#Celene Butterfly

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 54: The Great Blackmail Hunt

When in Orlais, do as the Orlesians do— or so the saying goes. In Halamshiral, everyone has to wear a mask... even those who don’t. 

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Tristan stood at the top of the stairs. The ballroom floor stretched before him in shiny and exquisitely patterned marble; and across from it, the Empress of Orlais. Celene, in the flesh.

She looked small from that far away. Not quite the stately, imposing presence he had expected. She was slender and quite lanky, her delicate wrists bent in the characteristic pose of Orlesian high nobility. She spoke little, observing the festivities, yet there was something about her that demanded attention. There was a shrewd, stubborn strength that radiated from every minute movement which was in line with what Tristan had heard of her.

Powerful. Calculated. Ruthless.

“It is your time to shine now, Inquisitor,” Gaspard told him, close to his ear. His body language was relaxed and amicable, confident, and a touch too familiar for Tristan’s liking.

The herald behind them discreetly cleared his throat.

“And now, presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and accompanying him Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, son of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. Champion of the Blessed Andraste Herself!”

A collective intake of breath rippled through the vast room. Tristan could feel the weight of a thousand eyes on him as he slowly descended the steps, piercing him like arrows.

Gaspard chuckled warmly beside him. “Did you see their faces? Ah, priceless.”

Tristan clenched his jaw tight, determined not to let the disquiet take hold. He felt like a butterfly pinned upon a corkboard, held beneath a magnifying glass. He couldn’t shake the feeling that despite his cool facade, those eyes were cutting him open and looking into the depths of him.

“And accompanying him…”

The names of his companions were called, one after the other. Tristan didn’t dare look behind him for fear of breaking stride, but his heart still fluttered when he heard Dorian’s name being called, and the faint echo of his boots clicking on the marble floor.

“Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the Circle of Vyrantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.”

The nobles that stood at each side of the oblong ballroom floor inclined their behatted heads at them, smiling beneath their masks. The eyes of some of them slid from Tristan, to Dorian, then back at him; it was the tiniest of giveaways, but Tristan caught it all the same. Whether it was rumour of them having reached the court, or the fact that Tristan had brought a Tevinter into the very heart of Orlais, he didn't know. A part of him ached to slow down, to let Dorian catch up to him so that they might walk side by side. To prove all those damn rumours and whispers true, if he had to, and burn them down once and for all.  

He took a sharp breath and stood even taller, eyes fixed ahead of him towards the far end of the room. He couldn’t let anything distract him from his purpose. The Orlesians might all be hiding behind their glossy veneers, but he wasn’t going to let his expression betray any of his thoughts or emotions either. If they hoped to find some evidence of discomfiture there, they could well search for it.

“Cousin,” Gaspard said as he ascended the steps to the dais. Then, he turned to the woman standing beside Celene. “My dear sister.”

Empress Celene curtsied with such elegance that seemed impossible in her rigid and bulky gown, then straightened with a tiny graceful smile— a twitch of the lip, really.

“Grand Duke. We are always honoured when your presence graces our court.”

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene,” Gaspard cut her off with a sharp gesture. “We have business to conclude.”

Tristan almost flinched, resisting the urge to cast a sideways glance at the Duke. Instead of the charm and wit he had employed earlier with Tristan, before his cousin the man had as much finesse as a blunt butcher knife— even Tristan himself couldn’t imagine being so candid. Part of him still feared his mother would materialise from the crowd and shake her finger at him. You are a Trevelyan, boy, he could almost hear her tell him, and you will behave as one, whether you like it or not.

As it was, Celene didn’t seem quite as keen on putting her cousin in his place. She only smiled sweetly at him, as if pleased with his obvious blunder. “We will meet for our negotiations after we have seen to our other guests.”

Gaspard bowed, then— thorough, ostentatious, and only a little mocking— before taking his leave. Celene barely paid him any mind before her attention zoomed in on Tristan once again.

“Lord Inquisitor, we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

Florianne, a blonde woman of short stature who only resembled her brother in the sharp, hawk-like quality of her gaze, curtsied. “What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor,” she said, before turning to leave, following her brother.

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a warm summer’s day,” Celene said pleasantly, accompanying her words with a slight flick of her wrist.

“A cool wind can often herald a storm, Your Majesty,” Tristan said. “Never underestimate it.”

“Even the wisest mistake fair winds for foul. We are at the mercy of the skies, Inquisitor.” From the corner of his eye, Tristan caught Vivienne watching them carefully from the stair landing, to his left. “How do you find Halamshiral?”

Telling the Empress herself that this place was the most unnecessarily opulent and oppressive he’d ever seen would probably not go over the nobles gathered here very well. He smiled, and gatehred as much of the little charm he possessed as he could muster.

“I have no words to suffice, Your Majesty. Halamshiral has many rare, fascinating beauties," he said, inclining his head. "I couldn’t possibly do them justice."

He had heard Leliana say that Celene not only invited playful flirtation in her court; she expected it. It had become something of an unspoken rule that any man or woman in her presence acted as if he were there to woo her, whether through words or actions. Tristan was a piss poor candidate for that and he knew it, but the least he could do was try. When was he ever going to put everything his mother had taught him to good use, if not now?

Celene rewarded him with the warmest of smiles he’d seen on her yet. “Your modesty does you credit, and speaks well for the Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

It was a performance, and they both knew it. Tristan bowed deeply, then turned to leave.

Instead of his companions and advisors, there was a throng of ladies of the court waiting for him at the head of the stairs. Tristan only managed to catch a glimpse of Dorian ascending the steps behind him before he was whisked away.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[butterflymagic310]

Solar Butterfly (and his sisters)

I don’t know what backgrounds or hands are 🙃

Solar Butterfly is only 3 weeks old in this photo. It took a long time for Star to recover after birthing her “third” child and it certainly didn’t help once she saw him and saw that he had her late mom’s eyes and hair color. All of Star and Marco’s kids have a shit ton of hair (they get it from Star) even from a young age.

Solar has 2 moles but no one expected him to have cheek marks due to his sex. He’s a happy baby that Carina loves with all her heart and Celene is low-key jealous of.

(Also, as you can see, I have a lot of problem with consistency. So far I’ve draw Celene 3 times I think and each time she looks different...)

[xachery-apollo]

I was listen to Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer and this line made me think of my favorite snek boi.

[dandy-badger]

2019 headshots of my ocs Azalea and Celene!

[reptilian-aristocrat]

Toffee & Celena theory: Celena's greek myth

So... I was looking for some more information about this new headcannon/ship of mine when it came to my mind that the inspiration for celena's name comes directly from the greek moon goddess Selene.

I always knew about this goddes but i never had a particular interest in her mythology... until today

One of her most famous myths is, in fact, a love story. With a young beautiful shepherd cald Endymion. And things goes like this...

Every night, after performing his daily tasks, Endymion slept soundly inside the cave that served as his dwelling place. But if the weather was good, he lay by the door of the cave to sleep in the open air. So every night, he gazed at the moon, Selene, in the sky untill he fall asleep, and silently developed a warm love for the gothes.

Selene knew nothing of the great love she had inspired in the shepherd, but one night she went down to earth, saw the young man asleep, so beautiful and strong and instantly fell in love with him. Since then she visited him every night, found Endymion always asleep, and lay down next to him without waking him.by this way, they loved each other silently for a long time.

The goddess was unaware of the shepherd's fascination with her, and he also did not know that, during his dreams, he became Selene's purest love. Until one night Endymion awoke up and discovered the goddess staring at him with adoration. They both confessed their secret love and happiness enveloped them. But then a fear entered him, as time had passed and his body began to wither. He asked Selene to grant him eternal youth with his divine power. She turned to Zeus and he decided that Endymion would not suffer the passage of time while he was asleep; so they lived eternally loving each other.

Now... imagine, a young Toffee and Celena secretly stalking each other (Toffee because of orders, Celena out of curiosity) and crushing hard on each other, without the other knowing anything of what is going on. Until of course, someone would have to make the first step.

@fangirlingpuggle ... with this information i gaved you... do ya thing♡

@full-moon-phoenix @araminakilla20 @ninjawarrior100 opinions??

[isanxietyaninstrument]

WIP- (ーー;)

[lis-likes-fics]

A Witch Hunt | Chapter 7

By the end of the week, they did end up in a house. It was nice and considerably closer to the witch residence than the hotel. Each of them had their own rooms, but Y/N and Jasper slept in one room, same for Cole and Alice.

Y/N was getting up one morning, putting something together for breakfast, when there was a knock on the door. She turned to it, confused at first, but walked over. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Mariah, Eileen, and Celene at her door, each with their familiars perched on their shoulders. Celene offered a big and happy smile, Eileen a more casual one, and Mariah no smile at all. She wasn't hostile toward Y/N, so she brushed it off.

"Hey, Y/N! Mother Romina told us to tell you that you could have the day off and asked if we could properly show you around the city. So, here we are," Celene exclaimed.

Y/N smiled, already used to Celene's enthusiasm. She spoke, "That sounds like a great idea. Can the others come along?"

Mariah spoke this time, "They can come."

"Mother Romina also has a gift for them," Eileen added, "And the rest of your coven." Y/N was a little wary at that, but Eileen caught it and reassured her, "Don't worry, we may be witches, but we aren't devious."

Y/N let them inside, closing the door behind them. Jasper came downstairs, Alice and Cole in tow as if they were some sort of heard. Alice greeted them, she'd grown found on Celene pretty quickly. "Hi, how are you this morning?"

The witches greeted them back and Mariah dug in her back, pulling out a few boxes. She handed three small boxes to each of them and said, "These were made by Mother."

Alice, Cole, and Jasper grabbed the boxes and slowly opened them, curious as to what was inside, but still cautious of the witch's gifts. Cole opened his first, seeing a ring placed inside. "I'm flattered, really, but I'm with Alice," he joked.

Eileen rolled her eyes with a smile as she stroked her cat, "No. Wear them to keep the sun from turning you into diamonds. You can go out and about whenever."

Alice smiled, "Thank you, this is wonderful!" She slipped it on her finger and said, "It's really pretty."

Celene smiled, "I helped pick out some of the jewels for them. I'm glad you like it." They hugged and Y/N chuckled lightly at her friend's adorableness. Mariah asked, "Have you eaten yet? We were going to go to Café du Monde."

Y/N nodded, "I was going to make breakfast, but that sounds great. Alice, Cole, Jazz, you wanna come?"

Cole said, "Actually, we were also going to go around town today, get some fresh air." Y/N nodded and Jasper spoke, "Course, I'll come. It'd be good to properly see New Orleans."

Eileen smiled, "Great. We'll go ahead and go now. We'll be waiting outside, if you need us." They headed outside and Y/N finished getting ready before heading back over to them. Alice and Cole left and Jasper and Y/N went with the witches to the café.

"So, how long have you been with Mother?" Y/N asked, she'd gotten used to calling her 'Mother' like everyone else. They didn't seem to notice much, used to calling her that. Eileen spoke, "Well, Celee and I found her at the same time. The town we lived in was small and both our parents were witches, they preferred to live closer together for protection purposes."

"One day, our town was attacked by a couple vampires and our parents were killed," Celene continued, "We were eleven at the time. The witch leaders of each place like to keep tabs on the covens spread here and there and when word spread about the attack, Mother Romina visited to see if any of the witches survived. She took us in and we've been living with her and those other witches ever since. Cami chose me not to long after."

At the moment, Cami was sitting on Celene's shoulder as a butterfly. The humans didn't take an owl perched on someone's shoulder in the middle of the day too lightly, it was strange enough to see one at all. The butterfly flapped her wings and Eileen pet Ella in her arms.

Mariah spoke, her snake still a snake as it laid around her shoulders, "I was with Romina a little before that. I was ten when I met her. I lived in London with my parents, but the city they lived in started getting a few visits every few months by the Volturi. My parents were active witches, along with the coven, and their activity was picking up attention by some of the vampires who were scattered around the city. The coven broke up to keep everyone safe and scattered. The children went to different covens around the world, I was sent here with Romina. My mum and dad are still in London, I visit every now and then."

Merida flicked her tongue out. Mariah asked, "What about you?"

Y/N shrugged, "My parents were afraid to use their magic. They were a part of the coven, but the coven was only together so they had protection, they never used magic. I was 15 when my home was attacked by vampires. I got away before they could get to me. Not too long after, I was found by a coven of nomads. They took me in and I was with them for two years. Then I met Jasper and his family."

Celene spoke, "Aw." Y/N started to smile but her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket and looked at the caller ID. Her smile fell as she saw the name on the screen. Jasper asked, "Who is it?"

She sighed and answered, her voice a sigh, "Bella." She sat the phone on the table and let it ring. "Who's Bella?" Eileen asked.

Y/N took a breath in and awkwardly said, "Human friend." They got it quickly and dropped the subject. "Well, we were going to take you to a part of a bayou today after a few more stops. We have voodoo shops and things. You'll love it."

They stood and headed out of the café. Jasper grabbed Y/N's hand, intertwining their fingers. She smiled at him and brought his hand up, kissing her hand gently. He smiled at her, pulling her closer as they walked the streets.

They spent the afternoon going to different old buildings, learning the legends of each of them and going to voodoo shops. "Alright, let's get to the bayou." Mariah said once it started getting dark.

They ventured over to the bayou and Y/N asked, "So...why exactly are we here?"

Eileen spoke, "It's where we take the new witches. Since you'll be living here and are under our teachings, we're bringing you to the bayou. The other witches will be there to bring you into the coven officially."

Y/N chewed on her lip, concerned with that. Celene spoke, "Don't worry, the Cullens will still be your coven, you'll just have two."

Y/N nodded, "Oh, good." They got to the bayou, a part of it Y/N hadn't recognized. She grasped Jasper a little tighter, not realizing what she was doing. As she walked with Jasper, she realized that the three witches had disappeared. "Jazz, they're gone," she mumbled to him.

He looked around, holding her more protectively. "Stay behind me," he told her quietly. She did as told, moving behind him as he protectively shielded her from whatever was happening.

After a moment, she heard chanting and looked around frantically. Candles lit up around her, each little glow arranged in a circle around her, floating in the air. The clouds above the trees moved out of the way, making way for them to be basked in moonlight.

The witches, all of them, were surrounding Jasper and Y/N in a wide circle that blocked any path for them to escape. Y/N clutched Jasper tightly, keeping herself under control so her magic didn't run away from her.

"Apodechteíte mas, I sýnaxi magissón mas eínai tóra dikí sas," they chanted in their cloaks, hanging down and dragging behind them as they very slowly moved in closer to make a tighter circle. Jasper asked cautiously, "What are they saying?"

Y/N couldn't answer, she watched as the witches stood around them. As they chanted their spell, her mind became hazy with the magic. Jasper turned to her when he didn't receive a response.

Her eyes were closed and she began chanting, much to the concern of Jasper, "Se déchomai os sýnaxi magissón mou. Eíste dikós mou kai eímai dikós sas. Méchri na kopoún ta omóloga kai o chrónos stamátise. Eíste i sýnaxi magissón mou."

The moonlight shone down on her and Jasper looked around, hissing at the witches as he felt them moving closer. The candles went out and everyone stopped chanting, Jasper straightened his spine and turned back to Y/N. She opened her eyes and took a breath in. She saw Jasper in front of her and he asked, "Are you okay? What happened?"

She told him quickly, "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"What just happened?" He questioned. She looked around at the witches as they removed their hoods from their heads. She spoke, "I'm a French Quarter witch."

Romina stepped forward and handed her a cloak with a smile, "Here you are, dear. Welcome to the coven."

She smiled and took the cloak, putting it on, "Thank you, Mother. Why did you have to do it like that? You couldn't tell me?"

She shook her head, "I'm afraid not. In order for the initiation to actually work, you weren't allowed to know how it would go. It's up to your magic and instinct to decide for you, and it did."

Y/N sighed, "I guess that makes sense."

Jasper asked her quickly, "What were they saying?"

Romina answered, "Don't fret, Jasper. The spell was a simple initiation."

Y/N nodded, "The spell speaks to the witch's magic and that decides whether to join or not. I would have told you what they were saying, but the magic made me hazy."

He nodded, straitening as he felt better than before. She was suddenly brought into a suffocating hug and an exclamation, "Congrats! I'm so happy for you!"

She pulled away from the hug with a smile, "Thanks, Alice." She was then brought in another hug, this time by Celene, "Welcome to the family, new sis." There were a lot more congratulations given in the next ten seconds and it began to overwhelm Y/N. Jasper spoke, "Okay, I think she gets it."

The woods around them got a little brighter as the moonlight spread over the area. The faint shapes in the darkness were now illuminated and were now wooden picnic tables and chairs and different decorations celebrating the new French Quarter witch.

Y/N smiled as the witches went around, lighting the candles at the tables. A few of the witches gathered around the giant stack of wood and lit it up, starting a bonfire at the center of the celebration.

Alice, Cole, Jasper, and Y/N sat at a table with a bunch of other witches, who were now a part of her new family. They started talking and getting to know each other more. It was the first time she talked to any of the other witches and warlocks other than Mariah, Eileen, Celene, and Romina with all the training they'd been doing.

As the night carried on, she wandered toward the edge of the party with Jasper. He asked, "So how do you feel?"

She smiled, "Nice. This was nice. I now have a witch coven, I've never officially had one before." Jasper smiled, grabbing her hand, "I can tell you're happy. It's nice."

She smiled, leaning into him, "I'm glad you're happy. I can sense it." She sighed and sat down at a small, deserted table. She leaned her head on his shoulder and he told him, "So...you're happy here?"

She looked up at him and nodded, "I'm happy wherever you are. The witch family is a plus, though."

He chuckled lightly. He brought her hand up, kissing the back of it softly. He turned to her and smiled, "Hey, Y/N?" She turned to face him, giving a soft hum of acknowledgement. Jasper continued, "Can I tell you something?"

She nodded, "Course, anything."

Jasper told her softly, with a little bit of anxiousness, "...I love you."

She looked at him, searching his eyes for any type of doubt before smiling again, "I love you, too, Jasper." He smiled again and kissed her deeply, his hand coming to rest on her cheek. She chuckled as they pulled away from the kiss. They enjoyed the rest of the party, surrounded by new friends and celebration.

[auargent-old]

( WHAT IS YOUR MUSE’S MBTI PERSONALITY TYPE? ) 

The Caregiver (Ceynarel - ESFJ)

You are sympathetic and caring, putting friends and family first. A creature of habit, you prefer routines and have trouble with change. You love being in groups - whether you're helping people or working on a project. You are good at listening, laughing, and bringing out the best in people. In love, you value harmony and mutual understanding. You will apologize or give someone the benefit of the doubt, if it means getting over a fight sooner. At work, you are good at building relationships and connecting with people. You would make a great nurse, social worker, or teacher.

How you see yourself: Organized, dependable, co-operative

When other people don’t get you, they see you as: Opinionated, critical, and know-it-all

The Protecor (Cillian - INFJ)

You live your life with integrity, originality, vision, and creativity. Independent and stubborn, you rarely stray from your vision - no matter what it is. You are an excellent listener with almost infinite patience. You have complex feelings, and you take great care to express them. In love, you see relationships as an opportunity to connect and grow. You enjoy relationships when they are improving and changing. You can't stand stagnation. At work, you stay motivated and happy... as long as you are working toward a dream you support. You would make a great photographer, alternative medicine guru, or teacher.

How you see yourself: Hardworking, ethical, and helpful

When other people don’t get you, they see you as: Opinionated, critical, and know-it-all

The Executive (Florianne - ENTJ)

You are a natural leader - with confidence and strength that inspires others. Driven to succeed, you are always looking for ways to gain, power, knowledge, and expertise. Sometimes you aren't the most considerate person, especially to those who are a bit slow. You are not easily intimidated - and you have a commanding, awe-inspiring presence. In love, you hold high standards... for yourself, for your relationship, and for your significant other. While it's easy for you to impress others, it's hard for you to find someone who impresses you. At work, you are organized and good at delegating. You understand how to achieve goals. You would make a great CEO, entrepreneur, or consultant.

How you see yourself: Rational, calm, and objective

When other people don’t get you, they see you as: Inflexible, controlling, and overbearing

The Executive (Celene - ENTJ)

You are a natural leader - with confidence and strength that inspires others. Driven to succeed, you are always looking for ways to gain, power, knowledge, and expertise. Sometimes you aren't the most considerate person, especially to those who are a bit slow. You are not easily intimidated - and you have a commanding, awe-inspiring presence. In love, you hold high standards... for yourself, for your relationship, and for your significant other. While it's easy for you to impress others, it's hard for you to find someone who impresses you. At work, you are organized and good at delegating. You understand how to achieve goals. You would make a great CEO, entrepreneur, or consultant.

How you see yourself: Rational, calm, and objective

When other people don’t get you, they see you as: Inflexible, controlling, and overbearing

Tagged by: I took this from myself lmaoo

Tagging: Whoever would like to do this!

[dreadfutures]

Fluffuary #8 - Taking a Nap Together

Rating: G

Pairing: Halevune Mahariel & Kieran

This one made me think of sleepy summer evenings, and of vespers.

-:-:-

The constant itch in the back of his mind receded with every westward step. If Halevune was honest, he had not even noticed the pestersome voices until they had grown quiet. At first, it had simply set him on edge, because he could not pin down what had changed. After all, he had spent more of his conscious life as a Warden than not, now. But it became easier to sleep, the farther away he was from the Known Lands. It was not until Kieran pointed it out in the silence of a shared dream that Hal realized that the symptoms of the Calling had lessened.

The realization would fill him with horror in his waking moments, but for as long as he could sit with his son in the Fade, he could ignore the consequences.

On the nights where they happened to sleep at the same time, separate by countless leagues though they might be, Kieran told him of his schooling in the Orlesian court, and of Morrigan's careful manuevering. Morrigan had seemingly shelterer Kieran from the fallout of Celene's alienage purge (or perhaps there had been none), and Kieran chattered about games of Wardens-versus-Darkspawn played with the bratty children of novles, and about the books he had read in Hal's absence. Or, well, Kieran would not tell Hal about the books. He would remember them with near-perfect reproduction and read them aloud to Hal, who was always blown away by his son's raw intelligence.

He had come to understand, over time, how extraordinary it was that his little boy could wander through the Fade so lucidly and without fear, all unaided. Not to mention how Kieran could pull others along with him for the ride. But strange and unheard-of magic was something Halevune had honestly expected of his son, carrying the soul of an Old God. The boy's raw intellect, his endless curiosity, and the way he catalogued the things he found beautiful and worthy, was something different.

When Kieran lay his dark head against Hal's knee and conjured exotic birds and butterflies around them to adore, or recalled a particularly delicious meal he wished to share with his father, or summoned a royal orchestra to play silly songs, Hal was never more convicted of his choice to leave. For Hal loved Kieran more than life itself, and he wished more than anything to be allowed to nurture these parts of him, protect them into adulthood in a way that Hal himself had not been afforded.

Every night ended the same way, with Kieran. Archdemon though he might contain, he was still a child, and a mortal mage, and shaping the Fade was taxing. He would grow sleepy, softer in voice and in his face, and lay his dark head in Hal's lap. Hal would brush out Kieran's hair and tuck it behind the boy's ears--always sharper in the Fade than when awake--and hum Dalish lullabies he recalled from his own youth. And as Kieran drifted into deeper sleep, to somewhere Halevune could not follow, Hal always remembered to pray.

Of June, he asked that his son would find new ways of expressing his creativity and curiosity, that he might show the world the wonders he contained within him.

Of Dirthamen, he prayed that Kieran might be blessed with the chance to discover the lost history of their People, for if anyone were to appreciate its significance and, moreover, be able to connect it to truth in a way that was truly beautiful, it would be Kieran.

Of Sylaise, he begged that Kieran's eyes might never grow numb to beauty, and that he might always seek to preserve it where he could.

And of Falon'Din, he wished for someone to guide Kieran better than Hal could, safely along the shifting paths of the Fade, from Hal's own thwarted death, through life, to a peaceful death in a time far from now, and Beyond.

[5lazarus]

The Most Boring Sex Party in All Orlais

Josephine and Leliana both admit the night they met ended with someone's smallclothes pinned to the Chanter's Board--but what happened right before?

Josephine says, “I have played the Game before, and understand its cutthroat stakes. But I must admit, I never thought I would witness the opening salvo of a coup at the most boring sex party of all Orlais.”

Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It goes without saying, but nsfw elements.

The food is bad and the shoes are worse. Leliana registers and catalogues the strain in Celene’s courtiers eyes as she des her rounds through the ballroom. The Game between the heirs to Florian is not going well, that Justinia already knew, but now Leliana can confirm that Celene is losing her backers. She wanders back towards the gardens, gathering halla statues as she goes. As she places them into the locks of the Fumeur, she catches a flash of bright silk. Quickly she draws her knife. The harlequin backs away, hands up, and whistles. “Do I get a prize?” she asks drily. The harlequin disappears in a plume of black smoke: no. Leliana wrinkles her nose. Someone is buying black powder from the Qunari, then. They’d certainly be interested in prolonging the incipient civil war, but are they actively planning an invasion of Orlais? She had heard a rumor from Cyril de Montfort, who of course would take the throne if both the Valmont line and the de Chalons line failed. Deep in thought, Leliana unlocks the door to the Fumeur, and drifts into the smoke. “Do you often go stepdancing, Lady Mantillon?” a maskless woman asks. She is very expensively dressed in Antivan colors, exquisitely tailored to let her move quickly. She has a stiletto at her waist. Leliana checks out her shoes: elegant leather boots with a tapered toe and a sharp lyrium crystal at the ankle. Intriguing: the scion of a merchant family, probably, trained as a bard.

Lady Mantillon pauses to allow a stream of blue smoke out of her mask. “I never miss a step,” she says. Leliana translates: she is sleeping with both of her stepchildren and her whole family knows it. How scandalous. But why is she advertising it? Why did the bard bring it up?

The woman grins. “Then allow me to ask your hand for the next dance, my Lady. I am fond of this fad from Ferelden.”

The Lady’s first husband, of which there were nine, died in the war between Ferelden and Orlais. Leliana almost smiles. What a gambit! And with the Dowager herself! She is interested, now. There is more to this Game than the jockeying of an Antivan merchant house to fame.

The Dowager smokes. “Sister Nightingale, would you care to join us? It is more enjoyable a troi. May I introduce you to Josephine Montilyet, heir to Yves Montilyet of the eponymous house.”

Josephine makes an exquisite butterfly curtsey. “It is an honor to meet a hero of the Fifth Blight,” she says.

Leliana giggles, delighted. “And it is an honor to meet such a dashing merchant-prince,” she returns, and makes the same curtsey. She likes the curve of her waist and the curls artistically tumbling from her very proper bun—Antivan naturalism at the court of Orlais. Josephine’s eyes linger similarly as her naked face, painted to look like she naturally has that rose-glow, and travel down.

“I adore your shoes,” Josephine says. “Inscribed Antivan leather?” She grins. “And the masterwork is masterfully done—what Circle did you commission?”

Leliana thinks, I like you, and the Dowager does too.

The Dowager takes them dancing in the Royal Apartments. Leliana tastes the old magic, ripped from the elves but still pulsing in the walls and locks of the oldest wing of the palace. Halamshiral was the capital of the Dales, and the humans have constructed their revelries on the bones of the old elvhen empire—sometimes literally. Josephine shivers as they pass through a suddenly cold hallway.

The Dowager looks amused. “Old ghosts, my dear,” she says. “But long dead. The wards are kept strong here. We keep a court magician.”

“Of course,” Josephine says. “In Antiva our places run hot instead.”

The Dowager laughs melodiously. “Too hot a summer parches the harvest.”

“Too cool a spring blanches the grain,” Josephine responds.

Leliana adds, “But a warm breezes soothes both the fevered brow and the chilled laborer, tilling for the harvest.” She is not quite sure she has her farming metaphors correct, but that is fine, because it is not like any of these women have ever had to even look at a plough.

One of the halla-gated doors suddenly flares with blue light, etching out words that whisper the language of the dead. The door opens, and there stands an elf-woman in House Valmont livery. She is studiously neat. She bows deeply, and moves to let them through. Leliana glances at her as she passes; she is radiating heat, and behind her mask her face is set in the relaxed smugness of the well-fucked. Josephine catches Leliana’s eye. She noticed it too. It will doubtless be a most interesting night.

The blue silk cools the walls of the Valmont drawing room, painted most exquisitely with lions that blink dismissively at the trio as they enter. Josephine steps closer to price them out, ever the Antivan.

“How much?” Leliana asks, amused.

Josephine glances at her. “How do you want me to price it? How much the weavers were paid, and then the painters of the Circle? The sailors of the ship that bore it? The middlemen, who raised their prices? Or how much the Empress paid for it?”

She’s never heard a merchant price their wares by how much the craftsmen were paid—only to complain, for overweening costs of labor. “Do you know how much the Empress paid?”

“It was a gift,” Lady Mantillon interrupts. “From her cousin, Florianne de Chalons. Briala!” Then the glowing servingwoman is there again, appearing on silent feet. Leliana is startled. She’s quieter than a harlequin! “Prepare for le ménage. I will bring les fleurs de la cour.” She turns to Josephine, her mask leering a smile. “I will have quite a show for you, ma chérie.” She sprinkles her sentences with Orlesian to remind them both than Common is a mere courtesy, and the language of Orlais shall haves its day. “While my niece is otherwise occupied.”

Briala’s Valmont-livery mask does not hide the slight smug curl of her lips. Leliana narrows her eyes. Briala bows silently and exits. Lady Mantillon follows her. Leliana immediately takes this as an invitation to browse, and begins rummaging.

“Lady Nightingale!” Josephine says, faux-scandalized. “Are you…snooping?”

“Don’t you want to know, too?” Leliana opens a jewelry box and finds a plain pewter locket, elvhen-make. “Look, isn’t this interesting?” When she tries to pry it open it stings her fingertips. “Hmm. Well, the implication is more useful than the truth.” She puts it back.

“What do you mean?” Josephine asks. “Surely you don’t—“

The Dowager Countess reenters, followed by les fleurs de la cour: Celene’s ladies-in-waiting. The Ladies Couteau, Colombe, and Fleur come in their blue silk finery and shining masks, with their own minor court of musicians and friends, and the party really begins.

There is, of course, the music, by a man who calls himself ZITHER!, the Virtuoso. His manipulation of the Fade through his enchanted lute leaves them all a little high and dancing a bit harder than their thin noble blood would normally permit. Leliana is watching one of Celene’s ladies-in-waiting—Couteau, by the giggle—paint the naked chest of Florianne de Chalons with real gold. Another is smoking opium, a pursuit Leliana once enjoyed. A trio is fucking lazily on a couch; one of them comes up for air to wink at her and wave. Leliana considers it, then discards the idea. The music is not quite right for a quadrille.

Josephine says, “Why isn’t the empress here? And where did the Dowager go?”

“Don’t you have a fortune to make?” Leliana says.

Josephine says, “Yes, and that is why I am asking: why isn’t the empress at a soiree in her own apartments? Why is it everyone but her? And what does the Dowager have to do with it?”

She has a point. Perhaps the opium-smoke in the air has addled her wits. Justinia needs her to be sharp, her knife in the dark, and so Leliana steels herself and refocuses, breaking herself away from the spell of the music.

“Well, then,” she says. “Then let’s snoop, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine mock-bows. “After you, Sister Nightingale.”

She likes her, she really does. Leliana grins and leads the way. People notice them leaving, of course. This is Orlais and this is the Great Game. They will have to return after a reasonable delay before the bad gossip begins to circulate, but Leliana is confident in finding enough interesting secrets to satisfy even the bitchiest Comte. They pad silently down a long hallway. Leliana sees a flash of movement in a mirror and stops. Facing a bust of Prince Reynaud is a harlequin.

“Really?” Josephine whispers, unimpressed. “You’d think the Royal Apartments would be off-limits to this game.”

“Shh,” Leliana says. “I hear if you surprise three you get a prize.” Promptly she jumps on the harlequin, who whirls around, throwing their hands up.

“Don’t whistle!” Josephine whispers at them urgently. “We’re snooping.”

The harlequin’s eyes dart from Leliana to Josephine to the window, and then they disappear in a puff of smoke. Leliana sniffs at it curiously: more black powder. So Celene’s spymaster is dealing with the Qunari. Justinia will have to nip that in the bud.

Josephine says, “What do you think the prize will be? The Empress’s favor?”

Leliana thinks: an aversion of an Exalted March on Orlais, if their nobles continue to tie themselves to the Ben-Hassrath; the eventual admission to elves into the Chantry matriarchy, if Celene can stay perched on her throne for another twenty years and Justinia thirty; mages like ZITHER! walking freely in the streets of Halamshiral, without templar guards.

She says, “I hope it is something better than a handkerchief.”

Josephine says, “I can ruin a marriage with a well-placed handkerchief. What could I do with the empress’s?”

Leliana laughs aloud. “I like you,” she says. “You’re fun.”

“I wouldn’t play the Game if I didn’t enjoy it,” Josephine smiles. “Come, you said we were snooping?” Then a door at the end of the passage is thrown open, and light comes flooding in. Leliana crouches behind the statue the harlequin had claimed; Josephine tangles herself up in the curtains. Perhaps they are not so sober as they thought they were.

Celene’s voice sings, “Je t’aime, ma douce petite nymphe. Reviens vite!” The elvhen serving-woman hurries up the hall with a crumb-covered silver tea set in her hands, hair a little too perfectly arranged. She’s grinning to herself. Leliana turns to watch her leave. She’s not wearing underwear.

The doors close, Briala leaves, and Leliana says, “Josie, I don’t think the empress has any more favors to give.”

Josephine says, gleefully scandalized, “Are those her panties?”

“Mine!” Leliana says, and pounces. They were caught under the door; Leliana carefully coaxes them out, understanding that the just-fucked empress is lazing on the other side and it wouldn’t do to get caught. She waves them triumphantly at Josephine. Josephine looks back up the hall and gestures at her to hurry up—the gossiping is about to start, and they wouldn’t want to lose the Dowager’s approval for ditching her party. Leliana stows the panties in her pockets, and quickly, both of them giggling to each other, they return to le ménage.

“I’m bored,” Lady Colombe says. “Let’s do something dangerous.” The Comte du Brac stops licking her feet.

“We could sneak into the dog lord ambassador’s quarters and throw her a party,” Lady Couteau suggests. She is stroking, achingly slowly, ZITHER!’s tumescent cock.

“Please,” ZITHER! says. “A bit faster.”

This is one of the dullest orgies Leliana has ever attended. “What about the Chantry?” she says suddenly. In the background, Lady Fleur continues to peg Cyril de Montfort, who moans enthusiastically. This is certainly one way to keep the next heir to the throne in line, Leliana thinks.

“The Chantry?” Lady Colombe says. “Sister Nightingale, what do you mean?”

“Wax,” Leliana says. “It’s deserted before Lauds. And playing with Andraste’s own flame is both delectable and dangerous.”

There is a moment of silence, and then Lady Fleur yells in triumph as Cyril de Montfort finally, loudly, messily comes undone.

“The Chantry it is,” Lady Couteau says. She wraps her hand a little tighter around ZITHER!’s cock, who moans happily. “I can lead you there. Do you think you can last?”

“Yes, my lady,” he gasps. “Please.”

Lady Couteau smirks. “I do always like it when they beg,” she tells Leliana confidingly.

With some help from the sober servants—Celene’s maid Briala nowhere to be found—they bundle the nobles towards the Chantry. Lady Couteau leads ZITHER! by a string she has attached to a cock ring. They stumble through the well-trimmed hedges of the royal gardens towards the chapel. Everyone who matters is with them. Everyone else is asleep or having more fun. Cyril de Montfort is wearing Lady Fleur’s delightful leather contraption on his forehead. It does not make the orgy more fun.

“This is the dullest sex party I have been to,” Josephine whispers to Leliana. Leliana concurs.

“At least we have the empress’s panties,” Leliana says. She takes them out. “Or her serving maid’s.” They pause in the shrubbery, as the others enter the chapel, to study them properly. They are infinitely sensible, but Celene is a sensible woman, and made of finely woven cotton from northern Antiva. Leliana wonders if they could be Briala’s, but one cannot gad about in silk every day, even if one is the empress of Orlais. Alas, there is no trace of hair to mark to whom the panties belong.

“So,” Josephine says, “they’re either the empress, or the elvhen serving maid she is having a passionate affair with, an affair so passionate she abandons us to the most boring sex party of Orlais. What do we do with them?”

A noblewoman in exquisite shoes walks down the cobbled lane before the shrubbery and stops before the Chanter’s Board. Leliana and Josephine stop: if she goes inside, what revelries will she interrupt? If anything, the scandal would be that the ladies-in-waiting to the empress were so dull. They watch her pin something to the board. She turns around and smiles at them in the shadows. She raises her hands and whistles like a harlequin, and disappears in a cloud of blackpowder smoke.

“The Dowager Mantillon,” Josephine breathes. She takes Leliana’s hand. “All this time—truly the master of the Game!”

They scramble out of the bushes to check what she has pinned to the board. An exquisite piece of silk, on which House Valmont crest embroidered along with sigils against menstrual cramps and conception, flutters in the early dawn breeze.

“Those have to be Celene’s,” Josephine says. “But why did the Dowager want us to find them?”

“A gift for Justinia,” Leliana says. “House Valmont totters as its heir spends her time indulging her passions with a serving girl. The Dowager wants the Chantry to intercede.”

Josephine says, “I have played the Game before, and understand its cutthroat stakes. But I must admit, I never thought I would witness the opening salvo of a coup at the most boring sex party of all Orlais.”

[seas-storyarchive]

Star Vs AU/Crescent Marco AU

Marco is a descendant of Celene The Shy. A mishap with dimensional scissors resulted in a line from Celene that would become the Diaz family having magic but overtime it became diluted and is almost non-existent with the exception of super strength by Marco's time. And then the Blood Moon Ball awoke the magic potential in him? And it's discovered that the Diaz's are missing some spots on their tree, which fits nicely into the Butterfly tree.

Moon gives him a choice: "stay on Earth, forget everything that happened since the day Star arrived and live a life of mortal ignorance with his family (his parents and little Mariposa). Or come to Mewni and be raised as a prince, as [your] bloodline has told."

"I'll do it. Just to keep my family and friends safe."

"Welcome to the royal family, Marco Diaz. Or shall I say, Prince Marco Butterfly."

Also, Marco is able to speak to past Queen's from the wand once his cheek marks become permanent and he gets adopted by Eclipsa and Globgor, Meteora taking a shine to him.

[jokertrap-ran]

(时空中的绘旅人—For All Time—) Clarence Route Translations (Chapter 15-1 水镜: Water Mirror)

*For All Time Master-list / Clarence’s Personal Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Maintaining Si Lan’s name as Clarence *Route Tag is #Chapter of Legacy

The Ice Butterflies were eliminated, but Aurora collapsed on the ground.

The little girl clutched at her stomach, rolling on the ground in agony. Those Purge Guards, all high and mighty, only looked at her from afar, not daring to step any closer as it is.

Soldier: What an evil creature; no one knows when it'll go out of control.

I heard them whispering to each other.

They all hate Mages. Mages protect Yemsaiel, but everyone relies on and fears them at the same time.

I stride forwards, gathering Aurora up into my arms and carrying her back into the carriage. She might be a "glutton", but her body was very light; so light, that even someone like me could pick her up with ease.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

But Aurora only clung tightly into me, bawling loudly.

Aurora: Aurora likes to eat them… But eating them makes my tummy hurt… Ughh…

Aurora: It hurts, big sis, it really does… I'm gonna die from the pain…

Her small hand nearly drew blood from my hand when she clamped down on it; and all I could do was to find and use the gentlest and most comforting words I had in my dictionary to soothe the little girl.

It was only until she had passed out from the sheer amount of pain, that I let go of the breath that I didn't know I had been holding.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

I carried her unconscious form out of the carriage. The sun was setting when I bumped into Alkaid outside the Mage Tower.

Alkaid: Goddess, Your Highness, did you manage to make any progress in your investigation today?

Alkaid's single sentence served as a reminder that made me realize that I'd spent the entire day with Aurora and had technically not accomplished anything at all.

Clarence: I think she hasn't done anything but watch over Aurora the entire day today. An emotional little girl like her will never amount to much.

Clarence: It’s not like I counted on her anyway...

Alkaid: Master Clarence, I don’t see it that way. The fact that (Y/n) was able to care so deeply about a little girl she’s only just met proves to show that she’s a gentle person at heart.

Alkaid: I feel that if anyone stands a chance against the death sentence that Yemsaiel faces, then it’d be no one other than her.

Alkaid: She has the gentlest heart and the strongest, unwavering conviction. And there’s no one among the strongest of us in Yemsaiel who possesses both of these qualities at the same time; that includes you, Master Clarence.

Alkaid: Please give (Y/n) some time, Master Clarence. I believe— That she’ll surprise us.

I thanked Alkaid and couldn't care less about retorting back to Clarence, carrying Aurora back into the Mage Tower.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

I placed Aurora down on the bed as she remained unconscious.

Brushing my hand over her forehead, I came to a startling realization. Aurora wasn't running a fever like how ordinary people would when they were sick, instead, her forehead was as cold as ice!

No, it wasn’t only her forehead; her entire body emitted cold air that made me involuntarily shiver.

And right now, there was the sound of an even colder person breathing behind me; one, whose killing intent I was absolutely familiar with.

MC: What are you doing back here again, Clarence? —What are you trying to do!?

I'd unconsciously stepped in front of Aurora's unconscious form as she was sound asleep; because I could sense how Clarence's killing intent wasn't targeted at me this time…

Clarence: Relax, I won't do anything yet. Aurora still has an important mission to carry out.

Clarence: But I’ll remind you again, that you shouldn’t be investing your feelings in her.

Clarence: Aurora is going to go berserk soon. And all Mages who’ve lost control over themselves will have to be eliminated.

Clarence: This is the fate that Mages are destined to. Even the strongest of the Mage Tower, the “Nine Seats”, are of no exception. This child has already held on for what can be considered a pretty long time now… She’ll be the third last of my “Nine Seats” to fall.

I suddenly came to the realization, that in the many times I've travelled here, the only High Mages I'd seen had been Alkaid, Holles and Aurora… I see, so the rest of the "Nine Seats" had already died just like Celene.

MC: Do you intend to kill her off yourself? To execute the people of your Mage Tower by your own hand… 

Clarence fell silent, his breathing light and steady. Looks like this isn't the first time he has had to carry out such an act of observation and precise execution...

...It was just like how he had watched those youths drink the potion to become Mages. He stood there to the side, almost as if he was standing by an endless river, forced to get used to everything that he saw.

MC: If that's your intention, then feel free to see yourself out. I'll take first watch over her.

MC: She's only asleep now; she hasn't yet lost control. It'll be just fine for me to stay by her side.

I shifted my gaze away from him as I said so. I held onto Aurora's small icy-cold hand hoping that it'd provide her with some comfort and support.

Aurora: How warm… I’m scared of the cold...

She was still groggy, but she'd consciously tightened her grip on my hand.

I hugged her small body to myself, lying against the bed together with her. I shot Clarence a look. It's he wants to attack her, then he'll have to hit both of us.

Clarence sighed. His fingertips flashing blue and dissipating some of the coldness that emanated from Aurora's body.

Aurora: Mmngh… Don't feel so cold anymore…

Clarence: How foolish. She doesn’t have much longer to live; and yet I’m wasting my Mana to do equally foolish things with you.

With those as his parting words, Clarence turned and left Aurora's room.

Clarence's spell quickly went into effect, causing Aurora's breathing to stabilize as she fell into her sweet dreams.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Seeing as she was sleeping peacefully, I left the room to eat my dinner.

After dinner, I realized that the Mage Tower was a rather stifling place to be, and that the only place with any sort of life and vibrancy to it would be the Red Maple Tree that stood at the entrance. Hence, I walked over.

Unexpectedly enough, I saw Clarence standing under the tree, gazing upwards at its red canopy of leaves.

He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement when he noticed me.

I realized that Clarence was always in a pretty good mood whenever he was below this Maple Tree.

I casually made small talk with him.

MC: There are lots of meanings behind Maple Trees back in my world. Some say that it stands for perseverance, some say it stands for innocence. Some say it stands for the cycle of time; for yesterday, today and tomorrow. And some say it stands for loneliness.

MC: I'm just a little curious. But what do the leaves of a Maple Tree stand for, in your eyes?

He pondered over it for a while before replying.

Clarence: A promise.

Clarence: It’s a promise I made to someone.

Clarence: There’s a very important person in my life. I might never be able to wait enough for them, but I will still carry on waiting.

Clarence: But this is really something personal and has absolutely nothing to do with saving Yemsaiel.

Clarence: There’s no need for you to be probing about my personal feelings. Speaking of which, you must be very tired since you were with Aurora the entire day; you should turn in earlier.

I was a little surprised. He had actually said something compassionate.

He really was a little...softer, when under this Maple Tree.

Whoever Clarence was waiting for, they must be someone really compassionate and warm, to be able to melt that icy heart of him.

MC: Goodnight, Clarence; you should turn in early too. I'm really thankful that you're willing to give Aurora and me more time.

Clarence nodded and turned to leave.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

I returned to Aurora's room and slept by her bedside.

I couldn't help but to worry about Aurora. Clarence was always cool and unyielding; and who knew how long this hidden compassion of his would last for.

Aurora was at risk of losing control at any moment in time, which means that there was the possibility of her getting eliminated by Clarence.

I reached out, taking her hand into my own before drifting off to sleep.

I know about some of Clarence's personal matters, the secret if the Mage Tower, and even got to know Aurora; but it wasn't enough. As of right now, it is still insufficient to change the future.

What lies at the end of the road for Clarence and the Mages here is a dead end… If that's the future that fate decreed; then, should I stay with everyone in the Mage Tower?

...I’ve been so busy for the whole day; I should rest first.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥Chapter of Legacy✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Previous Part: (Chapter 13-2) | Next Part: (Chapter 15-2)

[michilee25]

Cassiopeia renewed

Her design doesnt change much except that her face now looks more like Tom’s than Star’s ,the only thing that changed his story is that she is no longer guilty of the death of her sister

Cassiopeia Butterfly  daughter of Tom and Star, Cassiopea is known for her voice which possesses powerful magic, just as the beauty of Celena the shy one that could could stop her enemies without doing anything. The voice of Cassiopea produces different reactions depending on her mood, since Cassiopea is quite lazy her voice usually sleeps people, but her singing can do amazing things, from create things to destroy as I said everything depends on her mood,  Cassiopea, despite her monster appearance is adored by everyone in the kingdom due to the gifts of her voice

Extra data:

- The voice of Cassiopeia is heard like this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFECcFhrsXI&t=0s&list=PLjBgQ4gVXcpTIsKA7cS0FiIYuR3ChQI1m&index=48     1:28

-It is very close to her grandmother’s, better than her parents especially with her grandmother Moon

-She shouldn’t sing something specific, only the intonation  of her voice produces the effects ,she songs only help  to concentrate when it comes to performing complicated things , it’s like performing a normal spell when singing relate a song with the pitch increase needed  to create something, help a lot  !!

-it's because of the intonation that she sings opera

-She’s 18 years old

-Her magic sometimes reacts by just talking so it’s no wonder that  people start to  sleep  with just one “hi”

-Cassiopeia looks mostly demon for the same reason that she has powers in her voice, recessive genes that come from Celene the shy who was part demon, complementing herself in making that side stronger, but if she marries a human or mewnian it is possible that her child is born more like a normal mewnian

-she uses her voice for all her spells so she has not learned to do magic with her hands as a star, she has never felt it necessary 

[jawsandbones]

I’ll Go First - Part Six of Ten

Rating: E

Summary: An unexpected leader, unlikely allies. Bound by the Breach, Alexi Trevelyan is trying to hold it all together. Thankfully, he doesn’t stand alone.

Pairing: Cullen x Male Trevelyan

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Six: Church and State

Softly scented champagne, mixing with the heavier deluge of perfume, expensive food. She has her arm linked in his, carefully guiding him around the garden. “Every statue is covered in gold leaf,” she says, her head very near to his. Light conversational tones mix with brighter laughter, fade into water, the sound of a fountain nearby. “The trim of each wall and pillar as well.” He thinks he might remember what the Trevelyan estate looked at, or it might be something he dreamed. Either way, he’s sure that the Winter Palace is far grander. “The walls are white and accented blue, it is like – clouds in a very clear sky. It all very much stands out from the green of the garden.”

“What do the masks look like?” he asks.

“Many of them are made of fine silk and metal. Some are in the shape of butterfly wings, while others have painted faces. Some are covered in gold foil, others have feathers and the like,” Josephine tells him. Alexi only knows the shape of their color, all the things that lurk behind the masks and flowing gowns. He can feel the familiar prickle of mage light nearby, and knows that’s how they must be lighting the evening. The rustle of banners in the breeze, and distantly, some band plays. Josephine wears a gown of her own, holds her mask in her other hand.

They’ve taken care to ensure that Alexi, the figurehead of the Inquisition, would fit in with this gilded crowd. He’s never worn anything finer. Trousers soft and comfortable, a silk shirt. The robe fits to his form perfectly, square on his shoulders, and a belt around his waist. Warmly burned oranges, careful beige and browns. The stitched pattern on his robe, if one looks carefully, is the watchful eye of the Inquisition. It suits the Inquisitor, or at least, that’s what Vivienne had told him. They’d confiscated his scarves and sweaters, out of fear he might bring one with him. He doesn’t mind that. What he truly longs for, instead, is his staff.

Surrounded by voices and a cacophony of color, his staff had always been a paddle to split through the sea of it all. Now, he can only walk in step with Josephine, keep close to her. “They’re mostly landowners whose property is under siege, thanks to the war,” she says. “The rest are those who would very much enjoy being granted more land of their own. They hope that if they throw their support for the right leader, their loyalty will be repaid.” So many strings in place, and no one knows what will be the knife to cut them all.

Celene believes it will be the Inquisition that might shatter the fragile balance. Leliana had tried, and failed, to send warnings to her. She is the Empress, and belongs to her nation, and not to herself. That also meant that any private word was easily intercepted. So their invitation comes from Grand Duke Gaspard, knowing Celene’s reservations. Anything that might keep her off balance, give him some advantage. Ambassador Briala, on the other hand, had made no intentions towards the Inquisition. Alexi finds it almost comforting, that Briala doesn’t think their presence worth a mention.

“Alexi,” Josephine says in a low whisper, “Grand Duke Gaspard is heading this way.” He can feel her tension in the grip she keeps on his arm. Her nervousness might be infectious, if not for the fact that he had been speaking to those in a better position than him all his life.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan! It is an honor to meet you at last,” Gaspard says, voice lilting with an entrenched Orlesian accent. The smile comes easy to Alexi’s lips, and he gives a polite nod, the slightest tipped bow.

“The honor is mine, Grand Duke,” he says.

“The rumors coming out of the Western Approach are most interesting. They say you battled an army of demons?” Josephine raises her mask, her gaze hidden behind darkened mesh, and Gaspard cannot see the way she glares. She watches as the eyes behind Gaspard’s own mask slowly look Alexi up and down. Mostly, they focus on his face, and how Alexi’s eyes do not meet his. It gives him away. Alexi is always more concerned with the hearing, rather than wasting energy casting out his echo at every moment, and so his ear is more tilted toward Gaspard, rather than his gaze. Gaspard is confirming more than one rumor for himself.

“Yes,” Alexi says, forging forward unaware of the reason behind Josephine’s tapping fingertips, “we were lucky to save who we could.” Bereft, in who they couldn’t.

“So it’s true then.”

“It was. The Wardens are with the Inquisition now, free from Corypheus’s influence and others who would use them,” he says.

“Imagine, then, what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.” The slightest cast of his echo, just in time to watch Gaspard’s colors preen and prune, a peacock presenting itself for the plucking. He believes in his own words, his own right of the throne – that much is certain. It would also mean that the Inquisition would be carefully swept to the side of whatever goals Gaspard wanted to accomplish. Having listened to Cullen for the past few days, those goals would mean the threatening of Ferelden’s borders.

“Thank you, Grand Duke. We would all surely benefit from a stable and prosperous Orlais,” Alexi says. He bites back the implication that Gaspard is the reason for the currently chaotic Orlais. Gaspard only smiles, crosses his arms, chuckles under his breath.

“Surely,” he says. Scratching at his chin, and he steps closer towards them. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I’ll help you.” The invitation was only the first attempt at gaining favors. Now, he comes to collect. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening.” Favors.

“This elven woman Briala – I suspect she means to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these ‘ambassadors’ all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes. Be as discreet as possible, when looking into it. I detest this game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains,” Gaspard says.

“Wouldn’t it be better, then, to simply invite Briala with you as well? Extend a hand to her and her ambassadors,” Alexi says. It earns him a small squeeze from Josephine, a clear warning that he treads too far. Gaspard laughs openly at his suggestion.

“Briala didn’t work out in Celene’s favor, I doubt she’d work out in mine. At any rate, Inquisitor, we keep our Court waiting and appearances are everything. I’ll see you inside,” he says, turning on his heel almost immediately, having given his orders.

“You didn’t really think he’d agree, did you?” she asks, once Gaspard is safely at a distance.

“No,” Alexi shakes his head, “but I thought I should try anyway.” She gives his arm a sympathetic pat.

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t delay any further. The others are already inside,” she says. He happily follows her lead, through the gardens and around the fountain, to the stairs leading up to the palace itself. He can hear the whispers that follow them. He knew, of course, that there would be whispers.

“A mage? No, there must be some mistake.” A voice, from the left of him, completely aghast. The bannister is cool underneath his fingertips, footsteps sound on smooth stone.

“From the Circle of Ostwick, so they say.” An answering voice, and he wonders exactly what they’re saying about the Circle. Do they know about the library, the notes scrawled in the margins of each page from apprentices long past? Do they know how the cook used to use magic to make rotting berries ripe again? Do they know the laughter, the learning? No, they just know it’s in the Free Marches and that it burned in the rebellion. He puts his hand over Josephine’s.

“We are supposed to trust a blind man leading the Inquisition?” Josephine’s grip on his arm tightens, her back stiffens. Shoulders square, and Alexi’s certain she’s glaring in the direction of the whispers.

“It’s alright,” he says, “It doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothers me. They shouldn’t say those things. They don’t know you,” she says with a sigh.

“But you do, and you know I’m even less capable than they think.” He smiles as she gives his hand a scolding swat.

“You shouldn’t say those things either.”

“Sorry Josie,” he says, still wearing the decidedly unapologetic smile. As they enter into the Palace together, the cool night air changes to the comfortable warmth of bodies gathered, a Palace well built. The murmur of conversation is louder here. A constant hum, mixed with the sound of glass chiming against glass, pointed heels against smooth floors, deals being struck, games being played. Casting out his echo, finding the color he craves the most in a canvas fit to burst.

“You go on ahead,” Alexi tells Josephine, “I’ll be in soon.”

“Don’t take too long. They’ll want to announce you with Gaspard,” she says. Her arm slips from his, drifting off to find Leliana and Vivienne. Alexi moves in a different direction, towards Cassandra, and Cullen. They both share the same wide stance, crossed arms, and squared shoulders. He imagines they have the same expression, share some incredulous skepticism. Standing in their Circle with them, and Cullen lets his hands fall to his side. Briefly, he touches the back of his hand against Alexi’s.

“I am glad I am not the one who has to talk to these people,” Cassandra says. “I do not envy you, Inquisitor.”

“Why aren’t you calling me Alexi?” he asks.

“I would if I did not fear Vivienne materializing from the shadows to scold me on proper etiquette around the court,” she says. “I’ve already heard enough of it for one lifetime.”

“Are you planning on going in soon? I believe we’re expected to go with you,” Cullen says, and yes, a definite brush of his fingers against Alexi’s knuckles. A gentle, reassuring touch. The smile spreads across Alexi’s face as he slips his hand underneath Cullen’s arm, links them together, just as he was with Josephine.

“Can you walk me in? I’m afraid I’ll bump into someone,” Alexi says. He misses the way Cassandra looks eagerly between them, breathing with sudden excitement at the sight of Cullen’s red-tipped ears, the blush in his cheeks. The soft way in which he looks at Alexi, the smile to match.

“Of course Ale- Inquisitor.” It’s become so common – their use of names. Whenever possible, away from the ears of others. Sometimes they slip. That unexpected use in the middle of conversation, intimate, the way a gentle touch at the back feels. Cullen straightens up just a touch, pulls at the hem of the jacket they’ve trussed him up in.

“I will see you inside,” Cassandra says, making no mention on what she’s just noticed. She does, however, make a mental note to have a few select books sent to Cullen’s office. Perhaps a suggestion of flowers. Alexi listens for her footsteps to fade before he turns to Cullen.

“Are you nervous?” He asks.

“I fear these sorts of things will never not make me uncomfortable,” he says. “I’m just glad I don’t have to speak to anyone important.”

“Josie would say that everyone here is important,” he says. Cullen gives a long and troubled sigh.

“There’s only one person here who’s truly important to me, and I’m already speaking to him,” he says. Alexi’s eyebrows rise, the smile spreading across his face as they begin to walk towards the doors of the ballroom.

“That was very charming,” he says.

“I’ve been practicing.” Alexi chuckles under his breath, gives Cullen’s arm a small squeeze with his other hand. The smile spreads across Cullen’s face, and he puts his hand over Alexi’s. It’s comforting, and Alexi finds he misses it deeply when it slips away, as they stand before the doors. Servants bow, open the way for them. Gaspard is already waiting inside, beside what must be the herald.

“Inquisitor, excellent. We can begin the evening properly. We are the last to be introduced, and therefore the most noticed,” Gaspard says as the herald goes to stand at the railing, looking out upon the dancefloor. The music seems to pause for a moment, as they see who stands with Gaspard. Alexi only wishes he could see Celene properly. For now, she is but a pillar of navy blue that stands across from them.

“And now presenting,” the herald’s voice booms, and Gaspard takes his place at the top of the stairs, “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.” Alexi begins to retrieve his arm from Cullen, move to take his place after him. Before he can separate himself completely, Cullen takes his hand in his, gives it a small squeeze. Alexi only wishes he could hold it longer. Cullen’s hand goes back to his side, watching Alexi’s back as he stands at the top of the stairs. After a moment his hand squeezes into a fist, stretches his hand back out again, as if trying to recreate the feeling.

“Accompanying him, Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi.” He takes his steps slowly down the stairs, his hand on the marble railings. “Vanquisher of the Rebel Mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground.” Alexi’s jaw clenches. Is that what they did? He knows for a fact that Fiona is working with other mages to make Skyhold a safe haven for all – knows that she, and they, have their freedom and could leave if they wished it.

“Shepherd and leash of the wayward Order of Templars, purger of the heretics from the ranks of the Faithful!” That would sting Barris as well, to think that the Order was somehow under the heel of the Inquisition. Alexi reminds himself that it’s a fiction. Still, it’s a fiction that’s being spoken to the nobility of Orlais, and a fiction that will continue to spread. He makes a mental note to discuss it with Josephine and Varric. Surely, between the two of them, they could change the narrative to something better. Truer. “Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!”  

The others are being introduced behind him, but Alexi barely hears them, not as he stands below Celene, tilts his head upwards towards her. He gives her a bow, and he watches her colors shift. “Empress,” he says quietly, “I know you don’t want the Inquisition here. We’ve learned that an attempt on your life will be made. We tried to warn you, but our every message was intercepted.”

“Attempts on my life are made every day,” Celene says, just as quietly. “I am prepared for such a thing.”

“Not an attempt like this,” he says. “You don’t know what’s coming. If I could speak with you privately, we could –” Alexi stops speaking abruptly as another figure joins Celene, stands beside her. The Palace is full of ears, ones that would stop him from reaching her.

“Lord Inquisitor,” Celene raises her voice appropriately, “we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess Florianne of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

“What an unexpected pleasure, I was the aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later Inquisitor,” Florianne says Alexi doesn’t know the sly smile that crosses her face, but he doesn’t trust the puce of her colors, the twisting red of ambition that curls at the heart of her.  She turns on her heel, leaves as abruptly as she had come.

“Your majesty, please, I must insist that we speak soon. You are in grave danger,” Alexi says, stepping forward once again. The others are still behind him, mingling on the ballroom floor. Celene goes to speak, but a sudden noise cuts through the music, the laughter, the conversation. A shrill whistling, and then it call crashes together.

The walls of the Winter Palace were made for the glory of Orlais. A display of wealth, the conquering of the empire of the Dales. A monument. It was never made to withstand a siege.

At the first shuddering of its walls, the crashing ceiling, Alexi instinctively reacts. Raising his arms, palms towards the heaven, the barrier bursting free. Covering as much of the ballroom as he possibly can, debris and rubble bouncing against it. Screaming all about him, chaos, but a calm figure steps beside him. She raises her arms as well, adds her strength to his barrier.

“Good evening Inquisitor,” she says, “I was hoping we would meet under different circumstances.”

“A better one, I hope,” Alexi says, straining under the weight of it all.

“My name is Morrigan. Arcane advisor to the throne. Speaking of – Empress Celene, if you would join us. You’re safer here with us,” she says. In an instant, Celene is lifting her skirts, racing to stand beside them. Vivienne, Solas and Dorian are doing much the same, pushing through the crowd on the ballroom floor to make their way to him. They add their magic to his, and the barrier grows with strength.

“This is much better than other parties I’ve been to. Far more exciting,” Dorian says. Alexi struggles not to laugh, his arms trembling under the weight of bracing the barrier. He can hear Leliana shouting over the cacophony of it all, and Inquisition soldiers are throwing down their gowns, their suits, revealing the armor underneath.

“What a shame, to lose the Winter Palace this way,” Vivienne mourns. Trebuchets are being loaded, winded, and fired. Blasting against marble, stripping away gold leaf. Fire has begun to seep its way into every corner, lick at the edges of the barrier. Nobles are crowding around them, hoping that safety is closest to the Empress.

“It’s Samson.” Leliana, very near him. “We have no idea how he got so close to the Palace without being noticed. He’s leading one of Corypheus’s hordes. Only one scout from outside was able to reach us. How did he get so close?”

“We can figure that out later, darling,” Vivienne says. “For now, we had best hope there’s a way out of this ballroom.” The assault on the Palace continues without ceasing. The loading of the trebuchets, the firing. Stone meets stone, breaks. Pillar after pillar, and the banners of Orlais begin to burn.

“There is. An escape route underneath the fountain in the courtyard,” Celene says.

“We’ll need to spread the barrier to cover it that far,” Morrigan says. Alexi is already reaching, pushing against the weight that threatens to do them all in. Shared air, scarce breath, so much of it wasted in panic. Pushing and shoving, struggling to be closest. Even Celene, Empress though she is, isn’t safe from it all.

“Where are the servants?” Alexi asks. He doesn’t cast an echo. There’s no magic in him to spare. Not that it would matter, with so many bodies pressed so tightly together.

“What does it matter?” A shrill voice. “They are servants. They are not people like you or I, Inquisitor.” Murmured agreement, amongst the panic, the plea to be saved. Clamoring for the escape route, caring only for themselves.

“Where are the servants?” Alexi asks again. He shouts it over a crowd that isn’t listening. There isn’t time for this. Any of it. He can hold the barrier for so long, even with the others help. A few mages, against an army, simply isn’t enough.

“In the servant’s quarters, Inquisitor. If I could take a few of your men, I could clear out the quarters, and save many,” someone says, the only one nearby willing, wanting, to answer his question.

“I’ll go with Briala.” Cullen’s voice. “Sergeant! The six of you. Come with me! We go with the Ambassador.” Alexi almost wants to sob in relief at the sound of his words.

“Celene, lead everyone to the escape route. Morrigan, Vivienne, Solas, if you could spread the barrier there…?” Alexi asks. Sweat beads on his forehead, rolls down his temples. The anchor is sparking, glowing green. It crackles with raw energy, bending the very Fade around it.

“Let’s not waste a minute then,” Morrigan says. Alexi feels the weight grow. He and Dorian do their best to push back.

“Where are the others?” Alexi asks through gritted teeth. Leliana stands on her toes, whirls to look around the ballroom.

“Josie is with the Empress. Cassandra, Bull and Blackwall are rounding up people and bringing them to the escape route. I don’t know where Sera, Cole or Varric are,” she says.

“Find them, please? Get them out of here,” he says.

“I will.” She’s racing off, pushing into the crowd, lithe and nimble and without care of their pointed shoes, silken dresses. She pushes where she needs to, steps wherever able.

“I take it back, this party is the worst,” Dorian says. “We didn’t even get to try the drinks. A shame.” At this, Alexi lets out a breathless chuckle.

“I was very excited to find out what Orlesian cheese tasted like.”

“I can tell you that the ham does not taste very happy.” He’s grateful for the laughter, as bodies continue to mill about them. Shoulders bumping against shoulders, elbowing, cramming. Skirts being torn, masks being ripped off. The Game is no longer of importance. They squeeze up the stairs, spill into the courtyard. One tiny staircase, leading to a series of tunnels. The remnants of the empire Orlais had conquered, a city they had buried underneath their gold, and elven blood.

“Everyone’s almost out, Alexi.” Leliana. “We need to leave, and protect the escape route. Samson’s forces will overwhelm Halamshiral soon.”

“Is Cullen back? Briala?” Alexi asks. She shares a worried look with Dorian.

“No, but –”

“Take Dorian with you, and go. I can hold it. I can wait,” Alexi says. Blood mixes with Fade, twists around Alexi’s wrist, splatters against the perfect floor beneath his feet. It shines, glows with the effort of it. “Please, don’t argue.” Spoken weakly, through a half smile. Dorian keeps a hand raised as he walks with Leliana up the stairs, towards the courtyard. There are only a few stragglers left. Smoke curls around the barrier, twists between broken stone, crushed marble. Statues and banners, gold and golden, now rubble. Now nothing.

Long minutes of silence, broken only by the crack of flames, the approaching army. That all fades into ringing, the rush of blood. His arms tremble, and he’s practically hunched in two. Head towards the ground, breathing heavily. His mouth is thick with the taste of iron, and he is being bowed under the weight of the barrier. Stretching him, breaking him, tearing him in two. “Alexi.” An arm, wrapping around his waist, and a hand, pressed against his chest.

“We need to leave now, Inquisitor!” Briala’s voice, the voice of others behind her.

“Walk with me,” Cullen says softly, that arm around his waist urging him forward. Each step is halting, slow, and the barrier is shrinking around them. From stone to grass, the fountain pushed aside to reveal the escape. Cullen and Alexi are the last to go. Descending down into the darkness, and Alexi lets the barrier fall. The Winter Palace wheezes, groans, falls as well, a crown of rubble.

Briala is leading the servants through the tunnel, the torches on the walls already lit by those who went before. “Cullen.” Their steps stop, and Briala and the others move further and further away from them. Alexi wraps his arms around Cullen, leans against him. Cullen holds him tightly, without hesitation. Hands splayed against his back, holding him close. “We didn’t save them all, did we?” he asks.

“No,” Cullen says after a moment, “I don’t think so. Don’t think about that right now.”

“How can I not?” His voice wavers, breaks. “Did Corypheus attack because we were here? If we hadn’t come to save Celene would it only have been her – I don’t – what if.”

“It wasn’t just your choice to come here. This isn’t your fault. It’s likely Samson and Corypheus would have attacked, no matter if we were here or not. It would have been foolish not to. Almost the entirety of the Orlesian nobility under one roof? You saved them. All those lives, because of you. Focus on that,” he says. Alexi pulls himself away from Cullen slightly, brushes with his sleeve against his cheeks. With a frown, Cullen reaches out, and takes his hand in his.

He studies his palm, the still weeping anchor. It sings a broken song, some pained wheeze, with no rhyme. Raw and jagged, blood around the edges. Cullen tears the sash from around his waist, begins to wrap it around Alexi’s hand. “They were willing to leave the servants. All those lives,” Alexi says softly. “Did you hear what one of them said? That they aren’t people, like you or I.” Cullen’s movements falter, pause for a moment. Such a brief hesitation, before he finishes binding his hand. Still holding it, not wanting to let Alexi go.

“It’s that person who should have been left behind,” Cullen says quietly. “A rotten, awful person.” Alexi hums agreement, rests his head against his shoulder. With his free hand, Cullen reaches up, rests it at the nape of his neck. He twists fingers against the soft wisps of hair that curl there, moves down against his back. Slow circles against him, feeling Alexi’s heart beating beneath his palm. His voice is still racing with breathless panic.

“It’s how the Templars used to treat us. Or, justify how they treated us. If we weren’t… people – then they could do what they wanted,” he says softly.

“It isn’t right,” Cullen says. “I’m sorry. Alexi, I’m so sorry.” For what feels as though it’s the first time in an age, Alexi exhales. He stands up straight, shakes his head, clears his thoughts.

“It’s alright. It wasn’t you,” he says. “We should catch up to the others, make sure that everyone’s alright.”

“We can wait another moment. I doubt they’ll be quick to shift through all that rubble,” Cullen says. His hand moves up Alexi’s arms, one at the back of his neck once again. Pulling him down to him, tilting his face upwards. Lips crushing against lips, and Alexi’s hand is winding in Cullen’s tunic. The other, still bleeding anchor, is still resting in Cullen’s. The first kiss is long, languishing. Slightly sloppy, messy in its haste. The second is quick, quiet. The third softer, slower.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Cullen says.

“You too,” he says. Forehead rests against forehead, and the flame of the torch flickers. Cullen moves for another kiss, keeping Alexi close. “I was worried that the quarters had collapsed. You were taking so long to come back.”

“I’m here now,” he says. Nose brushes against nose. Cullen’s hand moves to his face, brushes a thumb against his cheekbone. Alexi’s curls against the back of his hand, threading through his fingers. Alexi opens his mouth to him, and tongue presses against tongue. Wet, warm, a small groan in the back of Cullen’s throat as he deepens the kiss. Alexi’s back against the wall, Cullen against his chest. His hand settles at Cullen’s waist, his fist still tight in his tunic.

Alexi can feel his face burning, taken aback by the sudden intensity of the kiss. He doesn’t realize that Cullen is much the same, but unable to stop. His hand keeps Alexi’s face close to his, and as he shifts the kiss, warm breath brushes against his lips. Heart pounding against his ribs, nervous and excited all the same. Alexi’s hand trembles, slightly, and Cullen resists the urge to trace the curve of his neck, the visible collarbone, open his shirt button by button. Cullen parts slowly, both of them breathing heavy. Moments of silence, wrapped up in each other.

The tunnels lead out into one large cave, where everyone is gathered. Leliana standing at the entrance, with Inquisition soldiers, and Cassandra. “You made it, good,” she says. Alexi’s uninjured hand is clasped in Cullen’s, and they walk side by side. “Briala, Celene and Gaspard are discussing things.” Where the nobles and servants are shell-shocked, quiet in their reproach of an attack against the Palace, the others are yelling.

Voice clashes against voice, and Leliana and Josephine follow behind Alexi and Cullen as they make their way over. “If Orlais was not weakened by a civil war, this attack would not have happened. In your lust for power, you have crippled the Empire!” Celene shouts.

“If Orlais had a capable commander, we could fight back. Instead we are holed up in caves like rats!” Gaspard hisses.

“This isn’t the time,” Alexi says softly. Briala has her arms crossed, leaning against one of the walls. Florianne sits nearby, her leg bouncing restlessly. “Is there an exit out of these tunnels?”

“Yes,” Celene answers instantly, “nearby.”

“Inquisition soldiers will secure it. The sooner we can get all three of you back to Val Royeaux, the better. You can rest assured this is one of many attacks that Corypheus will launch,” he says.

“Then the tales are true. An ancient Darkspawn magister comes to burn the world,” Gaspard says. Alexi can only nod in agreement. A disbelieving grunt, and Gaspard rubs his chin with his hand. “We will need a united Orlais to defend our borders, and send troops to aid the Inquisition in closing the Breach.”

“The first sensible thing you’ve said all night, cousin,” Celene says, frost in every word. It’s this agreement that launches Florianne to her feet. Drawing the dagger from inside her skirts, throwing herself at Celene. Alexi finds his hand suddenly cold as Cullen moves into action, grabbing the dagger by the blade, booting Florianne back. Leliana is quick on the follow up, incapacitating the Duchess and keeping her pinned.

“The attack was supposed to work. The Inquisition and Orlesian nobility in one place! Corypheus would have given Orlais to me,” Florianne wails. To his credit, Gaspard reels in outraged disbelief.

“You made a deal with a monster?” He asks. Briala only laughs at the absurdity of it all.

“What a fine state the country is in,” she says. Cullen opens his fist, pulls the blade from his palm. It’s Alexi’s turn now, to pull Cullen’s hand into his. The gentle prickle of magic around the wound, slowly stitching flesh back together.

“We will deal with Florianne once we are back at the capital,” Celene says. “I, for one, am sick to death of this evening, and this charade. I will show you the correct tunnels to take, if you would, Lady Leliana.”

“When this is over, we should focus on finding Samson,” Cullen says to Alexi. “I knew him. We were both part of Kirkwall’s Circle. I – should have done more to prevent him from seeking out something like Corypheus. Maybe he’ll have some answers for us.”

“When everyone is safe,” Alexi says, “we find Samson.”  

[ladynoirisback]

Past queens of Mewni

Okay so 13 queen cards were discovered and I can assume they are all totals between Eclipsa and Star since glossaryck once said Eclipsa is moon's 9th great grandma. Star also said celen a is her great-great grandmother Plus Dirrhennia doesn't count since her little sister got the crown instead. I have no idea what order the newly discovered queens go by so I'm guessing. May I'm right but it's unlikely... i have have it some thought.

1.Eclipsa the Queen of darkness(original)

2.Festivia the fun (first of the new butterfly family)

3.Jushtin the boy queen

4.Solaria the monster carver

5.Skywynne the Queen of hours

6.Rhina the riddled

7.Crescenta the eager

8.Celena the shy

9.Estrella the drafted

10.Comet the chef

11.Moon the undaunted

12. Star the underestimated

[gaymergirlszine-blog]

Canon LGBTQIA Girls in Games

Ace Attorney:

Aura blackquill (Lesbian)

Borderlands: 

Athena and Janey (Lesbian Couple)

Mad Moxxy (Bisexual)

Tiny Tina (Lesbian)

Butterfly Soup:

Akarsha (Bisexual)

Diya (Lesbian)

Liz (Trans Woman)

Noelle (Lesbian)

Min-seo (Lesbian and Non Binary)

Catherine:

Erica Anderson (Trans Woman)

Chrono Trigger:

Flea (Genderfluid)

Corpse Party:

Seiko Shinohara (Lesbian)

Danganronpa:

Tenko (Lesbian)

Mikan (Bisexual)

Ibuki (Biromantic and Asexual)

Dishonored:

Breanna Ashworth (Lesbian)

Delilah Kaldwin (Bisexual)

Meagan Foster (Bisexual)

Mindy Blanchard (Trans Woman)

Dragon Age:

Branka (Lesbian)

Briala and Celene (Lesbian Couple)

Isabela (Bisexual)

Leliana (Bisexual)

Merrill (Bisexual)

Sera and Dagna (Lesbian Couple) 

Serendipity (Bisexual and Trans Woman)

Scout Harding (Bisexual)

Drakengard:

Yaha (Bisexual)

Dream Daddy:

Val (Lesbian)

Fallout:

Carol and Greta (Lesbian Couple)

Veronica Santangelo and Christine Royce (Lesbian Couple)

Corporal Betsy (Lesbian)

Final Fantasy:

Faris (Genderfluid)

Fire Emblem:

Heather (Lesbian)

Soleil (Bisexual)

Rhajat (Bisexual)

Tharja (Bisexual)

Grandblue Fantasy:

Vira (Lesbian)

Gone Home:

Lonnie and Sam (Lesbian Couple)

Guild Wars:

Marjory and Kasmeer (Lesbian Couple)

Life is Strange:

Max (Bisexual)

Chloe (Lesbian)

Rachel (Bisexual)

Mass Effect:

Liara (Bisexual)

Kelly Chambers  (Bisexual)

Samantha Traynor (Lesbian)

Suvi Anwar (Lesbian)

Vetra (Bisexual)

Metal Gear Solid

StrangeLove (Lesbian)

Nier: 

6O (Lesbian)

Kainé (Intersex)

Night in the Woods:

Mae (Pansexual)

Jackie (Trans Woman)

Overwatch:

Tracer (Lesbian)

Persona:

Sumaru Genie (Intersex)

Prey:

Mikhaila Ilyushin (Bisexual)

Saints Row:

Janel Braddock (Lesbian)

Street Fighter:

Poison (Trans Woman)

Super Mario

Birdo (Trans Woman)

Vivian (Trans Woman)

The Last of Us

Ellie (Lesbian)

Riley (Lesbian)

The Witcher:

Ciri (Bisexual)

Undertale:

Undyne and Alphys (Lesbian Couple)

We Know The Devil:

Jupiter (Lesbian)

Venus (Trans Woman)

There are still many other lovely LGBTQIA+ ladies in games, feel free to add your own!