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[stories-of-thedas]

Jadyn Trevelyan was taken to the Circle when she was only five-years-old. Templars had come to take away her older sister by three years, Ilana, whose magic had manifested a few days earlier. Jadyn was so distraught by them trying to take her sister away that her own magic manifested in a shower of sparks and electricity. While normally siblings would be sent to separate Circles, nobility still had its privileges, and a few generous donations from the Trevelyans ensured that the sisters would stay together.

Years later, Ilana was made tranquil mere weeks after the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry. Outspoken about her beliefs, Ilana clearly identified with the Libertarians, and no one was surprised when the templars announced the decision. The loss of her sister to tranquility made a profound impact on Jadyn, though. The assumption was that the same fate awaited her. The only thing that saved her was that, by the time she was old enough to be Harrowed, the Circles had began to fall.

Only twenty at the time she was named the Herald of Andraste, Jadyn did her best to do what was most needed. While she was disillusioned by the Chantry after her sister’s fate, that didn’t mean she had lost her faith. She found a kindred spirit in Cassandra, someone who believed just as strongly as she did but wanted to change things for the better.

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Ilros Lavellan didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He did his best to put on a brave face, to be the leader that the Inquisition so clearly needed him to be, but if he was honest with himself he was terrified. While he had been training with his magic for years, he’d only been named Keeper’s First a little over a year prior to the Conclave. He knew that he would have to learn how to be a leader eventually, but he’d never expected it to come so quickly... or in the way that it did.

Shy and softspoken, leadership didn’t come naturally to him. He did what he had to, though, and if he spend his nights trying not to panic over the fact that so many lives depended on him... well, he did it privately. That’s what mattered, wasn’t it? That he didn’t let anyone see him falter, no matter how much it hurt?

Still, Ilros tried to find happiness wherever he could, and with so many gorgeous men around, the view was at least pleasant. And if he spent a little more time than was entirely appropriate with Dorian, it was his own business. Sometimes he needed someone who treated him like a person, nothing more and nothing less.

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Eydith Adaar still woke up some mornings wondering how in the bloody Void she’d let a bunch of humans talk her into being their leader.

Growing up, Eydith had learned from a young age not to trust humans. Especially ones who were with the Chantry. Everyone knew how they felt about mages wandering free, but they weren’t going to stick a Vashoth in a Circle. No, she knew damn well that if they found out that she was a mage, she’d get a sword thrust to the gut and that would be the end of it. And yet she’d somehow found herself thrust into being the fucking leader of a fucking heretical movement full of humans. And elves. And even some dwarves.

She couldn’t make this shit up even if she tried.

Eydith had no interest whatsoever in being a martyr. When she’d woken up in Haven that second time, though, after closing those rifts... well, she didn’t want to die for a cause that she didn’t believe in. But even she could see that what was going on with the Inquisition was bigger than her. There were lives at stake. A lot of lives. And, well, Eydith didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want to let innocent people die in her stead either.

At least there were plenty of beautiful women around, if she was going to risk her life on a daily basis. Most of them had no interest whatsoever in her, of course, but that didn’t mean Eydith couldn’t enjoy the view. And, hey, Sera at least seemed to be interested. It’s not like it was going to wind up being anything serious (until suddenly it was), so why not enjoy life while she had the chance?

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Taryn Trevelyan was a tranquil when she arrived at the Conclave. A former mage of Ostwick, she had been captured by rebel templars a little over a year earlier, and - while they had killed most of her traveling companions - they had other plans for her. Shortly before the Conclave, she had been rescued by another group of templars, ones still loyal to the Chantry and the Divine, which is what led her there in the first place.

When she walked out of the Fade, she was a mage again despite the brand burned into her skin. But she was far from being the woman that had existed a year or so earlier.

It was difficult, very difficult, for her to learn how to be a person again, even with help from the people at Haven that she was slowly beginning to consider friends. Taryn’s emotions were quick to overwhelm her, and while she tried her best to push them aside (don’t think, don’t remember, pretend it happened to someone else) sometimes it was easier said than done. She survived, though, and as time passed she slowly pieced together the broken pieces of her life. And her mind. And her magic.

Yes, she was a mage again, but it felt like someone else’s magic running through her at times. Back in the Circle, Taryn had a gift for primal spells: fire, lightening, earth, all of them answered to her whims without a second thought. In the aftermath of the Conclave, though, spells that had once been as easy as breathing suddenly seemed impossible while spirit magic - once the bane of her existence - was suddenly simple. She knew that the Anchor most likely had something to do with it, but how? Why? Those were questions she couldn’t answer.

Taryn was far from being a leader, at least at first. She could barely take care of herself, and the thought of being responsible for the lives of others was almost more than she could bear. As time passed, though, it became easier for her to step into the role that was being oh so carefully laid out before her. Not too much, not too quickly, but slowly. Delicately. A little responsibility here, a small decision or two there, enough to push her in the right direction but not overwhelm her.

Romance was the last thing on Taryn’s mind during those horrible first few months, as she slowly learned how to be a person again. As time passed, though, she couldn’t help but find herself at least noticing that a few of her companions were more than a little attractive. Cassandra. Cullen. It took her longer than it should have to realize what they had in common and, considering her history with templars, once that realization hit her Taryn couldn’t help but wonder how much of a role that played in her burgeoning attraction. Especially when Cassandra gently turned her down and Cullen, well, he made it clear that he was fighting his own demons just as much as Taryn was fighting hers.

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Xandros Hawke was a walking contradiction. A devout Andrastian, but he would rather die than find himself locked away in a Circle. Cold and unfeeling at first glance, but he would throw himself in front of a complete stranger to protect them. Quick to anger and slow to forgive, but he was always willing to listen even if he didn’t agree.

When he arrived in Kirkwall, all Xandros wanted to do was survive and keep what was left of his family safe. He had no intention of being the type of man whose name was on everyone’s lips. An apostate, from a family of the same, he had learned from a young age that anonymity was the key to a long life.

Fate, unsurprisingly, had a different idea. Xandros quickly found himself thrown into deep waters with no choice but to sink or swim, and as much as he disliked his options he’d never been the type to give in without a fight. When he found himself slowly surrounded by a motley crew of misfits, he tried to keep himself distanced from them - for their sake as much as for his own.

They grew on him, though, or perhaps he grew on them. All he knew was that, before long, Xandros was willing to move the stars themselves to protect them. All of them. Including a Chantry brother who couldn’t quite decide whether or not he wanted to be a prince, who Xandros was head over heels for even though he was fairly certain nothing would ever come of it.

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Thais Hawke has never been the type to hide who she is. Oh, it’s not that she was foolhardy. She didn’t walk up to complete strangers and announce that she was an apostate, nor did she make a habit of frequently spending time around templars. She wasn’t ashamed of her magic, though, and she had no qualms in using it to protect herself and those she cared about. Anyone who threatened her or her family had a tendency to find themselves on fire.

Once she arrived in Kirkwall, Thais threw herself into protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves - especially her fellow refugees and, from time to time, her fellow mages. She might not have been able to save Bethany, but the Void could take her if she failed anyone else. Thais didn’t like bullies, and it didn’t matter if they came in the garb of a mercenary, a slaver, a templar, or a Chantry sister.

It seemed as natural as breathing for her to fall for Anders. They were two sides of the same coin, drawn to each other from the very beginning even if neither of them quite realized it at first.

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Miriam Hawke was a flirt. She was also a rogue, a cold-blooded killer on the battlefield, a complete lightweight, and a liar storyteller liar person who shared a passing familiarity with the truth. (The last is why she and Varric got along like a pair of thieves. Not that they were. Thieves. Or, at least, not that they’d ever been caught. Thieving, that is.)

Even though, on the surface, Miriam seemed like the type who didn’t take anything seriously, in truth it was the complete opposite. She cared deeply about everything, and everyone, despite the fact that she tried to hide it more often than not. So much had already been taken from her (her father, her brother, her home), and she hoped that maybe the world would see fit not to take anything else if she didn’t make it quite so obvious who she cared for.

Except then she returned from the Deep Roads and found her sister being carted away to the Circle, and that whole idea was thrown on the window.

Whatever it was between her and Isabela, it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. Not at first. Just a quick one night stand. And maybe a hurried fuck in an alley. And in a cave, after a particularly thorny fight. And against a tree. And in Varric’s bed. (“What? It’s not like he’s using it right now.“) And in a shadowed corner at the Gallows. And in a side room at the Chantry.

Still, nothing serious. Until, suddenly, it was.

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Lydias Hawke was typically calm and diplomatic, although a less-than-subtle sense of humor would occasionally shine through. He learned from a young age that drawing attention to himself was dangerous, that it put not only him at risk but his father and sister as well, and he took that lesson to heart. While he preferred to use his magic to fight, he wasn’t completely helpless with a blade, and whenever possible he tried to use a weapon first and his magic second.

He had no intention on making friends in Kirkwall, and he definitely had no plans to find love. Life had a way of dismantling even the best-laid plans, though, as Lydias had found out more times than he could count ever since fleeing from Lothering. Which is why, by the time he’d been in the City of Chains for two years, he had found himself surrounded by a motley crew of misfits that he gladly would have laid down his life for in an instant.

Including a prickly elf who was the most infuriating man Lydias had ever met (and, completely unfairly, absolutely gorgeous), who he alternated between wanting to kiss and wanting to strangle.

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Aiken Hawke was a rogue, not a mage, but he was the son of a mage and the brother of another. He couldn’t use magic, but he understood it as well as a non-mage possibly could, and it very much didn’t frighten him. (Although he would be forever disappointed that not having magic himself meant he would never have the chance to turn into a dragon. Life was unfair.)

Aiken was a lot of things. Suave and diplomatic when the situation called for it, quick to anger when those he cared about were threatened, and in possession of one of the most horrible senses of humor in the Free Marches in private. It took effort to gain his trust, but once someone had it then he was theirs for life. No matter what mistakes they made or how far they went, Aiken stood by those that he cared about through thick or thin.

Including Anders. Eventually. Oh, years later, Aiken liked to claim that it was love at first sight, but that was about as far from the truth as possible. Respect, yes. A little bit of blatant ogling on both their parts, perhaps. But love? No, that was something that took years to truly gain hold. Once it did, though, Aiken took no small pleasure in reminding Meredith that he was no mage himself and, with Bethany far away from Kirkwall with the Wardens, the Knight Commander had nothing whatsoever to hold over him. And unless she wanted to risk his ire, that meant his lover was as safe as a mage could possibly be in Kirkwall. (Yes, maybe it was a little petty. Aiken never claimed to be a saint, though, and that woman would try the patience of the Divine herself.)

... and then everything went straight to the Void when the Chantry exploded.

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Thorn Hawke never wanted to be a leader. Quiet and shy, she much preferred to be a follower. Then the Blight happened, and her family’s desperate flight from Lothering, and - whether she liked it or not - Thorn found herself thrown into the position of being the one that everyone was depending on.

... and the first thing she did in that role was get her little sister killed. Oh, she knows that the others don’t blame her - not really, not after those few desperate moments when Bethany’s body wasn’t even cold - but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t blame herself. Constantly.

Thorn hoped that, once they made it to Kirkwall, she could slip into the background, a follower again instead of a leader. Fate had something else in mind, though, no matter how ill-suited she felt for the role. Still, as more and more people slipped through the cracks in her defenses into her heart, Thorn promised herself that she wouldn’t fail any of them. Not again, like she’d failed her sister.

Especially not Merrill, who she quickly found herself falling for. Thorn didn’t approve of her blood magic, not really, but she would be the first to admit that the woman was careful not to use anyone’s blood but her own. And, well, after Lothering? Thorn understood the urge to risk anything, no matter how dangerous, to help your family.

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Kianna Hawke is normally diplomatic and soft-spoken, at least until someone threatens her family or her friends. Then she’s hard as stone, quick to threaten and even quicker to follow through on those threats. Anyone who gets on her bad side doesn’t have the chance to stay there long, as the rogue is fast to take out anyone she thinks might be a risk to her or those she loves.

She misses her younger brother, Carver, desperately. While she loves Bethany, Carver was the sibling that she spent all of her time with growing up. He trained with a sword and her with daggers while their father taught Bethany how to control her magic. Kianna risked everything to get him safely out of Ostagar, and it breaks her heart that after all that she still managed to fail him before it was all said and done.

Kianna had never had much interest in romance, but something about Fenris caught her eye from the start. She knew from the beginning that it was going to be a rocky, uphill road for the two of them, one that might still not end up going anywhere, but she was willing to give it a shot. If it ended up crashing and burning around her, well, she was getting used to that happening when it came to her life.

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Gideon Hawke was a healer. He could count on one hand the number of times he managed to use his magic offensively (and poor Carver had never forgiven him for that time with the Harding sisters and the druffalo), and even all but the most basic defensive spells gave him trouble. But healing? Healing he could do.

And that’s how all three Hawke siblings survived the trip to Kirkwall.

For all intents and purposes, Gideon was a dual-blade rogue. He couldn’t pick a lock to save his life, but put a dagger in his hands and he was deadly. He just... also had magic. Not that he mentioned that part to anyone. Including his friends.

(Looking back, lying to them by omission for as long as he did? Maybe not his brightest move. Especially since, the way his life had been going the past few years, he should have known that it would come out at the worst possible moment.)

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Gwen Hawke is a mage, the daughter of an apostate and the sister of another, and that fact more than anything else has been the defining aspect of her life for as long as she can remember. Fierce and blunt, she’s never seen the point in staying quiet and playing nice. That was Bethany’s role (and oh, does Gwen miss her, more than she ever thought possible), playing the peacemaker. Carver and Gwen were the ones who hit people and set them on fire, respectively.

When she arrived in Kirkwall, mourning both the life they had left behind as well as her sister, Gwen had no plans on making friends. All she cared about was surviving, doing whatever was required to keep both herself and her brother safe. Fate had a different idea, though, and soon she found herself with a ragtag family that she loved just as fiercely as the one she’d been born with.

Including a would-be prince turned Chantry brother that she found herself loving in a completely different way.

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Garrett Hawke is an unapologetic smartass with possibly the worst sense of humor in all of Thedas. It doesn’t matter what the situation is, the odds are he’s going to say the one thing that could possibly make it worse. It’s a gift. Or possibly magic.

Despite his less than politic nature, Garrett cares deeply for his friends (and his somewhat possessed lover), and he would gladly do anything for any of them. In a heartbeat. No matter how much it might put him at risk, as an apostate in Kirkwall.

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Eoin Cousland never expected to be a leader. He was the second son, nothing but the spare, and once Fergus had gotten married he’d figured that was that. He was free, or as free as he could be. Oh, he knew that his parents would most likely push him into a political marriage eventually, but until then he could quietly indulge in his more masculine preferences. He would do his duty, if it was required of him, but that didn’t mean he necessarily was looking forward to it.

Except then Howe betrayed them all, and everything that Eoin had known suddenly went up in flames. Including his carefully laid out plans for the future. And that was before he went and fell in love with a fellow Grey Warden who seemed blithely unaware that Eoin saw him as anything more than a friend.

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Neria Surana was a lot of things. Quiet. Shy. Head over heels for her best friend, Jowan, even though she knew he didn’t think their occasional liaisons as anything serious. There had been three of them once: her, Jowan, and Daylen Amell. Then Amell failed his harrowing, and Jowan turned to blood magic, and her carefully constructed world collapsed in on itself.

She’d never really thought about leaving the Circle, but she very much wasn’t going to argue when Duncan offered her the chance. And once she had a taste of freedom, she had no intention whatsoever of ever going back. (For the first time, Neria understood why Anders kept leaving, despite the fact that he always got caught and the punishments kept getting worse and worse each time they dragged him back.)

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Durin Aeducan was a smug bastard.

Oh, don’t get him wrong, he had plenty of reasons for it. He had grown up a prince, the favored son, with anything he wanted given to him on a silver platter. He’d never known a time when he lacked for companionship of any variety, and while he knew how to rule he had little interest in it. He was a soldier, not a diplomat, and he had no intentions of changing that.

Unfortunately, neither of his brothers understood that part. He’d never been particularly close to Trian or Bhelen, and if he was honest he was more impressed than anything when Bhelen managed to have him expelled from Orzammar. Pissed, of course, but impressed.

Durin was less than thrilled when he found himself in charge of what he quickly began to consider his group of misfits, but responsibility grew on him. Slowly. Somewhat like a fungus. Or, at least, that’s what Morrigan liked to tell him, usually in the middle of the night in an attempt to convince him to leave her private campsite and go back to his own tent.