#Aderes Mahariel

[overthinkingfeathers]

Aderes Mahariel 100% grows up sleeping in cuddle piles. She, Merrill, and Tamlen are all around the same age, so they’re primarily together, but really, it’s pretty common for there to be larger groups too. 

Origins is the first time she consistently sleeps alone. She’s too angry with humans to consider that sleeping apart is totally normal for other groups and kind of assumes she’s obviously shunning them. Sten is someone who immediately admits to killing an entire family because his weapon was missing, Shale is a not particularly friendly golem, Oghren smells like alcohol constantly, and Zevran was sent to kill her. She trusts them all eventually, but by then it’s awkward to start. 

The first night Velanna joins the party though, she awakes to a mass of hair hitting her face and a grumbled, “Thank the creators you’re here, shemlen are so fucking weird about sleep.” 

(”Do you think the aravels are overflowing with space?” she snaps whenever someone looks at them askance.) 

It catches on to the rest of the party eventually. There’s some awkwardness at first - Nathaniel and Velanna both want to be on ends so they have a free space out, but no one wants to bunk next to Oghren. Justice is in a literal corpse. They work it out in the end. 

Anyone who bothers their sleeping companions has to gather and prepare food for everyone the next day. It’s surprisingly effective, because the people who would know how to do that generally don’t want to bother or be bothered, and the people who would be obnoxious are on ration duty once before deciding it sucks. 

Justice does not actually contribute any heat to the group, because again, he is a literal corpse, but they include him out of a sense of family anyway. 

[mistletien]

Aderes proposed running away to Leliana right after learning what it took to defeat the Archdemon

[overthinkingfeathers]

I’m not going to lie, the “Letter from the Hero of Ferelden” codex is moderately hilarious to me. 

Like, this is the canon letter: 

To Her Worship, Inquisitor Lavellan:

I wish that I had helpful information regarding Corypheus, but due to my own limited training during the Blight, I know less of ancient darkspawn lore than do most Wardens. I am engaged in a search of my own. All Grey Wardens who do not fall in battle eventually fall to something known as the Calling, a magic that preys upon our own connection to the Blight and the darkspawn. Rather than such foul magic eventually leading to my death, I have determined to find a way to negate this Calling and save all Wardens from its effects.

As I have little useful information to offer, please accept the accompanying gifts instead. If, in my quest, I find anything that may be of use to you in your fight against Corypheus, I will send it to you immediately.

In closing, I wish you luck. This world of the shemlen is a difficult one for our kind, and I can only imagine the pressure of leading the Inquisition, an organization dedicated to the Chantry, while staying true to the Way of the Three Trees. May Mythal protect you in your quest, and Andruil bless your hunt.

Yours, Warden-Commander Mahariel of Ferelden

Would Aderes Mahariel write this? She absolutely would not. This is very Formal and Fancy, and that’s not her at all. If she needs to impress someone, she’ll just point out all the shit she did during the Blight. Who’s earned the right to write letters super casually? She has. Who gave her the right? The dead archdemon, that’s who. 

Like a realistic letter from her would go: 

Inquisitor Lavellan: 

If I knew anything about Corypheus, I would tell you, but unfortunately I don’t. They never bothered to teach me anything. I would offer to come kill him for you - he can’t be worse than the archdemon - but I’m busy trying to figure out how not to die to some magical darkspawn bullshit. If he’s still hanging around after I’m done with that, I’ll come put a blade or two in his heart. 

Here’s a mage robe I looted off an enemy a while back. I’m not a mage, so I don’t need it, but rumor says you are. Hopefully it fits. 

Good luck,  Warden-Commander Mahariel 

PS - Sorry you’re stuck with the Chantry. I’ve met some decent shems over the years, but they’re rarely with the Chantry. Keep a list of who disrespects you for being Dalish. I’ll put a blade in their hearts too. 

Either a scribe is following her around and being very liberal with what she says or Leliana intercepted the letter and rewrote it to be more Official sounding. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

I have a problem, and it’s the letter A. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

Honestly, the “serious commitment of resources“ part of finding Aderes in Inquisition is a total baldfaced lie too. 

Because look, she’s easy to spot. She’s a small elf with weird face tattoos. Unless she tries to hide - which she doesn’t - she’s going to be noticeable. 

And more than that, she’s aware of what she is (a small elf with weird face tattoos who’s traveling alone and new in town). She knows full well that less scrupulous people see those things and think she’s an easy mark. She’s not, but fighting takes time and she’d rather not. 

So every time she goes into a town with a sizable non-elven population, she has a routine. 

Step one: Enter the busiest tavern she can find.  Step two: Figure out who drinks the most. Challenge that person to a drinking contest.  Step three: Make a spectacle of drinking them under the table. (Grey Warden physiology is good for a few things.) Make sure everyone notices.  Step four: Loudly regale at least one person (preferably the town gossip) with tales of fighting and defeating various monsters. Darkspawn, dragons, werewolves, revenants, anything and everything short of the archdemon. Show off scars during this talk to prove the legitimacy of the tale. (The scars aren’t actually from any of those things, because she pretty much always had a healer with her and thus doesn’t have any related scars. They’re all from the past few years, while she’s been traveling alone. The people don’t need to know that.) Basically, make it extremely clear that she is Not to be Fucked With.  Step five: Fuck off to the alienage, because that’s where she’d rather be anyway. 

It takes all of 30 seconds to find out whether or not she’s been through a town. It’s really not that difficult. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

Merrill 1? And Morrigan 5 for Aderes?

1. How did your Hawke react to Merrill’s use of blood magic? Were they shocked? Pleased?

Hawke was surprised at first when someone she’d known for like 5 minutes pulled out a knife and did blood magic in front of everyone. She hadn’t ever really met apostates outside of her family yet (she made up her debt to Flemeth as soon as she could - one because she owed her, but also because ignoring a dragon shifting witch seemed like a really bad idea, and even though she had valid reasons for not doing it that first year (see: couldn’t), she was beginning to dream of a deadline looming over her family), but she assumed blood magic was taboo even among them. Or, at the very least, something you’d feel out new companions for before doing, because being an apostate at all is bad news if you’re caught, and being a maleficar is much worse. Especially in Kirkwall. 

When she didn’t immediately become a demon, the rational side of her brain asserted itself. Suddenly the clan’s suspicion and ill behavior towards Merrill made more sense. She was worried it was something much worse. Or it was something much worse and the Dalish just had very different standards on acceptable magic. Both were equally likely situations in that moment. 

Later, she turns to Merrill for lessons so she’s not defenseless against cleanse wielding Templars. By that point, she considers Merrill an expert in the subject; everything she’s done has been successful, and she hasn’t been caught. The idea of fixing something with blood magic seems odd to her, but she trusts Merrill knows far more than she does about it. 

5. Was Morrigan’s ritual completed? What persuaded your Warden to go through with it or what caused them to refuse it?

Aderes did the ritual out of practicality. From what she understood, the Archdemon’s soul would go to the fetus if its body was struck down by anyone, but if they didn’t perform the ritual, the Archdemon’s soul would just keep twisting dakrspawn into new bodies unless a Grey Warden struck it down. They didn’t have enough Wardens to chance that. War doesn’t care about destiny. Nothing at all was preventing some building from falling on them or some arrow fired from stealth wouldn’t down them; the Creators were still imprisoned, and as far as she was concerned, there was no possible intercession from divinity otherwise. And if all the Grey Wardens died and there was no acceptable host, then what? At the very least, Fereldan was doomed, certainly. It was an unacceptable risk. She trusted that at least if she died, her companions would still try to kill the Archdemon. 

Though it did feel like cheating fate again. Saved from becoming a ghoul by the coincidence of a Grey Warden visiting her clan at that exact time; saved from the total destruction by an Archdemon by magic that probably no one else knew was possible. Coincidences masquerading as good fortune in the face of overwhelming bad luck. She kept looking for some hidden catch, something that would explain it. She felt pretty grim about the whole thing. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

They're not what Zevran was expecting.

The plan isn't ruined, per se, but he was rather counting on them to be slightly less suspicious. Grey Wardens are heroes of legend, and people routinely called heroes are supposed to be giving and trusting. This lot clearly isn't. The elf - Dalish, if he's seeing correctly - and Qunari are just short of openly disdainful, trading eyerolls when they think no one can see. At least, he clearly sees the elf roll her eyes; the Qunari is on the far side and perhaps more mannerly than Zevran gives him credit for.

Perhaps only the human is a Grey Warden then. He certainly seems eager to assist the woman Zevran's hired. His information is scare and outdated; it's entirely possible the others could be tagalongs. That would be more fitting. Champions sometimes amass a following, and outlaw heroes have their own appeal. And if the Grey Warden is this blindly trusting, well, he certainly needs them.

That rather complicates things for him though. The two suspicious ones are scanning the horizon, shoulders tight, clearly expecting something. The massive dog - and Zevran's not sure if he's a Grey Warden or not, this being Ferelden - is scenting the air. They're not going to make it to the wagon.

Well. He can improvise. He leaps up, shouts, "The Grey Warden dies here!" and charges the human. Around him, he can hear sudden clattering as the others spring out of hiding places, and he can taste the bitter dryness of a mage gathering mana. He hopes at least one of them will down the elf before she can intercept him.

They don't. She steps in at the last minute, close enough that he can see her expression shift from anger to surprise. Then, before he can take advantage of that, she lashes out and hits him. The first blow is a lucky shot. She catches him in the stomach, and he stumbles back, winded. The second blow is skill.

He doesn't remember falling, but he's definitely on the ground when he wakes, and there's a boot on his chest. It can't have been long; faraway sounds of battle still echo around him, with the occasional loud snap above his head. His vision swims, and he refocuses upwards.

The elf is standing above him, unhurriedly tracking the fleeing mercenaries with her bow. She is grim and focused, and Zevran is reminded of an Antivan statue of Andraste that's many times taller than him. It is, despite the artist's best intentions, ominous and looming, towering over the city like an unvoiced threat.

The boot on his chest is hers. It's an odd choice. The fight, judging by the lessening noise, is mostly over, and he has lost; there's no chance of him bringing them all down. Still, he could twist and unbalance her, maybe grab one of the daggers on her belt. She would probably still win, but he never expected to walk away from this anyway.

She grinds her heel harder into his chest, as if sensing his thoughts, and he lays still instead. The mud feels like it's sucking him down, and he counts the seconds between her shots. He doesn't want to think about why he's still alive.

When she finally releases him, he sits up slowly, more dazed than he thought. He sees no trace of uncertainty in her hazel eyes or in the steady hand that points a dagger towards him. The others are still some distance off, dumping out bags and recovering arrows. If they realize she’s left him alive, they don’t show it.  

"I have some questions," she says, and her tone is menacing, the threat of further violence clearly implied. She would be easy to antagonize, he thinks; there's no reason he has to keep going. She would kill him without a second thought. That is what he wanted. That's why he took this job in the first place.

He opens his mouth to seal his fate and finds that he can't do it. He's walked away from a sharp knife a dozen times over, cursing his inability to end himself, and this is no different. It seems wrong to die calm and unafraid.  

So he flirts, barters with information, and in the end, lives.

_____________________________________________________________

Zevran makes it a month and a half before falling ill. It's a charming side effect of such a damp climate, he's sure; nothing life ending, but it will take a while to recover.

He tries to hide it from Mahariel for as long as possible. She is not needlessly cruel, but her practicality can sometimes brush the edge of it. It's a trait tempered by the kinder members of the party, none of whom currently trust him. He doesn't think they'd just let her abandon him on the side of the road, but he's not sure enough to test it. The fights when he first came back with her were vicious.

So he pushes himself harder than he should. Even walking leaves him exhausted and sore. By the third day, not even halfway to the Circle tower, he feels lightheaded and queasy. It is, all around, a truly miserable experience. He drops behind further than he means to, too wrapped up in a fever haze to notice his slowing pace.

He only realizes when he runs straight into Mahariel. She's facing him, frowning with her arms crossed. The others are a good distance ahead.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but she speaks first. "How long have you been sick?"

He feels like it's been forever, but that can't be right. He tries to narrow it down, fails, and goes with a shrug instead. "A little while."

She scowls and steps closer. A reflexive knot of fear rises in his stomach, and Zevran pushes it down. Mahariel is not a Crow, and he has never seen her do more than raise her voice at the others, but old habits die hard.

If she notices, she doesn't show it, but the hand she presses against his forehead is gentle and cool. It's the first thing in hours that's felt good, and inappropriate as it is, he wishes she'd stay just like that for a while.  

She doesn't, and to his credit, Zevran doesn't protest when she moves. Out loud, anyway. She surveys their surroundings, searching the flat land dotted with the occasional tree. Finally, she shrugs. "This spot is as good as any other." Cupping her mouth with her hands to amplify the sound, she shouts, "We're making camp here! Come back!" In the distance, the others turn.

Mahariel doesn't bother to check. She takes off her pack and tosses it on the ground, then turns to Zevran. "Give me yours."

He struggles with the straps and succeeds only in getting it halfway off before she steps in and eases it off his back. She places it on the ground - a good deal more gently than her own, he notes with faraway amusement, like he has anything of value - and unhooks his bedroll. She spreads it out and points.

"Rest." He must look blank, because she frowns and repeats, "Rest. I'm not asking."

He wants to protest. Setting up camp is difficult and monotonous, and everyone is supposed to help. It's one of her rules. But he can hear his heartbeat in his head and feel every aching muscle, and he wants badly to sleep. If she's ordering him to take a break, it can't be a bad idea, he justifies. He lays down and almost immediately begins drifting off.

"'Tis barely past midday," he hears, and Mahariel's response of, "I'm going to need you to make more health potions."

Then he's gone.

When he awakens, the spot has changed. It's night, and tents are clustered around a low fire. He feels surprisingly comfortable. Not well yet - he can feel the pain at the edge of his conscious, but for now, with the benefit of hours of sleep, he can ignore it.

To his right, Mahariel is sitting at the fire, systematically grinding deathroot in a mortar. Her hair is loose and tangled, reddish undertones illuminated by the flames, and she's discarded most of her armor in favor of light clothing. It's a rare look for her, one normally reserved for the time between waking and leaving each day. He doesn't see anyone else, including her hound. She must be on watch then.

He's aware that he should say something, perhaps thank her for stopping. He's been loyal and hardworking, and he deserves as much, but it's still not the reaction he expected. He doesn't understand her. She's reserved and combative, so confident in her skills that she routinely fights her way out of situations that never needed to be escalated in the first place. The others regard her as their leader, and it's a role she's embraced, often deciding in favor of harsh solutions the others object to but ultimately obey. She's made it clear that her only goal is stopping the Blight. Any good deeds she does along the way are simply for material benefit. Anyone who stands in her way is as good as dead.

And yet, he's still alive and wrapped in rather more blankets than he started with.

He goes with the same question he's asked every night since he first joined her, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn't expect an answer; she's never given him one. "Why did you spare me?" His voice is rougher and louder than he expects, but Mahariel doesn't startle. She merely puts down her work.

Tonight, apparently, is going to be different. "Danyla," she says. She says it simply, like the name itself is a sufficient explanation. It means nothing to him.

"I'm afraid you must have me confused for someone else," he says when it's become clear she's not going to continue. "My name is Zevran. Fiendishly handsome assassin, renowned lover, personal bodyguard? You remember this, I hope."

She rolls her eyes. It's a favorite gesture of hers, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh and a muttered, "Creators, must I solve everyone's problems?" This time, however, fondness is tugging the corners of her lips up slightly. It is a good look for her, he decides.

"You don't ever let me forget. But I'd like you to tell me important things - like, you know, when you're sick - so I guess I can tell you this." The teasing smile dies away as suddenly as it appeared, and she's back to her usual self, serious and wary. For a minute, she stares into the fire like she's reliving something, and Zevran  wonders if the reason is more painful than he imagined. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked. Then she shakes her head and says, "When we were in the Brecilian Forest, there was an elvhen woman named Danyla. She had been infected in the werewolf attack and transformed. The Keeper said she was dead, but really, she had run away. We found her in the forest. She could still speak, but she was in tremendous pain. She asked me to kill her. I did. I slashed her throat and continued on like it was nothing.

"We found out later that there was a cure. She could have been fine. Instead, she's dead." Mahariel turns toward him, serious and intent. The fire behind her illuminates her silhouette, making her look like a painting of some sort of lost prophet. She is the kind the Chantry would try to erase, he thinks, strong and war like and unabashedly elven. "We lose so much every year, Zevran. I killed her, I killed an ancient elvhen spirit trapped in a crystal, I killed a second ancient elvhen spirit because it attacked me. I ransacked a temple filled with our history - history we don't even know, history we'll never get back - because it was filled with werewolves. I'm one of the People; I'm supposed to add to our clans, not take away from them." It’s more regret than he’s heard in her voice before. Up until now, he thought she simply wasn’t capable of it.

She sits back, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. "I promised I'd never kill another Dalish elf if I could help it."

There is a lot he could say in response to that. She knows about his mother, knows that he isn't Dalish himself. She had asked about his clan there on the field, when he was at her mercy, and he hadn't lied. She could have killed him and not broken her vow.  Instead, she had taken him back to camp, patched up his wounds, and given him protection. Half of his gear is now Dalish made, all gifts from her.

He doesn't know what to say. She misinterprets his silence and says, a bit defensively, "You came from behind us. I only got a glimpse of your tattoo."  

He can work with that. "Your tattoos are in honor of your gods, no? Is there a god of ridiculously talented elves? I could see why you would think I'd bear his mark."

She snorts. "The only half face vallaslin I've seen is for Sylaise. One of our sister clans uses it. Or they did at the last Arlathven, anyway."

"Is she the goddess of ridiculously talented elves then?"

"She's the Hearthkeeper. She gave us medicine, weaving, and fire." Mahariel sketches a pattern in the dirt. "It's been years, but I think it looked like this. Yours would need a lot of work to match."

He's too far away to make out the finer points of the design and too comfortable to move, but he can tell it is far more complicated than his tattoo. "I'm not sure a wise woman quite matches me. Besides, I am not Dalish."

"I know that." Her face is still turned towards the ground, hair obscuring her expression. He cannot tell if her tone is defensive or sad. Perhaps it is both.  

"Which god do your tattoos represent?" They cover most of her face, lines half sharp and half rounded as if the artist could not quite decide what suited her. The ink is lighter than his own, with a reddish brown undertone, but it's not yet faded from age. He cannot picture her without them. He can almost picture her getting them, expression serious and stubborn, shoulders unflinching.

She glances up at him. Suddenly, he wants to ask if the experience prepared her for this, if having to remain unmoved while needles jabbed under her skin was anything like having to fight monsters day in and day out. He waits instead.

"Ask me some other time," she finally says. "You’ll need a new question now that I've answered the last one."

It is, somehow, the nicest thing she’s ever said to him.

[overthinkingfeathers]

Honestly, in my Mahariel world state, Zevran basically chooses the new dwarven king. 

She went to Orzammar near the end after almost every other main quest, and Tamlen turned up at camp as she was on her way there. She’s tired and bitter and Over It. All she wants is for one faction to just agree to help, but no, the treaties specify a king, and none of these people can function well enough to just appoint one already. It’s all anyone will talk about - except in Dust Town, where people are starving to death and being told to abandon their children to the darkspawn - and she can’t even intimidate her way through their smugness like usual. 

She doesn’t know anything about the contenders, and quite frankly, she does not care. Both of them won’t talk to her, both of their second in commands are asking her to do shady shit, and she’s probably going to get arrested at this rate. 

But Zevran! Zevran hears Harrowmont’s second in command talking about their fighters being intimidated and loudly decides that no, he cannot be a good king. A good king would be able to inspire his people beyond that. 

And Aderes, who at that point was almost starting to lean towards Harrowmont, because at least all he was asking of her was to fight, goes Fuck it, sure, let’s go back to that other asshole and deliver those fake messages. 

From that point forward, she backs Bhelen, because at least someone cared enough to have an opinion, and she does not. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

So I gave in and am playing through Awakening. Am I wrong in feeling like it’s way darker than Origins? Like, don’t get me wrong, Origins was no picnic either, but God, I’ve done three suicide aftermath quests already, and two of them were over misunderstandings. 

Anyway. 

I loved Velanna’s entire questline, and I’m glad I’m playing through on my Mahariel, because I could 100% see how this almost could have happened to her. Nearby humans get scared, attempt to drive the clan out? Aderes would absolutely want to go to war too. (Which is why the whole clan was thankful when she didn’t develop magic and couldn’t become the eventual Keeper.) Able to convince a few to join but not enough to convince the Keeper (and thus the clan), setting off stubbornly and furiously anyway? Sounds plausible. Loved one goes missing shortly after interacting with humans? Sure, it could be the darkspawn(/tainted mirror), but given history, it’s probably the humans. Better up the aggression to intimidate them into releasing the hostage. 

Honestly, the only reason it didn’t play out that way was the sequence of events - finding the mirror (and being tainted) before finding out the spared humans were rallying up the others. Hell, Aderes was so intent on finding Tamlen at the cost of everything else that the Keeper did banish her from the clan in order to force her to join the Grey Wardens. And even later, knowing what unchecked taint does to a person, she still held the belief that something could be done. Because love is enough, family is enough, the Creators themselves cannot overcome her determination to fix this, to will it into being ok again. 

Velanna seeing Seranni voluntarily leave with the darkspawn, fever high in her cheeks, eyes greyed over, blight sickness twisting her sick, turns and demands that she be made a Warden so she can better follow her sister. She will bring her home again, heal her, because she refuses any other possibility. 

(Aderes, who killed her own loved one, who has learned the extremely bitter lesson that sometimes wanting something with every essence of your being doesn’t change a single thing, never tries to discourage Velanna. It’s neither kindness nor cruelty; it’s just understanding. Pointing out that her sister is all but dead won’t change her mind; it’ll just twist the pain, make the determination harden over the pain like scar tissue.) 

Also, I loved that the silverite mine didn’t have all the gear directly outside the prison cells. Stopping between fights to portion out salvaged weapons and armor was much more interesting. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

Oh my God. 

I’m familiar with the jokes about how easy it is to accidentally trigger Leliana’s romance, but I had never actually done it until now. I just spent like half an hour trying to back out of Alistair’s romance - also accidentally triggered - only to immediately have Leliana professing love. Which I also backed out of, telling her that nope, just friends, only for Wynne to immediately have her ‘make sure you don’t hurt Leliana’ conversation, and now everyone is acting like the relationship is confirmed instead of just! friends! She’s the cranky Warden, guys! She’s not romancing anyone! Please stop falling in love with the angry elf. 

And, because I didn’t save between conversations like I normally do, I have to go back and do it all over again, because clearly something went terribly wrong. 

weroiwehr 

[overthinkingfeathers]

legoprime replied to your post “Honestly, in my Mahariel world state, Zevran basically chooses the new...”

Honestly the same reason my Mahariel picked Bhelen

Amazing. I’m glad there at least two world states where Zevran was so influential to the appointment of the new king of Orzammar. Not in the way you’d think (ie, being a Crow and assassinating other potential rulers) but because he decided to insult Harrowmont’s messenger and the Warden made their decision. 

Rambling under the cut about Orzammar and Aderes. 

Man, Orzammar is the worst for her. 

Because look, every other major quest at least makes sense to her. She would have helped the Dalish anyway. They’re not her clan, but that doesn’t matter to her. She slaughters her way through the werewolves and doesn’t even try to talk to the Lady of the Forest. (The Lady of the Forest tries anyway, of course, but it falls on deaf ears. Aderes recognizes that the individual humans who committed the crimes died long ago. She also doesn’t care. The humans who threatened her clan are very much not dead.) It’s not an easy time for her - she’s homesick and still adjusting to this new role - but the werewolves themselves generate absolutely no introspection on her part. 

As for the mostly humans in the Circle and Redcliffe, it’s not that she really cares about their predicament (she spends most of her time in fuck you, shemlen mode for DAO), but it’s completely understandable. Of course they can’t help with the Blight. They’re barely surviving. She’s critical of this (especially of the Templars, given that she cleared out the demons with a dog and an old woman who’d already spent Creators know how long holding up a magical barrier), but she gets it. They need someone competent to clean up their problems, she needs bodies to throw at darkspawn. Done. It’s an acceptable trade off. 

Orzammar is none of those things. The dwarves have armies capable of fighting the darkspawn. They pay lip service to the idea that the Blight is terrible and needs to be stopped. They just refuse to actually help, because a technicality lets them off, and they care more about politics than the potential end of the world. There is absolutely no reason they should need her help. They have a political system. If it’s not working, that should hardly be her problem. 

(If she was prone to thinking beyond her anger, she could consider that all of the surface races consider the dwarves constantly battling darkspawn to be hardly their problem, and this isn’t exactly unfair. She is, however, not prone to that sort of thing at all.) 

And then! Not only do they have the audacity to ask her to solve this bullshit, they’re infuriatingly smug about it. She calls them out on their obviously faked letters and gets told that she, a Dalish elf, clearly doesn’t understand the importance of family, like every Dalish doesn’t know their lineage by heart and they don’t cast their own people into inescapable poverty. She towers over them with a golem and the giant spider she’s dragging through their thaig and they don’t even blink. They make her play messenger and then immediately tell her that there was no real point to that, because it wasn’t enough. But she needs their help more than they need hers, and everyone knows it.  

She is completely out of her element and furious about it. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

I was thinking about how my Mahariel, Aderes, would react to the news of the Chantry explosion. She’s basically been Ready to Fight since she could walk and talk, and the clan was honestly pretty glad when she didn’t develop magic. The general consensus was that as Keeper, she’d lead them right into war. And she doesn’t get to be Keeper, and she’s too busy with other things as a Grey Warden, but she’d still be delighted by it. So I wrote it. 879 words, threats, blood. 

The Warden Commander's office would have been intimidating if not for the cat.

Mahariel had mounted darkspawn heads on every wall, with special attention paid to the ogres directly behind her desk. They formed a horrifying backdrop, eyes permanently glaring, mouths snarled like they're just daring someone to come within biting range. The one closest to the elf was missing a horn, Wright noticed.  Any of the brutal looking weapons arranged above the door could have easily done the job, but whoever removed it clearly hadn't taken their time. There were gouges in the flesh around the stump. No noise pierced the heavy stone walls, giving the whole thing an unreal tinge.

That atmosphere was entirely broken by snoring cat. It was big, orange, and fast asleep in a ray of sunlight. It was also using a massive wardog as a pillow. An old wardog, sure, with grey about his muzzle and paws, but the scars pointed towards a lifetime of battle. Somehow, he had been reduced to a headrest. Driscoll was staring.

"I'll remind you that the Chantry has no authority here, Seekers," Mahariel said. She had been reviewing a map since they had been ushered in, tracing complex lines with her finger. This was the first time she had bothered to acknowledge them in five minutes. He hadn't even been sure she had heard the dwarf who announced them.

Wright understood the power of a good delaying technique. He also disliked having it turned against him, but the Hero of Ferelden wasn't an enemy worth making right now. Or, judging by the grisly trophies and practical armor she worn even in her fortress, ever.

"Warden Commander, we are not here to demand anything. We are simply seeking information."

"Which I'm not obligated to give. But sure," she shrugged, "go ahead."

"Some years ago, you recruited an escaped apostate by the name of Anders. Do you remember him?"

Mahariel rolled her eyes. "I remember all of my recruits. Are you in the habit of forgetting yours?"

He ignored the jab. "Two weeks ago, he blew up the Chantry of Kirkwall, killing the Grand Cleric, and murdered most of the Templar order there. He then proceeded to help the mages flee the city. We're seeking information about where he might have gone."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. Wright took a bit of pleasure in that. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again before she managed, "Are you sure it was him?"

"He was witnessed by multiple citizens, including the Prince of Starkhaven. He confessed on the spot and volunteered himself for judgement. Unfortunately, the Champion of Kirkwall wrongly believed that sparing him was the better choice and according to our reports, even helped in the ensuing battles. Both are maleficarum."

Mahariel covered the lower half of her face with her hands. Wright thought he saw her eyes misting.

Driscoll must have noticed the same, because he said, "We understand this is very hard news for you, ser. Take all the time you need."

She leaned her head down, shoulders shaking, and for a moment, Wright thought she was crying. Then she looked back up, beaming, and he realized that she was laughing. She was doing her best to keep silent, but the occasional giggle spilled out.

The Seekers exchanged wary looks. "Everyone has different reactions to tragedies, ser, but this is a serious matter."

"Of course it's serious," she crowed. "I've never been so proud of a shemlen in my life. Blew up the Chantry! And found another person to help him! I didn't know he had it in him. Pounce, did you hear that?" In the corner, the cat stretched lazily, roused by her call. "Anders took down an entire Chantry!"

Indignation burned in his stomach, and he stood abruptly, hand going to his sword. Mahariel's smile turned cold and unpleasant as she stood, and he had the sudden sinking feeling that he was over his head. There was an entire fortress between him and the door. He glanced down, hoping to defuse the situation before it came to blows, and his gaze fell upon the missing ogre horn. Judging by the dark blood stains smeared below it, it had been hastily mounted on the side of the desk some time ago. Several bags hung off it.

Maker's breath.

"Yes, I think it's time for you to go," Mahariel said, ushering them to the door. "Thank you so much for bringing me the good news! Oh, and, before you leave this room, let me remind you of something very important." She blocked the doorway with her body, and even though she was a head shorter than him, Wright backed away. "Anders is a Grey Warden, which means he's under my jurisdiction. Not Kirkwall's, not Ferelden's, not the Chantry's. Mine. If I ever find out - and trust me, I will know - that you so much as touched him, I will personally pull your intestines from your body and hang you with them. Are we clear?" She didn't wait for a response, throwing open the door and standing to the side for them to pass. "Great! Take care now."

As the heavy door closed, he heard purring and a triumphant, "Pounce, this is the best day ever."

[overthinkingfeathers]

mikkeneko

replied to your post

“As I near the end of my Aderes Mahariel playthrough, I need to make a...”

I feel ya honestly, because this affects how I play other games, like WoW. I can only have ONE (1) of each race/gender combo, because I can't have two characters sharing a single voice. It's Wrong and freaks me out.

I’m glad I’m not the only one like that. I can play games that require my character to have a single voice, but I need to have at least a few months between each playthrough, or else I’ll end up playing the exact same character, regardless of my intention.

legoprime replied to your post “As I near the end of my Aderes Mahariel playthrough, I need to make a...”

This bothers the shit out of me too. Kickstarter to pay Adam Howden to record all of DAA Anders' lines so we can mod them in please.

I would 100% back that Kickstarter. It would be amazing, and I support it. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

As I near the end of my Aderes Mahariel playthrough, I need to make a confession: 

I’ve never actually played Awakening. 

This is largely because I went backwards. As a Fake Gamer, I started with Inquisition, eventually moved on to 2, and then eventually moved on to Origins. (I do not recommend this approach. My first playthrough of Inquisition has choices I would never make now.) I got very attached to the characters as they are, and while different graphics are a bit jarring at first, I get used to them. 

Different voices, however, throw me for a fucking loop. 

I don’t remember how I first found out that Awakening Anders and Cullen share a voice actor. I just remember looking up a video, because I did not entirely believe that and being mildly horrified. I always play RPGs with sound on, because tone makes a big difference. Even if I did opt to play silently, DAO (and DA2) doesn’t lend itself to that, with captions hovering over the people speaking, who I am usually not looking at. 

(Merrill and Isabela both have different voice actors in Origins too, but they’re short parts, not an entire companion. I can deal with that.) 

And honestly, my very first Origins playthrough ended in the Ultimate Sacrifice anyway (my Amell), so I didn’t even feel a particularly strong need to play it. 

But none of my Wardens since then have chosen the sacrifice option, and I do want to play. I’ve read all about it, but playing is different, and I’m sure there will be surprises. There always are. 

There’s no point to this except to grumble about my probable decision to actually play through it this time. We’ll see. 

[overthinkingfeathers]

carabas replied to your post: As I near the end of my Aderes Mahariel...

it bugs me a bit with merrill too, but in anders’ case i actually think it adds something to the character! he changes so much when he merges with justice, it helps that he sounds so different too… i don’t know if you’d find that a helpful way to think of it or not.

A fair point. I think what bugs me most (and why I was able to not be so bothered by Merrill and Isabela, besides the amount) is that he sounds specifically like another established character who has a lot of speaking time. 

[mistletien]

leliaana replied to your post: If you guys feel like sending me some ...

leliana/warden, first anniversary?

“It’s been a year since we’ve met,” Aderes offhandedly murmurs before going back to devouring her food once again. 

Leliana blinks, not sure exactly what the elf is getting at. Pushing aside her plate, she watches the Warden-Commander continue to shove food in her mouth. 

“Aderes,” The bard scolds, a sigh leaving her lips as she rolled her eyes at the absolutely horrific table manners her lover displayed. 

“Mhm?” The elf grunts, cheeks distended from the amount of food she had shoved into her mouth.

“Please, try and chew your food, my love.”

Gulping down her food, Aderes’ ears flick backwards, showing her embarrassment at being called out on her manners once again. “Sorry, Leli. But you know how much I love your cooking.” 

Leliana chuckles at that. Leaning back in her seat, she lapses into thought on the Warden’s previous statement. Has it been a year already? It seems like it was only a few weeks ago that they defeated the archdemon. 

“Leli, are you alright?” Aderes asks after finishing her meal. While Leliana rarely ate much in one sitting, it was unusual for her to abandon half her food then grow silent. 

“What should we do today then?” Leliana suddenly asks, rising from her chair, taking their plates along with her to set aside for cleaning. “It’s a special day after all.”

“Oh,” The elf tilts her head, brows furrowed in thought. “Anything’s fine, just as long as I can be with you.”

Heat rises to the bard’s cheeks, and she bites down on her lip as her mouth curls into a smile.

While the Warden wasn’t always the picture of perfect, she was wonderful in Leliana’s eyes. 

Arms encircle her waist, and a warm mouth is pressing eager kisses against her shoulder and neck. “Or we can just stay home today,” Aderes suggests, calloused hands trailing down to grip at the redhead’s hips. “Just me. You. And a rather comfortable bed.”

“I think I like that idea,” Leliana sighs, tilting her head to allow the elf better access to the more sensitive areas of her neck. 

She let’s out a giggle of delight as she’s swept up the the elf’s surprisingly strong arms and carried to their room for the remainder of the day.