds. Amell does not feel the ice magic coming from the woman. Is it just the determination of his beloved? A small hungry worm digs in his heart. Morrigan does not understand. As he expected, she does not understand. She will never be able to realize that the Sixth must be found. This is the most important mission in the whole world and is ever more important than the battle against Urthemiel was.

Amell will go further than the Deep Roads and unknown chasm to destroy the most beautiful thing that takes his thoughts all days and nights.

“Have you decided to kill me?” he wants to laugh. “Is this your love, witch?”

“This is my love”, Morrigan tilts her head. She seems truly sad for the first time.

Amell takes up the sword without notice. Electricity hits him in the chest. Flemeth’s daughter is as nimble as a fox, circling around him/ The air is burning from her magic. Amell cuts her spells with his sword or blocks it with his shield. He feels clumsy like a bronto, fighting against his long-term ally and lover, but the battle makes him get all excited. His blood is boiling in his veins. His swordsmanship skills help him suppress the physically weak witch that is not protected by armor. Morrigan growls and her delicate white body is getting covered with thick dark coat. Amell sees the powerful ribs similar to the iron bars, the bones stick out from her back.

Their fight turns into the fierce clash of two beasts. A growl of the bear spreads around and Amell can hear his own roar somewhere deep within his chest. Claws and teeth crush the armor, but Amell’s sword covered in runes is stronger than the power of the animal. Bear’s form falls off Morrigan like a skin. Again, Amell sees just a woman in front of him and she is exhausted and wounded. Amell looks no better. He pools all his efforts into a curse and does not miss. The dark magic squeezes witch’s body, her bones crack, the air escapes from her lungs and cannot go back.

Amell rushes to Morrigan and grabs her throat almost gently, preventing her from falling on her knees. He does not want to kill her anymore; he just wants to spare her from suffering.

“I loved you so much”, He whispers and his past life breaks into his mind like a blizzard. It burns his insides like hunger.

“After living in a vapid jail which they were making me call my home you burst into my life and set my soul on fire. I was ready to bow down before you although I always wanted to rule over people.”

He reaches for her face, wanting to kiss her, but instead his sharp teeth click an inch away from her pale lips.

“I have never seen anything more beautiful than you”, he hears a crunch, and Morrigan’s body collapses on the grass as if a broken rose. “Until I heard The Song”.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #fanfic on ao3 #fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #morrigan #warden amell #the hero of ferelden #grey warden #established relationship #bad ending

[andrastesflamingknickers]

Atop This Mountain; A Hero Is Born (3/4)

Temple of Ruin

Obligatory AO3 Link

<<Prev || Next>>

The walk to the forward camp was longer than Cassandra had made it sound like. Mostly it was on frozen water or through snow that left Cian feeling colder and colder, until every moment not moving left him shivering.

There were more stone stairs to be climbed, and Cian couldn’t complain too much. The stairs were easier to hike up than an upward incline path. Still, he was sore and tired, and just wanted it to all be done.

It was nice, though, to have others. Cassandra wasn’t a bad companion to have in a fight, but there was comfort in numbers.

The buildings around them were destroyed, many on fire, and though the destruction was tragic, he was grateful for the brief warmth the flames gave. More demons descended from the Breach in balls of flames.  They wandered on the frozen river in front of a flaming house. There were two charred bodies that he could just barely make out. One about his own size and the other… much smaller…

The others gave it barely a look, lingering just long enough to know if they’d need to fight. They didn’t, the demons didn’t see them, or didn’t care.

It was as they were halfway up the next series of snow and frost covered stone stairs that Varric moved to walk beside him. “So, are you innocent?” he asked, his tone curious, but not judging.

Cian spared Cassandra a nervous look, but she said nothing, didn’t even look at him to suggest he bite his tongue. It was surprising that it even took this long for someone to actually ask, he had assumed everyone had already pegged him guilty. It was nice that it might not be the case.

“I don’t know,” Cian confessed. There was no point in lying, and maybe he was only digging his grave with his words, but if this mark was already going to kill him, what had he left to lose? “I honestly can’t remember what happened. If I am somehow responsible for this, I don’t know what I did to cause this.”

Varric, however, only laughed, reaching up to pat him on the arm. “Memory loss, that’ll get you every time,” he said, as if that was just a normal occurrence. And what did Cian know?  Maybe it was a normal thing for dwarves, or authors. “You should’ve spun a story.”

“That’s what you would have done,” Cassandra scoffed from where she walked ahead of them.

“It’s more believable,” Varric countered with a grin and another laugh. “And less prone to result in premature execution.”

He had a point, and Cian couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe he should have just made something up. Then he’d have at least had a coin flips chance. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Cian grinned, feeling the worries in his chest ease, just a little. “Are storytellers often at risk of execution?”

“Only always,” the dwarf answered immediately, waving his arms as he spoke. “Why, if you tell a story and it just happens to tick off the wrong guy, you might end up with assassins on your heel! The Coterie are especially prickly about their stories.”

Behind them, Solas gave a quiet chuckle.

Cassandra, however, grumbled and hurried her pace, as if to get away from Varric. Not that she could get very far away from them. There were demons lying in wait ahead, violent fights with blades, arrows, and magic in the air as they fought. It was easier to fight them now with four, it was easier having Varric and Solas in the back providing backup and he and Cassandra fought the monsters up close.

There were more demons to be fought. More rubble. More fires. More corpses.

This was a world in chaos. He still struggled to accept that the green sky above was the same sky he looked up at every day. Yet now the beautiful blue hues and lazing clouds were changed, that sky he loved to watch was now broken. A mouth to the Beyond.

“I hope Leliana made it through all this,” he heard Cassandra murmur ahead.

He agreed with that motion. He hoped she’d gotten through safely. He hoped the others down in Haven were still safe. He hoped that this nightmarish chaos hadn’t spread to the Free Marches; he hoped that his clan was safe from all of this.

“We will see for ourselves at the forward camp,” Solas said in answer to Cassandra. “We are nearly there.”

Their path led them to a small clearing in front of heavy, closed gates that led to what he could only assume was the forward camp, and more than that; another rift with demons waiting to fight.

With the others keeping the demons busy, Cian disappeared from sight, stalking along the battlefield to behind the rift, where there were no demons immediately near him. He held his hand out and felt the familiar tug and burn, an explosive rush of sensations as the rift pulsated with raw energy.

It didn’t close, but it left the demons staggered and stunned, providing his companions the advantage to take them down far easier than it would have otherwise.

Taking in a deep breath, Cian held his hand out once more and focused. It burned, but this time the rift closed.

He wasn’t sure how it worked, were some rifts simply weaker than others? That made things trickier if he couldn’t close the rift immediately, would he even be able to withstand all the pain if he came across a tougher rift? Suledin, Cian reminded himself, whatever may come, he must endure.

Solas came up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, steading Cian when he hadn’t realized how dangerously he had been swaying. “We are clear, for the moment,” the mage said, and offered him a smile. “Well done.”

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s definitely useful,” Varric agreed.

Cian felt bolstered by their praise and, though tired, smiled back. “Thanks. I think it’s only fair that it be useful for something considering how much it hurts.”

Solas’ expression remained unchanged, but he saw Varric’s switch to sympathy immediately, and he realized that perhaps that had been a rather poor attempt at a joke.

Walking past them, Cassandra directed her attention to the gate. “The rift is closed!” she shouted to whomever was on the other side. “Open the gates!”

“Right away, Lady Cassandra,” Someone behind the gate answered back, and slowly those wooden doors creaked open.

Beyond the gate was another bridge, with blockades and crates, soldiers preparing for battle. It was far more crowded than the one in Haven, and everything here felt more urgent, more desperate. Even from where they were, Cian could hear yelling from across the bridge, angry and frustrated.

Leliana, he realized. Following the source of the sound, he saw her and someone else, in familiar white and red robes. He felt something heavy lodge in his throat.

Cian had nothing against the Chantry. Most were good people. But too many would come and harass the clan in hopes of conversion, others would come to demean and demonize them for their ‘heretical faith’. For every good experience he had with a member of their order, he’s had a bad one to match. It was enough for him to know to be wary.

His only comfort was that Leliana seemed pissed at the man as well, something that became more evident the closer they got. “We must prepare the soldiers!” she yelled.

“You will do no such thing,” the man, older than anyone else here, snapped back. The way that everyone else on the bridge ignored them spoke volumes of how long they had been going at it.

“The prisoner must be taken to the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Leliana argued back. “It’s our only chance!”

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility!” The more he spoke, the more Cian grew to hate him. The tone, the I am BETTER than you tone made his blood boil.

Leliana nearly knocked over a vial of ink as she slammed her hand against the makeshift table. “I have caused trouble?” she yelled in clear rage.

“You forget that you are not in command here!”

Leliana’s face had grown flush with rage, and as Cian and his group got closer, her eyes fell on them. Moments later the man turned to face them, too, his gaze landing on Cian immediately. “Ah. Here they are.” The way he said it felt slimy. Predatory.

He had a growing hate for him.

“You made it,” Leliana said, her body relaxing, relief in her expression and words as she came around the table to meet them. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—"

“I know who he is,” Roderick cut in, almost shouting yet again, and pointed at Cassandra. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

Cian felt that familiar sense of dread at the word.

Cassandra stepped forward, moved to stand between him and the Chancellor. Cian wondered, briefly, if she was protecting him. “Order me?” she demanded, as if his words were an insult to her. “You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!” she declared, a short way of saying that Roderick was of no authority to make demands here.

“And you are a thug!” he snapped back, and Varric whistled behind them. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” Leliana corrected, her tone entirely cool and pointed. “As you well know.”

Roderick threw his hands into the air. “Justinia is dead!” he snapped, and Cian saw how both Leliana and Cassandra flinched at the word, as if that alone had struck them harder than any blow. Cian bristled. “We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”

He was getting sick of hearing him talk, of all this standing around and arguing. Stepping out from behind Cassandra, he fixed Roderick with a hard look. “Shouldn’t the Breach be the bigger concern? You know, the big danger hole in the sky spitting out demons?” Cian asked pointedly. “Maybe it’s just me, but that feels like the problem we should be focused on.”

Roderick’s face reddened with rage, “You brought this on us in the first place!” he accused before backing away and running a hand down his face.  After a moment he looked to Cassandra. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can still stop this before it’s too late,” she asserted.

“How?” the Chancellor demanded. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers!”

Cassandra shook her head, “We must get to the Temple,” she pressed, as if that was the only option. And maybe it was, who was Cian to judge? He knew nothing, he was essentially a mandatory accessory stuck for the ride.. “It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana said far gentler as she moved and pointed to the mountains “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path,” Cassandra reminded. “It’s too risky.”

Roderick struck the table, interrupting them both to continue screaming like he was the authority on the matter and not—as Cassandra had wonderfully put it—a clerk. “Abandon this now, before more lives are lost!”

The Breach crackled and thundered, lightning striking, and the bridge shuddered in response. The mark on his hand pulsed in response and Cian held it close to his chest, tightening his jaw and locking his joints, doing everything he could to block the pain.

Of course, with his accursed luck, everyone turned to him just as the pain had passed.

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked, stepping closer to him.

Cian felt taken aback. “Now you’re asking me what I think?” he asked, the pain still pulsating through his arm bringing an almost delirious laugh from him. Only an hour ago, she had him in chains, demanding for him to tell her what he knew or to die by her blade. Now she was asking for his advice?

“You have the mark,” Solas said.

“And you’re the one we need to keep alive,” Cassandra added, and he would have felt cared for if it wasn’t because they just needed him alive to use him. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

Right, Cian thought. For as civilized as the shemlen declared themselves to be, their favorite pastime seemed to be arguing and bickering with themselves as opposed to getting anything done.

Still, they wanted his advice, so they’ll get it.

Charging in with soldiers in the valley felt like an obvious answer. It was fast, it was direct, and there was no knowing how much longer he had until the mark killed him. Every minute was precious. But that didn’t necessarily mean it truly was the fast route. They’d be going up against the demons directly. Fighting would slow them down. It added more risk of him being injured—or worse—before they ever reached the Breach.

The mountain path was apparently dangerous, too, if a squad went missing up there. But it also provided the chance to find and rescue that squad if anyone were still alive. The soldiers in the valley would be a diversion, they’d draw out the bulk of the demons in their fighting. That could make the mountain path exponentially safer—and faster—than the valley path.

He hated having to make this choice. He’d be throwing the lives of others to the wolves. Cian didn’t like risking lives. He liked the idea of others risking their own safety for his even less. It felt selfish; why was his life more valuable than the man next to him? He hated that concept.

But either choice he made, people would die. The missing squad, or the soldiers in the valley. So, he couldn’t base his decision on who would die and who would live. He had to decide based on what could prove the most effective way to get to the Temple.

Swallowing hard, he looked to Leliana. “We’ll use the mountain path,” he decided. Leliana nodded approvingly, and Cassandra didn’t even scoff. So, the choice really was his to make, that was both a relief and a new weight around his neck. “We all have to work together.”

Cassandra nodded and backed away. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley,” she ordered, and the woman nodded, glancing to Cian one more time, before taking off in the opposite direction of the bridge.

Roderick glowered at them—at Cian and Cassandra. “On your heads be the consequences, Seeker,” he warned with a low growl.

Nervous and unsure, Cian looked to Cassandra. Her jaw was set tightly, and her expression resolute. She had accepted whatever was to come. She had decided that the decision Cian had made was what they would do—that it was the right choice to do. Her conviction was comforting. He just wished he could feel the same.

They were really doing this.

It was hard to believe, even harder to accept.

Push through to the Temple, fight some demons, and close the Breach. This wasn’t what he was sent to the south to do. This was never the kind of responsibility—the kind of heavy burden—he’d ever wanted. But this was his fate now.

The world needed to be saved, and for whatever reason, it’s savior was going to be him. Oh, Creators help us all, Cian prayed as someone shoved light armor into his arms. For everyone’s sake, he hoped he didn’t fuck it all up.

Minutes later they were out the gate and marching onward once more.

Each step felt heavy with the burden of responsibility, of the task ahead of him. Every step forward brought him closer to the Breach, closer to having to try and save a world that barely tolerated his people at best. A part of him wanted to laugh. If this all worked out, they would have a Dalish elf to thank for saving them.

No, if this all worked out, that detail would be written out of the history books. As far as the other races were concerned; there were no such thing as elven heroes.

It took a bit of time, a bit of walking up deep, snowy ridges before they began reaching structures again. Stone towers with ladders and scaffoldings built in. Cian wasn’t sure he fully trusted the architect as he began climbing, the ladder creaking, wood shifting and nails loosening. Was it from age or from cold? He supposed it didn’t matter, so long as it got them up.

They were getting higher and higher up the mountain. The deafening roar of the wind that threatened to knock him over was testament enough to that. It made it all the harder to climb.

“The tunnel should be just ahead,” Cassandra shouted over the wind as she led the group up another set of ladders, and Cian could just barely make out what could have been a tunnel further on, past unstable looking bridges and higher up the stone. “The path to the Temple should be just beyond it.”

Solas took up the rear, the last to reach the top of the ladder. Varric reached out to help him up the rest of the way, pulling him to his feet. “What manner of tunnel is it? A mine?” the mage asked as he rejoined them.

Nodding in confirmation, Cassandra started up the next ladder. “Part of an old mining complex. These mountains are full of such paths.”

Not that Cian could understand why. Ladder after ladder they climbed, and he just couldn’t understand why anyone in their right would want mines this high up in these blighted mountains. Whatever they mined in here had to be extremely valuable to be worth all the effort it took just to reach it.

The air was growing thinner, the fingers on his right hand were growing numb from the cold, but his left hand still burned with the pain of the mark. Both were making it increasingly difficult to maintain a grip on the ladder rungs as he climbed.

“And you’re certain your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?” Varric asked as they reached what Cian could only pray were the last of the ladders. Any higher and they may as well have been at the peak.

“Along with whatever’s detained them,” Solas added. Cian would say that it’d spoiled the mood, but it was hard to ruin what was already deep in the negatives.

Green lightning surged across the sky and Cian gasped in pain, his body jerked in response to the burn and pulse in his hand and pain coursed through his arm, setting his nerves ablaze, the muscles in his hand spasming and—and he was slipping from the ladder, holding on by one numb hand as his other clenched at empty air as the mark responded to the Breach.

“Sh—shit!” Cian hissed through clenched teeth. By the time he’d regained control over his left hand, his right had begun slipping from the ladder.

Cassandra grabbed him by the wrist before he could fall. Seemingly effortlessly, the woman dragged him up the ladder and into the snowy mix of wood and stone that was the ground. Cian was… more than a little impressed, to be honest.

“Damn, you okay?” Varric asked, coming to his side as Cian remained laid across the snow, gasping for breath.

He wasn’t okay. He was dying, and he had a mark on his hand that made him want to cut his whole arm off just to escape the pain. But saying that made him feel… not good. So, Cian just pushed himself up and offered a grin, tired as it was. “Yeah, just—took me by surprise, that’s all.”

It didn’t matter if the others believed him or not.

Varric, thankfully, didn’t comment and just helped him back to his feet while Cassandra and Solas patiently waited a little ways away for him to recover.

With unsteady feet, Cian slowly joined them at the mouth of the tunnel—which was shockingly well built all things considered. Perhaps he just had low standards, but Cian had expected a plain hole in the mountain. This was anything but.

Brick pillars, arched support beams, well crafted stairs, stone tiled floors. It looked like a fancy hall, not a mine. “This is almost… unnecessarily grand. Did the miners bring in master architects or something when building this?” Cian asked before he could stop himself. He was mostly ignored, but Varric did laugh a little.

It was the little wins that counted.

Solas stood on his left, the side of his mark, and offered a small smile. “We’re halfway there. Are you ready?” he asked.

He still count’ put a finger on it, but there was still something off about Solas. He gave Cian a feeling, one that he just couldn’t put words to. It bothered Cian, and it bothered him more that it bothered him at all! Solas had been nothing but kind and polite thus far, there was really no reason to feel so offput by him.

Pushing back the waves of unease, he returned Solas’ smile with a nervous grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Cian answered.

Together, the four of them stepped into the tunnel. They didn’t get more than a few feet before being slowed by a handful of lingering demons in their paths. Shades and Wraiths, thankfully, Cian really didn’t want to have to start fighting whole new types. On the brighter side of things, they’d gotten enough time fighting together on their mountain hike that they had grown familiar with each other’s fighting style, enough that they could work… not perfectly, but well enough together.

Solas quickly stunned the rear Wraiths with a chain of lightning, the purple and white tendrils arcing beautifully between the demons, while Varric followed up with several consecutive shots from Bianca to one of the weaker looking Shades—Cian had never seen someone reload quite that quickly before. It was impressive.

Circling around the hall, Cian was quick to reach a Shade, cutting through it with quick slashes and circling behind it before it could attack back. He continued two more times before finishing it off with a knife in the neck, and vaulted over the stairs to help Cassandra with a tougher looking Shade, flanking it.

Cian absolutely loved how amazingly well their styles and skills seemed to work together, balancing each other out in a way that was rather unusual for virtual strangers.

Cassandra was slow, understandably so with the heavy armor and shield she wore and carried, but she was insanely strong. Cian was well aware that he wasn’t especially strong—but he was quick and nimble. Where Cassandra seemed to take each hit and shrug it off, Cian could dive, dodge, and evade almost every attack the demons made.

On the flip side, Solas and Varric provided amazing support in cover fire and ranged attacks, weakening, or taking out, enemies that were out of his and Cassandras reach. Varric’s speed of attack was more than impressive, and his aiming was better than any of the archers in his clan, an unparalleled sharpshooter that balanced out Solas’ magic that seemed more group centric, taking out demons that were clustered together with lightning that stunned them or blasts of fire that kept them burning.

While Cian wouldn’t really recommend the experience to anyone, ever, he had to admit; he could have been left with worse allies. He’d certainly lucked out on this front, which was only fair considering how unlucky everything else had been.

As such, it took little time at all to clear out the demons, and they finished the fight with only a few scrapes to their name.

They took a moment to recover their breath before delving deeper into the tunnels, no other words shared between them as they climb stairs and make turns, and Cian was fairly certain that Cassandra led them in a circle for three or so loops, but no one dared say a word to her about it.

Breaking off into a new hall, Cian paused at the sight of a slightly broken chest on the ground, tipped on it’s side with what looked like had once been a table beside it.

He said nothing as he went to it, crouched down and fiddled. The lock was broken by the fall, which, really, said more about the quality of the lock that was used than anything else. So, it didn’t take more than a little wiggling to get it off the chest. He tossed it aside, and as he flicked the lid of the chest open, cold metal pressed to his neck.

“Step away, now,” Cassandra ordered, her voice harder than the stones of the mine. “I will not abide by theft.”

Cian turned just enough to look at her, and to look past her. Solas and Varric were lingering by the wall, wisely staying out of it, but watching curiously all the same. His gaze drifted back to Cassandra. Holding her gaze, he reached into the chest.

“Cease this behavior, now,” she demanded once more.

“Why should I?” Cian asked, turning his attention back to the chest as he rummaged through. It didn’t have a lot to it, but there were a few trinkets. Some old, damaged rings and a small dog carving. Not great, but not so terrible that he couldn’t sell it off and make a few silvers. If he survived. “It’s not as though anyone will be needing this.”

“It is theft!”

“It’s scavenging. No one’s going to be coming back to claim this stuff.”

The knife pressed deeper to his neck, and Cian ignored it. Maybe it was the thin air, or the terror of his impending death, but he was confident that she was bluffing. Cassandra needed him alive, at least for now, to close the Breach. She couldn’t kill him off, not over this. After all, she had said so herself; he was the one they needed to keep alive.

Still, Cian perked up as he found a vial in the chest. Decently sized, vibrant red in color. He gave it a good shake to test it’s thickness, and popped the cork off to give it a whiff. It smelled bitter, but that was a good sign. He turned to her and showed her the small Elfroot potion. “Maybe you don’t care about your chances. But I do. Every little thing can help to better the odds of beating whatever we might find. Or do you think it’s better to preserve the ‘sanctity of no stealing’ over bettering our odds of reaching the Breach alive? Or is survival not as important to you?

Cassandra spluttered, but couldn’t answer. Her grip on her sword had loosened enough that he safely shoved it away and rose to his feet and pocketed the rings. “Besides; I would like to go home when all this is done and I somehow live. And unless you can tell me that the Chantry would be more than happy to help in that department; I need coin for safe travel.”

To that, he shouldered past her and started walking again, taking point, and marching down the tunnels ahead of them, if nothing else than to get away from Cassandra.

Varric’s footsteps followed, followed by Solas, and eventually Cassandra dragged herself after them.

“You know what? Hawke does the exact same thing,” he heard Varric loudly whisper—to Solas, Cian presumed—followed by a laugh from the dwarf. “From the corpses of her enemies to random crates left around in the streets at night, sometimes just from a house we broke in to fight a crazy blood mage. Drove Aveline crazy. ‘They’re dead, or probably going to be dead very soon, so it’s free game,’ she would say.”

Solas chuckled softly, his staff clinking against the stone floor as they walked, using it as a makeshift walking stick. “She sounds like a charming woman.”

“Charming. Right. More like an absolute menace,” the dwarf laughed, but his tone was fond. “But she had a good heart, and was somehow the glue keeping our old group of misfits from killing each other.”

She must have been one of Varric’s friends from before this whole Breach business. Cian had no idea who she was, but he sent a quiet prayer to the Creators that she might have survived. For Varric’s sake. There was enough death going around, no need to lose more friends.

Rounding a corner and up another flight of stairs, Cian stilled. He held a hand into the air, a signal for the other three to stop, to wait, and then let the shadows take him.

He lingered just long enough to make sure the others—namely Cassandra—wasn’t charging on ahead, before he climbed the rest of the stairs. Cloaked and hidden, the demons ahead didn’t notice as they waited, positioned perfectly to take out anyone who tried to get by them.

Two Wraiths straight ahead to shoot down anyone who climbed the stairs, and Cian could only imagine all the broken necks of those who were knocked back and ultimately fell. A Shade hid around a corner on either side, waiting to ambush those who made it past the stairs. They were all weak, and he was confident the group could take them, especially when he found no sign of any other demon hiding in wait.

Returning to the others down the stairs, Cian let the shadows fall as he unsheathed his daggers. “Another two Wraith right across from the stairs. Two Shades on either side where the hall branches off,” he informed them, paying no mind to the slight jump Varric did when Cian appeared right next to him.

Cassandra nodded. “That should be easy enough,” she said, bringing out her sword and shield. “Cian, you will—”

“Sneak in and take out the Wraiths, I know. Wait until I kill one before you all charge into the fight,” he said, and waited for her nod of approval before disappearing once more.

With silent, quick steps, he was back up the stairs, his target already decided on. He sprinted past the first Wraith and circled around to the one holding the rear. Twirling his daggers in his hand, he cut through the mist and into the demons head. It made quick work of the creature, but it broke the hold the shadows had on him, bringing him back to visibility.

Immediately, the other Wraith turned it’s attention from the stairs and onto him, firing shot after shot that Cian dashed back and forth to evade. One eye kept on the Wraith and the Shades that were crawling to him. The other on the stairs as his companions ran up, no longer at risk of being knocked back down by the Wraith.

The Shade that had gotten the closest to him stopped, ice and frost rapidly building over it’s body thanks to Solas’ handy spell work, and the other had it’s attention drawn from him and onto Varric by a volley of arrows.

Grinning, Cian surged forward to the remaining Wraith, digging his daggers in, and spinning around to it’s back before it could hit him in retaliation. He finished it off easily enough and then pounced to finish off the frozen Shade as Varric and Cassandra managed the final one. Teamwork certainly made things easier. They sheathed their weapons and moved on.

Just outside the mouth of the tunnels, they returned to the howling wind and biting cold. And bodies. Corpses. Blood smeared against the stone, the cold having already turned the bodies stiff.

Varric let out a sigh. “Guess we found the soldiers.”

“This cannot be all of them,” Cassandra murmured as she knelt beside one. She didn’t sound angry, she sounded sad and hurt, and Cian couldn’t help but sympathize with her. She lowered her head, mouthed words that he could only assume was a prayer to send them on safely to the afterlife.

There were probably no words of comfort Cian could give her, but maybe a flicker of hope? “Could the others be somewhere up ahead, bunkered down until it’s safe?” he asked, watching as her head lifted to look at him, brown eyes…not as hard as they usually were. “If so, if we find them—”

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas cut in, his tone not inherently hostile, but still an unpleasant reminder. “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”

Varric groaned, dragged a hand down his face. “I’m just leaving that to our elven friend.”

The burden of responsibility was not a welcomed reminder, and Cian did his best to remain silent in the face of Solas’ words. He’d chosen this route because of the scouts; he wasn’t going to just abandon them because they weren’t ‘as much a priority’ as the Breach. These were people’s lives they were talking about.

As they walk down the winding path, despite Solas’ claim to focus on the Breach, Cian kept his eyes peeled for any sign of scouts. Footprints in the snow, smears of blood leaving a trail, noises on the wind. Anything that could point them in the direction of the remaining scouts.

He was sure Cassandra was doing the same by how her gaze seemed to flicker about more than it had before, looking just as much as he was.

It wasn’t but a handful of minutes before he saw the towering statue in the distance, and the tell-tale green glow of a rift. Along with it screams and sounds of fighting.

They all broke into a run, charging up on the Rift. There they found the remaining scouts, struggling to hole their own against the demons. More Shades and Wraiths. His companions joined the fight as Cian charged to the Rift. That was his priority in the fight, there weren’t that many demons, the others could take them on.

It burned as he brought his hand to the right, and it’ let out a powerful burst of energy as he disrupted it, causing the remaining demons to stagger—and Cian was almost certain that it had actually hurt them, too. Good to know.

Before he could close the rift for good, more came out. Two towering demons with long limbs and horrifying faces. They dove into smaller rifts into the ground and all but opened them up under their target, knocking them down as they jumped out. Not a good situation, it left them vulnerable. Cian watched as one all but landed on Solas, screaming and hissing. Thankfully Varric caught it’s attention before it could cut him open.

Cian dove his hand into the rift once more, braced for the pain as he stunned and staggered the demons, leaving them open for the others to cut them down, and he supposed for all the terror they seemed to invoke, they weren’t too much tougher than the demons they’d fought already.

He closed the rift once the last of the demons were gone. The pain was awful, and it was taking all his control to just not pass out. As the rift closed, the shockwave did send him off his feet and onto the hard ground.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas panted as he walked over. He was bleeding and looked a little worse for wear, but not terribly so. He reached down and helped pull Cian to his feet. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric commented as he sat on a broken chunk of wall, taking a rest to catch his breath. Cian couldn’t help but second that opinion.

Cassandra was with the soldiers, helping the survivors to their feet. They looked shaken, but in no dire need of attention. Good. It made Cian feel better about his choice, happy. He was glad they’d managed to save at least some of the patrol. He limped over to another soldier and offered a hand.

The soldier gave him a look of disgust that Cian could see even with his dented helm obscuring most of his face. He spat a glob of blood onto the ground and dragged himself to his feet, though it was slow, and clearly painful for him to do so. Cian lowered his hand, if the man would rather hurt himself further to get on his feet rather than touch an elf, that was his choice.

Right. Didn't matter that he had the magical hand that could theoretically save everyone. Didn't matter that he had, quite literally, just helped save that man's life. He was still an elf. That was reason enough for a shemlen to loathe his very existence. He was used to that kind of hate.

Didn’t make it sting any less, though.

“Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra,” another soldier breathed, holding her side. It was bleeding, but not too badly. “I don’t think we could have held out for much longer.”

“Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant,” Cassandra said, motioning for Cian to step forward, and he did. “He insisted that we come this way.”

The soldier (Lieutenant, Cian reminded, a human rank. Probably the one in charge here) blinked back. He could see the cogs working in her head. “The prisoner? Then, you…”

Cian nodded his head to them, “It was worth the risk to try and save you if we could.”

The lieutenant pressed her fist to her chest in a salute. “Then you have my sincere gratitude,” she said, lowering her head, and Cian almost thought it was sincere.  A few of the others did the same, though the one who had refused his help had pointedly looked away.

Some things just never changed.

“The way into the valley behind us should be clear for the moment,” Cassandra informed her, pointing back the way they had come. “Go, quickly, get to the forward camp while you still can.”

The lieutenant nodded, and with little more than gathering what equipment they could, the group took off back down the mountain, where they would be safer from the demons. Cian hoped and sent a prayer for Mythal to watch over them. Even if most of the demons had been pulled away, and his group had killed off what was there, there was no promise more demons hadn’t found their way back to the path. The soldiers were injured enough; they’d need all the protection they could get.

Still, though, Cian was glad they had come this way.

“The path ahead appears to be clear of demons,” Solas noted as he joined the rest of them once more.

“Then let us hurry before that changes,” Cassandra ordered, leading their march through the snow-covered trail. “There’s a ladder ahead, down there is the way to the Temple.”

It was a short walk just around a rocky mountain outcrop, and the ladder was thankfully marked by a stone pillar and a flickering flame that somehow survived the howling wind of a mountaintop. The ladder itself was actually two ladders; the first one to a wooden platform, with another ladder going down the rest of the way.

Past that, their earthy trail changed too wooden planks like a bridge going downward. Which, arguably, was worse. Cian could walk the snow dusted ground just fine. The wood? The snow and frost made it slick, combined with their downward descent; it was a bit of a dangerous trail. More so for the others than Cian. He still hadn’t gotten any boots with soles, and though his toes were freezing, he felt like he had better traction.

Or maybe he was just imagining it to make himself feel better. That was possible, too.

He was tempted to grab Cassandra’s shield and use it as a sled, that felt like a far faster way to get down. But he was also certain if he even tried; Breach or no, the woman would kill him.

“So,” Varric began as they walked past another stone pillar with a fire keeping the path marked and providing a sliver of warmth. “Holes in the Fade don’t just happen by accident, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bear; it is possible,” Solas answered with a thoughtful, careful hum as he walked, his staff more a walking stick to help him from falling on the slicker patches. The path was far too steep to be safe to walk with that much snow cover.

Cian grimaced as he walked, pausing by another fire just long enough to warm his fingers back up. “Joy of joys. So, this could potentially happen, again?” he asked and shook his head. “There have to be easier ways to make things explode without opening the door for demons and spirits to come over.”

“There are,” the mage agreed.

Cassandra kept her pace brisk, kept ahead of them by just a few paces. “We will consider how this happened once the immediate danger has passed,” she said, as if that was the end of it, and Cian rolled his eyes, biting back the retort of how she was screaming in his face not a few hours earlier, demanding he tell her how this even happened.

He kept quiet, though. All in all, he much preferred this version of the woman who was not screaming at him in a dark cell. He was already pushing it enough with scavenging from the mines, he didn’t need to see how much further he could irk her before she slapped him in irons again and started screaming.

Eventually the wooden planks gave way to stone, snow-coated steps. Solas’ foot slipped under him, and both Cian and Varric reached out to catch him before he could fall. The man smiled, offered his thanks, and they stepped down more carefully, reaching hard earth again for a few more paces before coming across another set of stone stairs. They were freezing to walk on, but they were not bathed in snow like the previous set. Safer walk on, especially as the incline was much deeper.

Cian could see wisps of green on the wind. Could hear the thunder of the Breach over the howl of the air.

There was stone everywhere, weirdly shaped pillars and crumbled rock. It got worse the further, the deeper they went. It took a while before Cian realized the rocks and pillars were bricks, that they were inside of the temple, that it had been destroyed so severely that its remains looked like any other rockslide from the mountain.

Well, shit.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas breathed his voice trembled with horror and awe.

“What’s left of it,” Varric added with a disgusted mutter. Horrified by what had happened, scared of what it meant.

Cassandra stopped between a part of a brick wall that remained standing and a stone outcrop, staring hard at a scorch mark on the ground. “That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you,” she said as Cian approached, her voice oddly soft, gentle, and she pointed to the scorched patter on the stones, and she repeated what she had said when they left Haven; “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

A woman.

That was the only thing that Cian could remember with a semblance of clarity. Burning fire, a woman’s form, and him running—running to her. That dark, horrific place, he could barely remember it, but he remembered the terror it filled him with so clearly. That must have been the Beyond—the Fade—and that woman, she reached out and…

Did she get him out of the Fade?

Did she escape? He hoped, he prayed that she did. That she got out, that she was somewhere safe.

It was unlikely, though. Not unless she escaped through a rift someplace else, otherwise Cassandra would have said more on the topic. She was still in the Fade when they found him, still in the Fade when the rift closed behind him.

He couldn’t remember a face, couldn’t remember the sound of her voice, he didn’t even know who she could have been. But Cian was grateful for her, he owed his life to her. He’d make sure that her efforts weren’t for nothing, and he’d do what he could to make things right.

They continued walking.

The rubble and destruction only worsened the further they went. Yet the worst of it wasn’t the destruction, it was the bodies left behind. Blood smeared against stone and snow. He saw bodies crushed, long since dead and frozen stiff by the cold. He saw commoner clothes, knights shields, priests robes, dead and gone. Men, women, even children.

There were many bodies that were simply burned beyond any recognition. Humanoid shapes of charred flesh, frozen in poses of panic and fear. It’s seeing the carnage, the countless lives lost, that it truly struck how gruesome, how horrific, everything was.

No one had been spared. Didn’t matter if they were human, elf, or dwarf, they’d all died the same; afraid. No one could pretend that their final moments were anything less than horrific.

If he was somewhat responsible for what had happened…

Cian looked away from the open-mouthed corpse silently screaming, arm outstretched towards another charred body. His stomach twisted with disgust.

They moved through stone archways that somehow stayed standing, through wide halls and crumbled corners. Further in, the damage just kept worsening, and the number of bodies continued to grow. No one dared say a word, to break the silence.

They reached a large, open clearing, and Cian couldn’t tell if it had been a vast chamber or an open courtyard, and he supposed it didn’t matter. Directly above was the Breach, and beneath it the largest rift he’d seen, tendrils of green energy connecting it to the Breach, feeding from it. Even on what must have been a second, maybe third floor level of the Temple, they were barely higher than the rift.

Just staring at it terrified him.

“The Breach is a long way up,” Varric noted, head tilted back as far as he could to look up. The Breach was far more massive up close than it had looked from in Haven. A gaping maw, larger than cities and kingdoms. It made him feel insignificant, made him feel like he was nothing at all in comparison.

“You’re here! Oh, thank the Maker!”

Cian turned to find Leliana jogging towards them with a party of soldiers behind her. She paused as she reached them, her gaze landing on Cian for a brief moment, sharp and appraising, yet satisfied that he had survive. That’s all that mattered, really, that Cian survived long enough to reach the Breach. Her attention snapped back to Cassandra quick enough.

“Leliana, have your men take positions around the Temple,” Cassandra ordered, gesturing to different platforms circling the rift. If they were going to provide cover fire, then Cian wasn’t going to complain. Every rift so far came with a pile of demons to fight, he had no reason to think the Breach wouldn’t do the same.

Leliana nodded and took off, barking out orders to the soldiers who had followed her. He wondered, briefly, just how high up the chain of command she was. Cian wouldn’t pretend to say he understood human hierarchies all that well, but Cassandra seemed to have been the one in charge. Maybe Leliana was her second, or maybe she was a co-leader. They both seemed to be the top dogs, though.

And maybe he was focusing on that pointless question to avoid looking at the problem, to avoid looking back at the rift and Breach and trying to figure out how to close it.

As Leliana disappeared around a corner, Cassandra walked forward, coming to stand beside him at the front. “Are you ready?” she asked, watching him. “This is your chance to end this.”

He tore his gaze from the rift to her, letting out a hoarse laugh. “That depends, can you even get me up there?” he asked, feeling his heart racing painfully in his chest. “Unless we have Solas make a pillar of ice—but surely there’s a limit to how high he can make those with his magic.”

Solas approached, and maybe it was because Cian said his name, it didn’t matter, and fixed his gaze on the rift. “I can’t take you up to the Breach," he said, confirming what Cian had already figured. "But this rift was the first, and it should be the key,” he said, his voice so certain that Cian wanted to believe him. “We seal it, we close the Breach.”

Cassandra nodded. “Then let’s find a way down,” she said, turning from them both. “Be careful, we don’t know what might be waiting for us.”

They had a plan, and that was better than nothing. Cian hoped that Solas was right. Hoped that things could just be simple like that for once. Close this one last rift and everything would be fine and dandy again, no more demons or terrifying green holes in the sky. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

Making their way down their way down the rubble, aware of the footsteps above of soldiers getting into place, and listening for the groans and growls of demons—they had just barely made it down the short set of steps before a new voice filled the air, echoing, reverberating across stone and brick, coming from all directions, coming from nowhere.

“Now is the hour of our victory.”

Cian froze in step, spinning around, trying to pinpoint the source, trying to find—why did that voice sound so familiar? Why did it send a chill of terror down his spine and choked the air out of his lungs?

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The mark on his hand burned, reacting to the rift near them, the pain spreading, reaching his other arm, reaching his neck. Like cracks on a mirror that grew and grew until it was just moments from shattering altogether. He couldn’t breathe, moving was becoming difficult. He’d lost all feelings but pain in his left arm.

As they climbed another step of stairs, he slumped across the railing struggling to breathe as his body surged with pain. He was barely aware of the clinking of metal armor and of thick gloves grabbing him, steadying him as he walked.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, her voice just next to his ear.

“At a guess?” Solas replied from behind, clinking his staff to the ground—several orbs of light shot on ahead of them, illuminating their path. “The person who created the Breach.”

Their path grew rougher. Obstructed by stone, fallen parts of the temple. The mountain rocks were glowing, golden veins spreading across them like the spread of his mark across his flesh. Another thunderous crack from the Breach, so loud from down here that it rang in his ears—and Cian stumbled forward as his arm twisted and burned. Cassandra held him tighter. Kept him from falling.

Slowly, they kept walking. Slowed by his own inability to walk on his own, by the way the mark was destroying him. His body shook, he tried to catch his breath and let out a sharp wheeze as his lungs refused.

Up ahead was a red glow. As they got closer, the glow intensified. Crystals—maybe? Cian had never seen any like it before. Though Varric reeled back in knowing horror at the sight.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker,” the dwarf hissed, stopping to stare at it, his hands tightening their grip on Bianca.

Cassandra kept walking—kept Cian walking. “I see it, Varric.” she said, offering nothing more.

“But what’s it doing here?” Varric pressed, his voice tense, begging for answers—and it was clear to Cian that there was something more to this. Something he and Cassandra knew, something very, very bad.

Solas nudged him forward, got Varric walking again. Away from the lyrium. “Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the Temple,” he offered, thoughtful, but unsure, possessing only untested theories that he could provide. “Corrupted it.”

“Lyrium’s dangerous enough…” Cian breathed, his voice nearly shot as he bit back cries of pain, his arm still pulsing. “Now we have…corrupted…lyrium? Great.”

Varric spat on the ground. “It’s evil,” he stated. “Whatever you do; don’t touch it.”

He wasn’t planning on it. Just being near the stuff felt wrong, like the air twisted around it.

One last step of stairs and they would be on the main floor. Just a little farther, just a little longer, and it would all be over. As Cassandra helped him stumble down them, the voice returned, deafening in the air, echoing in his brain.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

Then, a new voice filled the air. Someone different from before. Older. Terrified and desperate. Crying out. Distorted.

“Someone! Help me!”

Cassandra stilled, and Cian stumbled out of her grasp as she let go, drawing her sword and looking around, a wild look in her eyes. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” she yelled, scanning the rubble as if she might find her, as if she might still reach her.

If that was her… Cian didn’t like the implications of what had happened.

Stumbling over a few more steps, the rift came into view, green mist surrounding it, electricity coursing through it as it bubbled in the air, and his arm, shaking and trembling, began reaching for it, as if drawn to it.

“What’s going on here?”

He stopped.

Distorted as it was, Cian knew that voice, he would recognize it anywhere. That was—

“That’s your voice!” Cassandra said, turning to him, and her voice not accusatory, but of wonderment, of confusion as she lingered behind him. “Most Holy was calling out to you, but—”

Her words were cut off as the rift pulsated and rumbled. They slowly backed away, expecting demons to as the sky shifted, as the air rushed around them, and suddenly they were staring up at a memory being played by the rift.

A figure of darkness, too foggy to make out, as if of living shadows. Across from him, an older woman, dressed in robes, fancy Chantry robes—The Divine, Cian realized. Suspended by what seemed like magic, her face etched in terror and pain.

He saw Cassandra reach for the Divine, almost as if she could touch her, but her fingers went through empty air.

The air shifted again, and suddenly Cian was running towards the pair—except it wasn’t Cian. He was on the ground, with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. A vision of him, an illusion of himself, going to the Divine. His daggers were drawn, as if he was preparing for a fight—and of course I would have, Cian thought. If among the destruction and chaos, he had heard someone screaming for help, he would have gone running, he would have done what he could to help.

The illusionary Cian raised his curved daggers at the shadowing being, angled his body at him, poised to attack, and looked to the Divine, still trapped. “What’s going on here?” he had demanded.

Divine Justinia looked to him, fear stricken as she was, her voice echoed, distorted, like numerous people talking at once. “Run, while you still can!” she cried out to him, struggling against whatever binding kept her trapped. “Warn them!”

The shadowy figure turned to him, eyes of red flames hiding a nightmare; voice more ominous than before. “We have an intruder,” he said, though he did not seem bothered by it at all, as if Cian’s presence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, no more bothersome than a fly. “Slay the elf.”

The vision was gone just as fast as it came, with a violent surge of energy that nearly knocked him off his feet. There was a long silence in the aftermath, too loud, too long. Everyone was struggling to recover from the shock and confusion of the scene they were shown.

Cassandra was the first to recover, and she was in his face in moments, grabbing him with no care for the pain he was already in. “You were there!” she yelled, panic and desperation raging in her voice and gaze. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she—was this vision true? What are we seeing?” she demanded, tightening her grip on him.

“I don’t know!” Cian yelled back. He managed to push himself out of her hands, but stumbled back and fell to the cold, stone ground. His chest was heaving, fighting to take each breath, and his mind was a frantic mess. He had just watched himself in a moment of time he had no recollection of, and yet the terror he felt seeing the shadowed figure was real. An instinctual fear he couldn’t have just made up.

None of this made sense—why couldn’t he remember?!

Solas walked past them, seemingly unaffected by all that had happened, and stood beneath the rift. Calm. Absolutely calm. Why was he so calm?! “Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” he said, as if to explain the visions they had seen. He turned back to the rest, his face solid, resolute, the glow of the rift casting him a green aura. “this rift is not sealed, but it is closed. Albeit temporarily.”

Struggling to his feet, Varric helping him up, Cian struggled to calm his nerves and beating heart. How did Solas know? Was there some way to look at a rift and just… know? Other than the size, Cian couldn’t see anything that made it different from the other rifts. Was it a mage thing? Mages were connected to the Fade, so maybe that was why he knew.

“I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened again, and then sealed properly and safely,” Solas continued, holding his staff before him as his eyes landed on Cian, and then his gaze flickered to Cassandra. “However, opening the rift will attract attention from the other side.

“That meaning demons,” Cassandra said loudly, alerting the soldiers waiting. “Stand ready!”

Cian watched as the soldiers ran into position. Archers stood at every outcrop above, bows ready. Others circled them and the rift, swords drawn, and shields raised, preparing to fight whatever might come to this side of the Veil. Leliana and Cassandra both shouting orders, directing groups where to go, what to do. Even Varric chimed in, though he was not as loud or aggressive as the women, pointing groups this way and that.

Solas was circling the Rift, studying it from the looks of it, preparing himself for what would likely be a tough fight as he twirled his staff every so often, loosening the muscles of the arms and wrists.

While everyone was running around, preparing to fight, Cian was frozen stiff staring at the rift, and at the Breach above it. He was seconds from absolutely losing it and letting all his internal freakouts and panic attacks to burst through to the surface, from collapsing to his knees, hyperventilating, completely overwhelmed by everything that was happening, and everything he was expected to do.

He had to open a massive rift—and then close it. How in Elgar’nan’s name was he even supposed to do that? Then he apparently had front row seats to whatever went down here, but a lot of good that did when he had a hole the size of the Breach in his memory. And the only reason he’s even here, that anyone even wants him here was because he was the only one able to do anything. Because he had a stupid thing on his hand that was actively killing him, and that probably would kill him just closing the blighted Breach! A thing that no one actually knew or understand, but just hoped would somehow save the day!

This was not—there was nothing he could have ever done that could have prepared him for this. He was just supposed to be a hunter, nothing more, nothing less. That was all he was supposed to be, all he wanted to be, because whenever he tried to be something more; things went wrong. Yet, here he was now, a stupid little elf with the responsibility of the whole world now on his shoulders. If he messed up, if he couldn’t do this, then—

A hand touched his shoulder.

“Breathe.”

He jolted and gasped, and hadn’t realized he hadn’t been breathing, hadn’t realized just how badly he was shaking, worse than a leaf in the wind. A hand was on his shoulder, Leliana stood beside him, her mouth pressed into a thin line, but her blue eyes were full of worry. Concern.

 She watched him for a moment, struggling and writhing where he stood. “Cian, right?” she asked, and he nodded weakly, surprised that she knew his name, or even bothered to remember it. “You need to remember to breathe. I know this is all rather overwhelming.”

“That’s an understatement,” he said with a sharp, wheeze of a laugh, a moment later, his shoulders sagged, the anxiety eating away at him. “What if this doesn’t work?” Cian asked, tapping his fingers anxiously against his thigh. “What if this doesn’t close the Breach? Or—or what if I can’t close the rift?”

“Then we return to Haven and figure something else out,” she answered easily, as if it were simple and he was worrying over nothing. Maybe it was, maybe he was just overreacting. Or maybe she was just rather good at hiding her own feelings on the situation. “I know that the pressure you must feel is immense… but step back and look around. You’re not alone. We’re all here with you, we’ll all be doing everything we can to support you.”

Looking at the soldiers once again, Cian sucked in a sharp breath. She was right. The people around them were relying on him to close the rift, but they weren’t going to stand back, they weren’t going to leave him alone and do nothing. Once the demons came pouring out of it; they were going to be here, fighting them along with him. Protecting him. They were all depending on each other to survive, not just him.

Taking in another, calmer breath, he nodded. The nerves were still there, the fear would never quite go away, but he felt more confident. Felt more certain that maybe they could pull this off, and having Leliana there only made that confidence stronger. “Thank you,” he breathed, smiling softly. “I… we’re going to get this done.”

“I believe you,” she said, she smiled, and began backing away, returning to her own soldiers, her own duties.

More confident of his ability, Cian squared his shoulders and approached the rift. He heard the soldiers around him settle into position, metal armor clinking, the soft twang of bowstrings being pulled, of shields and swords brushing against each other. He was aware of Varric and Solas taking up position just a ways behind him, poised to attack. He was aware of Cassandra standing to the side, shield raised, sword readied.

He lifted his palm, like he had done before, raised it to the rift and breathed. He felt the pull, the magnetic draw between the mark and the rift, an invisible connection binding the two. He breathed again and reached out, he felt for that connection and grasped it.

Pain surged through his arm immediately, he could feel her nerves burning, but he did not let go of that connection. He drew it deeper and deeper into himself.

The rift flashed, energy surged around it, and it threw Cian back off his feet. Lightning struck the ground and walls, narrowly missing a group of soldiers, until one final, thick bolt flung out. The stone exploded under its touch as green flashed through the air. The ground trembled, and a deafening, deep roar filled the air. The dust and light settled and—

A massive demon, black and scaled, stood where the lightning had struck. Lightning danced across it’s body, it’s horns deadly sharp, and numerous eyes were placed on it’s face. Cian just knew that whatever manner of being this one was, none of the demons they had fought before wouldn’t—couldn’t compare to this behemoth.

“Now!” Cassandra yelled, and the archers from above began firing volleys of arrows at the demon. Most bounced harmlessly off its thick hide.

Cian almost swore it was laughing.

Bathing himself in the shadows to avoid the demons detection, Cian approached the rift once more as the others kept it’s attention. As much as he wanted to join in and fight, he knew better. His priority was the rift, and if this one reacted the same as the previous rifts had, the support it’d give those fighting would be tremendous.

Raising his hand, he broke from the shadows as he felt that burning tug. Already he was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop, not even as the lightheadedness returned or as his vision faded in and out.

The rift surged, disrupted, and the demon staggered, a few moments of stunned immobility that the soldiers took advantage of; hacking and slashing and bathing it in arrows and magic, weakening it bit by bit.

A few seconds later, it was up with a roar, and a swipe of the hand. A soldier was thrown aside, screaming as he flew past Cian, a scream that turned to a wet gurgle as he hit the rock. Dead.

Arm burning, Cian vanished into the darkness once more as he waited for the pain to go away, for that connection to reform. When it did, he felt the surge of burning energy rush through him again. Cassandra let out a battle cry as she attacked the demon, of Solas howling as he unleashed spells of fire and ice.

Another disrupted surge that nearly knocked him to knees. The demon fell, the remaining soldiers continued to cut away at it.

Shades bubbled up; Cian hadn’t even noticed until one lunged for him—killed by an arrow in its head. He saw a flash of red hair in the levels above and knew who had protected him. The rift, he had realized, needed time between disruptions before he could grasp at that connection, a precious few seconds that he spent cutting down the shades so that the others could focus on the big demon. Then he’d reach for the rift, burn away at his own being to give the others precious few seconds to go at the demon with all their strength while it was most vulnerable.

Twice, thrice… six times and many (too many) lives it took before the demon was felled and the rage of battle was quelled.

Drenched in sweat, Cian felt as if his veins were on fire, yet his skin was frozen. He’d lost all feeling in his hand, fingers so numb he couldn’t even hold his blade. He could barely even lift his arm. Each time he made the connection with the rift, it stole away more of his energy, more of his very life force, and now, he was painfully aware that it might take what little he had left to finish things once and for all.

Yet everyone was watching him, silent, waiting to see him close the rift, to close the Breach. They had all fought, many had died, so that he could.

Planting his feet into the earth, Cian stared at the rift and squared his shoulders. He raised his arm, and even that was a challenge, and reached out to the rift. With what few drops of energy he still had, he reached, and reached, and reached, until he found that connection and grabbed it.

The force drove him to his knees, yet it pulled, and it pulled, trying to take the mark, as if it might rip his whole arm off. Cian gritted his teeth and with his other hand, grabbed hold of his wrist to steady himself, to anchor himself. He could feel the searing pain in every drop of blood, threatening to tear him apart from within.

The release came with an explosion of wind, yet he was left cold and hollow.

The eruption of cheers around him fell on deaf ears as Cian swayed on his knees, his vision darkening, his arms limp at his side. He could only hear the rush of blood in his ears, the crackle of energy from the mark as it pulsed inside of him.

The burning pain was gone, replaced by an iciness that left him unable to so much as move a finger.

Closing the rift had taken more out of him than he expected, more than he thought he even had to give. He had said he’d close it, whatever it took, he’d been willing to give everything, and he still was. But—he had things he still wanted to do. Needed to do.

He was never going to get to see his clan again. He would never get to listen to Athim’s stories of Emerald Knights and of the Dales, again. Never get to go hunting with Renan. Or read the next Darktown’s Deal. There were a million things he still wanted, small things, but dear to him all the same.

All that awaited for him now was the Beyond. Silly as it was, Cian wondered if the humans would do him the honor of a Dalish funeral—no. They will likely burn his body as is the Andrastian way. That was fine, too.

He hit the ground, cheek scraped against jagged rocks as the last of his consciousness, like dying embers, faded out.

#Dragon Age #dragon age inquisition #Fanfic #dalish inquisitor #The Wrath of Heaven Quest #Inquisitor Cian #Cian's Adventures In The Inquisition

[redridcr]

It’s the Riders being one intricate and pivotal part of the final battle against Corypheus. It’s Charlie, perhaps not in the War Room, but have that couple minutes with Cullen and Leliana about getting from destination one to destination two in a matter of minutes.

“Can one of your Riders do it?” they would ask him.

“Can you do it?” Charlie would ask Red.

“Me and the ‘Biscuit? Anything for you, Char,” he would get as a reply from the redhead, all smile and no hesitation. Charlie would never tell if Red took any of this seriously.

But then it would become serious the next morning, when Charlie takes his eyes off Red exercising a new horse for a few seconds. The horse spooks. Red’s voice spiking in surprise. Hooves sparking up in speed and Red shouting and a crowd of screams and

by the Maker, what worse could have happened????

It’s Red, still conscious and his leg contorted the wrong way, being whisked away to the healers while Charlie stared, escaping and crouching in some off corner, breath escalating and memory clouded of how he’s suddenly at his desk, scrawling messy words to George Woolf in Orlais - - -

“Red’s down. Please come quickly.”

#muse;[charlie] #verse;[redrider] #verse;[redrider]ftcharlie #THINKING ABOUT THIS HARD

[writing-ro]

Fictober 19-8: “I can’t come back.”

@fictober-event // Set in a Multi-fandom Fantasy AU where most if not all kinds of fantasy creatures exist alongside humans, though the two cultures stay fairly separate, with many humans being afraid or prejudice against creatures.

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age, Characters: Analei Amell (OFC), Revka Amell, Orana (Dragon Age), Leliana (Dragon Age), Mikoto Hawke (OFC), Mother Dorathea | Divine Justinia V Ships: Analei Amell/Leliana  Additional Tags: Secret Wedding, Revka Amell is an Awesome Mom, Analei has the best siblings and maid, Happy Lesbian Day!, 

For two weeks, Analei was a ghost in her own home. Aside from meals and one trip to the library to collect books (where she was deliberately kept away from the magic tomes), she was locked in her room. She tried small rebellion, keeping her curtains closed for all the day and refusing baths when her maid (not Orana, her elven confidante sent by her Hawke cousins, she had been given to Adria) prepared to draw them. She read or embroidered by the light of one candle, only to stave off the madness of boredom, and took no care of cosmetics or hygiene except to brush her hair, purely because she herself could not stand snarls. As such, when she came for meals, she was sallow and greasy, and while she did nothing to exert herself, she naturally began to smell. She said not a word at meals, even with her dear mother Revka or beloved siblings, and only ate enough that she knew she would not faint. It worked for a week, then Aristide send Rickon and Rodrick with the maid and gave her the choice of either coming clean or being barred from meals entirely. So she bathed, but kept to the dark. 

She was allowed visitors, but for those two weeks, she only had two; Jakob and Lianne. The twins came together on the first day of her imprisonment and apologized profusely for their roles in Aristide finding out, and Analei forgave them immediately, for it was not either of their faults. Lianne brought back word that Aristide was speaking with the de Launcets to push Analei and Emile’s wedding to the end of the month, with the suggestion of a long honeymoon at one of their inland estates. Jakob admitted he had ridden to the clearing and gave Leliana a warning, so by the time Eddard and his hunters got there, Leliana was no where to be found, with her belongings missing. Analei worried Aristide would know of his ride, but he assured her no one was any the wiser of his leaving, for Mattias and Johann claimed he had been drinking with them in the cellar, and he used a horse of one of his other friends who owed him quite the debt. 

Analei held him close after that confession, and he passed on a handkerchief Leliana had entrusted to him. It was the first courting gift Analei had given her, embroidered with a nightingale holding a bunch of forget-me-nots. Analei managed to hold herself together long enough for her siblings to leave, then cried anew, and prayed to the Lady that Leliana would be protected. 

It was late evening on the fourteenth day of her imprisonment when there was a knocking on her door, a firm thud very different from the maid’s soft rap. She looked up from the book she’d been staring at for the past half-hour, and called out, “Come in.”

Revka Amell walked in, all grace and beauty even nearing fifty years of age, followed by Adria,  who was starting to grow into a similar bearing, and Orana, with her unobtrusive servant’s walk. With Amell blue eyes, black hair and a generous figure each, some would Revka’s traits had passed over her first daughter for her second, and be mostly right. But difference created the strongest bond between mother and eldest, and when together one could see they shared the same quirk of their brow, the same smile, and the same sparkle in their eye. A sparkle Analei was surprised to see now. 

“Good evening, Analei,” Revka said. 

“Good evening, Mother,” Analei said, closing her book and setting it on the table. “What brings you here?”

“A mother can’t visit her daughter?” Revka turned to the door, which was still partially open. “I’ll just close this now, I wish to discuss women’s things with my daughter. Her wedding is coming up, you know.” She closed it before the guard could respond, and nodded to Adria, who pulled a paper seal and charcoal from within her sleeves. She placed the seal on the door, right below the keyhole, and started sketching on it with charcoal. 

Revka turned to Analei and gave her a sad smile. “Oh my little bluebird.” She crossed the room and knelt by Analei’s chair a hand reaching out to cup her cheek. “I am so sorry to not have visited you in this time. There was just so much to prepare.”

“Prepare?” Analei took her mother’s hand in her own. “Prepare for what?”

“Your wedding, of course.” Revka waved with her other hand and Orana came over with a bundle in her arms, holding it as Revka started to unfold it. “We needed to make alterations to ensure a proper fit, after all. Luckily, Orana had your most recent measurements and she, Lianne and Adria together make for quick work.” 

Analei was about to ask again what her mother was talking about, when she saw the gown that had been wrapped up and gasped. It was Leandra’s wedding dress, or rather, the one she would have worn had her engagement gone through. But her sisters and maid had transformed it. The lace overdress had been dyed a soft blue, and the gold silk trim on the high collar, shoulders and hem was replaced with silver. The underdress remained snow white, but the cuffs and hem were embroidered with blue forget-me-nots, and on above them on the sleeves were purple and blue songbirds - bluebirds and nightingales. 

Analei hesitantly reached out, worried this was a dream, but she felt the fabric under her fingers, and it was just imperfect enough to make her realize it was real. “But-but how?” 

“Oh, Uncle is so distracted with the negotiations with the du Launcets he was all too eager to leave the women’s work to the women, and Aunt Bethann has been so poorly lately, it’s a relief for me to take it off her hands.” Revka smiled. “Now soon, Lianne will be by with one of her teas, and it’s Jameson on guard tonight - you know he has such a sweet spot for her. I’d almost allow him to make a courting request if I didn’t know that Uncle would never allow it. The tea will have siren’s tear lavender in it, so he’ll be drowsy and susceptible to suggestion. Lianne will tell him we all spoke for a while, then left when you prepared for bed. Coupled with the conversation seal Adria’s placed by the door, he’ll honestly believe I’m speaking to you about a woman’s duties to a husband.”

“And don’t you worry about where your bride will be,” Adria said, standing and dusting off her skirt. “Jakob told her of one of the old mine tunnels that goes from the coast right up near Hightown, and he hired some friends to escort her. When we went to services on Sunday, Mother Dorathea told us she had made it safely to the chantry. Both of them are waiting for us.”

Analei looked at her wrists and raised them up. “But, the cuffs. I can’t even leave my room without someone being alerted.”

Orana reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver key, passing it to Revka who pressed it to the cuffs, making the seam and lock reappear. “Lord Adam would make a killing as a pickpocket in Lowtown, should your marriage truly bring ruin to the family.”

Analei’s eyes welled with tears as the full implications of it all hit her. “If- if we do this, Leliana and I will have to leave Kirkwall. I- I can’t come back. Not until Aristide dies, and maybe even Grandfather.”

“We know,” Orana said, smiling even as her own tears started. “But we’d all rather you be happy far from here than waste away as a du Launcet.”

Revka reached out to cup Analei’s face again. “You know there is no love lost between your father and I, and I’m fairly certain my mother caught the cough just to leave your grandfather. Your aunt Leandra was the perfect Amell, and then she left with her heart in the talons of a Hawke. If I had to pick one of those fates for you, I would rather have you be Leandra than me.”

Analei choked on a sob and threw herself into her mother’s arms, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Revka hugged her tight, then drew back. “Now, we best hurry and get you ready. We only have a small window to get out of here.”

With her mother, sister and maid helping, Analei was soon scrubbed clean, dressed in the beautiful gown, and had her hair pulled back into a fancier version of her usual bun. It was held in place with her favorite hairclip, which had an addition of two feathers attached to it, one blue and one brown with a lavender tip. Adria did her makeup, continuing the color theme, then Revka took off her necklace and hung it around Analei’s neck. Analei almost teared up again seeing it, staving them off when Adria told her to not ruin her hard work. She had crafted it for Revka when she was twelve, testing her transmutation spells. A pendant of an Amell blue sapphire with a center of the soft pale green of her own eyes, on a silver chain. She placed a hand on it, and Revka placed her hand over hers.

“A piece of your family, to remember where you came from,” Revka recited, and reached back to touch the brown feather. “A piece of your spouse, to remember who your life belongs to.” She touched the clip itself. “And a piece of yourself, to remember who you are.”

“But where’s the piece from my friends?” Analei asked. She truly did not have many, most of Kirkwall’s society did not find joy in spending hours studying a topic until exhaustion, and often a tangent she brought up at a party could bring conversation to a halt until someone changed the subject. 

Orana reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small box. “These were my parents’. My father managed to pass them to me before he was killed. I have no interest in marriage, and I have my locket to carry their memory. They’ll have a much better use with you.”

Analei took the box and opened it to show a simple pair of rings, silver with engravings of elven marriage blessings. “Orana…” Analei stood and wrapped the elf in a tight hug. “You’ve always been my closest friend.”

“And you mine.” Orana held the hug for a moment, then stepped back. “I’ll carry them for now, then give them back when it’s time.”

Analei nodded and looked in the mirror when Adria drew her over. Analei almost didn’t recognize herself. She never lacked confidence in her appearance, and was told she was pretty often enough. But looking in the mirror, for once she truly felt beautiful. 

Revka smiled over her shoulder, as if she was reading her thoughts. “It’s love; it makes even the plainest of us beautiful.” She pressed a kiss to Analei’s cheek, then took her traveling cloak from Orana and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Now we best hurry, before Uncle leaves his study for the evening.

They had Analei stand by the bed as they went to the door and called out good nights to each other as Adria pulled the seal from the door and opened it. Analei then rushed over on quiet feet, hood drawn over her head, and walked out between her mother and sister, who she only now realized wore gowns of the same navy as her cloak, and the bag they had packed clothes and some valuables into was dark as well. As promised, Jameson’s eyes were droopy and he paid near no mind to them as Revka told him Analei was preparing for bed and did not wish to be disturbed for any reason. They rushed silently down the hall to the servant’s stair, and out a side entrance to the gardens. A little used gate was in the back corner, near where the stables were. By this gate, Analei found her other siblings waiting.

“We can’t all go to the wedding,” Lianne said. “But we couldn’t let you leave without seeing you off.”

Analei smiled and gave her sister a hug. “Thank you, Lia. Keep making your teas. They’re already being incredibly useful.” She went to Adam and squeezed him tight, even as he initially stiffened before hugging her back. “Don’t drive Mother to drink now, and keep practicing your frost spells.”

“Too late for the former,” he teased, stepping back. “But just wait, I’ll be a master of them when you get back, you’ll see.”

Analei smiled and nodded, hoping she would see that. Then she turned to Jakob, who had his head bowed. “Hey, none of that now,” Analei said, tilting his chin up so he’d look her in the eye, a bit ridiculous since he was a good three inches taller than her. “I do not blame you for any part of this matter.”

“But I was the one to reveal it all to Uncle.” His eyes welled with tears and his lip trembled. 

“And it could just as easily been anyone. He was already getting suspicious, he would have sent Eddard after be one of these days, and we’d still be here.” Analei wiped away the first tear to fall. “You saved Leliana from the hunters, and gave us a chance of a life together. I can never thank you enough for that. So no more tears now, okay?”

Jakob smiled and wiped his eyes, then pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “I won’t let Uncle keep you away long. I’ll make him let you back, by whatever means necessary.”

“I know you will,” Analei said. When he loosened his hold, she rose up on her toes to press a kiss to his forehead. “Take care of everyone, okay.”

He nodded. “I will.” 

He let her go and stepped back, and the wedding party slipped out through the gate, freshly oiled two days in a row to eliminate any squeaks on the hinges. 

It took a fifteen minute walk through the near deserted streets to reach the chantry, and when they entered it was nearly entirely dark, except for the torches by the doors and three lit candelabras around the alter. Mother Dorathea stood at the alter, speaking with about the last person Analei expected to see. 

“Mikoto?” It was barely more than a whisper, but it carried across the empty chapel and her cousin turned, her pink dress twirling around her ankles. 

“Surprised?” she asked with a smile, her brown Hawke eyes holding the Amell sparkle, and Analei hurried down the aisle to her.

“What are you doing here?” She now noticed the people sitting in the first pew, recognizing them as Mikoto’s elven lover Fenris, and her friends, the guardswoman Aveline and lover Donnic, and Varric Tethras, who was also the author of Analei’s favorite romance series. 

“We were having drinks at the Hanged Man when Jakob came looking for someone to play bodyguard. When he explained what - or rather who - it was for, we offered to do it for the small price of a silver each, and an invitation to the wedding. Jackson and Isabela are with your bride to be. They and I will be her bridal party, and Adria and Orana will be yours.” She smiled wider and picked a bouquet off the altar. “Fenris is musical accompaniment.”

“Under protest, I might add,” Fenris said, but his smile belayed his gruff tone. 

It took all her willpower to not tear up again. Analei had never felt so loved by her family in her life. 

“Since we are all here, shall we get started?” Dorathea asked. “I understand we are on a bit of a schedule tonight.”

Analei nodded, and accepted the bouquet of flowers Mikoto handed her, white roses with a single red one, surrounded by forget-me-nots and lavender. Her party gathered on the right side of the hall, and when Mikoto’s lute started plucking out a wedding march, they started walking out, first Orana, then Adria, and finally Analei on Revka’s arm. 

Analei had purposefully kept her eyes down during the bridesmaid marches, so when she looked up to see Leliana, she couldn’t help a gasp. Her love was wearing a gown of her native Orlais, with a wide collar and short off-the-shoulder sleeves of silver trimmed white silk that covered her busts. The trim continued down the bodice, with a large broach securing a belt of the same under the bust, and the bodice itself was a soft lavender that continued into an overskirt embroidered with bronze to look like feathers, to match the wings on her back, which were glossy and bright. The underskirt was plain white, except for a band on the hem of embroidered lavender and forget-me-nots. In her hand was a matching bouquet to Analei’s own.

When they met at the altar, Revka pressed a light kiss to Analei’s cheek before joining her and Leliana’s hands together. Analei squeezed it as she stared at Leliana for a moment. 

“You’re here.”

Leliana smiled and nodded. “And you’re here.” 

“And since you are both here, let us begin,” Dorathea said, and everyone laughed before she started the ceremony. “In the name of the Maker who brought us this world…”

Afterwards, Analei did not remember much of the ceremony itself. All her thoughts were on the feel of Leliana’s hand in her own, and the fact that they were there, in that moment. 

“May I have the rings?” Dorathea asked, and Orana stepped forward, passing over the rings and taking the bouquets. “Analei, take a ring and repeat after me. With this ring…”

Analei did so, holding it above Leliana’s hand. “With this ring…”

“I give you my heart…”

“I give you my heart…”

“From this day forward…”

“From this day forward…”

“You will never walk alone…”

“You will never walk alone…”

“My arms will be your home.”

“My arms will be your home.” Analei slide the ring on Leliana’s finger, and both gave a gasp as the engravings lit up with a small flash of light. 

“Now Leliana, take a ring and repeat after me. With this ring…”

Leliana repeated the vows, and the same light flashed as it set in place on Analei’s finger. As if on cue, the tears both had been holding back started to fall even as they grinned.

“By the power vested in me by the Maker, Our Lady, and the Chantry, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the bride.”

Analei and Leliana needed to further encouragement, reaching for each other and meeting their lips in such a sweet kiss, Analei didn’t know how she didn’t die right in that moment. It went on for long enough they could hear a laugh from one of the bridal party. 

“Well now, do you think they’d notice if we just left? Or should we stay so they don’t defile the altar?”

They broke apart then, and Analei saw it was Isabela, for once wearing a skirt that that went past the tops of her boots and didn’t show her hips. “I like to believe I was raised a little better than that, Isabela.” 

The pirate captain just smiled. “You might, but I’d bet your siren wasn’t.” She jerked her thumb to the door. “Come on, your cousin hired a cart from a dwarf and his son to get us to the harbor, but it won’t be waiting forever.”

Analei nodded and turned to her mother, who’s own face was wet with tears. They wrapped each other in a hug, and when they parted, Revka pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Stay safe now, my little bluebird. I’ll be expecting letters.”

Analei nodded. “I will write every week, and send them when I can.” She hugged Adria and kissed her sister’s cheek. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for your wedding.”

Adria smiled and shook her head, her own tears finally falling. “Saemus won’t mind a long engagement. And who knows, maybe Uncle will have a stroke in a week and you’ll be able to come right back.”

Analei gave a small laugh. “One can dream.” She at last turned to Orana. They needed no words, having said all they needed to, and just hugged each other. “I’ll write you as well.”

“Don’t be getting a new best friend now,” Orana teased.

“But don’t you know?” Leliana asked, having finished wishing goodbye to Dorathea and wrapping her arm around Analei’s waist. “You’re supposed to marry your best friend.”

They all laughed, and Orana passed them back their boquets before the party headed to the doors. The cart was a simple goods cart, but the dwarves who owned it had added ribbon to the side in an attempt to cheer it up. “Your carriage awaits, m’ladies.” The father dwarf bowed from the driver’s seat. 

Those bound for the harbor climbed inside, while those who would stay waited on the steps. Analei and Leliana gave one last wave, then turned and tossed the bouquets behind them, not looking back to see Adria and Aveline had caught it. They were facing forward, to their new life together.

#fictober19 #Fictober Fantasy AU #fandom: dragon age #oc: Analei Amell #char: Leliana #oc: Mikoto Hawke #char: Revka Amell #fictober

[bansheesquad]

Wicked Games We Play IV

When a noble couple in Orlais with ties to Tevinter by marriage are heavily suspected to have involvement in smuggling elven artifacts, slaves, and supporting the Venatori, Leliana and Morrigan agree to go undercover as lovers due to implications about their closeness, as well as their past relationships.

Surely as grown women they can be mature about this, and Leliana was a bard after all, what could possibly go wrong, it’s not as if feelings will get in the way.

@ ao3

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #char: leliana #char: morrigan #femslash #otp: we could make a pretty tale #my writing #*mhairi things #two goddamn years and 28k later i finally wrangle this nightmare into submission what a journey it's been to get myself here #and through all the real life/health garbage that messed with writing

[wolgrahas]

Miriam Tabris · TV Tropes

#daoedit #daedit #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #tabris #warden tabris #the hero of ferelden #dragon age oc #hero of ferelden #oc: miriam tabris #mine #FINALLY SDHFGSDJF #these are FEW of miriam's tropes tbqh #she has a lot of tropes fgjhfg #the 'important haircut' was a pain in the a** bc photoshop couldn't stop crashing smh :/// #the next time i will recreate her in dai uwu #but i suck at making //pretty// chars in the dai cc :((( #i'm just happy thinking that divine leliana and miriam are really happy having lots of nugs uwu

[ghostwise]

25 and f for the writing prompts! - @leiwritess

25F: Footprint + “I hate it out here.” cw: suicide ideation, death

He wakes up.

That already makes for a bad start. Against all odds, he has survived the ambush. Heavy disappointment coils within him; the same disappointment he’s felt every day upon waking, for months, months.

It seems he can’t even die right.

Zevran is dimly aware of two things: first, his hands are bound, tied behind his back. Second, his head hurts, and his hair is sticking to his scalp with what he can only assume is blood. He’d wanted a quick death, on his own terms—but this? This lack of agency and dignity is not how he wants to leave the world. The very thought nearly sends him into a panic—not this, not this—

“You awake?”

Zevran doesn’t flinch, and thank the Maker for that shred of control he’s managed to hang onto. He pinpoints the source of the voice and turns carefully to look. The edges of his world expand a little as he realizes he’s in a cart, along with crates and provisions—he bristles at the thought of being treated like this, wonders where they’re taking him—but the man speaks again.

“You Andrastian?”

The questions have no context in Zevran’s mind, so he doesn’t know how to answer them. When the man speaks again, his voice has softened, a questioning sing-song to it.

“… Hello?”

Zevran realizes an answer is expected of him. He looks up.

A Dalish elf, tattoos curling across his face, blinks at him. His eyes are an unusual shade of blue and they flicker slightly, strange and unsteady, snapping back to Zevran with each twitch. He frowns, steps closer to the cart, and suddenly lifts his hands into view.

Can you hear me? he signs.

Zevran struggles to sit up. The sudden movement causes the Warden to take a step back, and he grips his bow again, looking at him warily.

“Untie me,” Zevran says.

“No.”

Fair enough. It was worth a shot.

The Warden stares at him. The sun is setting behind him. It frames him in fire red and orange—makes him frightening, impressive, his white hair picking up all the color, and his blue eyes still flickering. After a moment, he holds up a bandaged hand, pointing two fingers behind him.

“We are building the pyre for your folks.”

Zevran takes the words in. He looks away.

“How many-?”

“Everyone.” Hamal shifts his weight, and brings his hand back down to his bow. “Surely this is no surprise to you.”

Zevran says nothing. Truth be told, it had not occurred to him that the others would die. He’d assumed that their strength in numbers would protect them—that he would die for wishing it, and the rest would return to Antiva. It is the cruelest joke the Maker has ever played.

“Leliana is ready to say the rites. Are you Andrastian?” Hamal asks again. “Or should we make other arrangements?”

Zevran looks at him. “No. The pyre is fine.”

“Do you wish to be present? Say goodbye?”

Goodbye to who? Zevran hadn’t even known them, before this journey. He gives a terse shake of his head.

“Alright.”

Zevran hears his footsteps receding. Considers.

He could connive. He could spew hate and barbed taunts to make his captors turn on him; convince them to kill him, so he won’t see another night’s stars. But his wrists hurt. His shoulders strain from the ties binding him. And he’s tired. Tired of fighting, tired of trying to find a way out…

He hates it here. The site of the failed ambush feels malicious, as if the land itself has soaked all his bitterness into the mud. Every smeared footprint is a stark reminder of death. He wants nothing more than to get away from it.

A unique circumstance occurs to him.

They’ll think he died.

At the site of the ambush, whoever comes looking will find only a pyre of ashes, and human remains, too charred to identify. Who wouldn’t expect him to be among their number?

The possibility presents itself: Survive. Overcome. Think of something to say. Find a way to live.

It shocks him. The idea seems vulgar, but he quickly forms his thoughts around it. As the footsteps return and Warden Mahariel comes into view, Zevran makes the decision then and there.

He will not die here. Not today.

#rinnywrites #dragon age #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #mahariel #oc: hamal mahariel #thank you for the prompt <3 though it took me ages to complete #it is mementing absolute mori... sorry for everything i write being about death and dying lately

[dalishious]

why is Anders like. so liked in the fandom. I don't get it he's voiced support for tevinter slavery and is just. downright cruel to fenris about everything. and if you try to not flirt with him and say you aren't interested just after apologizing for his friend being made tranquil he takes it as an insult

Some of the main reasons I like Anders:

His multifaceted advocacy for equal rights for mages, including going as far as risking his life to help mages escape the Gallows and get out of Kirkwall

He himself has gone through a lot of trauma in the Circles, including but not limited to an entire year of solitary confinement, and yet he gave up the only protection he had from them (the Grey Wardens) because he couldn’t stand him having freedoms that other mages didn’t

He does nothing in half measure, and is so full of passion for the people and things he cares about—and this isn’t just special with Hawke, lest we forget he travelled all the way to Kirkwall in the first place because of Karl, and even before that lest we forget the very reason he merged with Justice was to help his friend

Speaking of Justice, I really like how much his personality and Justice’s personality in Awakening blend together in his character in DA:2; it truly is a matter of showing what is told in the way you can pick pieces of both characters as they were separately now merged together, and I find that to be a really interesting and unique piece of character progression that not only builds him as a person, but adds to and reflects the worldbuilding with how magic and spirits work

He’s super open with affection in his romance, and just like Merrill, declares his love for Hawke without hesitation

When he’s not with Hawke, he’s providing free health care for Kirkwall citizens and refugees that the rest of the city openly shuns and attacks, and in return they protect and love him; he is at the same time showing people mages aren’t scary, but people just like them just by doing what he does

As a “Zillennial” I can’t help but like and relate to his nihilistic sense of humour

And to respond to your points:

“He's voiced support for Tevinter slavery”

...Where? Show me where in the game that Anders says slavery in Tevinter is okay actually.

If you are only referring to the allocation of friendship points if Hawke is an evil motherfucker who gives Fenris back to Danarius, then I would like to counter this with the fact that the friendship/rivalry point allocation for all the companions is messed up at times. And in fact in regards to that specific scenario, they should all openly attack Hawke for doing such, in my opinion. Leliana and Wynne attack the Warden for poisoning the Sacred Ashes, but apparently no one even tries to stop Hawke selling Fenris back into slavery? Really, Gaider?

Anyway, some other examples of the friendship/rivalry point allocation being really morally messed up and/or OOC:

Fenris gains +10 friendship if Hawke threatens to expose Thrask having had a mage daughter unless Thrask pays them, and +10 rivalry for promising to keep Thrask’s secret

Aveline gains +10 rivalry for attacking Varian the slaver

Merrill gains +5 friendship for accepting Torpor’s bargain to possess Feynriel, and +5 rivalry for killing Torpor

Aveline gains +10 friendship for turning Keran over to Meredith, and +10 rivalry for letting him go

Aveline gains +10 friendship for allowing Isabela to negotiate with Castillon the slaver, and +5 rivalry for killing him

Varric gains +5 friendship for allowing Isabela to negotiate with Castillon the slaver, and +5 rivalry for killing him

So lets look at that last point as a similar example to Anders’ friendship/rivalry change during the quest Alone. Varric and Aveline gain friendship points for letting a slaver go free, and rivalry points for killing him. Are you going to say Varric and Aveline support slavery too, then? Or are you going to acknowledge that friendship/rivalry point allocation should not be taken at full value of who characters are, but rather sometimes simply added for the sake of game mechanical benefits and consequences of choices, and don’t make sense?

“He’s downright cruel to Fenris about everything”

Yeah. They’re rude to each other. They have a hostile relationship and it’s not good, but the way you’re phrasing this is as if it’s only a one-way street. Fenris is also rude to Anders about everything.

This isn’t to say that either negates the other, but that they are on the same level of antagonism. It’s not just Anders bullying Fenris, or just Fenris bullying Anders. They are both at fault.

“If you try to not flirt with him and say you aren't interested just after apologizing for his friend being made tranquil he takes it as an insult”

I do agree that the dialogue here is messy.

I would like to point out though, that it is entirely possible to get through it without flirting and without him trying to initiate anything. I know because I literally just did it with my new playthrough I started.

Anyway, this blog loves and supports Anders. ✌

#anders #dragon age #da2 #meta #Anonymous #ask

[copiesofme-archive]

       “ Why should I apologize for the monster I’ve become?                     No one ever apologized for making me this way. ”

#could she die; could it really be that simple? [ lucille sharpe / char. study ] #who you must become [ musings / wyatt ] #the chantry teaches us [ leliana / musings ] #(i can't find this post so im making my own post)

[skyheld]

actually here’s what I know about Inquisitor Gatt:

he’s at the conclave undercover, probably as a city elf, so that’s what Leli&co believe him to be when he’s taken prisoner and he probably sticks to that lie because it’s better than being of the qun

i think he tries to leave as soon as possible, bc he has Zero interest in southern politics and this was not his mission. he’d run before even the first attempt to close the breach if he could, but i think he might not get the chance by then

so if he does, he sends a report to the qun and they’re like  ‘ get back there asap, these idiots think you’re their saviour and wants you to lead them this is the best thing that could possibly happen ‘ so he just goes back and is the herald

if he doesn’t leave i don’t think he could contact the qun that easily without risking leliana reading the message, so i think they actually believe him dead until the Iron Bull contacts them just wanting an alliance as normal and Gatt doesn’t know who the Iron Bull is and goes to the storm coast to meet with him and

GUESS WHO’S ALIVE.jpg

everything that happens in the beginning convinces gatt that the people of southern thedas Really Need The Qun bc they’re all just squabbling, no one knows who’s in charge of who, how can cass & leli just do what they want and why do they want a random city elf to lead them just bc he has a weird mark on his hadn and why the fuck does everything fall apart bc one person dies this is why you have three leaders

good for the qun though

and gatt isn’t comfortable with the leader role at all bc the way he became one is Not How Things Are Done and also he doesn’t care abt what his advisors want to do so he’d prefer just to leave it to them. later on he’ll recieve orders from the qun and act accordingly but i don’t think he can safely contact them early on bc he doesn’t want anyone to know the connection

i think the first time he cares for any decision that doesn’t concern his wellbeing is when he meets alexius in redcliff, bc mages or the people of southern thedas? not his concern, but here’s an actual magister who the mages are indentured to and will be working for for ten years without any rights and nope, not going to fucking let that happen, it doesn’t matter the qun would also want him to stop tevinter from getting more power,  gatt is fighting alexius for his own sake

@afirmbelieverinnopantsfridays, @beefcakequnari tagging you two bc i want you to know this

#|| ooc #char: gatt #i'm.. not planning on making a verse of this or anything but i couldn't not start thinking abt it #like instead of bringing Peace and Stability as the quizzie usually does #( while also plundering ruins and claiming landmarks all over two nations i mean ) #he'd just rather try to destabilize bc that's what's best for the qun #obv the qun want the breach closed and corpy defeated #and the venatori #but they don't want a strong orlais on good terms with ferelden #they don't want an end to the mage templar war #he'll let celene die and leave briala behind gaspard bc that'll probably leave orlais most unstable #and i also think at least leliana will be suspicious of him #if i could make a playthrough the way gatt would actually do it it would be A Ride

[tabriscadash]

I was asked this on my old blog right as I set about transitioning to this one, so...

The first character I ever fell in love with: for DA:O, dare I say Daveth? What can I say -- I irrationally got incredibly attached to him. otherwise, DEFINITELY Morrigan, and I have crystal clear memories of my first run through Lothering and looking at Morrigan like 😍 the whole time. For DA:2/E, Carver -- unless you count Anders & Justice since I knew of them from Awakening beforehand, in which case probably Justice. For DA:I, it’s a toss-up between Vivienne or Cole -- I technically liked Cole first but SPECIFICALLY in the supporting material (Asunder), and didn’t vibe with him anywhere near as much in the game, AND I got him as a companion after I got Vivienne, so probably Vivienne.

A character that I used to love/like, but now do not: for DA:O, I guess Oghren? I never loved him, but I liked the idea of him because I really liked the dwarves/Orzammar side of DA’s worldbuilding -- but he’s such an unlikeable character that I just.. don’t vibe with him at all. I debate recruiting him every single time now, and I don’t think I ever do his personal quest (in the base game OR Awakening). for DA:2/E, I don’t really have anyone that fits -- but I REALLY wanted to like Merrill and Aveline more than I did, and especially in Aveline’s case, I can’t stand her and genuinely think she’s the unintended, secret Big Bad of the whole game. for DA:I, probably Cole, bc I was really into the idea of a little walking-corpse serial killer animated by a spirit as per the book, but that’s not really the vibe in DA:I, and combined with the somewhat patronising/ableist language and how significantly he is infantilised (including by the fandom) I just got put off him. I do still like him, but not as much.

A ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: for DA:O, I don’t really have one? I guess see my DA:I answer, lol... for DA:2/E, has to be Anders - I don’t think he’s OOC in 2, but I think his writing does so little with him and he feels v. reductive. Where his relationship could be SO interesting and angsty, it instead is written in a really dull and/or cringey way. It would have been nice to see Anders more like the Anders of Awakening near the beginning of the game (rather than random, infrequent and questionably rare snippets), and then see the progression of his relationship with Justice as the game went on -- I want more interesting abominations, PLEASE. for DA:I, listen I cannot express to you HOW EXCITED I was for my planned Lavellan to romance Sera… also I used to be way more tolerant of Cullen x Amell/Surana ships because, like, hey dark ships are fun, right? But since Cullen’s ~wholesome whitewash~ in DA:I, and his fandom clamouring to absolve him of any wrongdoing ever.. it’s boring to me.

My ultimate favourite character™: for DA:O, probably Sten? or Morrigan. They’re both fantastic, and also are significant comfort chars for me. for DA:2/3, honestly, probably my own Hawke -- I feel so hugely proud of her, and can’t imagine I’d enjoy the game anywhere near as much had I not played it as my Hawke. If not her, maybe Sebastian or Carver? for DA:I, I really love Vivienne, as well as Blackwall, and Solas is a great character even if I probably would not say I liked him.

Prettiest character: for DA:O, we all know it’s Zevran. for DA:2/E, I think Aveline -- although her aggressively bland colour-scheme lets her down in a major way (although I respect her dedication to all orange all day every day). There’s just something about her arms -- very Abby from TLOU:2. for DA:I, maybe Josephine? Ser Barris is very pretty, too...

My most hated character: for DA:O, I really didn’t like Alistair, Wynne and Oghren, and of my companions - Oghren is probably my least favourite. He’s vulgar and also profoundly uninteresting. for DA:2/E, it has to be Aveline. There’s just something about ineptitude and a complete, wilful refusal to take accountability for your actions that I can’t stand. It would be okay if it was an intentional character flaw, but the game/narrative treats her like she’s lawful good and it really annoys me. for DA:I, maybe Iron Bull? He was a huge disappointment for me. I also really dislike Sera, Cassandra, and Varric. I’m so sick of Varric - I never want to see him again.

My OTP: for DA:O, I really loved Zevran’s romance -- but I am also very amused by the fact that Leliana got to ‘love’ status with Kallian accidentally, AND I got the ‘love’ glitch for Justice (👀) and Velanna. I do sometimes wonder about an AU where Kallian is forced to make a politically expedient marriage with Nathaniel Howe for diplomatic reasons in order to consolidate her position as Arlessa, and it being an entirely platonic arrangement (it’s not like anyone expects an heir from an infertile Grey Warden) -- and maybe Zev and Nate kiss sometimes, who knows? I also LOVE my Darkspawn Chronicles AU where Kallian and Nelaros are a happy, married couple each hiding their skills with weapons from each other like dumb, cute sweethearts. They shelter Zevran when he fails to kill Alistair and a poly couple evolves. for DA:2/E, I love the IDEA of a Seb romance that isn’t so strictly conditional around the structures that abused him -- he should be allowed to love, chastely or otherwise, but free from the Chantry OR his position as prince/heir. I’d LOVE to actually have a romance with him where you can actually challenge the abuse he’s experienced. for DA:I, Malika doesn’t have a canon romance (although I think when I replay, I’m going to romance Josephine!) but I think Blackwall has an amazing romance. Solas’ is also iconic, it must be said. 

My NOTP: for DA:O, I really dislike Alistair in a shipping capacity; he’s immature and says a lot of misogynistic shit and I don’t think he’s the worst for it, but I don’t really vibe with shipping him, having played the game as a female city elf. for DA:2/E, I wouldn’t say I have one, particularly? although I really dislike Aveline’s relationship with her husband simply because it seems incredibly inappropriate, given that they work together and she has power over him -- and because I dislike her, generally, I don’t feel inclined to do something nice for her. for DA:I, I suppose Sera/Lavellan -- although I’m not AGAINST it, it just really isn’t for me, having attempted it. I also don’t really vibe with Dorian x Iron Bull. Something abt the way the game handled BDSM and their relationship banter specifically I don’t really like.

Favourite episode quest: for DA:O, probs Orzammar/the Deep Roads. I really love the dwarven lore! and, of course, Fort Drakon is really funny, even though it’s not canon in my game iirc. for DA:2/E, maybe the murder mystery with the serial killer, where ultimately Leandra dies? I also really enjoyed all the companion quests. for DA:I, The Descent (just, all of it, lmao) and everything to do with the Avvar. Crestwood also BANGED.

Saddest death: for DA:O, it’s frankly a fucking INJUSTICE that Shianni gets murdered if you make her Bann of the Alienage -- the idea of that happening whilst Kallian is in Amaranthine and unable to protect her :( genuinely very upsetting. I go back and forth on who is made Bann, tbf, so idk how canonical it is: I think maybe Cyrion would get it, but I’m also endeared to Soris holding the position, with Shianni as Hahren. for DA:2/E, Bethany. I wish both twins had had the chance to reach Kirkwall :(. Let Leandra die instead. for DA:I, maybe not the saddest death, but the most memorable for me was that one sleeping dragon in the Hissing Wastes.. leave her alone. Stay out of a womans’ business.

Favourite season game: DA:O!

Least favourite season game: DA:I.

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but I hate: for DA:O, Alistair. I cannot deal with his complacency and hypocrisy. for DA:2, I really disliked Merrill but I honestly cannot remember why. DEFINITELY Varric -- I hated how the game forces you to be his best friend, and if you’re low approval, you have to endure these pointless pissy little comments with this little anti-dwarf centrist pissant. After the expedition, I literally have no reason to put up with him, and I NEVER take him out. I hate that he plays the same role in DA:I, too. for DA:I, the Iron Bull was hugely disappointing, and I also really don’t vibe with Cassandra. She just seems very wishy-washy and complacent and hypocritical, and many of her comments about other cultures seem snide for literally no reason other than bigotry. 

My ‘you’re a piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: for DA:O, lbr probably Sten. Mans is gonna launch a HORRIFYING invasion in the next game iirc and frankly, I’m ok with it. Just wanna see that big bastard again ❤🥵. for DA:2/E, I LOVE Gamlen, ok? for DA:I, I am not sure if I have one.

My ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: for DA:O, if any of you so much as LOOK at Velanna wrong, it’s hands. That includes Bioware. I also feel incredibly protective of and sad for Morrigan. for DA:2/E, probably Sebastian -- I feel so sad for him, and so frustrated by the limitations with the game. for DA:I, I’m honestly not sure.. maybe Josephine? I don’t really feel this way about Sera, but I do think she deserves better from the game and its writing, and also from fandom: there are valid criticisms of her, but the hate she gets is not proportional to any valid issues with her -- and gee, I wonder why that is.

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: for DA:O, I did use to find Cullen x Surana/Amell intriguing as a dark ship -- I actually hc that Neria Surana is actually Nelaros’ sister, and have dabbled with it as a dark ship. I also am interested in Loghain/Alistair - which each pretends the other is someone else. Alistair is wooby, hate ships are, in general, fun -- so long as we acknowledge that they are, indeed, unhealthy ships. for DA:2/E, I kind of feel like Sebastian romances are, invariably, kind of dark... and, similarly, Anders romances -- especially with certain red Hawkes, The way it ends is, invariably, bordering on fucked up. ALSO Hawkecest is weird and wonderful: GET WITH IT. 

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but I’m not too invested’ ship: for DA:O, I joked about Velanna x Leliana once and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it ever since… Velanna x Sigrun is also something that can be so personal. Ariane x Finn is adorable and are paid DUST by Bioware AND fandom. I actually am really into Anora x Nathaniel & NO I will NOT explain myself; it’s a crackship but it’s MY crackship. for DA:2/E, Isabela x Fenris is super cute, but I don’t pay enough attention to them to really have super committed thoughts & feelings on them. for DA:I, Blackwall x Josephine is cute as a background ship; I also think Maryden x Cole is sweet.

#meta #mun