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pls tell me your favorite dai location whilst i toil in the office

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while sidri usually works diligently to avoid the overly (in her opinion) religious members of the inner circle, she does quite like leliana and will go out of her way to spend additional time in her company. she appreciates that leliana sees flaws, that leliana wants to improve things, that leliana wants to change what as grown stagnant & fix what has become broken. sid also works hard where she can to try & keep leliana from becoming hardened - she's painfully aware of what it feels like to be molded into a weapon, into something solely of use.

she also enjoys petting the nugs.

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blows you the largest kisses

OH SKELLS I AM BLOWING YOU EVEN LARGER ONES BACK !!!!

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rip to my andor inspired shadow dragon rook that never saw the light of day

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while there's a lot of things sid looks back on and wishes she could change or regrets as inquisitor, she is firmly and openly proud of everything the inquisition did to help the common folk of the south. roads and bridges were safeguarded to allow for the flow of trade, mills and lumberyards were rebuilt to breathe new life in villages scattered throughout ferelden & orlais, refugees were given the chance to either continue their skills or develop new ones through employment with the inquisition's forces, and any children under the watch of the inquisition's banner were given basic literacy & arithmetic lessons.

very little of it shows up in songs or tales, certainly, but the inquisition's influence endures throughout the south for generations.

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Anna Sawai as Cate Randa Monarch: Legacy of Monsters (2023—) — 1.01 Aftermath

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BRING DOWN THE RAIN OF ARROWS. TAKE THE DEFENSE. I WANNA LOVE TOMORROW, BUT I LOVE WHAT'S LEFT.

home // muses

credits: . . .

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a small but joyful starter call <3

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solas walking into the dai cutscene to say something wholly out of pocket & racist

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a small but joyful starter call <3

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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, she has seen varric endure much: those first days after the chaos & horror the conclave, the thick forests and steep hills of the hinterlands, even the murky politics of the factions that have been to gathered and grow within haven. however, through all of it and despite all of it, that tell-tale lift of the corner of his lips has always been nearby, ready. however, when he speaks of kirkwall, for the very first time sidri thinks he looks tired. by the dancing firelight, varric looks exhausted. she wonders how much of the face he so frequently presents, accompanied by that infamous wit, is a carefully crafted front.

there is another thing just beyond that: how much of her is becoming something tailored, something composed rather than natural and instinctive? how much of sidri trevelyan will be left by the end that has not already been reserved for andraste's herald? the lines are blurring and blurring too quickly for her liking.

the grim resolve in his voice, just one shade away from bitter, has her pause. for a moment, the instinct to reach out for his hand has her fingers nearly twitch. instead, the impulse is tempered by her teeth pressing into the tender flesh of her lower lip before she glances to him. ❝ kirkwall's fortunate to have you, varric. perhaps i sound terrible for it, but i don't love ostwick the way you love your home. it feels more like a place i was born and raised than it does a home. i don't think i could ever care for it the way you for kirkwall. ❞

her mind drifts to the high, stone walls of ostwick and the dark waters crashing against the cliffsides, the air heavy with salt & brine and the sky seemingly always heavy with storms born over the waking sea. how many hours had she spent staring out at the sea wishing of something beyond it, of something more than the too quiet corridors and empty halls of the trevelyan estate.

something more has indeed found her now, ensnared her, and none of it is what than she had ever imagined.

there is a letter awaiting her back at the desk she's managed to assemble for herself from the dusty basement of haven's chantry, tucked away in a drawer. the seal does not need to be broken for her to know that it asks of someone that has been lost and not yet found, of the same spirit that she has felt haunting them all for years.

she gives a tired smile towards him, equal parts bemusement and reflection. the gold thread lining his tunic gleams in the firelight with near the same intensity as his eyes. ❝ careful now, i'm becoming excellent at disappointing people. being anyone's chosen anything is a ridiculous business. half of the people who trek to haven are thoroughly upset that i'm not fully encompassed by some kind of holy light and the other half are seething that i have the audacity to call myself herald. which, ❞ she lifts a finger, ❝ i'll note i did not pick for myself, thank you. ❞

a quiet laugh, tired but earnest, is pulled from her at his words. he's good at that, at making her laugh and finding ways to coax a smile onto her lips, in a way that no one is. just another thing, sidri thinks, to appreciate about this strange, clever dwarf that has managed to make himself a part of this tale.

❝ i would wager that even the dullest of stories, even those about wool and grain, manage to be fascinating when you tell them. people need those things, just as much as they need hope or faith. ❞ her expression grows thoughtful as her chin tilts upwards as her gaze sweeps over the tapestry of stars above them. ❝ the world's built on roads and bridges, blankets and timber. if nothing else, the inquisition should work to try and help with that, i think. if we manage to make people believe in something, well, that's a nice bonus. ❞

her smile grows very nearly bashful at his nudge and she nudges him back without thinking. her own form, nearly constantly sore now with the first hints of new muscle, feels slight and slender against the sturdy, solid heft of him. ❝ alright, don't let it go to your head, even if i would be the first in line to read all of it. ❞

her lips purse together as she turns her head to look at him, voice softer. ❝ a boat you never should've been forced to step foot on in the first place. maker, varric, you really haven't had a rest, have you? first everything with kirkwall, then the conclave... ❞ all at once there is darkness exploding in her mind's eye, crawling and dark, then that form that burns brighter than any fire searing through it. that fragmented memory sweeps over her fiercely enough that her breath briefly catches before she continues, quieter still. ❝ i think you've seen more than anyone should. ❞

the conversation suddenly feels too grim, she is too hot and too cold all at once, and sidri tilts her chin upwards to one of the paths veering through camp. a hand is extended to him a moment later. ❝ come on, 'll show you something no one else knows about if you tell me a story on the way. ❞

The words she offers about Kirkwall are nearly like a balm, yet he knows that Kirkwall dealt her own hand of misfortune as well; her past was as clouded as his judgment could be, still blurry with anger that lingered more in the back of his mind, rather than the forefront. It's not entirely cast aside; instead, it's a stack of parchments, notes to Bran and people in Kirkwall acting on favours he would have liked to burn for coin or goods, but he's sent more than he's received. No news, he has to remind himself, is good news. Yet, he's sent too many letters, and while it may not rival the Herald's Ambassador and the parchment that might as well be water, might as well be ever flowing, his camp is close.

"Yeah, well..." He is not one to admonish his home town, the strife and woe. Still, it is lit anew, it is backlit in things he had overlooked, magic, blood, and horror, things he already knew, but he had been blind, so blind to the words before him, self centred and self serving, but those words do not come, they are laced in pride differently. "I guess, you and I can gamble on a losing dog together - a city that should live." It's not a hollow laugh; he means it. Kirkwall is losing; she's losing time, money, and hope. Yet, he's still selling things off, pressing money into hands he didn't think to trust before, as loss reframes what was had, and what was lost.

She isn't wrong, Sidri isn't - he keeps reminding himself, the person continuing to appear before him, and only flexing the titles she wielded in the most minor and unexpected ways. Hence, it's Sidri, Sid, unless he's corrected or in more polite company than him, which seemed to be growing day by day, only out numbered by Sera, the occasional recruit, and Cullen ( which that feels more like lack of tact, but that's a matter of opinions, and history ). So it's less a strained smile and more weary, more tired and less sure of what's to come, yet he had the chance to run, a chance she could have taken herself and offered to him.

Again, as if he's caught aside, her words landing somewhere soft among his past, about how prayer has long been begotten. "You know, I don't blame you, especially now." The fire pops, the one she had just fed, and he throws a scrap of paper into it, causing it to jolt towards the navy sky bedecked in diamonds, "I think being a chosen one allows you the liberty to spit in the face of the divine." It also means that one means a lot to too many people; he knows it's not a route chosen, as he has seen it before.

"I won't ask the Seeker or Nightingale for anything." He doesn't mean that, well, at least cruelly, if enough letters flooded his raven, flooded his tent and pressed against those who dared to remain, he could be hell pressed to nearly do anything. "I think I'd rather go to you, don't think you could disappoint me." It's a straightforward statement, one that's barely considered before it's given form. It is more honest than it needs to be, but it is offered to her freely.

There is only the crackling of the fire and sparks of laughter around her words, "Me an honest man? I'd rather be stoned and recite the laws of Orzammar." That's nearly fact, he'd rather spin aside and find a better place to land than the cold and red lyrium infested, but here he was, here he would be until something demanded more of him. Still, he had already shucked an escape route, ready to stay and sign on, just a letter to write and sign, but she pulls another laugh out of him.

"Ah, so not the good looks, just the stories." He shakes his head, a hand half to the books and papers beside him. "I have stories, but the ones I can tell and finish are fiscal, tall tales about wool in Kirkwall, grain in her city state...of course I do have a few stories around them as well."

Tale of the Champion started as a circular, begun as an issue-by-issue to outline how and why, later it was used against the chantry, something he didn't disagree with, but never saw his words as the vessel that should be championed forward. Why could his words be sought to be more valid than the rest? He had just been an easy target with a loose tongue.

He had always been surprised when any of his stories made it further than a few blocks; less surprised now, it's more a shake of his head. "I didn't think my early works ever made it out of Kirkwall." He admits that a few books are left over from a printing that is still in his storage.

"Well, I can't help but indulge a fan." He jokes with a nudge, his shoulder running into hers. "Well, I have a few good ones that never made it into the books, well, more than a few." He can summon a few times, his back was pressed against the wall for a stupid reason, less than five coppers, a lost hand in cards, breeches, and more.

"There is also the story of how I ended up here. It's not dull, but it's not exciting, just a dwarf being forced onto a boat."

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king what are you fucking talking about

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Dragon Age: Inquisition - Skyhold

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i like the idea that sidri's relationships with the inner circle grow & change after not only the main timeline is finished, but certainly after trespasser and all of the way through datv. her interactions with blackwall are extremely tense to the point of being terse until trespasser where she finds more sympathy for him by way of time and distance, then she grows even fond of him as the years pass. with vivienne, she views her as equal parts friend & mentor until trespasser where she feels she's grown enough in her certainty to no longer look for vivienne's approval or backing quite like she did before. with datv, that friendship becomes an unending gratitude for harboring her girls until they could return from the north.

her views on the others change, for good or ill, with time and her own growth & new experiences. she finds empathy where she previously couldn't in some cases or, in others, finds that anger can give way to something else.

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ANNA SAWAI as TODA MARIKO SHŌGUN Episode 5 Broken to the Fist