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grandmaster-anne · 1 year

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A AN Z OF QUEEN ELIZABETH II

By Charlotte Hodgman | Published 12 May 2022

A is for... ANNUS HORRIBILIS

“1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure... it has turned out to be an ‘Annus Horribilis’,” said the Queen, now famously, in a speech marking her 40th year on the throne. Indeed, 1992 had proved difficult for the royal family, with the breakdown of Prince Charles’ and Prince Andrew’s marriages, Princess Anne’s divorce, and a fire at Windsor Castle high on the list of unfortunate events.

B is for... BIRTHDAYS

Thanks to the unpredictability of the British weather, the Queen celebrates two birthdays every year: the day she was born (21 April) and the second Saturday in June. The two-birthday tradition began with George II in 1748 – his November birthday was deemed to be too cold for al fresco celebrations, so he decided to attach his birthday celebrations to the Trooping the Colour ceremonial parade held in the summer.

C is for... CORONATION CHICKEN

‘Poulet Reine Elizabeth’ – better known as coronation chicken – was dreamt up in 1953 by florist Constance Spry and cordon bleu chef Rosemary Hume. The dish is said to have been inspired by the ‘Jubilee Chicken’ recipe that was created in 1935 for George V’s Silver Jubilee, but, in an era of postwar rationing, coronation chicken is unlikely to have been on the menu of many street parties in 1953.

D is for... DOGS

The Queen’s love of dogs, specifically the corgi breed, is well-known; she has owned more than 30 corgis since her accession. Perhaps her closest canine friend, though, was Susan, the Pembroke Welsh corgi who was given to the-then Princess Elizabeth on her 18th birthday. The pup even took part in her wedding to Prince Philip – riding in the state coach (hidden under a blanket) and travelling with the royal couple on their honeymoon.

E is for... EMAIL

In March 1976, the Queen made history when she became the author of the first royal email. Distributed using ARPANET – a forerunner of the internet – from the Royal Signals and Radar Establishment in Malvern, Worcestershire, the message announced the development of a new programming language. It was sent from the Queen’s – rather predictably named – personal email account: HME2.

F is for... FATHER

When Princess Elizabeth was born in 1926, her father was still Prince Albert, Duke of York, but in 1936, life changed dramatically when Albert took the throne as George VI, meaning that Elizabeth was now heir apparent. Elizabeth’s preparation for queenship began almost immediately and father and daughter developed a close bond as he trained his eldest child for her future role as monarch.

G is for... GIFTS

Queen Elizabeth II has received countless gifts throughout her reign – some precious, others... more unusual. Several live animals have been presented to the Queen, including a young Nile crocodile from the People of Berending on the Gambia River and two Aldabra giant tortoises from the Government and People of the Seychelles.

H is for... HATS

The Queen is known for her vibrantly coloured coats with matching headgear, but just how many hats does the royal wardrobe contain? While the exact number is not confirmed, Her Majesty is rumoured to have donned more than 5,000 hats over the duration of her reign.

I is for... INTRUDER

Several intruders have been apprehended in the grounds of royal residences over the years, but none have made it as far as Michael Fagan, who, in 1982, broke into Buckingham Palace and found his way to the Queen’s bedroom. Since trespass was then a civil offence, Fagan was only tried for burglary (having helped himself to half a bottle of wine), and spent several months at a psychiatric hospital.

J is for... JUBILEE

This year, the Queen marks her Platinum Jubilee, becoming the first British monarch to celebrate 70 years on the throne. She will follow in the footsteps of other famous monarchs who have celebrated milestones in their reigns, including Edward III (r1327–77), who is said to have celebrated his Golden Jubilee with a magnificent procession from the Tower of London.

K is for... KENYA

It was during a stay at Treetops Hotel in Nyeri, Kenya, on 6 February 1952, that Princess Elizabeth learned that her father, George VI, had died. She and Prince Philip had been enjoying a short break in the African country during the first leg of a Commonwealth tour, but flew home immediately, landing in London the next day.

L is for... LYNDON B JOHNSON

Fourteen US presidents have come and gone over the past 70 years, but only one failed to meet the Queen face to face. Despite corresponding by letter between March 1964 and July 1967, neither Queen Elizabeth II nor President Lyndon B Johnson issued invitations for the other to visit.

M is for... MOTHERHOOD

Assuming the throne with two small children – Prince Charles (3) and Princess Anne (18 months) – meant juggling monarchy with motherhood from the off, and long periods of time away from family while touring. Two more children (Prince Andrew and Prince Edward) followed in 1960 and 1964 respectively, ensuring the continuity of the Windsor line.

N is for... NICKNAMES

Despite her dignified demeanour, the Queen is said to have a number of nicknames within the royal family, including ‘Gary’ (bestowed by a young Prince William who had confused the word with ‘Granny’). Princess Charlotte is said to use ‘Gan-Gan’, while the late Prince Philip often called his wife ‘Cabbage’ – perhaps from the French term of endearment, mon petit chou (my little cabbage).

O is for... OBEY

When the future Elizabeth II married Philip Mountbatten in 1947, eyebrows were raised over the choice of wedding vows. The word ‘obey’ had been removed from the Church of England service in 1928, two years after women were permitted to own property on the same terms as men, but Princess Elizabeth chose to include the word in her vows, promising to “love, cherish, and to obey” her new husband.

P is for... PRINCE PHILIP

The Queen and Prince Philip enjoyed a 73-year marriage before his death in April 2021. The pair were introduced in 1934, and met again five years later at the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth when Elizabeth was 13 and Philip was 18. It was here, reportedly, that Elizabeth fell in love with her future husband, a man she described on their golden wedding anniversary as being her “strength and stay”.

Q is for... QUALIFICATIONS

Conventional schooling is a fairly recent choice for the British royal family, with Prince Charles the first heir to the throne to have received a formal education and attain a university degree. Both the Queen and her younger sister, Princess Margaret, were home-schooled by a governess, with the young Elizabeth also receiving lessons in constitutional history after she became heir to the throne.

R is for... RADIO BROADCAST

The future Queen made her first public address on 13 October 1940, aged 14. Joined by Princess Margaret, the speech was broadcast at the start of Children’s Hour on the BBC World Service, and was aimed at children who had been evacuated from Britain to America, Canada and elsewhere.

You can listen to the recording via the BBC Archive: bbc.co.uk/archive/childrens-hour--princess-elizabeth/z7wm92p

S is for... SWANS

The Crown has claimed ownership of mute swans (a particular species of swan) since the 12th century, when monarchs liked to tuck into the white waterbird at feasts. A ‘Swan Upping’ ceremony, led by the Queen’s Swan Marker, takes place in the third week of July each year on a particular stretch of the River Thames, and any swans found are checked over – for health reasons, rather than as a potential meal.

T is for... TOURS

During her long reign, Elizabeth II has travelled more than a million miles (1,032,513 to be precise) and visited 117 different countries, despite never owning a passport. In 2015, having flown the equivalent of 42 times around the globe since her accession, the Queen finally hung up her boarding pass and retired from overseas travel, making a trip to Malta her last foreign tour.

U is for... UNCLE EDWARD

At her birth in 1926, baby Elizabeth was third in line to the throne, behind her uncle Edward (later Edward VIII) and her father (later George VI), and seemingly destined to be pushed down the line of succession by the births of brothers and male cousins. But on Edward VIII’s abdication in 1936 her future took a new direction and her path to queenship began.

V is for... VE DAY

In 1985, the Queen confessed in a BBC interview that, on 8 May 1945, she had secretly joined in the public celebrations that had followed the announcement that the war in Europe had ended. Dressed in her Auxiliary Territorial Service uniform ( see next box ), she and Princess Margaret snuck out of the palace and joined the celebrating crowds on London’s streets, all without being recognised.

W is for... WORLD WAR II

Aged 13 when WWII broke out, Princess Elizabeth was evacuated to Windsor Castle with her nine-year-old sister, Princess Margaret. As the conflict progressed, Elizabeth joined in with the war effort, tending her allotments as part of the Dig for Victory campaign and eventually joining the Auxiliary Territorial Service. She is the first female royal to have joined the armed services as a full-time active member.

X is for... X-RAYS

From tea towels to teapots, royal memorabilia is a massive business, but not all collectibles have received the royal seal of approval. In 2011, 18 dental X-rays of Elizabeth II’s teeth, together with those of her mother and father – taken between 1942 and 1946 – were withdrawn from an auction in Gloucestershire. Lawyers for the royal family cited a right of privacy for medical records and the lot was pulled from sale.

Y is for... YACHT

Now a popular visitor attraction and events venue in Edinburgh’s Port of Leith, HMY Britannia served the royal family for 44 years, travelling more than a million nautical miles. But in December 1997, the yacht was deemed too expensive to maintain and run, and the huge vessel was decommissioned. The Queen is said to have shed a tear at the ship’s decommissioning ceremony in Portsmouth.

Z is for... ZAMBIA

The Queen is expected to remain politically neutral, but she has, on occasion, been a target for the decisions of her governments. In 1979, during a visit to Zambia, some Zambians waved banners in protest against the UK government’s plans to recognise the controversial political regime of neighbouring Zimbabwe Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), led by Abel Muzorewa.

#the x-rays are hilarious #lmao #queen elizabeth ii #article

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cityandking · 27 days

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2, 10, 15, 25, 33, 40 for both your girlies 🥰🥰

tyyyyyy // questions for your inquisitor

2: On which path did your Inquisitor choose to lead the Inquisition?

VESPER — I truly cannot remember. I think she either declared the inquisition as a mage or to to stop corypheus, something bound up in duty and standing for others NARAYANI — declared the Inquisition to do what was right. the funny thing is, no one ever stopped to ask what right meant until it was much too late.

10: Are there further beliefs/religious perspectives your Inquisitor is interested in or perhaps despises?

VESPER — vesp is andrastian in her own way, but she's at best skeptical of the chantry—the whole institution is a mess of bad dogma and worse practice. she's interested in the old gods and the old elven beliefs in an academic way mostly, and then in a very much practical way after trespasser. but she's not particularly faithful in any direction NARAYANI — despises the chantry and its teachings, and she keeps the old elven faith. even before meeting solas she understood the fragility of those traditions and how far they (may have) strayed from their original shape, but if anything solas' disapproval of dalish faith only brings her closer to it. they talk sometimes about the merit of creating something meaningful and symbolic out of the scattered dregs of the past, about what it means to take those embers and fan a new flame. it haunts them both, afterwards, for different reasons.

15: What does your Inquisitor think about the Grey Wardens? Did they choose to banish the order?

VESPER — vesp grew up hearing stories of the heroism of the wardens. her mom was a big fan, so they were always these larger-than-life hero on the rare occassion that her mother would tell a tale to the trevelyan children. the reality at adamant was a disappointment, and worse a danger. she sent them back to weisshaupt—not forever, just until they had their own house in order. she regrets the hastiness of the choice NARAYANI — she'd heard a tale or two about the wardens but she never really knew one until blackwall which... yeah. she doesn't have much opinion about the order one way or another, but they're useful, and the inquisition needs useful things. she conscripted them.

25: Name a person they respect.

VESPER — josephine. maker above but vesper has no idea how anyone can do josephine's job. vesper has an immense respect for (and slight fear of) her. NARAYANI — bull. she respects him as a spy first, and then as an ally, and then as a friend. she finds his loyalty admirable.

33: Which place at Skyhold does your Inquisitor spend the most time at?

VESPER — high up on the ramparts, in the war room (or her advisor's offices), or in a small workshop she keeps off the gardens. she generally tries to avoid any particularly public-facing spots, if only to avoid being ambushed by someone who wants something from her (unless she's at the tavern late, drinking privately). josephine is somehow always able to find her, no matter where she holes up. NARAYANI — she spends a fair bit of time in the library (solas, dorian and leliana are some of the people she likes best), but mostly she's wherever people aren't. she just wants everyone to leave her alone. she's definitely got a bit of a bolt-hole in one of the abandoned towers; josephine kindly pretends not to know about it except in emergencies.

40: Mosaic or Fresco? Is there a painting, that impressed your Inquisitor the most?

VESPER — fresco. she's done a teensy bit of studying of some old ruins and she finds them simply incredible. the fact that solas paints them in skyhold, reproducing an ancient technique, is simply marvelous (it's much more bittersweet after she finds out the truth) NARAYANI — fresco. she likes solas' the most, because they're his

#thanks babe #memery #vesper #narayani

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mrs-gauche · 1 year

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So, on the new cinematic that was published yesterday, without going into a deep analysis here (because people have already done an amazing job at dissecting every piece of visual/symbolism, like the Golden/Black City, what appears to be the origin of the Blight, the recurring symbols in the seven semi-circle spheres/Evanuris imagery in Trespasser etc etc), I just want to write down some of my general thoughts that I had already put in the tags under the video, but there are also a few things I'd like to add. 🙂

Ok, so generally speaking, this cinematic is basically a recap for anyone who hasn’t played Trespasser/ is new to the series / doesn’t remember every single detail from a game that came out almost a decade ago. I always wondered how they were going to (re-)introduce new people to the lore and the big revelations that were sadly concealed in a DLC and after giving it some thought, I’m actually very pleased with the way they’re doing it. 😁

So in regards to Solas, this is everything you need to know before going into the game. (Though I still try to look at this from the perspective of someone who’s only played the DAI base game and therefore only knows the after credits scene with Solas and Flemeth.. So you would still be kinda lost about as to how Varric even knows about all this stuff with the creation of the Veil/what Solas plans to do and all that, so.. I would hope this still gets addressed in some form, especially if fan speculations turn out true and there will be a ten year timeskip since Inquisition, so regardless of Trespasser, in any case, it would be nice to learn what the Inquisition has been up to these past ten years. lol)

So for anyone who is now like "Ugh, another trailer about Solas?? Don't we had enough???", I get it, I really do, but I also need you to understand that this is *not* another trailer, it's an in-game cinematic, probably part of the very beginning of the game and I feel like people tend to forget that the majority of players will NOT be people like us, who have been sitting here analyzing every single frame and syllable of new content under a microscope for the past eight years. 😂

Most people who've played Inquisition maybe once or twice a decade ago will maybe have a vague memory of who Solas or the Dread Wolf are and what his story is. Of course we know all this stuff, but that's the point, it's supposed to be a recap of everything you need to know before going into the game.

Though I can understand why you would be frustrated that they chose to show this as yet another part of marketing that's solely centered around him. (Heck, even I as a fan of his character am honestly surprised how much focus there is 😂) But even though BioWare’s blog post ended with the phrase "close out this year with a little treat", the fact that this was now a general "reintroduction" to the lore, gives me a little hope that they might not wait another couple of months now to show something new, since this is still fresh in people's minds. They're building momentum and I would hope they would use this to kick off the marketing for a wider audience (and the Game Awards are by far the biggest platform to show something).

That being said, let’s talk about the visuals for a second!

Simply put, they’re drop dead gorgeous! As expected from the great Nick Thornborrow, who also did Solas’ frescoes in DAI (and who sadly left BioWare some time ago). The art style and the way it’s presented/animated reminds me a lot of DAO’s intro or those transitional scenes between acts in DA2 or even those little animation bits from the Keep (which were also narrated by Varric!). So it’s definitely true to the DA formula/getting back to the roots even. lol

So even for those of us who knew about all this stuff, it was still amazing to see it visualized and summed up in such a beautful way. And additionally, it contained hints and symbolism that seem to confirm everything I’ve been thinking for the past seven years. lol (Again, not getting into details here, because people have already done a far better job than I could do to explain all that. 😂) I loved how the visuals transitioned seemlessly into the each other with gorgeously smooth animation! I also love how you’re getting almost blinded by the way it’s portraying the destruction of the Veil. lol Like, it get’s all dark and quiet for a second and then BOOM, spotlight ON lmao, I was instantly reminded of Sandal’s prophecy in DA2, when he’s like “The shadows will part and the skies will open wide, when he rises”.

But we also need to talk about the music and the sound design, because GOSH, this was so GOOD!

I would highly recommend listening to this thing with head phones, because WOW, there are so many different little components build into this one minute track, it’s amazing!! I looove how the music starts off with this anticipation and a single violin and then shifts into this more ominous melody supported by these faint “marching to war” drums when the visuals transition from sun to moon/Solas to Fen’Harel, like the music perfectly encapsulates this feeling of ambiguity, like he’s neither a villain or a hero, and it’s up to you what to believe.

Then there’s that beautiful wolf howling in the back right as Varric says “Dread Wolf”, before the music gets more sinister, followed by this big booming “shutting the gate” sound when the Veil is formed and whatever you call that sound of magic as the gods are sealed away and this creepy whispering as the shadows are slowly spreading from the Black City and consuming everything, when it gets all quiet. And then, if you’re wearing head phones, you get knocked off your feet by that enormous explosion sound as the Veil is shattered, like you can practically FEEL the impact of this wold-altering magic in your bones. lol And then the music culminates in this grand dramatic orchestral piece that is SO reminiscent of Inquisition’s main theme??

And as the title is shown and the music breaks up, there’s that simple melody again played by this traditional string instrument (I’m no expert, but it reminds of like, ancient greek?) that was also in the 2020 teaser trailer!

Like, huge props to whoever did the sound design and I can’t wait to find out who does the score! <333

Lastly, can we talk about how Varric’s talking in the PAST tense, when saying “But now, he wanted to tear down that Veil, and destroy the world”??

It almost sounds like whatever Solas wanted to do, something happened, but as always, it didn’t go the way he intended and now we have to deal with the consequences? lol It sounds like that line was cut off too soon there, like Varric was going to add something like "But now he wanted to tear down that Veil and destroy the world.... but he f*cked up spectacularly (again) and now we have to clean up his mess." 😂

So are we maybe already playing in a post-Veil world right from the start? I hope not, because I would have loved to actually SEE how Solas tore down that Veil? 😂 It makes me think that maybe this narration isn't the final version and it will end up being different in the game, like this was edited for marketing purposes/to avoid spoilers? lol

Also, again like in the 2020 teaser trailer, I wonder who Varric is even talking to? Who is "we"? And why are WE "the only ones who can stop him"? What is it about "us" that's able to stop him?

Also, I've seen people saying he's holding a wand in that last visual? 😂

Guys, for seven years I've been trying to mentally (and emotionally) prepare myself that Solas (like all returning characters in any BioWare game) is going to look significantly different in a sequel that’s released a decade from the previous one, and my biggest fear remains that he's gonna look like Voldemort with a nose, so I can't say I'm overly thrilled at the prospect of seeing him walking around with a damn wand. 😂

Though I’m curious if it’s like some other people are saying and it could also be a weapon/blade like the one that was produced by the red lyrium idol in Tevinter Nights/the Blue Wraith comics? 👀

(But to be completely honest, my main takeaway from this whole thing was actually “OMG, they kept the CAPE for Solas’ ancient elven armor design from the early concept art???” lmaoo I was sure they got rid of it after seeing the 2020 teaser trailer. lol I’m sorry, but for those who don’t know me, I’m the biggest sucker for capes and coats in character design 😂 Give me ALL the capes! All of them!! Edna Mode hates me. lol)

Anyway, this is all I’ve got for the moment, I’m super thrilled! Even though I totally get everyone who desperately wants to see something other than Solas lol, if only to finally get a sense of confirmation after such a long time that there’s a game that’s actually.. real and playable, you know. 😂 Though tbh, I think I’ll only be able to fully realize this the moment we get an actual cinematic trailer with in-game footage and stuff. lol Fingers crossed (and clown wig ready) for the Game Awards! 😁

#da4 #dragon age 4 #solas

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lairofdragonagelore · 1 year

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The Crossroads [DLC Trespasser]: Elven Mountain Ruins , Forgotten Sanctuary; Vallaslin Removal Chamber and Hidden Armoury

In the time of Elvhenan, this valley was a sanctuary created by Fen'Harel to give shelter to elven slaves. He rejected the divine mantle himself and taught the refugees the truth about the Evanuris in the surrounding towers. In the Forgotten Sanctuary, Fen'Harel removed the vallaslin, giving the now free slaves the chance to join his army in order to fight back against the pretender gods.

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

The Vallaslin Removal Chamber

Here, we find one of the murals of DAI [I make a deep analysis of all the murals in “Murals in DAI”]. For now I can say, briefly, that I’m not so sure if this one was made by Solas.

We know his technique is not unique, it belongs to the ancient elves [proof of this is given by the archivist Banon of Skyhold in The Rotunda and the Fresco]. Technically, any educated elf of the past could have done it.

We already saw how much of a romantisation of Fen’Harel was done in the mosaics of Fen’Harel’s mountain ruins, so this mural may perfectly be part of them as well. My main argument to put in question this is that we never saw Solas draw himself in the way he is presented here, so I’m a bit sceptical about his authorship.

This mural pictures Fen’Harel as a person wearing a wolf cape and a fine robe. The intricate patterns of the fabric makes him look more important, more “Evanuris”, when he usually draws himself with the same kind of robes than the slaves are wearing: a black and green simple robe. I think there is an intent of idealisation of Fen’Harel by making his outfit fancy and more elaborated.

The figure is covering his face with a wolf mask [so, technically, anyone can take this role] and removes the vallaslin of the slaves. To me, this figure represents, ironically, a “priest” of Fen’Harel, a representative that embodies Fen’Harel’s (romanticised) ideas and shares and applies the power that Fen’Harel himself gave them [aka, the spell to remove the Vallaslin]. This figure could be a mage that knows the spell and removes the Vallaslin in groups of recently arrived slaves.

We saw the removal of the Vallaslin in the romance scene of Solas: it’s a mere spell that doesn’t need any great material or fashion to perform, it’s easy and doable if you know the spell. Another extra detail to support this suspicion is the figure’s staff. That’s not Solas’ staff.

We know his staff from his tarot card (number 1), it is a kind of a “halla profile” with a very messy set of horns. In the mural of the red lyrium idol, he painted his staff (number 3) closer to the design of 1 than 2. Staff 2 seems to be a generic branch made into a staff.

Continuing with the mural, the elves come from a blue water pool which contains inside the shape of an elven orb.The water is drawn with undulating blue lines that can represent mere water, or lyrium pools [if we want to link this to The Horror of Hormak]. These waters are a product of the Evanuri’s power: from these waters, the elves come out, slaved and branded. Similar undulation can be seen in the vallaslins coming out of their faces, and in the borders of the aravels, giving us some hints to point out to The Horror of Hormak. These undulating lines appear too in the spheres of the Mural of “The Creation of the Veil” that we find in the Shattered Library. The relationship between undulating lines, orbs, and vallaslin seem to be rather consistent, and I trust this interpretation more than others.

Now, something that I will owe, because I have no idea about yet, are those white drawings over the heads of the elves. No clue what those could be.

For some unknown and unsettling reason, this mural has the face of the The Strange Idol repeated four times, with its mouth stained in (dry, I assume) blood. We have seen this exact circle with his face in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin and in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin, Elandrin’s Tomb. One of these heads holds the brazier from where you can cast Veilfire.

Does this have any meaning? I’m not sure. We are not sure who this figure represents yet. The furthest we reached was Elgar’nan, thanks to the description in Signs of Victory as I commented in Ancient Elven codices; Vir Dirthara and thanks to the name of the zone [Elgar’nan’s bastion] where we find his statue in the middle of Elandrin’s Tomb. But we don’t know who named this place like that, so we don’t have anything truly reliable to identify this statue. So far, we can only suspect it to represent Elgar’nan, while some Tevinters considered it Dumat. More details about this unsettling figure can be read in The Strange Idol.

The Inquisitor and their companions make remarks about this mural: we are introduced here to the concept that the Vallaslin was a different kind of mark [this knowledge is only truly known by female inquisitors who romanced Solas]. For more details, check the post about “Murals in DAI”.

To activate the statue of Fen'Harel, we have to solve a small simple puzzle. Curious detail, in front of the Sitting Fen'Harel statue we find a Stone in Razikale-Ceremony-style. This combination of elements will be repeated along the Crossroads and the small pocket worlds we visit: The stone that gives us a clue to solve the puzzle of the Sitting Fen'Harel statue is a Stone in Razikale-Ceremony-style. Mere reuse? I'm a bit lost with this stone since it appeared in the Fairel's burials. More about this stone was discussed in Razikale Ceremony and Dumat’s Warrior tablets.

Once we solve the puzzle, Fen’Harel statue moves, opening the entrance to the basement. We have access to the last mosaic:

It narrates what we saw in the previous mural: the removal of the vallaslin. For more details, read Ancient Elven codices; Fen’Harel’s mountain ruins.

As the mosaic disappears, it gives us access to the Hidden Armoury, where we see the arsenal of weapons that the rebels had to fight against the Evanuris.

In the Armoury, we read a report left by a qunari agent about an elven artefact in the box laying between Fen'Harel's paws. However, if we return to it and inspect it, we realise it is not elven [this shows how little Qunari know about elves and elvhenan craftsmanship]. Here we find Arrowwood which is associated with ... well, many things.

It speaks of a Ciriane tale, an alamarri tribe from which Andraste comes from.

We don't know the race of the main char of the story, we assume is human [but we know that the Alamarri have been mixing with other races without much problem, so they could be a half-dwarf].

He removed his heart to have mastery in the bow. There are two stories related to a creature that removes their heart: Korth, and the story that the elves narrate with the mural of the Titan: “The Death of a Titan”

This char shot the Sun, causing eternal night. This concept links him with Elgar'nan who fought the Sun or pushed it down into the earth depending on which unreliable story you based this on.

The queen of the Ciriane [called gothi] sent a messenger to the Witch of the Wild to stop him.

Depending on the story, the messenger never found the Witch and made a deal with a demon. Or worked for the witch and her daughters for a year. Or found the Lady of the Skies. In all three versions, we can interpret the same: the messenger found Flemeth [since she is an abomination with certain anomalies she qualifies as a demon for many tales. She is a also a witch of the wild, and she has a big potential to be the Lady of The Skies in some shape or form]

In all cases, the messenger received a coil of silk that he used to replace the string of the bow of the Arrowwood.

When Arrowwood tried to use the bow, his heart shattered and he became dust.

The queen took the weapon, encased it in an iron chest, and dropped it in the Nahashin Marshes.

Now, how and why a weapon of Ciriane nature, that has some resemblances with titans, Korth, and Elgar’nan, ended up in an ancient elvhen chest, from a time before the arrival of humans to the world? If it's not an elven weapon, it makes no sense for it to be here. And one can argue that this could be similar to the case of finding the Chapter ??? of Hard in Hightown in the Lower Archives, but I feel that such chapter makes more sense as a way for the devs to tell the players that whoever was left in the Fade, died in peace. It’s closure to a narrative. Now, this doesn’t make sense in that way either. One could assume this is just pure game mechanics and thinking too much about it is wasteful. It’s a good weapon after all.

Hidden Armoury

The first thing we see when walking downstairs is, besides all the weapons, a curious statue of two birds in a strange amalgamation. So far I'm aware, we never saw similar statue anywhere in the game [I tend to overlook Orlesian stuff, but I feel this statue would have got my attention anyway] .

It's two birds [maybe ravens due to their beak?] joined by their backs, and struggling to fly. The first idea that came to me when i saw it for the first time was the two ravens of Dirthamen: Deceit and Fear [if we indulge in the unreliable Dalish tales]. But it makes little sense. It's true that Dirthamen is present in this sanctuary more than we have expected, and he is also present in the first tower where we enter [ the Vine-covered Tower]. But what would be the meaning of placing his ravens, fused, in the armoury? This symbol here escapes me.

This place is filled with elvhenan weapons and armours [similar to the ones we saw Abelas and his elves wear in the Temple of Mythal].

We find in addition to more Dalish supply boxes, Hallas statues that we know in game have been used by the Valmont family to create a system of locking doors in the Winter Palace, and three different kinds of rugs:

One red and black, with geometrical patterns and small "fishes" in it. It's a rug we can find in Skyhold under the basic option [meaning, Skyhold may have had a link to the activities done in here]. On its corners we see two small dogs [?] attacking a simple-horned halla/deer.

There are smaller rugs in the rooms, featuring stars of 12 points. These rugs are the same ones we saw in the Temple of Mythal, placed in front of the Mosaics, giving the idea of being used to kneel and pray. And a last carpet that, in a first impression, seemed to be Chasind, but it is not. It is an old red carpet which has a border pattern that looks like a half-sunburst [similar to the Chantry symbol indeed].

In terms of drapery, we find two main options: the typical Dalish drapery, with the "mask" that in DAO represented Mythal, with a pattern of spherical trees on the background. And the second drapery that caught my attention was a series of ragged, discoloured flags hanging along the entrances of the armoury. It had a very curious symbol on it that I retraced. I've never seen this design. It looks a bit [with a lot of will] like "tentacles", which is not a big thing in DA series anymore, since in DAO the option of making the Old Gods as strange Eldritch creatures was removed due to the limitations of the engine or to add dragons instead.

This symbol, however, appears in another place: in Skyhold, when you pick the basic decoration. Once more, it seems that Skyhold and this hidden armoury may have had some link in the past. Who knows if some of the broken eluvians in this place may have been related to Skyhold long ago. We also know that Skyhold was used by elves long time ago, and suffered strange damage, specially in the section of the jail, that the game leaves it free of any explanation [Prison Structural Evaluation]. At the end of Trespasser we know that Skyhold was Solas’ fortress at some point, so the link with this armoury is not that strange anymore.

The eluvian to gets us out from this Armoury is flanked by two archer.

Extra Details

Along the exploration of these ruins, we find details worth mentioning.

The purple fire

In some parts there is a purple fire that, no matter what you do, it kills you. The only way to cross it is through powers that provide you invulnerability for a while, one of them is the use of discharge of the Anchor. What this means lore-wise?

This fire is visually the same kind of fire that the Archdemon from DAO breathed and it’s now Solas’ current power. I fear so much to connect excessively things that are unrelated, but on the other side, DAI in particular has proven to be such a detailed game, that something of the like, so visual, has a good chance to be intentional. I’m not going to say that Solas is an archdemon, because we still don’t know what truly is an Old God [the non-corrupted version of an archdemon]. We only know that Urthemiel was worthy to be protected according to Mythal’s actions, so the relationship of these powerful elvhen mages with these old dragons is not clear yet but the relationship seems to exist.

The design in general

I like the design of the Elvhen banner and how it relates to Dalish and Tevinter design. That the Dalish banner is a more elaborated version of the Elvhen banner is not a surprise to anyone. It’s the same object with some extra “orlesian-like” ornamentation that can be justified for the years of coexistence between the Ancient Dalish and the Orlesians in the Dales, before the Exalted March.

However, I think it’s worth noting how Tevinter design is, yet again, based on Elvhen design, specially the one related to arcane. Tevinter banner has a shape on its top that resembles an oversimplified raising dragon [like the symbol of Emerius, ancient Kirkwall] but it also can be seen as a thicker and compressed version of the top of the Elvhen banner. Both of them inspired, at the same time, by the shape of a dragon or an owl extending its wings.

This comment is not meant to relate crazy lore stuff, but it is basically to highlight how the design of these objects is also related to the History they represents, and who co-opted what. Dragon Age Inquisition is such a detailed game in terms of design that, for that reason, I’m doing this extensive comparison and studies of the statues and art we see in it. It’s not mere whim, they truly worked a lot on this stuff. The director art and the artists who worked on this game, REALLY thought a lot how real life civilisations base their design, culture, and religion on previous ones, modifying them or mixing them with others, to the point that it’s hard to identify the original inspiration. And I’m truly convinced that DA series is a lot about the exploration of this concept in many levels and cultures.

#Playing DA like an archaeologist #dai trespasser #dlc #tevinter design #dalish design #skyhold drapery #rug #two ravens #Sitting Fen'Harel statue #strange idol #The Strange Idol #Evanuris Mosaics #fen'harel #murals #vallaslin #purple fire #elvhen design #undulating #DAI murals

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fatale-distraction · 2 years

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Happy friday! For dadwc solavellan: • “Living things can haunt too.” from the eerie vague prompts

@oxygenforthewicked also requested the same thing, so here you go!

Some post-Trespasser sadness for @dadrunkwriting

***

Although she had been enraged when the missive banishing the Inquisition from Skyhold had come through, Ellana was privately glad for the change of scenery. The cold stone walls were full of frozen memories of him. She heard his voice on the wind whispering through the cracks in the windows, felt his presence between the pages of every book in the library, heard his chuckle in the crack of a leather spine. His scent lingered in her quarters, no matter how many times she begged the laundress to scrub the linens with a different soap. In the gardens, she saw his shadow reaching out to caress a leaf of elfroot or the petals of embrium. She wasted hours in the rotunda, pressing her palms against the frescoes, leaning her forehead against the walls and trying to breathe in the parts of him that remained in the dry, chalky plaster. Her dreams were stalked by the shadows of wolves, by gleaming red eyes and slavering jaws.

Wycombe would be a welcome chance to escape all of that.

Yet as she unpacked her trunk alone in her new bedroom, a quaint gabled room taking up one corner of the second floor of the small cottage she would be sharing with her sister, she was disturbed. Her clothes still smelled of him; pine and citrus, mixed with the faint scent of leather and elfroot smoke. She tore each garment from its place and held it to her face, then hurled it in a rage across the room. Pillow cases and sheets joined her smalls, shifts, and dresses. Every book she picked up screamed his name, even the lengths of silk thread and the hanks of halla wool in her sewing box carried his smell, his laugh, the feel of his sweater beneath her fingers.

As she upended the small box containing what little precious jewelry she owned, a hand gripped her shoulder with a cold, yet comforting touch. Ellana spun around with a foul word on her lips and tears in her eyes, the furious expression dropping into one of surprise.

"Cole?"

"I heard your pain," the spirit murmured, unperturbed. "You called me, so I came."

"I didn't..." she stammered. "I didn't call for you." She sniffled and dragged the back of her hand across her teary eyes. "I'm glad you're here, of course, but--"

"Not here," he silenced her with a finger to her lips, then moved it gently down to prod her sternum. "Here."

Ellana stifled a tragic laugh and wiped her eyes again. "Thank you, Cole...I just...he's still here...I can't make him leave."

"No," the boy agreed softly. "You can't."

#dadwc #solas #solavellan #ellanasha lavellan #writing down fatalities #dragon age cole #cole #dragon age inquisition #da drunk writing circle

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rainhafrozen · 7 months

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@andrc | 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 .

"meu preclaro príncipe, o véu da discrição é finito, e a imprensa, perspicaz como o vento, é capaz de desvendar segredos mesmo na mais densa escuridão", não pôde evitar a preocupação que trespassou seus olhos cerúleos ao observar a aflição do nobre príncipe. com um tom marcado pela compaixão, dirigiu-lhe as palavras impregnadas de um desejo genuíno de ajuda. comunicou com ponderação. "no entanto, em nossa alcova real, há recursos naturais que, com habilidade e sabedoria, podem ser empregados em seu benefício. se assim o desejar, teria o prazer de auxiliá-lo com a sabedoria das ervas, uma benção que minha mãe me legou." cada sílaba foi entoada com a segurança de quem possuía conhecimento e experiência no assunto, oferecendo uma luz no caminho do príncipe. nos salões silenciosos do castelo, a rainha emilia preparava com esmero uma infusão reconfortante. as ervas aromáticas dançavam em sua mão com a graciosidade de uma sinfonia, enquanto a chaleira cantarolava sua canção de vapor. cada gesto era meticulosamente calculado, como se ela estivesse tecendo um feitiço de alívio. então, diante do fogaréu crepitante, ela verteu a água quente com uma elegância que poderia rivalizar com as mais finas coreografias da corte. o vapor perfumado dançava no ar, levando consigo a promessa de alívio para o jovem que lhe ocupava os pensamentos. "que esta infusão traga a suavidade de um alento fresco para os seus pulmões, e que o calor acolhedor abrace cada parte de seu ser", murmurou emilia, suas palavras uma prece silenciosa ao destino. "que cada gole seja uma bênção de alívio e restauração." assim, a rainha aguardou, seu olhar fixo na xícara, como se sua vontade pudesse guiar as ervas a cumprir seu propósito. "por vezes, a sabedoria ancestral supera os mais refinados tratados modernos. as ervas têm o poder de curar e aliviar males que muitas vezes escapam ao escrutínio da ciência contemporânea", prosseguiu emilia, com uma expressão serena, transmitindo confiança em sua proposta. "se assim lhe aprouver, poderíamos iniciar um tratamento que, com o tempo, pode propiciar uma melhora significativa."

#★ — 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃: andrc .#flashback .

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moonlightheretic · 3 years

Text

Wip Wednesday: The Heretic

Spoilers for The Heretic Also, this one hasn’t exactly been proof read yet so please bare that in mind if you encounter any ….undesirable configurations or misuse of grammar.

Something the color of emerald green peeked out from a slivered valley between two portraits. A fresco painting?! I gathered the disorderly miscellany into my hands with great care, despite my impatience biting at my heels, urging me to hurry. I would have to be more subtle than I was in Skyhold’s rotunda and knowing that thought slowed my grasping fingers and frantic arms. The whispers returned, swarming my mind with an insistence to listen. I brushed them off, I needed to see this. It could be a missing piece of this unfortunate puzzle, perhaps it held the journal, maybe another trap door?

I carefully cleared the wall of its decaying and friable camouflage and set the discarded papers at my feet. The candles rejoiced, casting vivid displays of amber, orange and gold galad along the grey lodestone.

Planes of grey that absorbed nearly the entire wall were interrupted by deliberate strokes of black. They carved into irregular shapes I recalled as familiar and chains of dabbles stippled into points, indications of something—mountain ranges? This was a… map. An informative landscape enlaced with the poetry of a painting. I waved my left hand over the fresco, just a fingers length away from the surface, hoping to illuminate every detail. I couldn’t afford to miss even the minutest scrap of information. My hand hovered over the circular green item that initially caught my attention. I gasped in surprise and my eyes were drawn upwards and downwards and from east to west. They were everywhere glinting back at me like daggers in the moonlight.

There were no names, nothing written to indicate where this was, only the blaringly obvious detail that horrified me beyond belief, the little green cylindular object represented an Elven artifact and they were drawn in all over this map. Covering what was now the Kingdoms of Ferelden, Orlais, The Free Marches and Tevinter. They gleamed in the firelight like the hungry eyes of wolves in the sight of a feast. As I looked closer, a red mark emerged from the darkness, for this fresco delivered it secrets within the twist of a methodical tease. Drawing its curtain back in a deliberate performance brimming with suspense and mystery. There were red slashes blazingly struck through their centers, through all of—no, through most of them. I glanced at the open topped jar, its liquid contents flickered crimson, the smell originated from there. I dipped my finger in-- it was fresh, this was recent? What did all of this mean?

I counted them, my anxiety growing with every stacked number, as every digit upgraded higher and higher until the number was finalized. Eighteen. Fifteen of them bore red slashes, almost as if they were being crossed off of…a tangible list. One of them sported an X instead of a slash, it was situated within what looked like a mountain ridge. It must have been the one I destroyed inside the mountain, I surmised. With my finger I was compelled to trace an invisible line from one to another, at some points I strained on my tiptoes in my attempt to reach. I sought a link in this reign of madness. Why were they all in these locations? There must be a purpose to their locations. These were his hooks after all, wedged into the fabric of the fade, the drastic tools in which he would rip it down. My finger caught on something sticky, red fresco clung to my finger. It was still damp.

I studied the artifact’s surrounding area for any potential indication of a location. It was situated in what I believed was near Amaranthine on the corner right edge of Ferelden’s northern coast, small strokes swathed in bristled blotches spoke of trees and then there was a sketchy waterfall…I remembered this one. The place I had begged for him to end my life, the place where he informed me of my clan’s purpose and the cost of death. The red slashes confirmed what I feared most, oozing down my finger like a mimicry of blood; this indeed was a record. A headcount of all his artifacts, and which ones were activated; a destructive plan drawn up in the melodies of paint. Which meant, if I counted the one I activated in the deep roads, there was only one left that remained untouched. My arm swept from left to right as I hazily mapped out each location with my red stained hand, I felt like I was drowning in a daze.

I withdrew as I absorbed the shape of my work, there in muted scarlet was the outline of a wolf, the constellation of Fenrir. This is what will bring that wolf into the world. His wolf. As soon as recognition struck, my head spun and the whispers climbed into screams.

(The constellation Fenrir has 8, BUT for this story it is made up of 18 stars.)

Thank you for reading!

#fenrir #constellation #dailore #fen'harel #solas is fen'harel #theheretic #solavellan #epictragedy #daifanfic #solasfic #solas romance #solas x lavellan #solasmance #darksolas #post trespasser #dai #dragonageinquisition #fresco

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Alexei (Satyr) Part 1

Rating: Mature Relationships: Female Human/Male Satyr Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Satyr, Arranged Marriage, Fake Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Reader Insert Words: 5834

A commission for @thebimess! A woman escaping an arranged marriage proposes an unusual agreement with a man she just met: marry her for six months to get out of the marriage contract. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Being on the road was rather terrifying for a woman traveling on her own, but you weren’t wavering in your intent. You had to get to Dunmountain and disappear. You didn’t care if you lived in a hovel shoveling shit for a living, you weren’t marrying that man. Not in a million years.

A few days on the road sleeping rough hadn’t done much to deter you, though it was cold and uncomfortable. You managed to get to Chesterfield long enough to buy road provisions and get rid of your old clothes, but you didn’t want to stay there too long. You didn’t know if they’d have people out looking for you.

You ached for a bath and a bed. You didn’t realize how much you’d taken being clean and comfortable for granted. And it looked like rain tonight. You figured the horses wouldn’t mind a bunk mate.

As you were coming around to go into the stables, it began to rain rather hard. As you ducked in, the stablehand shouted at you.

“Oy! Get out of here! No homeless wenches sleeping in here for free. Go get a room or sleep in a gutter!”

“Oh, but sir--”

“No buts! Out with you!”

You had no choice but to duck back out of the stable and into the pouring rain. You went around the back, praying that there was a cart you could sleep under.

Instead of a cart, there was a lovely lavender vardo parked there. The front and rear doors were locked, but there was a window. It was small, but you thought you could squeeze through. And if you got stuck, at least half of you would be dry.

The shutters had a latch on the inside, but it was easy enough to open with a hair stick. Using the wheel as a boost, you threw your bag inside and jumped up. Getting your shoulders through was the hardest part, and your hips were a bit of a struggle, but finally you fell to the floor of the vardo like a spilled sack of potatoes. Slightly bruised, you re-latched the shutter windows and looked around.

It was fairly neat and tidy, looking a bit larger on the inside that it did on the outside, with things secured safely to the walls and inside trunks. The walls had beautiful filigree scrolling all the way up and the roof had a lovely fresco of a countryside near a body of water, the field full of flowers. There were things that hung along the ceiling, making gentle jingling noises as the vardo moved.

There was a small cot latched up against the wall that would fold down. Wearily, you folded it down, pulled out your cloak, which was still dry in your bag, and laid it over the cot to prevent the wet from your clothes from seeping through, and settled down on it. You’d deal with the owner in the morning. If you weren’t arrested for trespassing, that is.

Once you were horizontal, you fell asleep immediately.

You were awakened rudely when you felt water being poured on your face. You sputtered and shielded your face, sitting up abruptly.

“Ah, the stowaway is awake at last,” You heard a masculine voice say. “Since you seem to have had a nice rest, you can get out now.”

You wiped the water out of your eyes and looked up. Standing there was a satyr with deep brown fur on his legs and tan skin. With his short, black horns jutting up just behind his hairline, you thought he might be only slightly shorter than you. He had hair the same dark color as his fur and bright blue eyes, a closely trimmed beard and mustache, and dimples you could see even with the beard. He wore no trousers, covered by his fur, but had on an off-white tunic and a buttoned-up brick red vest with gold embroidery. His cloven hooves were shiny black and dainty.

“I’m sorry,” You said, coughing and sniff the water out of your nose. “I’m sorry, I just needed a dry place to sleep.”

“And so you did,” He said, putting his water skin aside and folding his arms. “I’ve been on the road for hours now, and I didn’t know you were back here until I stopped for lunch. So, you’ve had your sleep. Get out.”

“Which way have you traveled?”

“I’m halfway to Red Landing,” He said.

“No!” You moaned, your head in your hands. “It took me so long to get to Chesterfield from Red Landing. That’s almost a full day backwards!”

“That’s not my problem,” He huffed. “You’re the one who trespassed in what is ostensibly my home.”

“Can I pay you to take me back to Chesterfield? I’ll give you ten gold. That has to be enough to ferry me for a few hours.”

He sighed sharply. “I mean… I guess? I don’t owe you any favors, you know.”

“No, I know,” You replied, fishing around in your bag. “Here,” You pressed ten coins into his hand. “It’s not much for inconveniencing you, I know, but I don’t have much as it is.”

He bounced the coins in his hand, frowning down at them.

“What’s so important in Chesterfield?” He asked.

“I’m not going to Chesterfield, I’m going to Dunmountain,” You replied. “Do you really care why?”

He snorted. “I guess not. Fine, fine. You’ve already taken up too much of my time, I might as well get paid for it.” He snatched up your bag and began looking through it.

“Hey!” You said, grabbing the bag back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure you didn’t steal anything of mine while you were in here,” He retorted. “Let me see or I’ll dump you off right here.”

You scoffed, but held open your bag so that he could see inside, refusing to let it go. He shuffled things around and you waited anxiously until he was satisfied and straightened up.

“You’re not riding in here,” He said. “Get up in the driver’s box. I want to be able to watch you.”

“Alright,” You said, standing and following him out of the back of the vardo and led you to the front. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know my name and I don’t need to know yours,” He said, vaulting up and not offering his hand. You were forced to clamor up the opposite side. “Once we get to Chesterfield, I expect to never see you again.”

“Fair enough,” You said, hunkering down in the driver’s box, sitting as far away from him as you could, and fell silent as the carriage lurched forward.

He pulled out a small bag of puffed grains and dried fruits and began to munch on them as the vardo trundled on, the lone mule’s head bobbing up and down as it took each step. You took out a small amount of hard cheese and nibbled on it.

“I’ll trade you a bite of cheese for a handful of your trail snacks,” You told him.

He shrugged. “Sure,” He replied, taking the morsel of cheese you offered him and pouring some of the grains and fruits in your palm.

“What were you going to Red Landing for?” You asked him.

He looked at you sidelong before answering. “I was going to buy some shells to make paint.”

“Are you a painter?” You asked.

“Yes,” He replied.

“Did you do the scrollwork and the fresco in the vardo?”

“I did.”

“Wow,” You replied, impressed. “It’s really good work. I mean, I’m not an expert, but I enjoyed it very much.”

“I don’t know what weight the praise of a trespasser might carry, but thank you all the same.”

You bristled. “I said I was sorry. And I’ve paid you. There’s no reason to be rude.”

That effectively killed conversation and your appetite. You put your food back in your bag and sat still and quiet, staring at the trees as they passed.

After an hour, the vardo stopped, and you looked at the satyr for the first time since his quip.

“Why have we stopped?” You asked.

“Shh,” He replied. “Listen. Do you hear that?”

You strained your hearing. “I just hear birds and the trees rustling.”

“Stay here,” He said, throwing down the reins and jumping down. “If you run off with my stuff, I’ll hunt you down.”

“I’m not going to run off, relax,” You said in annoyance.

He sniffed and walked into the trees and out of sight. You waited nervously for him to return, clutching your bag against your body, until eventually you heard a sniffling and whimpering. The satyr emerged from the trees carrying what you thought was a dog at first, but on closer inspection, it was wearing a shirt and pants.

“Oh, my goodness!” You cried, putting down your bag and hopping down. “Are you alright, little one!”

He whined much like a puppy. You reached from him, and he crawled into your arms, hiding his snout in your hair.

“I haven’t been able to get much out of him,” The satyr said. “But I remember the sheriff in Willowridge is a gnoll and has a couple of young sons. The crossroads to Willowridge is nearby. We may be making a detour.”

“That’s just fine, isn’t it?” You cooed to the little gnoll boy. “That’s no problem, eh? Let’s get you home, sweet pea. I’ve got some jerky in my bag. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” The boy said watery.

“Alright, sweetie pie, let’s get you some food, then.” You popped back up into the driver’s box with the boy clinging to you like a baby possum. The satyr got back up and snapped the reins, pushing the mule to movement.

After he ate, he seemed a bit more calm, and you were able to get him to talk to you. You learned that his name was Declan and he was indeed the youngest son of Willowridge’s sheriff, Feera. He was three years old and apparently a sleepwalker, having woken up in the forest a little while before the satyr heard him crying. How he managed to cross so much land in his sleep was unimaginable, but at least he was heading home now.

It didn’t take long for him to become rambunctious, and the satyr pulled Declan into his lap and let him take the reins. Declan squealed happily as he wiggled the reins back and forth. The mule was patient and didn’t take off when he felt the slapping on his back.

After a while, he fell asleep in the satyr’s arms. The satyr cradled him while still keeping a firm hand on the reins.

“You’re good with kids,” You remarked.

He shrugged. “I grew up around a bunch of kids, so I’m used to handling them.”

“Do you have a lot of younger siblings?”

“Something like that,” He replied.

As you rounded the bend, Willowridge came into view. You’d only been there once when you were ten when your father was still a builder. He’d retired from construction just afterward.

“Hey, Declan!” You said, tickling him awake. “Look, you’re home!”

Declan woke up in the satyr’s arms and looked around, his ears perking up. He yipped excitedly.

“Oy!” The satyr called out. “Anyone missing a kid?”

“Oh, thank goodness!” An older woman said, running out from a nearby trail. She was wearing trousers and had long brown hair with wisps of white in it. “Where have you been, you naughty thing! We’ve been looking for you everywhere! You come to Gramma right this instant!” She took the little boy from the satyr’s arms and hugged him tight. She turned and called to a large centaur that was next to her. “Can you go and fetch Eris and Feera?”

“Yes, Mama,” He said, and he dashed off with a flick of his tail.

“Thank you two so much,” She said, reaching up to shake your hand.

“Oh, it was all him,” You said. “He heard Declan crying in the forest.”

“Keen hearing,” The satyr said, flicking his long ears. “Alexei, pleasure to meet you, madam.” You introduced yourself as well.

“My name is Ryel. Let me buy you folks dinner and a bed for the evening. It’s the least I can do. Who knows what might have happened to Declan if you two hadn’t found him.

As you were about to answer, a large gnoll and a woman with a river of golden hair flying behind her sprinted toward you. The gnoll was on all fours and much faster than the woman, who was clutching her skirts in her fists so she didn’t trip on them as she ran. Running at her side was another gnoll child, slightly bigger than Declan.

“Declan!” The gnoll cried out, and Ryel handed the boy off to his father as soon as he skidded to a stop and reared up on his hind legs. “By the gods, son, you scared the life out of me!”

The woman, Eris, stopped next to her husband, her face wet with tears, and she took the boy without a word, squeezing him tight and crying silently. Feera encircled both of them in his arms and held them for a moment. The other gnoll boy stood with his grandmother, holding her hand and biting at one of his claws in wide-eyed confusion.

After a moment, Feera let go of his wife and approached you.

“Thank you, strangers,” He said, reaching up to shake your hands like his mother had.

“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Alexei replied, shaking firmly.

“Please, let me buy the two of you a drink,” Feera said, waving over a stable boy from the nearby tavern. “We’ll take your mule and cart and make sure they’re both taken care of. Are you folks hungry?”

The family ushered you and Alexei into the inn and sat you down at a table, ordering ale and a meal for everyone. Eris had a firm grip on her youngest son and an arm around her oldest. Declan now seemed to be completely over his sojourn into the woods by himself, though his parents still seemed slightly traumatized by it.

“That’s the farthest he’s ever gone,” Eris said. She was a taciturn woman who didn’t smile much, which made her appear rather stern. “We’re usually good about keeping everything locked up tight. I still don’t know how he got out. We’ve even nailed the windows closed.”

“Who knows?” Feera said, rubbing his wife’s back soothingly. “He could have shimmied out of the slats in the attic. Looks like I’ll have to nail that shut too.”

“Here you go, dearies,” The innkeeper said, laying a key on the table. “Here’s your room for the night. The bed is nice and big, so you’ll both be comfortable.”

“Oh,” Alexei said. “No, we’re not together. I was giving her a ride. I hadn’t met her before today.”

“Oh,” The innkeeper said, dismayed. “I’m afraid I only have the one room available right now.”

“That’s alright, we’ll take it. Thank you for your generosity,” You said, taking the key and smiling. In an undertone, you said to Alexei, “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor, it’s no big deal.”

He grimaced but said nothing.

That night, you unrolled your bedroll and got ready to lay down. He had taken the bed, since you offered it, and was already half asleep. He had taken off his vest but left his tunic on. You stared at him thoughtfully, debating with yourself.

“Alexei,” You called.

He snorted and opened his eyes, looking over at you blearily. “What?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it? I’m trying to sleep.”

“Would you marry me?”

His eyes shot open and he stared at the ceiling for a full minute before sitting up to glare at you.

“What?”

“Look, I know it’s a weird thing to ask--”

“It’s a crazy thing to ask!”

“Can I just explain myself before you think I’m crazy?”

“It’s too late for that, but please, go ahead.” He sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed and his hands clasped in his lap, looking at you expectantly.

“I’m escaping an arranged marriage,” You began bluntly. “I was only told of the engagement three days prior to leaving home. I met him at a dinner the night before what was to be our wedding day for the first time. You could not imagine a more boorish, rude, inept man.”

“I bet I could.”

You snorted. “He did nothing but drink wine during the dinner, leering at both me and the serving staff and making rather unseemly comments about my face and body, considering he’d only just met me. His parents just shushed him, but in a dismissive, boys-will-be-boys kind of way that made me want to tear my hair out.”

“When was this whole thing set up?”

“I’d apparently been promised to him since I was five years old. His family is rich from textile money, but they have a less that immaculate reputation. His parents need the respectability that my family’s name offers in order to regain many of their clients and trade routes.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s the son’s, my so-called husband-to-be’s, fault. I learned through conversation with his parents that he didn’t work in his family business at all and traveled quite often on his parent’s dime. After they had gotten rather drunk, his parents admitted that he had already fathered two children out of wedlock that they knew of.”

His head rocked back. “That’s concerning. Are your parents still on board with the wedding?”

“Yes. Part of the deal is a large investment from my fiance’s parents; my parents need the money to retire.”

“So you decided to escape in the middle of the night, is that it?”

You nodded. “Thankfully, my parents hadn’t paid the officiant yet, and therefore the wedding hadn’t been formally recorded with the county as a done-deal, so I decided to leave until the contract ran its course. I knew where my parents kept their money and only took what I thought I would need to get to Dunmountain. They aren’t exactly rich, after all, just well-respected. I plan to pay them back at some point. I just pray they understand.”

“So, you’re asking me to marry you to get out of the engagement?”

“Yes,” You said. “The contract is void if I turn twenty five before the wedding or if I have been married to someone else for a minimum of six months with verifiable proof. Meaning I have to have both my husband and the marriage certificate in hand and meet with a mediator to authenticate it. And since twenty five is three years away, the only hope I have of freedom is to marry someone else.”

He folded his arms. “And exactly what do I get out of this? Six months is a long time to be stuck with a stranger, you know.”

“I know. I’ll give you every penny I have. Wherever we end up, I’ll pick up jobs. I’ll pay for everything. I’ll cook and clean. You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll do whatever I can to make this as painless for you as possible, and then when it’s over, we can have the marriage annulled and you never have to see me again.”

He considered you for a long moment, chewing his lip.

“I know it’s sudden and out of the blue,” You continued. “But I’m desperate and willing to put my trust, and money, in a stranger.”

He sighed and raked his fingers through his beard. “Look, give me a day to consider it. This is a lot for me to process.”

“Alright,” You said. “Thank you for even entertaining the idea. I haven’t done much to endear myself to you, so I appreciate that you didn’t turn me down outright.”

He flopped back down on the bed. “Go to sleep.”

“You still don’t know my name,” You said, lying down.

“If I accept, you can tell me. Just go to sleep. Or don’t, I don’t care.” He rolled over toward the wall, facing away from you, clearly indicating the conversation was over. You covered yourself with your cloak, your thoughts in a roil, and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, Alexei was gone. After a moment of panic, you packed up your things and rushed downstairs, hoping to ask after him, only to find him sitting and eating breakfast. He looked up when you came stumbling down, but made no gesture of greeting, simply continued to eat. You almost went to go sit with him, but thought, why? You don’t know him, after all. Instead, you went to sit at the bar.

“Getcha anythin’, darlin’?” The barmaid asked. She had a friendly north-eastern Scottish accent.

“You folks offer a breakfast plate or something like that?” You asked.

“Sure do. Mulled cider to go with?”

“Sounds great, thank you.”

She went off to get your food and drink and you sat there, feeling anxious.

“Pardon me,” A voice said to your right. It was Eris, the young mother of the gnoll child. Despite her somber face, she was actually rather lovely when she wasn’t crying.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”

“Take this, please,” She said, holding out a small drawstring sack. “It’s not much, but I wouldn’t feel right if you walked away with no reward for what you did for my family.”

“Oh, ma’am, no, you don’t have to do this,” You protested, but she held up a hand to stop you.

“Please, it would mean a lot to me. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to him,” She said. She scratched her neck self-consciously. Though she wore a high collared dress, you could see a scar peeking out of the neckline.

“Really, Alexei should get this, he’s the one who found him,” You told her.

“He’s already been given his share,” She said. “Take it, please.”

You smiled and sighed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Her normally reserved, neutral expression lightened into a smile. “I hope we meet again.” And she took her leave.

The barmaid laid a plate of scrambled eggs and a fried potato hash in front of you along with a large tankard of cider.

You’d eaten half of it when Alexei sidled up and sat on the stool next to you. He didn’t look at you, but set his tankard in front of him and flagged down the barmaid, who refilled it.

“Do you get on with your folks? Are they good parents?”

“Yeah,” You replied, stunned by the sudden question. “They’re nice parents, they’ve never been cruel to me. I supposed I’m closer to my mother than my father, but we all get along well. I’ve never had to doubt if they loved me, if that’s what you mean.”

“But they’re okay with you marrying this pissant, though?”

You sighed. “Their marriage was arranged, and they were fine with it. I suppose they think that my fiance, Gregory, will settle down when we marry, but I doubt it. I don’t see how being married to a stranger is supposed to make someone like him straighten up.” You set down your fork and leaned your elbows on the bar. “Besides, even good parents may not always do what’s best for their kids. Sometimes they do what’s best for themselves. They’re just as capable of being selfish at the expense of others as any other person can be.” You took a gulp of cider and blew out a breath of frustration.

“Do you hate them?”

“No,” You said slowly. “I’m angry at them, but that doesn’t mean I hate them.”

He took a drink and huffed. “It’s all so confusing.”

“How do you mean?” You asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. What were you going to do once you got to Dunmountain?”

“Hide. Get a job somewhere, anywhere. Sleep in a shed, if I have to. Lie low until I turned twenty five. Maybe go back when the contract runs out. Maybe.”

“You don’t want to see your parents again?”

“It’s not that,” You said, poking at your food. “I didn’t want to leave in the first place. If it wasn’t for the engagement, I wouldn’t have had to. I don’t know what they’ll do if I ever go back. Maybe they’ll disown me. Maybe they’ll force me to work or write up another marriage contract with Gregory or someone else to get the money they need. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a say?”

You scoffed. “Of course not. Women are the property of their fathers until they get married, and then they’re the property of their husbands. Property doesn’t get a say.”

He was silent for a long time, every so often reaching over to pick an onion off of your plate.

“I guess I just have one thing left to ask you, then,” He said.

“Which is?”

He turned to you and clicked his tongue. “What’s your name, pet?”

The two of you left Willowridge heading for Dunmountain, stopping for a few days in Chesterfield to have a quick courthouse wedding. He managed to find a simple iron ring in his belongings to use as a wedding band. After the wedding, you gave him half of your money, telling him he’d get the other half after the annulment.

Once in Dunmountain, you left Alexei to handle the mule and vardo, and immediately began to look for work. The bathhouses were your best bet; there was always laundry that needed doing.

You also found a small apartment at an inn made up of a single room with a fireplace one could cook over. It wasn’t furnished with anything, not even a bed, but you figured you could make do with a bedroll and a simple table and chairs. You paid the rent for the next month and got the keys, rushing back to Alexei to tell him where you’d be living.

He drove you back to the apartment on his carriage, and the two of you began hauling your belongings up the stairs to your room.

“I’ll buy furnishings tomorrow,” You told him. “We’re not staying here long, so we won’t need much.”

“Didn’t you say you’d see to my every comfort?” He teased. “I want a canopy bed with feather down and a lounging sofa and--”

You shushed him. “I said I’d cook and clean and pay the necessary expenses. You want anything else, you can pay for it yourself.”

He chuckled. “Did you find a job?”

“I start at the bathhouse adjacent to the inn in two days. I’ll leave you food for the day and cook when I get home. That’ll have to do.” You opened the door to the room and stepped inside. “I have enough provisions to make a simple stew, unless you’d like something else.”

“Stew sounds fine,” He said, setting down a small trunk. “I think I’ll go out tomorrow and look for paint supplies. I sold all of my paintings on my trip and I need to create some new ones. If I go too long without painting, I get irritable.”

“I’d hate to see what that looks like,” You said snidely. The only thing in the room provided by the inn was a bucket for drawing water from the nearby fountain. “I’ll fetch some water for dinner.”

A few months passed awkwardly but uneventfully. Alexei was companionable enough, but the two of you hadn’t made any attempts to bond or become close. You exchanged passing pleasantries, but the two of you didn’t converse much. He sometimes teased you by asking if your “wifely duties” extended to sharing the marital bed, seeing as how your bedrolls had been placed on opposite sides of the room. You merely smacked his backside with a hand towel and told him to get back to his paintings.

“Would you ever consider sitting for a painting, pet?” He asked you once as you were cleaning dishes.

You snorted. “I expected you’d want me to model nude for you or some nonsense.”

He laughed. “Only if that’s what you’d like, dear wife of mine.”

“Don’t call me that,” You said, lobbing a crumb of bread at his head. He didn’t duck, just let it hit him and caught it, popping it in his mouth. “And I will do no such thing.”

“Offer is open, if you ever change your mind.”

“If the earth opened and the devil himself ordered me to do it, I’d still refuse.”

Alexei laughed full-throated. “That’d be a sight worth seeing.”

As annoying as he could be, he wasn’t an unpleasant man to live with. He didn’t do any of the washing or cooking, but you didn’t care since you promised to do it yourself. Even still, he was fairly tidy and didn’t make much of a mess. He liked to joke and tease, but he was mostly harmless. For all his teasing, he never once made a move on you or gave you any reason to fear he might take advantage of you.

You also had to admit, he was very talented. He sold his paintings just as fast as he made them, which was a little bit of a shame, you thought: your room was a little plain and dour, and you’d have liked one or two of them to hang on the wall to brighten the place up. You never asked, though. You couldn’t go asking for favors from the man who’d already promised six months of his life to you.

On your birthday, you got permission to finish work early and decided to go and buy the ingredients to make an apple and honey pot pie to go with dinner that night. Since you didn’t have a stove, you’d have to bake it in a pan over the fire, but you knew how to do it. It was one of the first treats your mother had ever taught you to make.

Apples were in season and would be cheap enough--the cheapest of the fruits available anyway--but honey would be quite expensive. A single spoonful cost several days worth of work. But you figured, you’d been working hard. You’d earned it.

When you arrived back at the apartment, he stood up from his painting stool to take your shopping basket.

“Is that honey I smell?” He said, sniffing. “That’s pricey. What’s the occasion, pet?”

“It’s my birthday,” You told him. “I was going to make a pie.”

“Is it!” He said, smiling. “That certainly is reason for celebration. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not like we have regular conversations, you know,” You said, unpacking the shopping. “Besides, I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

“Well, that’s a bit unfair,” He said, frowning. “Are we not friends?”

“Are we?” You asked, stopping to quirk an eyebrow at him. “Out of the way, please. I need to start the crust now or I’ll be cooking all night.”

He frowned at you still but said nothing, taking two steps back so you could bustle about making dinner.

“What would you want as a gift?” He asked, leaning against the wall and watching you work.

“I don’t want anything,” You replied, not looking up. “If I did, I’d get it myself.”

“Oh, come now,” He said, tsking. “You may not think of us as friends, but after four months, I would assume we’d have developed some kind of rapport. What would you ask of a friend?”

“I wouldn’t ask anything of a friend,” You said. “I’m not the type of person who expects gifts.”

“Didn’t your parents ever give you gifts?”

“That’s different, they’re my parents.”

“Family, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m family now, aren’t I?” He asked.

“I will throw a plate at you.”

“Just tell me,” He said, his voice a little wheedling. “There must be one thing I can get you that you’d allow.”

You sighed forcefully and stopped kneading the dough, turning to him and looking him up and down. “Are you serious about this?”

“Have you ever known me not to be serious?” He asked, grinning.

You rolled your eyes and when back to work, and he stuttered a retraction.

“No, no, I am, I’m serious. Please, tell me, what would you like?”

You stopped again and wiped your hands on your apron, and then crossed them over your chest. “Well… I’d like a painting.”

He looked like you’d hit him in the head with your baking pan. “What?”

“It doesn’t have to be anything grand, just a little painting of anything, flowers or trees or something like that, to brighten up the room. It’s a bit drab here.” You waved around vaguely. “There isn’t even a window. Just… some color. That’s all.”

“You want me to paint for you?” He asked, incredulous. “That’s all?”

“Well… I know painting supplies are expensive and I didn’t want to ask for anything, seeing as I promised to take care of everything myself. Like I said, I’m not the type to expect presents or things like that.”

“You don’t like to ask for things for yourself, do you, pet?” He asked shrewdly. “Not just from me, huh? In general.”

You turned your back to him and started kneading again. “My parents were both born peasants. Peasants don’t get gifts. When they married, they lived in a one-room cruck house that my father built them as a wedding gift. A house of straw and dirt was all my father could offer my mother, and it was good enough. They both worked their hands to the bone to get where they are. They live in a much nicer house now and don’t have to work as hard as they used to, but they raised me to appreciate what I could do with my own hands and not to rely on gifts. ‘A gift is never free,’ they’d always say.” You stopped working again and stared at your hands. “They used to tell me that I was ‘a gift’ to them. I wonder now if that meant they always saw me as a means to an end.”

“I always thought parents were supposed to put their children above everything else,” He said softly from behind you, continuing to watch you.

“Is that what your parents were like?” You asked in return. He didn’t answer and you looked over your shoulder at him.

“I wouldn’t know,” He said eventually, sitting down at the table and taking an apple from the basket. “Never met them. I grew up in an orphanage.” He took a knife from his pocket and began to peel and slice the apples.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” You remarked.

“Hush,” He said, not looking at you. “It’s your birthday.”

Dinner was pleasant, and the pie was delicious. There was enough left over to to have for breakfast the next morning. Alexei even helped you tidy up. The day had been rather nice.

So why, when you lay down for bed, did it suddenly feel like you couldn’t breathe?

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Satyr #Arranged Marriage #Fake Marriage #Reader Insert #Strangers to Lovers

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lavellander · 3 years

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i think part of whats got me so fucked up about trespasser is that like. for my inquisitor solas was the closest thing she had to a familiar face in a sea of andrastian shemlen who semi recently wanted to murder her? the world has turned upside down, the sky literally coming apart, and he is one of the only elves there, one of the only ones who treats her like she’s innocent; he is the one to teach her how to close the rifts, he is the one that moors her. yes varric and josie are nice from the start and others warm up quickly etc but its not the same. my lavellan loves to learn and grieves the loss of her people’s history deeply, and i think she almost immediately sees that same mourning in solas, even if he’s rude about the dalish to start

and he’s a fellow MAGE and he knows so MUCH and she brings him everywhere she can just to hear what he has to say about some ruin or cave or forgotten form of magic. so at redcliffe, when she sees a future in which he doesnt make it, she is terrified of losing him – whatever romantic feelings she might have aside, she realized just how much she’d come to depend on him as one of her closest friends. then every trip, every conversation, every impromptu history lesson or unfamiliar turn of elvhen phrase is that much more precious to her, because now she knows what it is to lose that

like, yes, she’s deeply upset when he breaks off their relationship, but he’s still there at least. it’s not the same and of course that hurts, but to her, a distant solas is better than none at all. which is why she’s wrecked when he DOES leave – and why it hurts so much to go to places like the frostback basin and the deep roads – because she wishes he was there to talk to her about it. she sees things that interest her and she wants to tell him; she finds things she doesn’t understand and she wants to ask him if he’s seen it before

and it’s not that other companions don’t find it interesting, because obviously people like dorian and dagna love to learn just as much. but when she discovers that telana was a dreamer, or finds the wellspring in the deep roads, or learns that ameridan was an elf, it’s solas she wants there to witness. to her, he understands in a way that no one else can. then in trespasser, to see ALL THESE INSANE RUINS and murals and frescoes and the vir dirthara, even before she starts suspecting who fen’harel is in truth, she’s practically vibrating with the desire for him to be there and see everything she’s seeing

so to see him for such a short amount of time – after she’s spent YEARS encountering impossible things and thinking of him, with the absence of him always lingering at the edge of her mind like a phantom limb – is heartbreaking. because for her it was never just about her love for him, even if that wound up being more than she could’ve bargained for. it was about having who she thought was a kindred spirit and a friend gone with no explanation

to see him for such a brief period of time, recognize that familiar grief in him folded in with newer regrets, and know that – of all the times they mourned what was lost – be blames himself entirely for it? to be told he won’t answer a question because it would be too easy to tell her too much, after she’s been missing his conversation all this time? to hear him say “we are running out of time” after the years without him have felt like an eternity? it’s all so much sadder because of how he FINALLY came back to her and was gone again in the blink of an eye

#SORRY I NEED TO EXTERNALIZE LMAO #like of course she says our love will endure!! for her it has done nothing but!!!#mercilessly so!!#and he says he wishes it could. as if the next word out of his mouth isnt 'vhenan.' as if she didnt rock the actual core of his being #as if he doesnt promise that he will never forget her #as if she - mortal and dalish and relatively in the dark as she was - did not tempt an immortal being to stray from his only purpose #Just by virtue of being herself????? without even knowing that's what she was doing????#oh my GOD #i need to lie down #long post

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ringneckedpheasant · 3 years

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putting this under a cut bc it made ME depressed. it’s just oc talk abt kiernan but tw for discussion of suicide/suicidal ideation

kiernan isn’t the only one of my ocs with depression but i was feeling really maudlin last night and came to the realization that he would be the most likely of any of them to commit suicide.

he’s struggled with suicidal feelings since he was a kid—and by that i mean since he was like, 9 or 10. and tbqh it never really went away, feeling suicidal or wishing for tranquility when things got really bad. i don’t think he ever actually attempted, in large part due to rhian’s support, but he remained passively suicidal throughout his teen years and definitely did a lot of unnecessarily dangerous shit because of it. even in inquisition he becomes a knight enchanter partially because it’s a good outlet for his anger, but partially because the resulting close-quarters combat puts him in danger.

and without rhian’s support, the main thing that keeps him going when things get really bleak is just knowing that if he does anything to hurt himself, corypheus will win. he can’t kill himself because of it, but there’s also the undercurrent of knowing that he isn’t necessary for that, it’s just the anchor.

even then, even knowing how selfish it would be to let the world suffer because he couldn’t bear the weight of his trauma and dysphoria and depression, there are still a couple of nights over the course of those few years where he thinks seriously about it. like…. pre-gay solavellan, getting to the point of writing a letter to rhian and leaving it on his desk for someone to find. going to solas one evening and starting to make, yknow, vague and ominous comments about how much solas’ friendship has meant to him, how lucky he was to find a friend like him in the inquisition. and solas knows what kiernan is doing, realizes it almost immediately because they’ve talked about kiernan’s suicidal ideation before but he didn’t know how bad it had gotten.

and it’s just. so hard sometimes for solas to find a balancing act with kiernan, because he sometimes lashes out at both comfort and criticism, or when solas guesses too accurately how he’s feeling, or pries just a little too much at something personal,,, outright confronting kiernan would be just as likely to push him away as to stop him, so instead he pretends he doesn’t know, and calmly asks kiernan if he has the time to help with part of the fresco.

it keeps him close, so solas knows at least as long as he’s there he’s safe, and it gives him time to try to think of a more permanent solution, and he ends up not needing one. because after a few hours kiernan, with paint on his face and his sleeves rolled up just a little past his wrists, confesses quietly that he’d been thinking of doing something incredibly stupid, and he doesn’t think he will now, but would solas be willing to stay with him tonight, just to help keep that impulse at bay?

and he’s not fine the next day or the day after that, but eventually it comes back down to a manageable level, and the next time he starts to get that low he tells solas outright, asking for nothing but a little extra company to remind him that things aren’t as bleak as they feel.

this post was headed in a very different much worse direction when i started writing it but i am instead choosing to think about the hurt/comfort aspect of this instead of how kiernan may or may not manage those feelings post-trespasser when he no longer has solas and no one needs him for the anchor anymore 😔

#kiernan lavellan #gay solavellan isn't real it can't hurt me #unsure if i need to tag this given the content warnings at the top #marc.txt #long post #also im not trying to say here that i think suicide in general is selfish bc i know that’s #a shitty attitude to have towards people who are suicidal #just. you know. in the specific case of the inquisitor During Inquisition it would. not be great.#kiernan x solas

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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17, 21, and 24 for the OTP ask? 😁

Well, hello, friend! I shall answer for that is DUTY! >:D

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

I did answer this one in another ask, but I can think of a few more to share! (I got so much for these two, don't worry~)

So, another thing that reminds Fane of Solas is any kind of painting, namely frescos. Surprise, surprise! But the reasoning is mainly because Fane used to dream of frescos painted in a temple, one he always finds himself traversing in his dreams in the earlier years of his life. The style was nostalgic, impeccable, as if the hand that had held the brush was fixated on getting every line, every detail, every color, and every proportion just right. The paintings were like little anecdotes, way points trying to guide him in a direction with paint and plaster, but the story was always left unfinished, and it isn't until all the memories flood back that Fane realizes who was the artist of his dreams. *winks*

Now, I'm not usually one for 'smell' references, but oddly enough, Solas is reminded of Fane through one. Namely, chamomile. This was something I thought of one day when I was fighting with a headache and I was just watching a Twitch stream, and I was like, "Chamomile is a natural stress reliever. Fane doesn't like tea, but there are bath oils and incenses infused with chamomile, right? He would definitely be given that by someone or maybe even takes initiative to get it himself." Thus, the headcanon was established! Fane smells like chamomile, and Solas can't help but smile when he smells it from another source, knowing that his dragon is trying to help himself in some way.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

So, there's a little bit of A and little bit of B for this question. There has indelibly been a positive influence on both Fane and Solas due to each other. Basically, it all stems from pre-Inquisition, aka Elvhenan/Arlathan.

Fane, as a dragon, was inherently tasked with observing elvenkind, watching the flow of which they progressed and if their machinations benefited the world in which they lived. Each dragon had this inherent task, albeit in different ways. Dragons that lived in arid regions were tasked with controlling the sandscape, preserving the ancient temples by covering them with said sand, making inaccessible areas accessible for wildlife, so on, so forth.

Fane, and the others of his specific kin, not only watched the Elvhen, they guided them, but only if it was deemed necessary. White dragons could not want for anything beyond what the world needed, and their powers of absorbing, reflecting, and understanding emotions was what made them highly sought after by the Evanuris. When the Evanuris began enslaving elves, they began enslaving dragons, too. And this is around the time Solas and Fane met; when Fane was the last of his white kin. Fane had gone into recluse, hiding; he turned his back on those who were suffering because he couldn't bear to see them be subjected to magic bending and breaking their minds, turning their eyes grey where they were otherwise a multitude of colors. Solas found him through a curious venture as we all know the dear wolf is prone to curiosity.

Their beginnings were rough. Fane tried multiple, multiple times to kill Solas. He saw him as no different than those who had thus far enslaved his kin. He held anger, rage, resentment, and pride, which warped his nature of calm observation and cool acceptance to preemptive prejudice and scornful indifference. Fane stopped caring; about everything. Solas reached out to him, wanted to help him, and for the sake of keeping things somewhat short, they grew close after constant revisits and...silence. Solas allowed Fane to watch him, learn about him, read his eyes, and in turn, Fane began to open up, rediscover his original nature, and learn about another side from a more personal view. Solas taught Fane that nothing can change or return to what they had been unless he tried, and he did, even though it ended poorly. And even though it takes him twenty-four years and a lot of hardship, Fane finally remembers that important lesson and he's forever grateful, even as they walk onto the same stage that burned before.

Now, Fane has helped Solas do something we all know the dear wolf is a bit hesitant to do, and that's show his emotions. I stated once upon a time that my interpretation of Solas a little more...personal. Basically, I'm exploring a side of Solas that we don't really get to see, and that's an emotional one. My stories encompass a lot of emotion, a lot of grey morality, so I try to do that while keeping Solas in character with how we know him. However, with this AU of mine, Solas is more in touch with his emotions when with Fane. Why? Because Fane did what he was tasked with from birth; he guided. Through silent looks and seemingly disgruntled huffs, Fane allowed Solas to open up, to feel safe when every corner held a knife.

He let him be him. Not the Dread Wolf. Not the Rebel God. Not anything more than what he was naturally, and that was a being who needed to let their emotions go as freely as the magic so intertwined with their nature. They were friends, companions, even though they were two completely different species, and for all intents and purposes, enemies. They loved each other, but couldn't say it. After Fane died, Solas locked up again, kept his emotions sealed away, but when Fane reappeared in his life, both unknowing of who the other was, it all came back so easily, so fluidly. And what you'll see in a lot of my stories of Solas and Fane's early acquaintanceship in Inquisition is that they flow, they let the other be weak even though they don't want to be weak.

As for how they change each other for the worse...well, that ties into a lot of what I have planned during Post-Trespasser arcs. My stories are 'fix-its', but again, grey morality. There's a happy ending, but not without opposition first and a lot of hard lessons. Solas and Fane will do shit that makes people go, "Why?!", but aren't we already saying that with what Solas canon-wise is doing? Why not add an Inquisitor into the mix and live the fantasy we weren't allowed to choose?

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

Okay, so Fane's isn't what you'd think it is. You all know me, I like to go, 'You thought not! AHA! >:D'. Most people who've read my stories might think, "Oh, Fane has to forgive Solas for erecting the Veil because it's driving his kin insane." That makes sense, but it's not what Fane has had to forgive Solas for. Fane has had to forgive Solas for doubting him.

What I mean by this is that Solas tries to steer Fane away from helping him (Look! It's canon after all! XD). And mainly it's because Solas sees Fane thriving in this new life, connecting with people, seeing the world from a different perspective, and so he starts to think that Fane wouldn't want to help him. Which is complete bullshit because Fane, even when Solas tries to gently steer him away, is like, "I'm here. I'm not going to abandon you again." But typical Solas is typical Solas and is weighed down with grief and his doubts, but eventually he relents after a dragon fight. I won't say when this will occur, but...yeah. It's a bad time, and it shows Solas that Fane wasn't thriving as well as he'd thought. It takes a bit, but Fane comes to understand why Solas was trying to guide him away, and it helps when you're a stubborn dragon in love with a stubborn wolf! :D

Now for Solas, I have a little excerpt from a short story (the one I've been sharing a lot in tag games!). It kind of gives a basis of what Fane can sometimes do when he's not thinking or if he doesn't talk to Solas.

***

“F..Fane..!”, Solas growled out, a surge of heat invading his head as he felt his dragon’s dormant fury within his soul. It was thrashing, knocking, pounding against the confines of their link, wishing to be set free through him and his actions.

“This is..ugh..important, dammit!”, Fane grunted out as Solas was finally starting to push back, as well as his own minor discomfort with the magic that was slowly building around them.

“Then..ngh..speak of it!”, Solas snapped, feeling something like a pinch against his mind before that sensation ricoheted outwards, a lesser burst of magic managing to separate their bodies, but not their tethered souls. “Hiding in your mind only inflicts more harm!”, he almost yelled, his mind clouding with unusual rage. He was never ruffled this easily, but this wasn’t him, was it?

No, this was Fane, or more accurately, Fane’s mind. And it was red hot with fury.

He watched with slightly haggard breathing as Fane slid back a few feet, a grimace on his face from the smell of ozone, but shook it off easily. Now fully golden eyes glared with steamy ferocity upon him, a broad chest heaving with Veil born ire and excitement at finally having a challenge. Solas straightened himself a bit, clearing his throat as the distance between their bodies allowed him to think a bit more clearly, but he could still feel the thread that connected them intensely.

“Ma’isenatha, please--”, Solas attempted to reach the unhinged being before him, even as he could feel his own mind beginning to cloud again as Fane stalked towards him. They needed to cease this dance before one of them got hurt or insanely ill!

“Quit…”, the fuming dragon began before whipping the staff in his hand around in a near perfect arc towards him. “..talking!”, he snarled furiously, deftly hitting the other end of the staff with his wrist to cut off its intended path for a shorter route.

Solas was a bit curious by the adept usage, but shuffled that thought away quickly to block the blow that was inevitably aimed for his jaw. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate! As much as he loathed to admit it, and encourage it, there was only one way out of this foolish scenario!

“Enough!”, a cry harboring necessary command releasing from his lips, making the link between them snap like a bowstring. “Ngh..!” The heady, harsh sensation had the air leaving his lungs before he swept one end of his staff upwards without volition, missing his mark by a hair. He blinked when the sensation eased off, grimacing as he stared at the staff poised just next to Fane’s face, precisely at the point where his scar was. How ironic, but he knew what was happening now with that.

The involuntary reaction had been too planned, too memory bound. It was like when they had viciously fought as Haven burned with fire and corruption, and he had had no choice but to wound the otherwise perfect face before him - a deep scar left on his left cheek from his staff blade. His arms had been wrapped, then strung up in invisible bonds that radiated desperate heat and furious rage, guiding them to repeat the action due to a desire for something unsaid.

In simple terms, he was being controlled by emotions alone - emotions that were not his own.

“Interesting.”, Solas said, but narrowed his eyes upon the fierce man. “Emotions are your strings.”, he pointed out, more realization dawning on him as to where all these minor outbursts, sudden movements, and disorienting sensations were coming from. Fane..

...was manipulating emotions, guiding them to the destination he desired.

Fane’s eyes narrowed, emerald reappearing to deepen with rage as tufts of his hair fluttered from the air behind his swipe. “I’m intervening.”, the draconic side of his love coming out in full bloom now.

“Why?” He issued it as more a command than a true question. He was mildly miffed by this usage of abilities, but he needed context to decipher why Fane had thought this was necessary. It was unusual and worrying for him to use them like this.

“It’s necessary.”, Fane said with a flat tone, but there was fire crackling beneath its supposed embers, as well as the deep emerald gaze bearing down upon him before he twisted his staff upwards to once again aim under his chin. Solas dodged the movement by an inch, feeling the amount of force behind it with air alone.

His dragon was steadily losing his control, and it wouldn’t be long until he was truly unhinged.

“Fane!”, Solas met the glare with one that felt just as furious as he called out, but finally began to retaliate, no longer wishing to play on the defensive and draw this out longer. “Very well..”, he said lowly, gripping the staff tightly as he pressed in harder, matching Fane’s footwork step for step as their blows connected with near splintering cracks. “...if you are so..”, a harsh crack of their staves reverberating through the air. “...intent on not speaking of what troubles you, then I will make it so you have no choice but to!”

A long, muscled leg nearly knocked into one of his knees as it swept under him, its pace incredibly fast for something intended to withstand punishment. It was like a dragon’s tail as it swept aside massive boulders, and uprooted century old trees.

Fane let out a gasping laugh. “You’re still..ngh..t..talking?!”, he roared, snowy brows furrowed in growing pain as sweat began to form along a lightly flushed temple, hand trembling where it nearly snapped his staff in half.

“I am doing what you refuse to do!” A jab with his staff nearly connected with a muscled arm, but it went through the gap between itself and the toned body it was attached to. “Gh..!”, he winced as he felt a sharp yank on his mind, as well as the staff in his hands as Fane grabbed a hold of it to pull him forward harshly.

The world halted suddenly, its furious, heated pace slightly cooled as their gazes connected, all sound flushing out to where the only sound was their combined, harsh breathing. Emerald and gold swam, ebbed around each other like a phylactery did with its magical blood as the face that bore them was lax in stunned silence, sweat trickling down flush cheeks before it would disappear along a strong neck. Solas felt his face was no better, feeling how droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his face and how his mouth was slightly agape as he fought for a shred of breath.

What was...going on? This feeling, like their desires were coalescing, taking shape before them like spirits shaped the Fade around them...it was intoxicating, comforting, and serene amid the furious battle they had been engaged in moments before. Their link was still there, but it was soft, velvet against his mind as the gentle essence wrapped around it in an embrace.

It was no longer painted...red.

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a quiet sigh, breath hitching after as the blanket around him became warmer, silken. When had it shifted? He hadn’t been aware because of rage painting the world before him in crimson..

“Too...much..”, he heard Fane whisper out between pants, but it was more to himself than to Solas. “...You shouldn’t feel that like I do.. Shit..”

Solas blinked a bit to reorient himself, the softness of his mind making it hard to think before he saw Fane’s face near inches from his, the hand that had grabbed his staff now making itself known upon the back of his neck, steadying him. When had that gotten there?

“What..”, Solas started, closing his eyes for a moment as the world spun for a second before reopening to try again. “What..was that?”

“My mind.”, Fane muttered, eyes flitting across his face worriedly. “I didn’t think..”, he trailed off with a light growl as brilliant eyes turned downcast. “I fucked up… I’m sorry...”

***

So, yeah. It doesn't take Solas long to forgive Fane, but when he first demonstrates just how dangerous his abilities can be and actively uses them to manipulate our wolf gets a little miffed. Solas wants Fane to use his voice more, and these are moments in which Fane doesn't and taps into that warped perception of himself; the one that got him killed.

#oc asks #asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #sorry for how insanely long this is!#i just have so much nuanced crap for these two that I get carried away XD #and forgive if the excerpt is a bit...sloppy. it's still a wip! :3 #there's also a lot of stuff that i'm just playing with in regards to Fane and Solas but i know the basis of how they operate X3 #thank you again! <3

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beclynn-herondale · 3 years

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In Another Universe: Chapter 8 part 2 - The Hotel Dumort

(tsc, tmi, and the characters belong to Cassandra Clare, this is again super similar to the original and some of the quotes are similar, it's also kinda slow)

Raphaela led them through corridors, some opened onto empty storage rooms, a ghostly kitchen, abandoned rooms, a deserted laundry room. Most the staircases that led up to the upstairs were gone, nothing much left of them. This baffled Clar, what did these vampires have against stairs?

They found a set of stairs that was still intact, hidden behind laundry. The maids that once worked here must have used them to carry laundry up and down the stairs before the days of elevators. There was thick layers of dust that made Clar cough.

"Shh," hissed Raphaela. "They'll hear you. We are very close to where they sleep." "How do you know that?" he whispered. "I can just feel it," she said. "Don't you?" He shook his head. He didn't feel anything, except being strangely cold.

The top of the stairs had a door, above it was painted the word "Lobby" but it was hardly recognizable now. Jayce went up to the door and pushed it open, it sparyed rust. Clar braced himself— But the room that was beyond was empty. They were in a foyer now, there had clearly once been a grand staircase that was now broken and torn apart, all that remained now was the upper steps.

His voice was dry. "What do the vampires have against stairs exactly?" "They don't have anything against them," said Jayce. "They just have no use for them." "It's their way of saying this is their place," said Raphaela.

Jayce glanced at her, she seemed a little suspicious of Raphaela. "Have you ever seen a vampire for real, Raphaela?" she asked. She looked at her. "I know what they look like, pale, thin, but strong. They move like cats and are Swift like serpents. They are beautiful and terrible, like this hotel here."

"You think it's beautiful?" asked Clar, a little surprised. "You can see it once was, years ago. Like an old woman who had been beautiful at a time, but had time take her beauty away. Imagine this staircase the it was once, the gas lamps lighting the way, like fireflies on a dark summer night, the balconies filled with many people. Not the way it is now, so—" "Dead?" said Jayce dryly. Raphaela looked like she was almost slightly startled, like Jayce had broken her out of a dream.

Clar turned to Jayce. "Where are they? The vampires?" "Probably up upstairs. They like to be high when they sleep, kinda like bats. And the sun is almost up." Clar and Raphaela both looked up at the same time, there wasn't anything above the burned frescoed ceiling. There was an archway on their left that led to more darkness. Raphaela glanced back down, Clar saw a scar at her throat, it was very white against her brown skin. He wondered how she had gotten that scar.

"I think we should go back to the stairs," whispered Clar. "It feels too open here." Jayce gave a nod. "Once we get there, you'll have to call for Simone and hope she'll hear you. You realize that right?" He wondered if Jayce could see the fear he felt. "I—" He was cut off by a terrible scream, he whirled around. Raphaela wasn't there anymore, there weren't even marks in the dust where she may have gone. He reached for Jayce out of reflex, but she was already moving towards the archway at the far wall, she blended in with the shadows and he couldn't see her but followed the light of the witchlight she carried.

At the end of the archway was a ball-room. It was probably once elegantly beautiful, now like most of the hotel was broken and destroyed. There was a balcony that must have been beautiful as well once but now was covered in spiderwebs.

There was Raphaela standing in the middle of room. He ran to her, Jayce was right behind him moving cautiously. "Are you ok?" he asked out of breath. She nodded. "I thought I saw something, but it was nothing."

"We decided it would be best to head back to the stairs," said Jayce. "There doesn't appear to be anything on this floor." Raphaela nodded again. "That is probably best." She started towards the door, not looking behind her to see if they were following. She had only gotten a few steps and then Jayce said. "Hey, Raphaela?"

She turned, eyes widening, and Jayce threw her knife. Her reflexes were fast, but not fast enough to miss the knife. Jayce's blade struck it's target, it knocked her to the ground. Her blood looked black in the dim light.

"Jayce," hissed Clar, he couldn't believe she had just done tnat. He felt shock run through him. He knew she had said she disliked mundanes, but not even Jayce would— He turned to go to Raphaela, but Jayce shoved him away. And then she flung herself into the other girl and grabbed for her knife that was sticking out of Raphaela's chest. But she was faster. She seized the knife, but screamed when her hand touched the hilt that had a cross shape. It fell to the ground. Jayce had one hand fistex tightly in the material of Raphaela's shirt, and her seraph blade in the other hand, glowing brightly, so brightly it was almost hard to look.

Raphaela was laughing now. "You missed your target," she said, she grinned for the first time, and it showed her white incisors. "You didn't hit my heart." Jayce's grip tightened. "You moved at the last second," she said. "It was quite inconsiderate of you."

Raphaela frowned, and spat blood on the floor. Clar felt himself step back and realize in horror what was happening. "When exactly did you figure it out?" she demanded. "I figured it out back in the alley," said Jayce. "But I figured you'd get us inside, and turn on us. Because once we trespassed, we would be out of the protection of the convenat, and he fair game. But when you didn't i thought maybe I had gotten it wrong. But then saw the scar at your throat." she leaned back slightly but still her blade at Raphaela's throat. "The chain when I first saw it I thought it looked like one you'd hang a cross from. And you did once, didn't you, when you visited your family?"

Raphaela laughed. "Was that it? Just my scar?' "No. When you left the foyer, you didn't leave any footprints in the dust. That was when I knew." "It was not your brother your brother who went in and never came out," said Clar. "I was you, wasn't it?" "Both if you are very clever," she said. "But not clever enough. Look above you" She lifted her hand to point but Jayce knocked it away, her glance still on the other girl. "Clar, what do you see up there?" she asked.

He lift his head, dreading what he would see when he looked up there. He thought back to what Raphaela had said earlier about how the balconies once looked. They were now surrounded with vampires, their fangs out and ready to attack.

Jayce didn't move or take her gaze off of Raphaela. "You called for them. Isn't that right?" Raphaela grinned again, blood still coming out of her wound. "And what does it matter if I did? There's too many of us for you to stop us, even for you, Wayland."

He saw how much control it was taking Jayce to not kill Raphaela, to not wipe the taunting grin off her face with death. She was breathing heavily. "Jayce," he said with as much warmth as he could muster in the moment. "Don't kill her." "And why not?" "I am thinking maybe, we can use her as a hostage." With her eyes wide she said. "A hostage?" "I know what I am doing, get her on her feet, and trust me." Jayce gave him a glance, shrugged and said. "Ok." More vampires were gathering, he felt a flash of fear. they were kinda screwed but not entirely.

"This is not funny at all," hissed Raphaela. "That is why no one is laughing their asses off," said Jayce, she hauled Raphaela up, and jammed her knife between the girls shoulders. "I can pierce your heart from behind just as from behind," she said. "I wouldn't make any sudden movement."

Clar turned his head to see the shapes coming towards them from the dark. "Stop," he said. "Or she'll stab the blade through Raphaela's heart." There were what sounded like murmurs of laughter. "Stop," he said again. Behind him Jayce did something to make Raphaela cry out with pain. A vampire swung his arm back to stop his companions. Clar recognized him from Magna's party, a blond boy he had seen there. "He means it," he said. "They're Shadowhunters."

Another vampire came out of the crowd to stand by the blond boy, a handsome chinese boy who had purple streaks through his hair. "These Shadowhunters are trespassing on out territory," he said. "The law doesn't protect them anymore more. I think we should kill them, after all they've killed many of us." "Which one of you is the mast of this clan?" asked Jayce flatly. "Have them step forward." The boy bared his fangs. "Don't use the clave language with on us, little Shadowhunter. You broke your own precious law coming in here. Your law can't protect you now.". "That's enough, Lillian," the blond boy said. "Our master is not currently here, he is traveling far away." "Someone must be standing in for him," observed Jayce.

No one answered. Raphaela is the one who leads us," said the blond vampire. "Jacob—" hissed Lilian in disapproval. "I say we make a trade," cut in Clar quickly. "You must have noticed that you brought too many people home with you from the party. One of them is my friend, her name is Simone." The vampire called Jacob raised his eyebrows. "You have a friend who is a vampire?". "No, she's not a vampire. And not a Shadowhunter, either," he added. Lillian's eyes narrowed. "She's an ordinary human girl.". "We didn't take any human girls from the party tonight. That would be against the law." "She got transformed into a rat. a small brown rat," he said and made a gesture with his hands. "One of you might have thought she was pet, or maybe . . ." his voice trailed off. They all looked at him as if he were insane. It was moments like these he missed Joan, she could give them one look and people would answer or leave him alone. He felt loss of hope go through him.

"Let me get this straight—" said Lillian but was cut off by Jacob. "Or gay," he said. Lillian glared at him, a glare of this is serious. He continued. "You want to trade Raphaela for a rat?" he asked. They all stared at him expressionless. In other circumstances he would have thought they had been baffled. He could feel that Jayce was standing behind him, hearing her rasp breathing. He wondered if she was racking her brain, trying to figure out why exactly she let him drag them here. He thought she was probably starting to hate him.

"You mean this rat?" Clar blinked. Another vampire, a thin black boy had pushed his way through the crowd. He had something in his hands, some brown that squirmed. "Simone?" Clar whispered. The rat squeaked and tried to get free from the boy's grip. He looked down at the rodent with distaste. "I say let them take her, bruh. She's bitten me like five times." Clar reached for her, wanting so badly to get her away from the vampires. But Lillian stepped in front of the boy before Clar could reach Simone. "Wait," Lillian said. "How can we be sure you won't take this rat and then kill Raphaela?" "We'll give you our word," said Clar instantly, he had expected them to laugh.

But nobody did. Raphaela swore something in spanish. Lillian looked over at Jayce with a curious look on his face. "Clar," she said. "Are you really sure this is such a—". "No promise, no deal," said Lillian immediately, catching the uncertainty in Jayce's tone. "Elliott, don't let the rat go." The boy tightened his grip on Simone, she sank her teeth into Elliott's hand. "Oh, man," he said sadly. "That hurts." Clar took that moment to turn to whisper to Jayce. "Just swear already! What could it possibly hurt? "Swearing for us is nothing like swearing for mundanes," she snapped angerily. "I will be bound to that oath." "Oh, yeh? And what would happen if you broke that oath?" "I wouldn't , that's the point—"

"Lillian is right," said the boy Jacob. "An oath is needed. Swear that no harm will come to Raphaela. Even after we give you the rat." "I won't hurt her," said Clar instantly. "No matter what happens." Lilian gave him a tolerant smile. "It is not you we are worried about." he shot a pointed look to Jayce. Who still had a tight grip on Raphaela, so tight her knuckles were white. There was sweat at her temple. She said. "Fine. I swear it." "Speak the oath," said Lillian with a swift tone. "Swear it on your Angel. Say the full thing." Jayce shook her head. "You first." Her words fell with silence, a ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. Jacob looked worried. Lillian said angrily "No way, Shadowhunter.". "We have your leader," Jayce had the knife to Raphaela's throat and dug it deep. "And you have what? A rat."

Simone still pinned in Elliott's hands, squeaking angrily. Clar longed to grab her but held himself back. "Jayce, please—" "Master?" said Lillian as he looked to Raphaela. With her head down, blood on her collar of her shirt. "A very precious rat," she said. "for you to make such an effort to come all this way. I do believe you will be the one to swear first, Nephilim."

Jayce tightened her grip more, Clar saw her arm muscles swell, her fingers white from her hard grip, the anger set in her jaw. "The rat is mundane," she said sharply. "If you kill her, you'll break the law—" "She is trespassing on out territory. Trespassers are not protected by the law, you are aware of—" "She didn't trespass at all," said Clar. "You brought her here." "Technicalities," said Raphaela, grinning him, even with a knife at her throat. "Besides. You think we don't hear things, we've heard the rumors of Valentine's return? The news has run through Downworld. And once he is back there will be no accords to uphold.

Jayce's head jerked up. "Where did you hear this?" "Everyone in Downworld knows. He paid a warlock to summon a pack of ravener demons a week ago. He has his forsaken looking for the Mortal Cup. And when he finds it there will no more fake peace between us and, there will be war. And no law will stop me from ripping your heart out, Nephilim—"

The words were enough for Clar. He dove to towards Simone, pushing Lillian aside, and grabbed her from Elliott. Simone ran up his arm, holding on tightly. "It's okay, now," he whispered. He knew It really wasn't. He went to run, but felt someone grab him by the shirt with, holding him. He tried to get free but the grip that held him was like iron. Simone clung to him as Clar fought to get free. "Let me go!" He yelled. He kicked out at the vampire boy. His booted foot connected hard, and he heard Lillian shout in pain. He swung his hand forward hitting Clar in the face, knocking him back.

He staggered back almost falling. He heard Jayce yell his name, he turned to her voice and saw she had let Raphaela go and was running to him. Clar tried to go to her, but Jacob gripped him hard by the shoulders, digging in deep painfully. He cried out a little. It was lost with the other shriecks in the room as Jayce, grabbing one of the vials from her jacket, flung the contents at her. He realized it was holy water. Jacob screamed in pain and released Clar. And Lillian called out his name and ran to him.

In the chaos of it all Clar felt someone seize his wrist, he tried to yank himself free of the grip. "Stop—you dummy—it's me." Jayce panted in his ear. "Oh!" he relaxed for a moment, but tensed again when he saw a familiar shape loom up behind Jayce. He cried out and Jayce quick with cat like movements duck and spun away from Raphaela's attack, her teeth bared. Her fangs ripping Jayce's jacket at the shoulder, snapping her fangs at her throat.

Clar tried to find the dagger Jayce had given to him— A small figure, leaped across the floor, between Clar's feet, and threw itself at Raphaela. Raphaela screamed. Simone hanging onto the vampires forearm, and sank her teeth into the flesh of it. Raphaela let Jayce go, falling backward, blood coming from her arm now. Jayce gaped her mouth open. "Holy f—" Raphaela regained her balence and tore the rat away from her arm and flung her across the floor.

Simone let out a squeak of pain and ran back to Clar. He bent and snatched her up, holding her tightly. "Simone, it's—" "We don't have time right now. Hold on to her," Jayce grabbed him by the arm. In her other hand she held her seraph blade. "Move." Pulling him along to the end of the crowd. The vampires were turning away from the light that radiated off her seraph blade.

"That's enough, stop standing around,!" hissed Raphaela. "Catch them and kill all three." They started coming towards them, swooping like bats. Jayce quickened get pace, heading towards the far end wall. Clar looked at her. "Why don't we stand back to back?" "Why would we do that?" "It works in the movies. When the characters are in this sort of situation they do it." He felt her shake and thought maybe for a minute she was scared but realized she was actually laughing. "You," she said. "You may be the most—". "May be the most what?" he demanded. As they continued to back up, avoiding the broken things that lay around. Jayce still held her seraph blade up, the light still keeping them back a little. Clar couldn't help but wonder how long this would keep them away.

"It's nothing," she said. "I use the word situation only when things get really bad." "Really bad? Are you trying to tell me this isn't really bad? What exactly are you waiting for then, a bomb to explode or—" He broke off with a scream as Lillian launched himself at Jayce, braving the light from the angel blade. Jayce grabbed her other blade from her belt and threw it at Lillian, causing a long gash along his arm.

There were so many of them, he thought as he curled his finger tightly around the hilt of the dagger Jayce had given him. He didn't know how to use it, he'd never hit anyone before, and definitely had never stabbed anyone. He even skipped the day they were teaching how to ward off muggers and rapists at his school. He was starting to pull the knife free when the windows exploded inward, shattered glass flying everywhere.

The vampires who were almost on Jayce and him, had looks of astonishment and terror. Through the shattered windows came a dozen maybe more, shapes, that looked like wolves. Growling at the vampires.

"Now you see, this," said Jayce. "This is what we call a situation." The werewolves snarled at the vampires, and the vampires still stunned backed away slightly. Raphaela was the only one who didn't and called out something in spanish that even Clar who didn't know much of it understood. The moon's children—werewolves. "I thought vampires and werewolves hated each other," Clar whispered to Jayce. "They do. They never come to each other's lairs. They aren't allowed to, the law forbids it," she sounded slightly Indignant. "Something must have happened. This is very bad." "Now it's bad? How can it be any worse than earlier?" "Cause, we're going to be in the middle of a war between them."

Raphaela screamed "HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?" The largest wolf gave a chuckle as he moved forward, with each step transforming back to human form it appeared. "We didn't come for a blood bath," he said. "We came for the boy." Raphaela looking angry and surprised at the same time. "Who exactly?" "The human boy." The werewolf pointed at Clar. Clar was shocked and confused. "You didn't say you knew werewolves," said Jayce sounding surprised. "That's cause I don't," he said. "Oh, this is bad," she said. "You've said that already." "It seemed to be worth repeating." "It really wasn't," he said and moved closer to her. "Jayce, everyone is looking at me." Everyone looked at him with astonishment. Raphaela looked back to the werewolves. "You can't have him," she said. "He trespassed, therefore he is ours now."

The werewolf chuckled again. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said. He launched at Raphaela. As he turned back into wolf form. And hit Raphaela, they begun to fight. All the vampires and werewolves started attacking each other. Jayce let out a whistle. "Man, Raphaela is having such a bad night." "And what about it?" said Clar having no sympathy. "So what's the plan here?" She looked around. They were trapped in a corner by the battle going on. No one was paying attention to them though. but Clar doubted that would last long. At that moment Simone jumped out of his hands and ran to a corner with drapes. "Simone, stop!" Jayce rasied her eyebrows quizzically. "What is she—" She grabbed his arm jerking him back. "Clar, don't go after her, she's a rat. She's fleeing, that's what they do."

He looked to her furiously. "She's not a rat. She's Simone. And you should be more grateful, she bit Raphaela for you." He yanked free of her strong grip on him and ran to Simone, who was pawing at the drapes, realizaing, she was trying to tell him something he pushed the away, behind them was a door. "A door," he said. "You genius." Jayce was right behind him. "A door, huh?Does it open?" He grabbed at the knob trying to turn it but it didn't budge. "I think it's locked ot stuck.' Jayce threw herself against. But again it didn't budge. She let out a swear word. "My shoulder will never be the same again, I expect you to nurse me back to health when we get out of here." "Would you just get it open," he said. "Well it may be easier if you helped," she said. "Believe me if I thought I would actually be of any use here I would, but I am not some strong goddess warrior like you," he replied. She looked past him, her eyes wide. "Uh, Clar—"

One of the wolves was coming for them. Clar let out a high pitched scream, not very manly he thought. Jayce threw herself against the door another time, cursing again. Clar grabbed the dagger and threw it at the wolf. He'd never thrown one before so he was surprised when it wobbly hit it's mark. It yelped in pain. But three more wolves were coming now. Clar let out another scream as Jayce hurled herself against the door Another time and it gave in. She was strong he thought. "Third time's the charm they say," she said while panting, while holding her shoulder. She ducked into the doorway. "Come on, Clar."

He went in after her and flung the door shut, As two bodies hut against it. He fumbled for the bolt but it was gone, torn away from Jayce breaking it. "Duck," she said, as she whipped her Stele out and drew a rune on the door. he looked at the rune and saw that it said: to hold against. "I lost your dagger," he said apologetically. "That happens," she said and put her Stele back in her pocket. The wolves were banging against the door. The rune will hold for now but not for long, we need to hurry."

He looked up and saw a set of narrow stairs, they looked unstable. "Ok," he nodded at Jayce. "You go first, graceful Shadowhunter." She looked like she would have grinned if not for how tired she was. "You know i like to be first. But," she added. "I don't think the stair will hold our weight." He wasn't sure of that himself. The steps creaked under their steps. Clar gripped the banister for balence but a piece broke off as he did, he let out a squeak as it did and Jayce gave an exhausted chuckle. She took his hand. "Steady now," she said, helping him. Simone made a snort like noise but Jayce didn't seem to hear it.

They stumbled up the stairs as quickly as they dared to go. Going landing after landing, he still didn't see any doors. When they reached the fourth turn of the spiraled stairs, they heard the door far down break in. "They broke it down," said Jayce in a grim tone. "I thought it would hold a little longer than that, damnit." "So, do we run now?' he said. "We run now," she said, and they started to run up the stairs, it Screeching under their quick steps. He could hear the thudding if the werewolves on the stairs a few landings down.

When they came to the sixth landing, they flung themselves into it, Clar gasped for breath, he managed to let out a weak cheer when he saw the door. A steel door, it looked heavy. It was propped open with and break. He didn't have time to wonder why, cause Jayce kicked it open and pushed him threw, following, and slammed it shut. He heard the lock click and thought thank God.

He looked up and saw the dim stars in the sky, disappearing as the dawn was coming. They were on the roof. "This must be how they come and go," she said, giving a glance back at the door. The dim light coming from dawn helped Clar see her properly, she looked strained and dirty. "They fly to get up here. But that doesn't help us."

"Maybe there's a fire escape or something?" he suggested. They looked along the edge of the roof for one. Clar hated heights, they always made his stomach turn. He saw a fire escape, it was barely hanging on and did not look safe at all. "Guess not," he said.

The door was vibrating now, someone turning the knob. Probably wouldn't hold much longer, he thought. Jayce had her face in her hands and was muttering to herself. "Think, Jayce, think—" Suddenly a shape formed in the back of Clar's mind. No, it was a rune, it looked like a pair of wings. "I got it," said Jayce. For a minute he thought she had read his mind. Her golden eyes bright. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before." She ran off to the far end of the roof, she stopped and looked back at him. "Are you coming, Clar?" He realized he was still standing dazed. He followed and saw she was pulling away a tarp. It came away, to reveal motorcycles.

"Motorcycles?" he said. Jayce went to the nearest one and swung a leg over it, she looked over her shoulder at Clar. "Hurry up anf get on." He just stared at her. "You've got to be kidding? Do you know how to drive this? Do you even have the keys for it?" "I do not need keys," she said with patience. "It is powered by demon energies. Now are you getting on, or would you like to get your own?" Clar slid on the back of the bike behind her. In the back of his brain a voice was yelling at him this is a terrible idea, Clar.

"Great," said Jayce. "Put your arms around me so you don't fall off." He did, and was once again reminded of how strong she was, he felt her abdomen muscles contract as she leaned over and drew a rune onto the ignition of the bike. Shadowhunters were very muscular he thought. He heard Simone squeak in his pocket. "Jayce!" he shouted. "What are you doing exactly?" She yelled back something about pushing in the choke! or something. "Well, hurry it up! The door is gonna—"

The roof door burst open, the wolves were pouring out of it, heading towards them. The vampires were out as well. He felt Jayce pull her arm back and the motorcycle go forward, making his stomach turn for the hundredth time or so for the night. He grabbed onto Jayce tighter. The wolves leaped aside. Jayce shouted something but he couldn't hear what it was. They were heading towards the edge of the roof and he was once again thinking of what a bad idea this was, he wanted to close his eyes shut buy didn't. The motorcycle went over the edge of the roof and for a minute he thought we are gonna fall ten stories down.

——————

When they got back to the Institute, Alec went to change out of the clothes she had worn to Magna Bane's party. Was Magna really interested in her? Usually people were interested in Jayce, not Alec. But Alec could understand after all Jayce was a beautiful warrior, and her eyes being gold, which is rare, got her a lot of attention. Alec didn't mind being the shadow, or so she told herself.

She supposed maybe she was but it didn't matter, Alec could never be with a woman, even though she only saw women that way. She would go on to marry some man her parents would most likely pick for her and have children with him but be trapped in a loveless marriage, always wondering what it would be like to actually be with a woman and be loved by one. She knew she would never be fully happy, but she let herself Imagine what it could be like to date Magna, she was beautiful Alec thought, so beautiful. And her cat eyes were even more beautiful. she remembered when she had winked at her and said to call her, she knew how red her face on gone then.

(Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @megs-readstoomuch @magnus-the-maqnificent @replayfootsteps @bookfast-at-tiffanys @simply-ellas-stuff @my-archerboy @jazzkaurtheglorious )

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virlath · 4 years

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environmental lore ~ Dirthamen and Falon’Din

Part 1 - origins and the four armed statues Part 2 - their alliances Part 3 - the origins of humans

===

Part 2 - their alliances

There is a lot of environmental foreshadowing surrounding Dirthamen and Falon’Din in DAI, which is interesting considering they were extremely mysterious in previous games. Among these are many hints they worked closely with Fen’Harel, Mythal, and Andruil at some point in time.

The most solid evidence for this are the mosaics within the elven ruins in Trespasser, which is only safely accessible using Mythal’s passphrase.

The mosaics are clearly old, but you can definitely see they represent Dirthamen, Mythal, Fen’Harel, and Falon’Din in that order.

A double raven standard is also clearly seen within the weaponry used by the freed slaves, indicating Dirthamen actually helped the rebels either in secret or even as a leader in battle.

Two archer statues surrounding the eluvian leading out of the ruins also suggest Andruil was similarly involved in their alliance.

Evidence for this alliance is further strengthened through Falon’Din and Andruil’s shared symbolism of the owl, which is also seen as a terrible omen of loss by the Dalish.

Andruil would send her messenger, the owl, to show the People the way, and they would follow him to where the land was blessed.

Always keep an eye out for the noble owl. You never know: Andruil might have a message for you.

Falon'Din sought someone to be his messenger and companion. The wind was swift, but Falon'Din refused to chain it. The People were loyal, but could not live where Falon'Din walked. Then the owl came to him and said, "I am not cowed by darkness. Let me serve you who also has no fear of night." Falon'Din accepted gladly, and took the owl as his servant, who thereafter helped Falon'Din guide the People through the passage of the Veil.

I theorise the symbol of the owl was in fact Falon’Din himself, flying between the Void and the real world to pass Mythal’s verdicts on to Andruil so she could deliver judgements in the form of her hunts.

Falon’Din’s mastery of the dark and shapeless worlds and airless skies also fits in line with Andruil’s hunts in the Void, which is otherwise known as the place of nothing. I believe Andruil and Falon’Din’s journeys both inevitably led to the Void, simply because that was the only place judged culprits could hide from Mythal’s justice.

This also brings to mind the puzzle we find at the Darvaarad in Trespasser.

“One sees the hunter, one flees from it, one hunts it in turn, one outwits them all.”

Or in other words...

“The owl(Falon’Din) sees the hunter(Andruil), the halla (Ghilan’nain) flees from it, the dragon(Mythal) hunts it in turn, the wolf (Fen’Harel) outwits them all.”

Personally, I think the riddle strongly hints at a fallout between Andruil and Ghilan’nain, either due to conflicts of interest in their duty to Mythal, or on a more personal level as Ghilan’nain was once considered “beloved” by Andruil.

My current theory is that Ghilan’nain hid in the Void after the event with the Sinner in an attempt to raise a coup against Mythal. Mythal sought Falon’Din and Andruil to bring her to justice, and so they hunted her while Dirthamen tried in vain to stall them/protect her, either out of love for her or because she held a secret he didn’t want getting out (perhaps their relationship was the secret, and Ghilan’nain was cheating on Andruil with Dirthamen).

This results in Dirthamen getting neutralised by Fen’Harel to resolve the situation which was spiralling out of control, but this is all a distraction by Ghilan’nain to lead Mythal’s allies away from her so she can be cornered and “killed”. We don’t yet know the movements of June, Sylaise, and Elgar’nan, so it’s unknown if they also had something to do with orchestrating Mythal’s death.

Whatever the case may be, I think it’s likely Dirthamen was backstabbed by Fen’Harel because Dirthamen’s pose in the fade mimics Solas’ unfinished fresco- both he and Mythal feature a sword sticking out from their back. However I don’t think Solas acted out of malice in both cases, but rather out of regret and perceived necessity.

Consequently, my current theory is that the owl statue in DAI solely represents Falon’Din and Andruil is represented by the archer statues.

The owl statues are also always seen carrying a circular object, of which I believe to be an eluvian/elven artifact to transport or imprison criminals hunted down by Andruil.

Owl statues can also be found at Skyhold, which is interesting in itself because it is strongly hinted at that Skyhold is where Solas created the veil.

The owl can be seen in the Great Hall, as well as in your own quarters which I think is kinda creepy considering the underlying symbolism.

What’s even more interesting to me is the painting above these owls. It clearly shows the Inquisition logo, but the art style is similar to many other artworks we find around Ferelden, meaning it is likely older than the Inquisition itself, and possibly even painted by the Avvar. The mountain in the artwork seems to be a reference to Belenas, a mountain that may have been the original location of Arlathan before it became the Black City.

The art is similar in style to the artwork in the stables mysteriously depicting Dirthamen and Ghilan’nain.

Another notable example of this art style can be found on the mayor of Crestwood’s house.

The symbolism of this artwork is peculiar, because it shows lightness and darkness divided, encircled, and guarded by a raven and a wolf- animal symbols representing Dirthamen and Fen’Harel respectively. The circle comprises of twelve equal divisions with a weeping sun in the centre. Solas’ tarot cards also features twelve stars, three of which are disintegrated. A very peculiar coincidence...

The owl statues also feature prominently at Suledin Keep, which I think was once Falon’Din’s stronghold based on the statues and symbolism found there.

The red lyrium mist emanating from the entrance is particularly foreboding, especially since Falon’Din is the master of darkness and shadow- themes also associated with the Void and the blight.

The People swore their lives to Falon'Din Who mastered the dark that lies. Whose shadows hunger Whose faithful sing Whose wings of death surround him Thick as night. Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide, Through shapeless worlds and airless skies.

──Song to Falon'Din, found in the Temple of Mythal, author unknown

In fact in most areas where the owl statue is seen, death is also often associated with it. The best example of this can be seen at the Knight’s Tomb, where they flank a beheaded Mythal statue with a skull in place of it’s regular head.

While it’s clear the owl is strongly linked to Falon’Din, Dirthamen is a lot more mysterious. Dirthamen’s most beloved animal is the bear, however he doesn’t seem to have any clear statue depicting himself in the main game. In fact, at the Temple of Mythal his mosaic is flanked by two owl statues.

If you do the rituals, Falon’Din’s mosaic can also be seen next to Fen’Harel and Mythal next to the owl puzzle, however no depiction of Dirthamen can be found.

Similarly at Dirthamen’s lost temple, no mosaic or depiction of Dirthamen can be seen, however there are green mosaics of Falon’Din and one red mosaic of Ghilan’nain. And most interestingly of all, the locked inner sanctum shows two gilded statues of Fen’Harel, which is not something you would expect at a temple dedicated to Dirthamen.

This is further evidence to me Dirthamen and Fen’Harel were once close allies, and this is compounded by the fact the imprisoned high keeper in the temple awakens from an elven artifact. This is the same artifact Solas uses to measure the veil, and also an item he constantly describes as an “artifact of his people”.

But to sum it all up, I think the Vir Dirthara in Trespasser best displays these web of alliances because it is also one of the few places Dirthamen is represented in the form of a raven.

Mythal was the adjudicator in the center, and Fen’Harel was her wingman ensuring her day to day ran smoothly. Falon’Din was the messenger who travelled between worlds, passing Mythal’s judgements to Andruil who in turn hunted judged culprits. Dirthamen represents the ravens at the edge of the scene, monitoring events in the background and keeping tabs on everyone in the shadows, much like Leliana’s role as spymaster.

It is interesting to me that Dirthamen is portrayed as a raven instead of a bear though, because his ravens are described in current known lore as his bound minions, not as true allies.

Nevertheless, raven statues can be found in the Fade in the main game, as well as seemingly random locations such as Redcliffe.

Raven statues can also be seen in the Crossroads, right before these magical red eggs that trigger the visibility of new pathways to different floating islands.

Considering the fact Dirthamen/Falon’Din are considered twins that walked the shifting paths beyond the veil, I think this is further evidence these raven statues do in fact represent Dirthamen.

===

Part 1 - origins and the four armed statues Part 2 - their alliances Part 3 - the origins of humans

#dragon age #da #dai #environmental lore #dirthamen #falon'din #fen'harel #mythal #andruil #evanuris #da theories #drabble

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