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degenerate-perturbation · 4 years

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Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

The problem, of course, was that for what felt like a long time, it was alright.

In the months that followed, Loriel threw herself into her work, driven half by guilt and half by some unknown manic energy. If before she was aloof, she was a ghost now. The few remaining Commander’s duties which she had retained gradually slid under Yvanne’s purvey. A couple of the new recruits didn’t even seem to realize that Yvanne wasn’t the actual Warden-Commander, and seemed very confused to take orders from her, given that they’d all thought the Hero of Ferelden was supposed to be an elf.

Loriel encouraged her to stop correcting them. In response to Yvanne’s protests, she simply said, “Oh, very well. You can be acting Warden-Commander instead. Does that satisfy?”

So Yvanne was acting Warden-Commander.

There was more to do now than ever, with the Ferelden Wardens still growing. To keep track of it all, Yvanne was obliged to withdraw from much of her old daily routine, and resort to delegation. She simply had no other choice. She spent more and more time at a desk taking reports, writing letters in Loriel’s name, hearing petitions. Sometimes if she ruled against somebody, they would demand to see the actual Arlessa and hear her opinion. Every time, Yvanne would dutifully fetch her, and every time, Loriel would listen to the dispute with a glazed expression, nod understandingly, and back up Yvanne’s decision, whatever it had been. Eventually, people stopped asking to see the actual Arlessa. The actual Arlessa unnerved them, anyway, with her black, black eyes, and her too-pale skin and all the grisly stories about what she had done to save Amaranthine.

It was just as well, because the departure of Anders—and Justice with him—had as good as ripped a gaping hole in the social fabric of the Vigil’s original Wardens, and left it to rapidly unravel. It wasn’t that they weren’t friends anymore, but they were no longer a group . Yvanne still tried to keep up with their lives, to the degree she still could. Were Velanna and Nathaniel together together, or just together? How were Felsi and the nugget doing? Did Sigrun need another book? But it was getting harder and harder, and it wasn’t making her happy anymore. It just reminded her of what didn't exist anymore.

They’d come together to accomplish something, and they’d accomplished it, and now they were inevitably drifting apart. Maybe that was just the way of things.

Things didn’t change all that much between her and Loriel. They still spent a great deal of time together. They ate together. They drank a restrained glass of evening red together. They went to bed together. Oh, yes, they went to bed. Back when Yvanne was a teenager and falling into a discreet closet with anybody she could get ahold of, just because it was something to get away it, she’d thought of sex as something sort of fun but mostly uncomfortable. She’d had no idea how good it could be, with someone you really loved, when you knew so much about each other, when you had all the time you wanted to explore anything you liked.

In fact, when Yvanne thought about her life now as opposed to even a few years ago, it was so good, so much better than anything she'd had any right to hope for. It wasn’t that she was never angry or afraid, but compared to the stew of constant, helpless rage and fear—this was the dream. This was the life that she had fought so hard for.

It had all been so intense before, but maybe that was just what it was to be young. Yvanne wasn’t that much older than she’d been, but she felt old, like the main part of her life was already over. She’d had her grand romance, her heroic adventure, and now the curtain had fallen. N ow she was an actor still standing on an empty stage, unaware that the play was over, and only just now beginning to feel foolish.

And month ticked after month, until another full turn of the seasons had come and gone, and still the days piled higher.

—

Yvanne woke suddenly. She didn’t jerk awake or scream, she was too used to nightmares for that. She just slowly became aware that she was safe in her bed, still human, still sane. She groped blindly in the dark for Loriel, but found her side of the bed cold and empty. Then she remembered that she’d gone to bed alone that night, as she did more and more often. But even on the nights when she got too tired or impatient to wait for Loriel, she always came to bed later. Usually if Yvane woke in the night, as she often did, there was someone there waiting for her. But not tonight.

For a while she lay in the dark feeling her sweat cool on her skin, until she was shivering. The Keep could get quite cold. Sure, she could have simply redrawn a fire sigil under the bed, but suddenly she didn’t really want to stay under the covers. With a sigh, she got out of bed and slipped into a heavy robe, feeling the cold flagstones on her bare feet.

It was a good thing that Loriel was never difficult to find.

Yvanne groped in the dark until she found the passageway to her laboratory. She felt oddly furtive going down there alone, for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint. It felt, irrationally, like a violation.

Loriel was asleep at the desk she kept down there, head on her folded arms, snoring softly. She woke right away when Yvanne touched her shoulder.

“Hm? You’re still up?” she yawned.

“Already up, more like," Yvanne said. "You never came to bed.”

Loriel rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Not too long til dawn, I think.”

“Oh, no...I’m sorry, love. I must have lost track of time, and...fallen asleep.”

“It’s alright. I only just woke up.” She eyed her. Was it the dim light of this room—the gas lamps had long since gone out, leaving only Loriel’s fading magelight wisp to illuminate it—or were the circles under her eyes deeper than before? “You should really try to sleep in a bed more often. You look tired.”

“Why were you up, anyway?” Loriel said, and Yvanne didn’t fail to notice that she hadn’t really responded to her last comment.

“Bad dreams,” Yvanne said briefly.

“Oh?”

She recognized that tone. No getting out of it. She waved a dismissive hand. “Usually I just get back to sleep, but you weren’t there. It was cold.” And I got worried.

“Darkspawn dreams?”

Yvanne considered lying. “Yes,” she said instead.

Loriel’s brow crumpled. “They’re still bad, then?”

“Not so bad,” Yvanne said vaguely. “Still not my favorite thing in the world, but better than they used to be, during the Blight and right afterward. Mostly I’m used to them. Are you coming to bed or are you going to spend the rest of the night impressing wood grain onto your cheek?”

She snorted. “I’ll come to bed. I’m clearly too tired to get anything done tonight, anyway.”

“Good,” Yvanne said, relieved. “We can sleep in tomorrow. You look like you need it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.”

Yvanne rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Here, this might help a bit.” She put her hands on Loriel’s pale cheek and muttered a spell she’d known for a long time, now. A tiny wisp of a spirit came to her, and her hand glowed briefly blue against her skin.

Loriel let out a little breath. “That did help. What was it?”

“Blood-replenishing spell. Just helps along what the body does naturally.” She couldn’t help but remember. “We used to cast it on women giving birth. In Kinloch.” She shook her head, trying to dispel the memory like dusting a cobweb, but it was no good. “I used to hate doing that. Helping bring a life into this world that was just going to get sold to the Chantry. I never felt worse about being a healer.”

She trailed off. She rarely thought about Kinloch. Whenever she did, it was like she was back there, still teenaged and furious, and there was little she hated more than to feel that way.

Loriel noticed. She grabbed her hand. “Thank you for it. I do feel better. Let’s go to bed, then.”

“Right. Yeah.”

They turned to go upstairs.

Then Loriel said, “I’m going to get you out of this, you know.” She said it so low and quiet that Yvanne wasn’t sure it had even been meant for her.

“What?”

“The dreams,” Loriel said. A fey light was in her eyes. “The Blight, the Calling...all of it. I got you into this, and I’m going to get you out. I’m going to get us both out. I swear it.”

Yvanne fiddled uncomfortably with the end of one of her braids. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I do, though,” Loriel said, yawning. “I do.”

“I’ll settle for you sleeping in an actual bed with me,” Yvanne said. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll get the light.”

—

One day early in the spring a knock on her office door revealed Nathaniel. Straight-backed, proud-shouldered Nathaniel Howe, how different he was from the man she’d met (and screamed at) in the dungeons so long ago—though it hadn’t been that long, had it? Two years, going on three. Not so long at all, really, but it felt like ages.

He indulged her obvious desire for small-talk for a while, but Nathaniel Howe wasn’t a man to beat around the bush. He got right to the point—he was requesting a different posting, far from Vigil’s Keep.

“Why?” she asked, befuddled, slightly hurt, and doing a bad job of hiding it. “I mean, of course you can have whatever posting you want, but…”

He shrugged and muttered something that sounded perfectly reasonable and utterly empty, and even all her most skillful prying wasn’t enough to get anything approaching the truth out of him. All she could do was shrug and approve the transfer and sternly lecture him on the importance of regular reports, and he’d better believe that if she didn’t hear from him for too long there would be hell to pay, from her and Delilah both. Yvanne saw her more often these days. She’d left Ser Pounce-a-Lot with her months ago. It was just too damn sad to see the poor animal wandering around the Vigil without Anders there to take care of it, and she didn’t want reminders of him, anyway.

Nathaniel laughed and said he was sure there would be, and departed a few days later. It all seemed to happen so fast. Less than a week and another one of them was gone.

It was a real shame, too. Of the people Yvanne trusted most, Nathaniel was the only one with even a smidgen of leadership potential. She wanted trustworthy people in high positions of the Ferelden Warden’s command structure, and nobody else fit the bill. Velanna would have been her second choice, but the last time she'd had any authority, she’d lead her people to a grisly death. Sigrun was too much of a follower, too ready to defer and subvert herself. And Oghren was...Oghren.

Nathaniel, though—she wouldn’t have thought it when she first met him, but he would have made a fine commanding officer. She’d been hoping to make him her successor

But he was gone now.

Her first, most obvious thought was that something had happened between him and Velanna. She never had quite figured out the nature of their relationship, just that there almost definitely was some kind of relationship. Or perhaps there wasn’t, anymore. But asking Velanna was less than illuminating. Even the mention of Nathaniel in her presence was liable to send her abruptly out of the room, and the one time Yvanne risked asking her directly, she got snarled at so viciously that she didn’t feel inclined to try again.

But Velanna was going to be fine, Yvanne was pretty sure. Velanna was like the vines she used in combat—resilient, and ridiculously so. It was Sigrun that she was worried about. She couldn’t help but feel like the ex-Legionnaire was still just waiting for her chance to die.

“How are you holding up?” was Yvanne’s regular question to her.

“Oh, me? I’m fine,” Sigrun said, just as cheerful as ever. It was pretty easy to get her going. They talked about the book Sigrun was reading right now and whether it was any good (it wasn’t) and whether Yvanne should read it (she definitely should).

“But what about you?”

Yvanne stared blankly. “What about me?”

Sigrun laughed. “I mean, how are you doing? We hardly ever get to talk anymore. What with you being so busy.”

“We don’t, do we?” Yvanne sighed. “Funny how the months get away from you. I swear the whole summer passed without me noticing.”

“Haha, not me!” said Sigrun. “It’s still such a novelty to me. love watching the seasons change. My favorite is winter, when it snows.”

Yvanne remembered when summer had been a novelty. When snow was a delight, and the brilliance of autumn colors and spring flowers was a marvel unparalleled. For most of her life she had watched the seasons change from inside the tower walls.

Sigrun smiled slightly. “I really am fine, you know.”

“Wasn’t saying you weren’t,” Yvanne said, as though she hadn’t been doing a fair impression of an anxious mother hen for nearly a year now. “Just wanted to, you know. Check in.”

“Consider me checked.” And then she sighed. “I just miss them sometimes.”

A sudden, powerful wave of abject misery hit Yvanne before she could consciously stop it. She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to have fought for this. How could she possibly be so ungrateful as not to want it anymore?

She had to talk to Loriel. She knew she did. But these days Loriel felt as remote and inaccessible as a high, locked tower.

And besides, it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t intolerable. Mostly, she was happy. She was.

—

“Hey—is everything alright?”

Loriel’s head hit the pillow with a thump and a weak exhale. “Sorry, love, I think I’m just tired.”

Yvanne rolled off her. “No need to be sorry.” She tried not to sound petty or passive-aggressive about it, because she wasn’t. Or at least, not about this.

Loriel propped her head up, leaning on her elbow. “I can still…”

“No, it’s fine. You’re tired.”

Loriel was often tired lately. It was no wonder. She’d lost weight—a lot of weight, and she hadn’t had much to begin with. Her ribs and pelvis and collarbone all pressed thin against increasingly papery skin. And then there were the scars.

She’d started out being quite professional about it, when she’d first gotten heavily into what was essentially blood magic research with herself as the subject. Neat incisions with minimal scarring, or none at all if Yvanne was on hand. But as time went on she cared less and less about neatness. Both her thighs were covered with little marks. Her arms, too.

It was taking it out of her, the research. Yvanne had increasingly little idea of how it was going. Loriel didn’t talk about it as much as she used to. But her eyes were getting hollower, and the scars were getting sloppier, and some days Yvanne thought she looked like she might disappear altogether.

If Yvanne thought too much about it she’d start panicking. So she tried not to think too much about it. Maker knew all her attempts to talk to Loriel about it were about as useful as a square wagon wheel.

“That spell might help. The bl—”

“I know the one.” For a moment Yvanne thought to refuse. Loriel couldn’t cast it herself; blood magic interfered too much with her connection to the Fade, made spirit healing impossible for her. Maybe if Yvanne stopped helping her, if Loriel really had to feel everything she was doing to herself...

Maybe she’d stop, clear her head. Realize that what she was doing wasn’t helping anyone.

But who was she kidding? She was a born enabler. She’d never refused Loriel a thing. Wordlessly, she cast the spell.

Loriel let out a little breath of relief. Some color had returned to her cheeks, but she didn’t exactly look healthy. “Thank you. I owe so much to you.”

“Mm.”

Yvanne got under the covers, and, realizing that actually she was also pretty tired, resolved to sleep.

“Are you alright?” Loriel said.

She wished she hadn’t asked that. “I’m just worried about you,” Yvanne mumbled.

That upset her. It always did. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Yvanne groaned and buried her head under the pillow. “Stop being sorry already. It doesn’t help.”

“You’re the one who said you were worried.” Her voice wasn’t exactly petulant, but...

“You’re the one who asked.”

Loriel hmphed. “Excuse me, then, for having perfectly reasonable concern for my wife.”

Like she was falling or that old trick. “You’re excused.”

“I can get worried too, you know.”

You don’t, though. “I know.”

They lay in silence for a while.

“Are you even still attracted to me?” Loriel whispered.

Yvanne was so surprised that she took the pillow off her head and sat up. “What?”

“Am I ugly to you?”

“Andraste’s—no, you’re not. Of course you’re not.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Loriel pulled the sheets tight across her shoulders. “I’ve changed. The way you look at me has changed.”

“Nothing’s changed. Not that, anyway.”

Loriel’s breath hitched. “I’m not an idiot, you know. It’s alright if you don’t want me anymore.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll understand. Really, I will.”

“I said, stop it.”

Loriel fell silent.

“You are,” said Yvanne, “the most beautiful woman in the world. To me, you always will be.” She meant it. Even now. “But you’re really scaring the shit out of me lately.”

Loriel had given her that look before, lots of times, but never out of eyes so sunken.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. And the blood magic…”

“I’m doing this for you.”

“Yeah? I never asked for you to.”

“You did, though,” Loriel mumbled. “Not directly. But you did. You asked in a hundred little ways.”

“You never gave me any of what I really wanted,” Yvanne shot back. “And I’ve learned to live with it, haven’t I? I still love you, don’t I? So don’t—just, don’t.”

It wasn’t fair. Never was an exaggeration. But she’d already said it and there was no taking it back.

She rolled over and pretended to be asleep, marking the end of the conversation. Loriel didn’t pursue it. In fact, she got out of bed entirely. Yvanne lay awake for—she didn’t know how long. Maybe only minutes. Maybe longer. She was sure Loriel wouldn’t come back at all, that she’d gone back down to her lab, but she did. The bed creaked and there was a brief rush of cold air and there she was again. Yvanne wrapped her arms around her and didn’t even complain about her cold feet and cold hands, and Loriel buried her face in her neck. They didn’t mention the argument in the morning, and Yvanne tried not to think about how in the morning light, Loriel looked like she’d barely slept at all.

—

Yvanne spent more time around Oghren these days.

At first she told herself it was because she was going to help him get his life together. It had never sat well with her, the easy way Loriel seemed ready to give up on a person they both considered, in his own way, a friend. You can’t treat people like projects, Loriel would say, and Yvanne would sniff. What did she know? She hardly treated anyone like anything.

But after three separate failed interventions and countless falls off the wagon even Yvanne was starting to think that Loriel might have been right about this one.

But, hell, who else was she going to reminisce with? It almost seemed perverse to reminisce with Loriel. They’d been too close. The memories they shared of the Blight bent under the weight of the memories they shared of—everything else.

It was so easy, being around Oghren. He didn’t demand a damn thing, and it was so easy to laugh around him. All Yvanne would have to do was say, “Remember the poet-tree?” and they’d both be cackling for probably longer than the quality of the joke warranted.

The drink helped, but it was still funny.

Of course she drank. What else was she going to do?

Yvanne wondered sometimes what would happen, if she just disappeared. What would happen to the Keep? After the siege, she had become like an overbearing mother to this place and its people. What had happened with Anders had only strengthened the feeling. But really, did this place even need her? If she vanished one night, the next-most senior Warden would take over—it was some fellow name Tevye, who’d gotten promoted ahead of the older Wardens on the basis of basic competence and leadership ability—and between him and the robust administrative support that Yvanne had spent so long cultivating, the Keep would probably be fine. If she stayed in bed all day, probably nothing bad would happen at all.

Oh, sure, there were still plenty for her to do. Assignments to review. Letters to send. Rotations to sign off on. But it wasn’t the same. Anyone could have done it.

That was what she got, for being such a diligent leader. She had rendered herself obsolete.

It was a cold morning, the one where she realized she knew how Oghren felt.

They played cards together, and enabled. That was one nice thing, about being a spirit healer. No hangovers.

“You know some of these days I swear I’m not even needed around here,” she hiccuped.

“Y’say that like it’s a bad thing, Warden,” he said, and took another swig.

They played cards until they no longer had the dexterity to hold them.

“Oghren,” she said, throwing her head back to stare at the dancing lights above. “Oghren, I think I’m rotting.”

He just laughed as though she'd said something painfully naive. “Warden, we’re all rotting." He topped off her tankard. "Get yer kicks in while you can, and sod the rest."

Another night, another game. They bet drinks and played to lose.

“Why does anybody love anyone, anyway?” Yvanne said, staring at her terrible hand. “You ever think about that? You ever think about why you loved Branka, or Felsi, or the kid? Makes no damn sense, does it? Maybe you just love people because they’re there, and the love is inside of you, and it needs somewhere to go. Does that make sense?”

“No,” he said, and belched. “Y’shouldn’t’a reminded me of Branka. Now I need another drink.”

“What you need is to go soak your head.” But she poured him another drink anyway. Why the hell not? Weren’t they all dying, anyway? Weren’t they dying right this second, no matter what Loriel did or didn’t do?

“That’s what’s so funny about it all,” she said out loud. “It doesn’t matter at all that she’s killing herself over this! It doesn’t matter at all. We’re all dying. Not just us Wardens, either. All of us, every single one.” She laughed. “Maybe you were right.”

“Course I’m right, Warden.” He raised his tankard. “Say the toast. Drinks don’t count if you say a toast.”

“Get your kicks in,” Yvanne toasted. “Sod the rest.”

They drank.

“Y’know what I really like about you, Oghren?” she said. It was later. She didn’t know how much later. “I can say whatever the hell I want to you, and you’re not going to remember any of it in the morning. Anything I want! Stuff I usually won’t even think. You’re such a good goddamn friend. I’m glad we met."

Oghren made a noise halfway between a grunt and a belch.

“Too right.” She stared out over her tankard. “I just don’t understand why she’s doing this to me. I’ve told her she doesn’t need to. But it’s like arguing with the sea. She says she’s doing it for me, but I don’t want it. Why can’t she see that? Why would she do this to me?”

Why, indeed? She looked at Oghren, his meaty fist clenched around a dark red bottle. He had his vice. Yvanne was well on her way to the same one. Maybe Loriel’s was a little unusual, but was it any different?

Why would she do this to me? It was the question she’d been asking over and over again in her head. It was easier to obsess over the question, after all, than to obsess over the only reasonable answer—that what Loriel was doing had nothing to do with Yvanne at all.

“I love her so much,” she hiccupped. “But I can’t remember why ‘nymore. Maybe I’m drunk, ‘n that’s why I can’t remember. But I don’t think I can remember when I’m sober, either. But I do love her. I love her so much. You know?”

If Oghren knew he didn’t say so. He was already snoring in his chair.

Yvanne started crying. It was true. She did love her, so much. And maybe when the room stopped spinning she’d go upstairs and tell her so and maybe this time it would work.

Maybe an hour later she made it, but Loriel wasn’t there, and she fell asleep alone. She felt terrible in the morning, but not for very long.

—

One night she returned to their chambers so late that Loriel was there. That hardly ever happened anymore. Most nights Yvanne waited for her, and many nights out of those she didn’t manage to wait long enough.

“Loriel! My best friend! My wife! My beloved!” She swept her into a sloppy embraced, nearly overbalancing. She leaned on her, laying her head on her shoulder. Her hair smelled like sweat, iron, and the acrid stench of intensifying reagent. “You make me so damn sad.”

Loriel steadied her. Yvanne could feel her trembling beneath her weight, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stand up.

“You’ve been drinking,” Loriel said. It was an observation.

“So what if I have?” Yvanne snorted and drew back. “What else am I going to do?”

“You know I don’t like it when you drink.”

“Yes, well,” Yvanne said, waving a hand dismissively. “You do lots of things I don’t like, too.”

She sighed. “You should have some water.”

“Spirit healer, remember? Don’t need to bother. I’m hangover-proof!” She wiggled her fingers to demonstrate. “Anything goes wrong, I can just use magic to fix it. Isn’t that what you’re counting on?”

Loriel looked like she wanted to say something, and then thought better of it.

“Listen, Lori—I’ve been thinking,” Yvanne said. She wasn’t really all that drunk. Just enough to give her the courage to say this. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

Loriel eyed her, arms crossed across her belly. “What do you mean, get out of here?”

“Out of the Keep.”

“Like a vacation?”

“Sure, sure. Vacation,” Yvanne said vaguely. “Maybe one we don’t have to come back from.”

She watched Loriel’s face, which gave nothing away, not so much as a twitch.

“I mean, we’re not really even needed here, are we?” she barreled on, before Loriel could say anything. “Keep practically runs itself, at this point. We had a goal here, and we accomplished it, why stick around?”

For a bright moment it seemed as though Loriel were thinking about it. Or else it was just her imagination. “And where would we go, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Yvanne said. “Does it matter? It can be anywhere.”

Loriel only looked at her. “I thought you wanted to stay here,” she said, in a voice much sharper than her expression belied.

“I did, but—”

“I thought you were growing your garden,” she said, cold.

“I was! And I did! And it’s grown now, it doesn’t need me anymore. Doesn’t need us.”

“Isn’t it funny,” Loriel said remotely, after a time, “how only one of us is ever happy at a time?”

“Oh, come on!” Yvanne burst out. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you’re really happy? You’re killing yourself.”

“I am happy, in my own way,” Loriel said evenly. “I have everything I need, right here. I enjoy my work.”

Yvanne meant to argue, but Loriel cut her off. “Do not fault me because my happiness doesn’t look like yours.”

“Come on, Lori,” she said, going soft, “Wouldn’t it be nice to run away together? We never got to do that, did we?”

“Always with the running away.” Loriel set her jaw. “You’re still running away. Because of course you are. When are you going to stop?”

“It was a turn of phrase,” Yvanne said defensively. “It doesn’t have to be away. It can be towards. Towards a future.” A future where Loriel didn’t need a blood-replenishing spell every few days. A future where they could actually be a part of the world. A future where they weren't rotting in here, in anticipation of a death that hadn't come yet.

Once, the world had offered itself to her imagination. She had always revolved around Loriel, but at a distance, and no more than she revolved around her in turn. But slowly that orbit had shrunk—and the worse Loriel got, the faster it narrowed, going faster and faster, until Loriel was all she could see, all she could think about in a rising panic that threatened to swallow her whole.

And Loriel, as always, stayed put.

“Towards a future,” Loriel said skeptically. “A future you’re also going to get tired of, in a couple months time?”

“That’s not—it isn’t—”

“It is, though. It is.” No sound but the two of their mingled breaths.

Loriel went on: “You told me about the dream the Sloth demon made for you, back during Uldred’s rebellion. You said we had children, in your dream.”

“I remember.” She still dreamed of it, sometimes. That dream had been full of sunlight. Not like their shadowed chambers here.

Funny, how their world had shrunk to these four walls. This room was the only one they ever saw each other in. Yvanne had every part of it committed to memory. The velvet canopy; the linen sheets; the copper bathtub in the corner; the fireplace; the woven rug. Their home, their prison. Loriel, her home, her prison.

“But how realistic was that, really?” Loriel whispered. “Would you have gotten tired of that, too?”

Yvanne struggled for the right response, choking on the unfairness of it all. Loriel could be awfully manipulative, when she wanted to be. She didn’t fault her for it. It had kept them alive in Kinloch. But she hated when she caught Loriel doing it to her, knowing that there must have been times where she didn’t catch her.

If she could have just explained—

No. That wasn’t true, was it? No matter how much she explained, Loriel wouldn’t want to hear it. Loriel would find some way to turn it around on her.

Unpleasantly, she was reminded of Wynne.

“I’m—going to take a walk,” she said. “Clear my head.”

She went out onto a parapet. She had proposed to her here. Right there, on that spot, in the moonlight much like the moonlight tonight. It had been—nearly two years ago, now.

Do not fault me because my happiness doesn’t look like yours.

This had not occurred to her. It was hitting her now, the idea that Loriel might really be happy. That, absent any looming threats or mandatory duties, she really did prefer this life above all others. That her aloneness, her work, her magic—was enough for her. That what Yvanne experienced as loneliness, stagnation, rot—Loriel simply experienced as contentment.

Now that was a sobering thought.

After all, she thought, why were they together at all? Because they loved each other. But why did they love each other? The same reason anybody loved anybody, of course. But the two of them, specifically?

Because they had been imprisoned together.

But now the prison walls were gone. They’d destroyed them, one by one. They’d been shackled beside one another, and now they weren’t. Now they were free.

Without the prison walls pressing down on them, without the shackles binding them together—why in the Maker's name would a pair of prisoners be so foolish as to flee together?

Yvanne looked at her wedding ring, a simple golden band, the least elaborate of all her rings. Wasn’t that a shackle, too?

Some days she wished she’d been a better study at shapeshifting. At the time she’d insisted that it was simply because Morrigan was such a bad teacher, and that was true, but it wasn’t why she’d failed at it. If only she’d tried a little harder, she might have at least acquired it. And then she might have turned into a bird and taken off from this parapet, wheeled in the air for as long as she liked, and maybe never returned.

But she wasn’t a bird and she wasn’t a shapeshifter. She was Yvanne Amell, and maybe she was fickle and thoughtless and everything Wynne had called her during their last meeting—but she had chosen this home, and this person. Again and again, she had chosen them.

Her head pulsed. She really did need some water. So she went back inside to live with her choices, such as they were.

#dragon age #femslash #dragon age: awakening #amell #surana #please read my lesbian wizard fanfiction

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frasier-crane-style · 6 years

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Elseworlds

Well, Tumblr isn’t dead yet and the CW-DC just did a big crossover, so I think it’s time to make fun of the CW........ for the last time.

Did you know Tim Allen actually ended Home Improvement after season 8 because he knew the show couldn’t maintain its level of quality and was on the way downhill? Tim Allen has more creative integrity than anyone involved in the making of Supernatural. Think about that.

Anyhoo, lots to digest! Largely, this crossover felt to me weirdly lackluster and obligatory, like the whole thing was just a trailer for the oncoming Crisis on Infinite Earths crossover. It just felt unambitious, which is the last thing an ‘event’ like this should feel like. In fact, it felt a little like I imagine the result would be of filming a bunch of people playing DC Universe Online. We visit Smallville and see Lois Lane! We go to Gotham and meet Batman...’s cousin, and fight a breakout at Arkham Asylum, complete with Mr. Freeze...’s gun and the Scarecrow...’s fear gas. Then, we wrap the whole thing up with an Evil Superman, because God knows, DC never gets bored of that.

-Petty nitpick department: Batwoman just standing around on rooftops looks weird. Not only does it give the odd impression that she’s spent the entire time between episodes just, uh, standing, but c’mon--you’re supposed to crouch. Or at least hunch. Everybody knows that!

-Weirdly missed opportunity to have Ollie do the Flash narration, considering all the other opening narrations are futzed with.

-The whole thing is pretty much a glorified body swap--Stephen Amell is playing Barry Allen and vice versa. I can see how TPTB would be too pressed for time to explain a whole ‘nother continuity where Barry Allen became Green Arrow and Oliver Queen became the Flash, but still, it’s not as much fun.

-They also wholeheartedly borrow the thing of Ollie having to be happy to use Barry’s powers and Barry having to be mad to use Ollie’s ‘powers’ from the episode of Teen Titans where Raven and Starfire switched bodies. So, I guess, congratulations on making the central plot point of your crossover the same as a half-hour episode of a children’s cartoon.

-Remember that time Barry was too happy and too confident in his abilities, so his dad died?

-They got a good actress to play the Lois Lane to this Clark Kent, considering they both just look kinda awkward? His chin looks like he had a face transplant done and her nose looks like someone is constantly Photoshopping it.

NHHHA, He-Man!!

-Don’t do a callback to Smallville, show. Oliver Queen has now spent more time in costume as the Flash than Tom Welling did as Superman.

-Direct fucking hit when Oliver said that Barry couldn’t take a crap without getting a peptalk from his team, but on the other hand, Oliver can’t take a crap without Felicity wondering what it means for their relationship. “Oliver didn’t tell me he needed to go to the bathroom! Why wouldn’t he trust me?”

-I’m just saying, last season on Agents of SHIELD, pretty much every character was in a relationship--there was not so much damn drama. It’s a fucking body-swap plotline, guys. You don’t need to treat it like it could lead to someone’s divorce! Really, at this point, if you’re in a relationship with a crazy superhero, you should be used to it.

-(Although I suppose I’m a little hard to please here, since over on Legends of Tomorrow they suddenly expect us to care about Constantine rescuing the love of his life when we’ve seen their relationship for all of four seconds. But hey, like I said, Agents of SHIELD manages a happy medium and finds time for Ghost Rider to show up.)

-For the post-apocalyptic hellscape they make Gotham out to be, the police respond awfully fast to disturbances.

-”We’re on the corner of Burton and Nolan!” Groooooan.

-Ruby Rose, everyone: the Less Convincing Michelle Rodriguez. It’d probably a bad sign for how compelling Kate Kane is as a character that everyone would rather talk about where Batman is and why Batman would leave. And, speaking as someone who both watched Birds of Prey and The Dark Knight Rises--Rocky, that ‘Batman Retires’ plot point never works!

-(Is Batwoman even that popular a character to get her own spin-off? I suppose she’s ‘TV show’ popular, but still--I think she’s one of those Batfamily members that is somewhere behind Alfred but ahead of Ace, right next to Azrael. And I do think it’s hilarious that TPTB were insistent on casting a real, authentic lesbian!!!--and then immediately got complaints that they didn’t cast a Jew. Oh, Ziggy, will you ever win?)

-I don’t want to be too hard on Ruby Rose here. Yes, she doesn’t showcase anything other than one mode: Snide And Slightly Pouty (Stephen Amell ain’t winning no Oscars, but he can differentiate between Ollie As A Civilian and Ollie In A Halloween Costume). But the writing does her no favors in making a case for this character as being deserving of any amount of screentime, besides the fact that she dresses like Batman, the guy we really care about. She’s a heroine, as are featured variously in every Arrowverse show. She’s queer, as is Alex Danvers, Sara Lance, John Constantine, et al. She’s rich to the point of having unlimited resources, as are (sometimes) Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, Kara through her billionaire friends. She lives in a crime-ridden hellhole, as Ollie has done for several seasons. What makes any of this compelling? The Gotham setting? Arrow has already turned itself into an effective facsimile of that, to the point of having Ra’s al Ghul show up to make Queen into his son-in-law. Arkham Asylum seems completely generic, as does Wayne Tower. It’s all just a different part of Vancouver; who cares?

-Likewise, Supergirl, speaking to you as a TV show--you really should either be adamant that Kara is heterosexual or give her a weirdly flirtatious scene with Batwoman, but not both. I know you need, need, need to let the audience know Batwoman is a lesbian...

Pictured: The CW subtly letting you know about a character’s minority status.

But c’mon. We’ve been over this.

-Speaking of minority status, maybe it’s not the best idea to let slip that John Diggle is an AU John Stewart. Yes, there’s ten brothas in the DC Universe, and four of them are actually the other six. There are so few Negros on Earth-1 that they had to make Barack Obama into a superhero. The Batfamily has two black folks and they’re both related to Lucius Fox. There’s so few black people in Metropolis that Black Lightning knows who his father is!

Folks, the DC Universe is so white, the Black Lanterns are all dead. The DC Universe is so white, they don’t even have black Kryptonite. The DC Universe is so white, even Black Condor is a honky. The DC Universe is so white, they don’t even need a Justice League of Africa, they just have a Batman of Africa! The DC Universe is so white, the blackest guy on the Justice League is a refrigerator with one-half of a brother’s face on top of it. The DC Universe is so white, they named the black woman on the Teen Titans after a bug that’s half yellow! Now Milestone, the Milestone Universe is black. It’s so black, Aquaman is the most powerful superhero there, because he’s the only one who can swim!

(-I’m planning on being chased off of Tumblr like Indiana Jones after he snags an ancient artifact.)

-Would it be that hard for them to go to Arkham and run into the Ventriloquist or Orca or someone memorable, so long as they have access to the Batman toy chest? We got, uhh, Lady Who Can Pick Up Gun and Psycho Pirate I Guess? Like I said, unambitious. Wouldn’t it be so much cooler if they got someone from Gotham to film just one little cameo?

-Also, considering the sex scandal these shows have had, maybe it’s not the best idea to joke about their EPs being depraved maniacs? (Was Guggenheim the one who actually got MeToo’d? Because if so, Dude--Not Funny)

-The show had to character-shill Batwoman so hard that Ollie and Barry stopped being fear-gassed just to reiterate that she is too an interesting character in her own right! (If the characters have all heard of Batman, wouldn’t they have heard of Batwoman too if she’s been an active vigilante more recently?)

-But who cares about four unstoppable superheroes teaming up when we can find out how Felicity feels about her relationship? Just a thought--if you fight with your SO all the time about nearly everything, maybe you shouldn’t be in a relationship.

-Long story short, Doctor Destiny rewrites reality again to make Barry, Oliver, and Kara into supervillains in a world where he’s the hero. He also makes the other characters into pointless cameos, and weirdly gets criticized by Kara for... not giving himself a sex-change operation by becoming Superman instead of Supergirl? He doesn’t have gender dysphoria, Supergirl. I thought she was all about trans issues this season?

-Like, I don’t know, if a woman used a magic lamp to wish herself President, would anyone criticize her making herself a lady President instead of a man President?

-I guess it wouldn’t be Supergirl unless they crowbarred in an extremely awkward girlpower message where Superman and Lois agree that Supergirl/women in general are more useful than men, despite the fact that all Supergirl did was the exact same thing as Barry, while Superman and Oliver fought Dr. Destiny, and all Lois did was call in a bunch of men as reinforcements and then need to be rescued.

-But like I said about being unambitious--wouldn’t it be fun to see our heroes be forced to team up with a few supervillains to save the day? Instead, we just have Cisco playing a villain (something he’s done numerous times before). They get his help, have a weirdly poor showing in a fight against Jimmy Olsen, get Superman’s help again, yadda yadda.

-We also get Superman proposing to Lois Lane. Yeah, considering they’ve been in a relationship at least since Supergirl Season 1, she’s carrying his child, and they’re planning to move to an alien world together, yeah, I should think so? I know Superman probably isn’t a Republican, but does anyone think he’d be so blase about putting a ring on it? Hell, if nothing else, he should want to tie the knot before Ma or Pa bite it. Couldn’t they have just made it that he wants to renew his vows with Lois in a Kryptonian ceremony or some such?

#dc comics #arrow #supergirl #the flash #elseworlds

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 7 years

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Letters from Amell to Amell

Summery: A series of letters from Warden Rosalind Amell to Warden-Commander Cosette Amell, Hero of Ferelden

Notes: I only own Rosalind. Cosette is again owned by @against-stars

Warden Jameson;

In regards to your request for information on eligible recruits from the Circle Tower in Ferelden, I can only offer one name.

Rosalind Amell. She is known as the best healer inside of the Tower, and has an aptitude for Spirit Magic that is near top level. She currently is not a full mage from what I understand due to the Templars fearing she would not make it through the Harrowing. However, I do believe she could survive the Joining and be an asset to the Wardens.

-Warden-Commander Cosette Amell.

Warden-Commander Amell;

Thank you for posting me in Denerim Cousin. I missed city life.

We’re currently simply supplying a presence for Queen Anora so she can appear so that the people aren’t frightened. It’s not much, but it works. I’m currently training with an Orlesian Warden Mage- she’s teaching me the Knight Enchanter skills. Apparently, my height is good for something!

Anders sent me a letter as well. Thank you so much for telling him about the crush I had on Karl. He won’t leave me alone now.

-Warden Rosalind Amell.

Rosalind;

You can write to me by my first name. I’m glad your settling in, though I don’t understand why you don’t want to be stationed with me. Though with the Mother and the Architect dealt with (which I still don’t understand why you said I should have killed him) there isn’t much left for me in Amaranthine. I’m thinking of traveling for a while, to see Alistair.

Your height was good for many things Rosalind. Including fetching things off shelves.

And your crush was and still is silly. He wasn’t even attractive.

-Cosette

Ps. Did you get my gift?

Warden-Commander Amell;

Formality is a must cousin. Thank you for the star charts as well. It’s grand to look at them, and I’m eager to decipher the knowledge they hold!

And I don’t want people getting confused with two Amell’s cousin. As well, you have Anders who is a better healer then I ever was, so why do you need me there? Though yes- I am better at herbalism. His always exploded. It was weird.

Of course, the height is good for that, but other then the occasional prank and such, why do I need to be so tall? It’s ridiculous.

Alistair actually came through a day ago, looking… off. I think he misses you! It’s adorable. Also, that assassin came through, along with a note telling him I think he’s cute?

This is why I stopped telling you when I have crushes.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind;

Of course Alistair misses me. I’m me of course. I’ll see him soon enough. I’m leaving Nathaniel in charge while I’m gone, so if you come down simply say you’re my cousin.

I’m meeting with Alistair in Redcliff and then we’re traveling for a while. I feel the need to travel without dealing with other people’s problems, and just focusing on myself.

I am stopping to see you, just as a warning dear cousin. You can’t escape me.

-Cosette

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell,

It was lovely to see you cousin, and thank you ever so much for telling the assassin I was playing hard to get.

(Okay, actually thank you. He’s very sweet, but I don’t think we’d fit in the long term.)

I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself as Arlessa and Warden-Commander, though again I will not be joining you. I’ve actually been in debate about possibly joining an expedition into the Deep Roads! I’m so excited, though nervous. I’ll miss the stars, but I’ll get to see them again. It’s going to be amazing! I can tell!

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind,

Anders has run off, thanks to the moron in charge here. He’s currently awaiting execution for going against the Warden Laws and Chantry Laws, I’m thrilled.

Apparently he decided having Templars trail Anders was a good thing to do. I’m furious!

And, anyway I hope your trip to the Deep Roads was interesting. I know mine certainly are.

-Cosette

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell;

Is he really that dumb? Oh Anders, you moron! Cousin, I am requesting a leave of absence from the Wardens to attempt to track down our wayward Warden. Even if it is just to give him a seal of approval for staying away. Perhaps we can claim he is part of a Warden Presence?

And I now hate the Deep Roads.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind;

Permission granted. And, if you wish, you can stick with him to attempt to give it more of an oomph, having you there as well, given our relationship to one another.

And of course you do. I do to.

-Cosette

[Included are official papers stating that Rosalind and Anders are part of a Warden Presence in an area Rosalind would fill in. Also included are more star maps.]

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell;

I have established a Warden headquarters in Kirkwall, in the Free Marches. Warden Anders had already arrived and was offering healing to those in need. We have since set up a clinic in which we work at as well as our official Head Quarters in High Town.

The Viscount and the Grand Cleric were happy to see us, though the Knight-Commander in charge of the Circle here was not. We however have been given approval for the clinic and are happily running it.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

[Included is another letter]

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell,

This place is ridiculous. And Anders… well, come visit and I’ll explain. It’s weird.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

[Included is treats from Kirkwall, particularly ones popular for noble children.]

Rosalind;

Our birth city, really? How is it living there again? I’m thrilled you have found Anders and have set up the Headquarters. The clinic sounds charming as well.

I’ve dealt with the moron who had been in charge, tell Anders he doesn’t need to worry. Currently I’m fixing the mess he’s made of my Wardens, but I’ll come to visit soon enough, to make sure everything is in tip-top shape.

-Cosette.

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell;

Thank you for the kind words, and it appears adventures run in the Amell bloodline. I’ve met a cousin.

Well, second cousin twice something from me. Not sure how far from you. I don’t suppose you remember Leandra? She’s a lot older then us, but I remember her somewhat before she ran off with a mage, which was quite the scandal.

Anyway, her daughter Marian Hawke apparently is funding an expedition into the Deep Roads and needed our maps. Anders agreed, though he also offered to go along with them… at any time.

Really, I think he’s more interested in Marian for something other then adventure. It’s a good thing to… Karl, he’s… he’s been made Tranquil. A Harrowed Mage, made Tranquil.

I complained to the Grand Cleric but she kind of ignored me, so I’m not sure what to do.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind,

No, I don’t remember Leandra. But I’m happy Anders seems to be having fun at least. Can you get me all the details? And tell Marian if she hurts him, she deals with me.

And since a Grand Cleric won’t do anything, I sent a letter to Leliana. We’ll see what happens then.

Things here are going well. The townspeople are doing extremely well, the nobles aren’t being pains as much anymore, and our squads are doing well. No signs of any of the talking Darkspawn anywhere, no hint of the Mother’s children either, so I think we’re clear on that issue.

Alistair is sticking around now, which is grand, though Zevran is to. I think he misses you, he mentioned you dear cousin, something about how sweet you are? Oh?

-Cosette.

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell

Maker, Cosette! Anders reads these to (we don’t have much space) and now he won’t shut up.

Yes, something happened between me and Zevran. Yes, we had sex. No, you aren’t getting details.

And yes, I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance but I’d prefer a stable relationship with someone in Kirkwall, thank you!

And we saw a bunch of Seekers come by, lead by a black haired woman and a red head simply dressed in robes. The Knight-Commander was outside in the market, and oh they public scolded her! Then they went and gutted about half of the Templars, so Anders is pleased as punch. And the Grand Cleric got a talking to as well!

It was grand, thank you ever so much!

-Warden Rosalind Amell.

Rosalind,

Anything for you dear cousin. I’m sorry I missed the show, I’d love to see a Knight-Commander back down, it sounds so much fun to watch.

And perhaps Anders can help me try to find you a nice relationship, you definatly deserve one!

Amaranthine is safe currently. Boring now without the Architect or the Mother. Is it bad I feel the need now to be constantly in danger? Without something to do, I feel so bored I actually went and tried to learn to sew! Make, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

-Cosette

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell; Cousin, I hope your safe back home. Your visit was very nice, though I don't think Anders appreciated you threatening Hawke. [next to paragraph a 'no I did not' is written] Things are still somewhat normal here, though thanks to your grand entrance, the Knight-Commander is giving us looks. I've been hanging out with Anders and Hawke's group from time to time. It's somewhat like back at the Tower with you, Jowan and Sarah. It's so loud! Hawke is friends with an elf named Fenris who despises all mages as he was a space in Tevinter- which is a very good reason to! Anders doesn't like it, nor does J so I'm stuck listening to them argue. Then there is Varric and Isabela- you met them here. Those two just encourage it (though I think Isabela just wants them to sleep together). Carver (our other cousin), Merrill (an elf who has some of your... talents) and Aveline (the guard captain) aren't much better, but it's interesting anyway. Anders is planning on joining them on their expedition so we can slap on a 'the Wardens are doing something' for reports. I hope you are well! -Warden Rosalind Amell. - Rosalind; Glad to see you miss me cousin dear! And I was in the right to threaten Hawke. And you know it. Sorry for setting the Knoght-Commander on you, especially with J around. It doesn't sound like just back at the tower- there isn't any me! I'll have to come with you when I visit you next. Spread some cheer, no? And good plan. We can also get a good idea of how it looks down there, get Anders to send a report. -Cosette - Warden-Commander Colette Amell, I think I may scream if I have to deal with anymore Qunari. Apparently, they despise magic and freaked learning Anders and I are mages. They keep sneering at us and a few almost killed us. Luckily they were stopped by the guards who went and explain we were Wardens, and thus not illegal. One asked about us using magic on them and I responded... a little undiplomatically. Even more so when I learned my father was most likely a Qunari. They’re very… rude. Anyway, no more Qunari for me, if Hawke needs a healer at the docks, she gets Anders. Oh! I didn't tell you! I'm occasionally going out with Hawke and then when Anders is more needed in the clinic. He's better at the finer things. Mostly it's just so I can look for Darkspawn but recently we fought through a dragon infested mine!!! I've never fought dragons before!!! I got a bunch of scales from it, and dragons blood! And eggs!!! Anders and I are planning on doing research on all of it!

I love adventuring with them, it’s so interesting and fun! Varric usually comes with us and he always has such interesting tales to tell and he knows so much about Kirkwall it’s amazing! Be well cousin! -Warden Rosalind Amell [written in the margins] She called them moronic horn heads. It was funny but not that bad. She needs to learn to curse better- Anders - Rosalind, Well, that does sound fun, though I'm a little jealous of our cousin now. Getting you to go out adventuring with her. You never wanted to go out adventuring with me! And Qunari are always like that. Sten was much the same. But you can get around it. Moronic horn heads isn't that bad. You could do worse- ask that Pirate for tips. Sten didn't get many insults when we talked but he did enjoy cookies so maybe see if your baking could help with bridging gaps- if your interested. I'm doing well! I'm heading out on recruitment so it's a bit dry but luckily I have Alistair with me, so I'm not alone at night. That's great fun.

I’m training Nathaniel as well so that he can take over the Keep when I finally leave. I think it’s only right to return it to the Howes, even if his father was a lowlife.

-Cosette - Cosette, Sorry for the wait in between letters. The mines I talked about before? They're a death zone so I've been run off my feet healing people. The expedition went well- other then Carver now becoming a Warden de to the taint. How is he? Anders said he was trying to send him to you but I'm not sure if he was. Life's getting quiet here which is nice. I went star gazing with everyone yesterday. It was... it was grand. So many stars, so much to see. We spent hours making pictures in the stars. Even Fenris seemed interested. Isabela talked about how they used the stars for navigation while Varric made up tales about the pictures. It was very fun. - Rosalind - Rosalind, I'm glad you're having fun. Carver came here yes. He's very gruff and grumpy, but seems to have some skill with a blade. He looked familiar and I learned he was actually at Ostagar. We traded a few tales. I'll try and visit again soon cousin. -Cosette - Cosette, How do you confess an attraction to someone who loves a crossbow more then anything else? anything else? No wait, no don't answer that. Please don't. The qunari are getting nervous. They're getting louder and more aggressive- though I can't say anyone here is doing anything different against them. We had an incident in which someone unleashed a gas into the streets, driving innocent people mad, in the hopes of blaming the qunari. I'm doing what I can. The Templars are cracking down to. Anders and I are free from them but they're really pushy. We might need another visit from Leliana. - Rosalind - Rosalind, Oooh, what's this? Tell me! Tell me! Or I'll just get Anders to. Good. If needed I'll send some more Wardens up to help deal with it all. Send me a message if needed. And I'll message Leliana, tell her what's going on. I also want to tell you that Alistair and I are... currently on a break. No need to be alarmed, we're just not sure where our lives are going right now. We'll figure it out. But if I send him, you'll know why. -Cosette - Cosette, Oh dear. What's gong on cousin? What's wrong with you and Alistair? Is it bad? If you want gossip to cheer you up, Anders and Hawke have officially gotten together. Leandra is coming around to complain at the noises all the time now. It's so funny. Varric and I are enjoying our teasing of them. They get so defensive.

It's odd really. I remember Anders being more open about this sort of thing, but now he seems more... secretive. Not that I mind. I'm not one to hear the details but... I don't know. It's odd. J seems moodier to, it's a bit worrisome.

That probably doesn’t cheer you up, does it? Umm…

Oh! Varric, Isabela and I were playing cards yesterday and we ended up roping in the entire tavern for it somehow. I now have over three hundred gold to my name. (Would have been six hundred but Isabela is a cheat.) -Rosalind - Rosalind, We just want different things out of life I suppose. I don't know, perhaps what drew us together in the Blight no longer holds us as tightly. And Anders didn't tell me this! Ugh, I miss all the good gossip! But your right. Even in his letters he seems different. Perhaps it is because of J, but... something seems wrong in the letters. Can you watch him closer?

I’ll teach you how to cheat when I visit. It’ll be grand. -Cosette - Cosette, You need to come to Kirkwall right away. I went on a thing with Hawke and them into the mountains and... I need to discuss it in person without risking someone reading it. Leliana came through for us, not to soon. We found out about something called the Tranquil Solution and she came with us to investigate it. Last I've heard is that the Knight-Commander now is required to have a bi-yearly inspection from the Seekers or from a chosen of Leliana's. She's pissed. It's awesome. I also found that Cullen is here. Remember? That Templar with the crush? The one no one knew who it was on? The one who... well, I think you know. He's... angry. Bitter. So mad and he looks so sick I'm worried. When he saw me he just went pale and turned, running away in horror. I don't think he's recovered. Leliana doesn't either and she's making sure he's being looked at to- and what the Knight-Commander is doing to him is being looked at. -Rosalind - Rosalind, I still cannot believe you. You kept that- from me!!! Alistair was living at the Headquarters and you were in a relationship with that pirate!!! I cannot believe you. -Cosette - Cosette, Cousin, look- I understand. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but Alistair was in a bad place when he came and I was worried for him. He didn't want to talk to you so I kept him secret. And Isabela and I are just having sex, there's no emotion in it! It's not much to tell! I'm sorry I don't tell you everything but I have the right to secrets to! -Rosalind - Rosalind, Are you okay?! I heard what happened! Is Anders alright? Alistair? What about Hawk and her friends? Are you all alright? -Cosette - Warden-Commander Cosette Amell; I shouldn't be surprised you messaged me now like this. But yes, I'm fine. The Qunari didn't even touch me. They avoided me- apparently it got out I'm a Knight Enchanter. A few tried but I made mincemeat of them. I'm okay. Anders is alright. Alistair took the force you sent us (Carver hated having to stay in Kirkwall, so as Senior Warden of the Kirkwall Presence, I declare he is not allowed here in worry for his mental state) and went to make things safe for the city before he headed off on a lead we have. It's just me and Anders now. Isabela... it was her that started all of this. I'm just so... angry. So fucking angry right now. I mean, I get it, but I'm just. She could have told me, you know. I would have listened, I would have helped her find it and... I don't know. I thought we were heading somewhere but if she can't confess this sort of thing... I don't know. Is it to soon in a relationship to admit you stole a Qunari relic and that's why they're here in the city? -Warden Rosalind Amell - Rosalind, I'm... sorry for the silence. I allowed my emotions to get the best of me. I'm so happy you are all alright, hearing the news just... it shook me. I don't know what I'd do without you. and I understand why you didn't tell me about Alistair. I needed space to. And I get not telling me about Isabela. I'm sorry cousin. But love isn't like that. Sometimes we keep secrets, sometimes we hurt our partners. Sometimes things just don't work out. I hope they do for you. -Cosette - Cosette, Isabela left for a while. I didn't get a chance to speak with her. Varric told me she just needs time but I don't know if I can love her after this. It just doesn’t make sense to me. It really doesn’t. Anders told me I should write my thoughts in a journal, that he's worried about me. I think I might start doing so. Get my head clear. The Knight-Commander is attempting to keep a Viscount off the throne but the latest inspection has her being forced to let he nobles appoint someone. The Grand Cleric as well has been informed they will be retiring her. They say she's let Meredith have to much power. Sebastian- a friend of Hawkes- is furious. But he's also being forcefully reminded the Grand Cleric really hasn't done anything she should. Anders and J are getting testy to. They say that the Knight-Commander is cracking down hard and hiding it. I'm worried for them, they don't look good. - Rosalind - Rosalind, I'm glad. I was speaking with Wynne and... we got talking about you. She mentioned she worried over you- that they were scared for you so they never put you through the harrowing but never made you tranquil because you were useful. I knew this but I suppose I never thought about why. I'm glad your doing something to get better. I'm wrapping things up at the Keep. I want to do some of my own traveling. I miss it. I miss running around with friends. I plan on visiting you but won't try to... what did Wynne say? Attempt to muscle in on your own adventures. You’re still my cousin though. I'm glad something is being done. Though I agree that the new about Anders and J is worrying. I'll see if I can find something. Perhaps Wynne will have an idea. And if she leaves you like this, she doesn't deserve you Rosalind. You're to brilliant for her. Do not let her get you down. -Cosette - Cosette, Your visit was very sweet cousin. Though Hawke says she won't be messaging you until you apologies for convincing the nobles to vote her in as Viscount. Aveline agrees. She's getting married. Aveline I mean. It's the Grand Cleric's last ceremony before she heads for Orlais. The new Grand Cleric is a woman from Ferelden. She's certainly unimpressed with the Knight-Commander. I like it. As for other gossip: I kissed Varric a week ago, ran away and am now hiding at Headquarters. Anders finds it hilarious.

I’m also forcing Alistair to go and talk to you. If he wants to give advice, he can practice it. His moping is annoying.

-Rosalind - Rosalind, You did not. Maker! When I saw him making you eat meals and you hanging around him like you did, I knew something was up but I never thought you'd act on it until Anders or I forced you to! And Hawke can suck it up. The Amells are making a comeback!

Alistair came back, as you know. We had a chat, cleared up some misconceptions we both shared, and we’re trying all over again.

I think we just needed some time apart where we aren’t fighting for our lives or dealing with threats looming over us it seems. Thank you for making him come back cousin. -Cosette - Cosette, So... Varric broke into Headquarters. We had a nice chat- which I will not be telling you about. He's still in love with someone else but he's willing to try as long as I understand.

Is that actually a thing? People not being able to fall in love with more then one person? I explained how we did it in the Circle- told him about Serena and Lyra. He was surprised but interested. We're seeing where it goes. He calls me Stars. It's so cute. Anyway, serious stuff. I think Anders and J are... well, it's bad. Anders isn't himself anymore. He doesn't smile, he doesn't laugh. He barely eats unless I force it down his throats and he's obsessed with freeing the mages from the Circles. He won't listen when I tell him it takes more time. He's starting to scare me Cosette. I'm scared of him, and it hurts.

I’m happy for you and Alistair. You both deserve so much. -Rosalind - Rosalind, I'm coming to Kirkwall- do not let him out of your sight. Do not let him do a single damn thing. -Cosette PS. I'm happy for you. - Warden-Commander Cosette Amell; I'm writing this for Stars because she's currently unable to use her arm. Anders decided he needed to make a statement. Meredith was getting creative and hiding punishments easier, hurting the mages more and more. Blondie just... snapped. He made a bomb. Stars figured it out and went after him but he managed to fight her off. We found her passed out in Headquarters. When she woke up she explained but it was to late. He blew up the Chantry and then Meredith announced the Rite of Anullment. Stars responded with her magic sword and took off with us. She refused to look at or speak to Anders the entire time. Don't blame her. The Battle was bad. Meredith went nuts, had this sword made out of Red Lyrium- Junior said he told you about it- and she could use it to make statues come to life. We lost a lot of mages. Rosalind got her arm broken badly and she can't heal it properly herself but refuses to let Anders near her. We're sending this with Broody, he didn't want to stay in Kirkwall like Stars and I are doing. Do not come here. It's bad. Very bad. -Varric Tethras

So… Sarah is still dead in this one. Various reasons, but the main one is that Rosalind is a subtly powerful mage, and if she has more then one powerful mage friend, she’d be overlooked because while she can go toe to toe with heavy hitters in terms of power, she’s really more suited for the more delicate and intricate stuff.

I had a really hard time with this story because Rosalind is supposed to be a tragedy. She’s my ultimate sacrifice character, and I originally was going to have her die here to, but decided to try and give her a happy ending- though she’s betrayed by her friend and mentor, as well as heartbroken by the first person she’s loved in years. And she’s struggling to admit she’s got issues herself and needs to address them.

Rosalind I feel knows she has mental health problems. She’s a healer, she knows that it’s not just physical wounds. She just doesn’t want to admit it.

And to stall complaints: Isabela is my favorite DA2 romance but Rosalind is a very different person with different needs then Hawke. Rosalind as well was operating on Circle Relationship standards, which is: You bang various people, end up gaining feelings for one (or more) and boom, relationship. But she never vocalized it, and never vocalized her expectations in a relationship. Because she didn’t know any better, so they didn’t really last long.

Also, I would never have romanced anyone but Varric in DA2 so I decided why not and went for it here. But I felt like being realistic and having her have a few other relationships before they get together. Similar to what I did with Cosette and Alistair, though that was mostly a plot point to have Cosette and Rosalind blow up more.

Writing this as well I tried to keep to my headcanon that Rosalind is a formal writer. As a kid, she was taught this way and she kept it up at the tower, so she has a very formal writing style, and doesn’t tend to just use names. Hanging out with the DA2 gang helped her there, as you can tell. She became much looser about it.

With Cosette, I tried to keep her possessive of Rosalind and a little childish in her ways. She doesn’t like Rosalind is somewhat formal in her letters. She doesn’t like that Rosalind didn’t want to be with her. She’s angry that Rosalind hangs out with Hawke and the others. She’s angry Rosalind kept Alistair a secret. She doesn’t like that Rosalind is keeping secrets from her.

But it works out, and they come out a little closer in the end.

I hope you all enjoyed it.

#Rosalind Amell #cosette amell #dragon age 2 #fanfic #against-stars

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withthebreezesblown · 7 years

Text

Too Dark to Read, Part Two

Read the first part here, or read the whole thing on AO3

He takes a carriage back to the Palace. Not that the puppies could keep up with his horse anyway, but what kind of a Fereldan would make mabari puppies walk? Maker knows he’s a terrible King, but that could get him stoned to death! And perhaps there is a small part of him that is determined that this, caring for these puppies, will be the one responsibility he doesn’t run from or buckle beneath or make a show of competence at while he’s really just drowning in it.

When one of the males nearly falls out of the window while craning his head out and then has a ridiculous trouble getting his enormous paws beneath him and upright that leaves Alistair laughing, he knows what to name him. The puppy who stumbles like a drunk is named for the only man he’s known incapable of being drunk into a stupor, and maybe it’s a little in honor of all the Warden brothers he lost so long ago that day at Ostagar when Alistair calls him Grigor.

The female is… nippy. She nips if he doesn’t pet her when she seems to think he should be. She nips if he pays too much attention to the other puppies. She gets him nearly hard enough to draw blood once, but when she immediately climbs into his lap and alternates between licking the bitten finger and his face, he can’t work up any particular anger about it. When she gives him a jealous nip again later as he strokes the sleeping puppy’s ears, he rolls his eyes at her. “You’re as bad as the Arlessas at those blasted balls Eamon keeps throwing!” She just tips her head haughtily, and somehow it’s settled. Arlessa it is.

It’s only when the arrive in Denerim and the sleepy one finally wakes, shaking his head eagerly that Alistair knows what to call him. After all, he always slept through Matins too.

Eamon’s irritation at Alistair’s leaving without consulting with him (and by “consulting with,” he clearly means “asking for permission from”) is all that he expects, but the man’s displeasure over the puppies is decidedly less. He simply raises a weary hand to his brow, thumb rubbing there exhaustedly. “I suppose there are worse things you could have returned with. Perhaps it will please the people to see you embrace the term, ‘Dog Lord.’ Though, Maker have mercy, could you not have waited until they were older?”

Worse “things.” Alistair has a strong suspicion that he means someone more than something, and there’s a swell of resentment, as though the man himself and his disapproval even amongst the reasons she isn’t here with him. It is no comfort that she has made her choice, and unlike himself, Eamon’s opinions have never been more than a passing consideration to her.

He tries to rein in his bitterness. He has more success than he expects, helped along, no doubt, when he glances at the puppies as Arlessa pounces Grigor and Matins jumps on top with a yip. He isn’t thinking at all of the fact that Teagan claimed to need the puppies gone as soon as possible when he answers simply, a grin spreading over his face, “No. I couldn’t have.”

On the puppies’ second day in the Palace, when he comes to his chambers where, at Eamon’s insistence, he’d left the puppies, he discovers that Arlessa has left him a gift in his bed to demonstrate her umbrage at being left behind. An image of the the jealous, viperous women after which she has been named flashes through his mind, all of them just waiting for him to pass close enough for them to strike, sharp claws digging into his arm as they attach themselves. He can’t help feeling that her pooping in his bed is meant as statement on her namesake as a signal for him of her displeasure, and he finds himself laughing even as he groans in disgust.

The pooping in his bed motivates him, for once, to disregard Eamon’s direct instructions. He’s already decided when he lays his head on his freshly laundered pillow that night. From now on, he will be bringing his puppies to all of the Councils of Important Thingies or Assemblies of Essential Whatnots. If Eamon dislikes it, they can try locking the puppies in his room while Alistair is occupied.

It goes surprisingly well. Aside from Arlessa barking with unexpected menace for something not half grown at a Bann who’d raised his voice, the puppies are quieter even than he hoped for, neither whining nor pouncing on each other, though days later Eamon points out the tooth marks on the table’s legs with irritation.

The tooth marks end up being the least of Eamon’s concerns. He’s seated next to the Orlesian Ambassador, who’s whining about something or other in his awful, nasally voice when there’s a loud snap and the entire table tilts, collapsing in the laps of Eamon and the Ambassador, seated closest to the leg that has given way. The Ambassador’s shriek alone is, in Alistair’s opinion, surely worth any irritation the incident generates. Eamon, sadly, does not share his opinion. And perhaps Alistair hadn’t exactly helped the situation by being overcome by a coughing attack at the moment, but the accusation that he’d been laughing is entirely outrageous. How terribly unkingly and undignified and… well maybe a few of the coughs had been covert giggles.

Though he was ready to face Eamon’s irritation, he is not quite prepared to face the man’s fury, and so after “the table incident,” the puppies do indeed end up locked in Alistair’s room during important meetings. After weeks of this, he tries convincing Eamon that it’s actually quite bad for his image to be seen without a single mabari. The man only says, “Perhaps when they’re older,” though Alistair can’t help thinking what his expression says is, “if I haven’t stuffed them in a sack with rocks tied to it and drown them by then.”

A Bann whose name he can’t recall is droning on and on about having his taxes lowered (Maker, fine, yes, lower the man’s damned taxes; if Eamon claims they can’t afford to, he can think of a dozen frivolities off hand he will happily forego to end this prattling on and on), while Alistair’s mind drifts. He’s certain Arlessa is pooping in his bed. Right now, while this pasty man who has obviously never worked his own fields a day in his life natters on, she’s making a point about how she does not appreciate being locked in his rooms and left behind. As though it’s his fault! Probably she will poop right on his pillow, to be certain her point is made. Temperamental, demanding creature. He can’t help wondering if she doesn’t go out of her way to exemplify the traits for which he named her as a sort of revenge.

The man pauses, and he sees his chance--if he interrupts now, he can tell the man his taxes will be lowered by half the amount he’s asking, and, Maker have mercy, today’s Very Important Meetings will be done. It will not please Eamon, though. He hesitates too long, and sinks further into his seat when the man continues.

How pleased they are to see him nearly makes having to leave his dogs behind worth it. Once Arlessa has been cooed over to her heart’s content (it is, after all, critical that she be told whatagoodgirl she is for not pooping in his bed as expected), and Matins’ head is flopped in his lap so that his unclipped ears hang back like wings as he snores softly, Alistair goes through his letters.

There is one addressed to him (well, to His Majesty) in Solona’s hand. He opens it first, with no hurry. It will be much like every other one he has received from her for months now. A dry, clinical report of the highlights of the week for the Wardens of Amaranthine, and an update on the sister he had rescued from the Gallows and sent to her. Even there, little of the woman behind the title Warden Commander shines through. If he knew her less well, he would not catch the pride and affection at all. Her magic continues to improve in both power and precision. He sets it aside, where Grigor will not be able to step on it.

He’s flipping through the rest, tempted to toss them into the fire unopened, when one catches him. The obligatory His Majesty is there, but it’s followed by Alistair Therin, and he can’t think of anyone who bothers to include his name. He opens it curiously, and when he understands who has sent it, something catches in his chest.

Dear Alistair,

I hope it’s okay that I called you Alistair. You did say I should. I am writing because I found one of Solona’s letters to you, and, well, it was open and on her desk, and I wasn’t being nosy, but I may have accidentally read it, and the point is, it was terrible. She sounded like a darkspawn had crawled up her butt and died there. It is a very bad representation of my sister. She is lots of fun. This winter she took me ice skating, and we made giant ice griffons together in the Vigil’s yard which are still there because winter in Ferelden is very, very cold! I am trying to convince Solona to have a Wintersend party to celebrate all of the Heroes of the Fifth Blight. We could invite you and Leliana and Zevran and Wynne and Shale and I don’t think he would come, but we could invite Sten too. (Since we do not know where Morrigan is, you don’t have to worry about her coming.) You could all see our griffons!

I just thought you should know that Solona may have changed since the Blight (she says she has), but she doesn’t ever look or act like a genlock is stuffed up her bum. Mostly, she looks like this (please refer to included drawing).

Yours truly,

Phoebe Amell

Sister of the Hero of Ferelden, Warden Commander Solona Amell, Savior of Ferelden (and Thedas)

Honorary Grey Warden of Vigil’s Keep

At first, it hurts to look at the drawing. Solona had mentioned it once, that Phoebe had an uncanny ability to capture not just the look of a thing, but the feel of it, and, Maker, she has. He knows that smile exactly, remembers it better than he remembers what smiling back at it felt like.

She’s happy.

The realization surprises him, and for an instant he feels something like jealousy, and though he doesn’t know if it’s over her happiness or that she is happy without him, he stamps it down immediately. She deserves her happiness. She deserves every instant of it.

After a moment he realizes he’s holding his breath and forces the air in, slow and deep, as he makes himself look at the drawing again.

She’s happy. She faces darkspawn almost daily; when she isn’t dealing with that, she’s dealing with politics; three of her four siblings are still held in Circles, but she has found a way to be happy.

Every time he’s allowed himself to think of her, it’s been covetous, a desperate wish for how things should have been, for both of them. He’s never considered that this is exactly what her life should have been, that him not being there with her changes so little for her when it would change everything for him.

And even as he has to struggle to keep from clutching the paper til it wrinkles, a thought that’s never occurred does, though he isn’t stupid, and he knows it’s the very opposite of what the letter was meant to inspire.

He could let her go like this.

The thing that he’s been aching for, it’s been the idea of her aching for him.

But she isn’t. She doesn’t.

And he is, truly, glad for her happiness. If she is happy, he can unclench the fist he has made of his heart. He can let her go.

Still, he will always wish the best for her. It can’t hurt to write back to her sister. Though he’ll have to send the letter with one of his guards and have it delivered directly to the girl when Solona isn’t looking. Happy or no, he is quite certain that him writing to her sister will not please her.

Even without the letters themselves, the drawings Phoebe sends tell him more about Solona than the woman herself has told him in the months of letters that she has so obviously sends out of some sense of obligation since her sister arrived at the Vigil. She sends a drawing of the keep itself, rain falling from a grey sky, and though the figure on the roof with her legs hanging over is too tiny to make out details, without any logical explanation, he knows it’s Solona. She sends one of herself and Solona ice skating, hands joined, both grinning the same wide grin with the words “Solie and Pheebs” written across the top, making him suspect that this one was originally intended for Solona herself, not him. He wonders what changed her mind.

In the summer she sends him one of Solona at the beach, hair wet as loose strands curl in the salt and wind. If it causes an ache to look at it, he can at least honestly say it is not pain.

Not that he’s thinking about the drawing he received yesterday as he walks between bodies at the latest in the series of balls Eamon insists they host, as though Alistair is unaware that the man is still, after all this time, determined that he will find his King a wife. Well, maybe he is thinking about the way Solona’s hair would curl into ringlets after they’d been caught in the rain, and how none of the coiffed, curled styles here have a thing on the beauty of it.

And that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it? He’d tried at least once or twice; he truly had. At the very least, he’d tried to try. He’d never expected to find a woman who could burn as brightly as Solona, but he’d told himself that if he could just find one woman who could hold a candle to it…

Some of them are pretty enough, he supposes, these Arlessas and their daughters. Nothing like--well, pretty enough. And if pretty had been all that mattered, it might have been enough. But then they always open their mouths. Maker help him.

It is inevitable when he finds a woman clutching at his arm, nails digging in. Her hair is golden and her eyes are green, and maybe she’s even beautiful, but Maker, her laugh is a horrible noise, high pitched and grating in a way that travels down his spine, and there’s something a little too careful in how she laughs at every conceivably amusing thing to come out of his mouth.

“...I nearly chose the purple silk. I do think the green was the better choice though, don’t you?” She looks up at him, batting her lashes delicately. He nearly groans out loud. Really? After all, he isn’t blind. He’s seen that the dress brings out the color of her eyes. He takes to one of his favorite games--trying to imagine the situation reversed, himself power hungry and trying to impress his partner. He’s never thought himself particularly charming and Maker knows he has little gift with words, but surely he could do better than this. Perhaps it’s harder than it seems. She’s certainly making it look painfully difficult enough.

Arlessa saves him from having to respond, pressing her nose between their bodies until she’s wedged them apart, forcing the woman to release her death grip on his arm. It is an effort not to lean down and fluff her ears while he asks her whosagoodgirl?

It’s only because he’s looking down at her affectionately that he sees what’s coming next before it happens. He watches as Matins, on what’s-her-name’s other side (Elsa? Elise?), lifts a leg, very clearly aiming himself at the woman’s shoes.

He should probably grab her and pull her out of the way. Unfortunately he finds himself fully occupied with the duties of being a King: he’s entirely too busy schooling himself not to laugh. There will be no laughing. I will not laugh. I will not laugh now at least. Maker, Eamon will flay me. Do. Not. Laugh.

By the sweet and blesséd mercy of Andraste, he succeeds. When she shrieks, he even manages a look of faint surprise.

It’s easy enough to stifle his laughter when Eamon appears, unleashing a stream of scolding on Arlessa that Alistair knows perfectly well is directed at himself, but under the neutral expression is a smirk. It's bitter and vindictive, but it is entirely his own. No matter how Eamon works at it, he cannot make Alistair marry. They can push him onto his stupid throne, and they can force the stupid crown on his stupider head, but they can't have this from him. Forget about her. Forget about settling. He takes a sudden viscous joy in the knowledge that the Theirin line will die with him in the Deep Roads, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Let them choose their next monarch based on merit, not meaningless blood, and let their future be better than he can give them for it.

The bitterness does not fade until Arl Wulff approaches him later, a merry sparkle in his eyes. He cannot help returning it. When the man claps a big hand against his back, nearly sending Alistair stumbling, he can’t help feeling a bit like a child beside the hulking figure the arl cuts, though as an actual child, his mischief was never encouraged the way the man proceeds to.

“Eh, mabaris will do as they will. If any Fereldans are too delicate of demeanor to endure it, perhaps they should consider moving to Orlais.”

It isn’t the first time it flashes through his mind that it’s a pity that King Maric’s brother-in-law wasn’t the Arl of West Hills rather than Redcliffe. The thought is, as usual, accompanied by a rush of guilt. Alistair has been fond of Arl Wulff since they had to talk him out of his defeated devastation into supporting the Wardens at the Landsmeet (if only he’d known then what that support would cost him), and all the more fond since the man has revealed himself, outside of war, as a cheerful optimist quick to backup the King he still remembers as one of the Wardens who put a stop to the pestilence crawling over his lands, but it’s an unfair thought to Eamon, who has given up everything of his own (except for the wife who, for all her attempts at ingratiation, still seems slightly disgusted to find the stable boy running her husband’s country) to devote himself to the surely exhausting exercise in futility of attempting to wrestle Alistair into a passable King.

Gallagher Wulff is an easy man to talk to. It isn’t until sounds of mixed outrage and amusement meet his ears that he realizes just how long it’s been since he saw the creatures he is morbidly certain are the cause of the commotion. Perhaps he should have kept a better eye, but he had not expected even them to dare testing Eamon twice in one night.

Alistair wonders how inappropriate it would be to have a servant fetch him a glass of brandy before making his way over to deal with this latest development. Two acts of insurgency may be enough to try even his patience.

His first thought when he squeezes through the gathering crowd is that, well, no one will remember the peeing incident, that’s for sure. The pretty blond herself will probably not remember this as the ball at which her shoes were peed upon. Because Arlessa has truly outdone herself. Maker even knows where she has acquired it, and he can only assume that she must have enlisted the help of Grigor and Matins to get the thing on, but she is wearing a dress. A rather ridiculous one, in fiercely bright shades of pink with dozens of gauzy layers. And she is wearing it.

Perhaps the most terrible part is that he cannot even muster himself up to be indignant. And he certainly can’t help himself from laughing. Given that he is hardly the only one, surely Eamon can’t hold this very much against him.

That’s when there’s a scream of outrage. “That monster is wearing my dress!”

Habren Bryland is standing in the entrance to the ballroom that leads off into the private quarters, apparently dressed only in a blanket, as she shrieks.

His first thought is to wonder how in the world a dog managed to forcibly remove a gown from a full grown woman, but then he looks closer at the blanket she’s wrapped in. It is his blanket. From his bed. In his private chambers. And suddenly he finds himself laughing all the harder. Because really, considering all the ways Arlessa could have reacted to finding a naked woman in his rooms, as he is fairly certain was her state when found, Eamon should be grateful she settled for mere humiliation as an appropriate revenge.

While Eamon yells at the servers and guards to catch that dog, and Arlessa dodges and runs, intentionally froclicking and prancing as she does, Alistair steps closer to Habren, voice low. “I’m sure that approach has worked well for you before, but you should know you’re lucky she didn’t tear your throat out. You should also know that, while finding you dead in my chambers would have done nothing to please me, finding you alive and naked would have done little more.”

Her expression is one of haughty surprise with an underpinning of rage that is rapidly increasing to become the dominant expression.

His answers with merely a charming smile, “I can’t say I understand what it’s like to learn for the first time that you don’t always get your way. I don’t particularly remember learning that lesson the first time. So I can’t really offer you a proper apology. But I can thank you for the reminder that sometimes I do. Thank you, my lady.”

The balls stop after what Eamon refers to as The Night of Ignominy. Had Alistair known, perhaps he would have offered a rather more sincere bit of gratitude to Habren. After all the years of his protests, had he only known three troublesome, wonderful mabari would relieve him of such displeasure, he’d have sought out canine companions before now.

And Eamon’s indignation does not affect him as it usually does. When the man declines their evening game of chess, he spends the time playing fetch, trying to learn to throw sticks in three different directions all at once to keep a jealous tantrum from occurring between Arlessa, Grigor, and Matins.

During the day he goes out. He hates the way people stare, but he hates feeling like a prisoner in the Palace more. So he walks through the Denerim market, thinking about the letter he sent to Phoebe, with a detailed description of Matins’ and most particularly Arlessa’s antics, and thinking of the letter and drawings she sent back.

Dear Alistair,

I have interrogated Lord Eddelbrek thoroughly as to the appearances of Arlessa, Grigor, and Matins. I hope I have done them justice.

Yours truly,

Phoebe Amell

Sister of the Hero of Ferelden, Warden Commander Solona Amell, Savior of Ferelden (and Thedas)

Honorary Grey Warden of Vigil’s Keep

For a girl who’d never seen them at all, who hadn’t been there for the brilliance, she’d captured it perfectly. Himself, laughing. Arlessa, prancing. Grigor, tumbling into a pursuer behind her. Matins, lying in the middle of the floor, tripping another pursuer with a look of utter canine amusement.

Her name day is coming up. Phoebe’s. He doesn’t dare send anything more to Solona, is sure now that she would just send it back, but Phoebe. Phoebe should certainly have a present. Paint, he thinks. Perhaps she’d like paint.

He can’t say what it is that makes him look up. Light glancing off something. Some small movement from the corner of his eye. But when his gaze lands on the elven child crouching in the alley across from the market, staring at something with a desperate, covetous longing, he knows the look well. It resonates in him. It is an expression that graced his own childhood face far too often.

It’s Arlessa that helps him. He understands where she’s leading him before they get there, thinks he probably should have guessed on his own, but of all the many reasons he wore that expression as a child, he is at least fortunate that hunger was seldom the one.

It’s a table piled with apples. That’s what the child is staring at. That is where Arlessa is leading him, with a whine as she cocks her head toward the child when they arrive. “Of course,” he mumbles to the mabari. Of course he’ll buy an apple for a hungry child.

The expression on the boy’s face when Alistair hands him the apple is entirely too much. It sends a pang of disgust with himself rolling through him. Because not three weeks ago he let Eamon force through a motion to raise taxes in the alienage. The chancellor claimed they had recovered from the winter famine well, and it was necessary, and Alistair had not known what to say, because he is, after all, only the bastard playing at King. What does he know about politics?

What he does know is this: it was wrong. What Eamon did was wrong, and he knew it, and he let it happen.

As his fingers move from the head of one dog to the next, he makes a promise. Maybe to the child. Maybe to the dogs. Most certainly to himself. We’ll do better. From now on, we’ll do better than that. We can make things… maybe not right. But better. We can make things better.

#breezes drivel #i'm honestly not thrilled with how this turned out #but i've been looking at it off and on for weeks #and i'm rather tired of looking at it #so fuck it #dragon age fanfiction #alistair theirin #king alistair

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