#Fool's Apostate

[cozycryptidcorner]

One second i got to talk my shit again and it’s both a critique and a finger wagging at lukewarm Christians so ig unfollow me if you fold under criticism even if it doesn’t apply to you.

The amount of Christians i’ve talked to who don’t know jack to shit about their own religion is SO BAFFLING to me. Like what do you mean you don’t know your denomination? What do you mean you don’t know the difference between Catholic or Protestant? WHAT DO YOU MEAAAAAAAAN?????????

Yes i was raised fundamentalist and yes obviously there is a middle ground between memorizing entire books of the Bible/whole ass catechism and not having a baseline understanding your religion’s philosophies but COME THE FUCK ON.

This is a whole way of life and you don’t… know anything about it?? You have no curiosity as to why you believe what you believe? Can you be so fucking for real?

Genuinely if i had a nickel for every time i spoke to someone who crumpled under gentle prodding question number five, i would be able to afford a candy bar in today’s economy. Like you have no idea what you’re signing your life away to??? HELLOOOOOOO??????

And like it doesn’t even matter if you go to church or not. There are people who have not a clue in the world about anythingggggggggggggg their religion practices.

[royalich]

Translation:

"Oh yall must not know whom tf i am"

[xmo-rmon]

Umm whats the meaning of this shit?? I feel like John Mulaney saying “and also with you” except it’s “faith, divine nature, individual worth, knowledge, choice and accountability, good works and integrity, and virtue” (the last of which was tacked on in my time bc we were all such sluts I guess)

I mean divine nature is still there but it’s pretty cool that today’s young women get to be faithless, individually worthless, ignorant, powerless and unaccountable, unproductive and dishonest and sexually active

(Actually except for the last one I don’t think that’s far off)

[wystia]

can’t get my sims game to work, so i started my dark urge play-through. i spent way to long working on her, but i’m so proud

named her arra (for spider… cause i though i was very smart 🤭)

[heylavellan]

rivalmancing anders as a mage fuels me, not because i think he's wrong or hate mages. its because i can make a hawke gaslight anders into thinking he's wrong only for hawke to choose him and the mages at the end. the breakdown that anders has after is astronomical.

also, a few fave lines from the (gay) rivalmance:

"don't threaten me boy" (hot)

"and since yours is the only head here, and i don't want to rip it off, i should stop." (also hot)

"i will not give up this fight hawke. know this now." (very hot)

"i confess, i wasn't sure you'd share my outrage. i'm glad i can count on this much."

"let us hope he is a fool as well as a bastard." (eat ser alrik alive anders!)

"why is it you can say nothing without me wanting to wring your neck?" (super hot)

"no, i like it. you just... surprised me."

"you defy the circle yourself, yet condemn the rest of your kind to it!" (apostate 2 apostate convo LMAO)

"i will make you see! i swear, if i convince no one else, at least i'll have you at my side before this is done." (hot desperation)

"i swear. i don't know whether to kiss or kill you. you're everything i hate."

"but i can't stop thinking about you. for years i've told myself there's nothing there, but i can feel it smouldering between us."

"i will never understand how you can be so antagonistic by day and so passionate by night."

"every time i don't think you understand, you turn around and do something like this."

"did i tell you about the dream i had where the grand cleric was completely naked except for her mitre? and there was this giant glowing cheese wheel..." (I NEED TO KNOW MORE)

"you cannot care for me and despise what i stand for." (correct king)

"i told you. i'm a liar. i'm a monster. i never claimed i would do anything but hurt you."

"you have given in to sloth. you would stand by while mages are abducted and tortured." (technically justice, but it counts)

anyway, rivalmance is fun.

[aquamarinemarie]

Regarding Their Deepest Fears

I heard/researched all of Nightmare's taunts and learned one thing... that the grand fear demon is one sassy bitch.

Nightmare to the Inquisitor

Nightmare: Ah, we have a visitor. Some foolish little boy/little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his/her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.

Nightmare to Hawke

Nightmare: Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? (Romanced) (Name of love interest) is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about. (Romanced Sebastian/No Romance) You're a failure, and your family died knowing it. Diplomatic Hawke: Of course, a fear demon would know where to hurt us most. We must ignore it. Humorous Hawke: Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly. Aggressive Hawke: I’m going to enjoy killing this thing.

Alistar (Theirin)

Nightmare: Did the king's bastard think he could prove himself? It's far too late for that. Your whole life you've left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden… Who will you hide behind now? Alistar: Is that all it's got? I've heard worse than that from Morrigan.

Loghain Mac Tir

Nightmare: Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the brilliant commander. Pity the one time you tried to rule, you failed so miserably. You had to be beaten, humiliated, lest you destroy your own country. You even doomed the Wardens by bringing the Inquisitor down on them. You destroy everything you touch. Loghain: (Grunts.) Is that all you've got? It's nothing I've not said to myself.

Jean-Marc Stroud

Nightmare: Warden Stroud. How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fail? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name? Stroud: With the Maker's blessing, we will end this wretched beast.

Blackwall (Thom Rainier)

Nightmare: Ah, there’s nothing like a Grey Warden. And you are nothing like a Grey Warden. Blackwall: I’ll show you a Warden’s strength, beast.

Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast

Nightmare: Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your “faith” has been for naught. Cassandra: Die in the Void, demon.

Cole

Nightmare: Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I. Cole: No.

Dorian Pavus

Nightmare: Greetings, Dorian… It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father. Dorian: Rather uncalled for.

Iron Bull

Nightmare: The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions. Or maybe I will ride his body myself. Iron Bull: I’d like to see you try.

Sera

Nightmare: Sera, Sera, Sera… If you shoot an arrow at me, I’ll know where you are. Sera: Out of my head, bitch-balls!

Solas (Fen'Harel)

Nightmare: Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. Solas: Banal nadas.

Nightmare Translation: Dirth ma, harellan. (I know you, trickster.) Ma banal enasalin. (Your victory was no triumph.) Mar solas ena mar din. (Your pride/triumph will be your end.) Solas Translation: Banal nadas. (Nothing is inevitable.)

Varric Tethras

Nightmare: Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here… Varric: Just keep talking, Smiley.

Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard

Nightmare: What’s it like living as an apostate, Vivienne? Do you really think you’ll reclaim your power in the Circle… at your age? Vivienne: Not one word.

[cheerysmores]

After the storm

A birthday present for the wonderful @alsoika ft. their Inquisitor: Kele

Words: 2.5 K

Pairing: Dorian x Inquisitor

Rating: T

Summary: It was a universal truth that everyone held their secrets a little too close to the surface. Even Solas. There had always been something there, an arrogance Dorian couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then he’d been too distracted to wonder what actually lurked behind the paint and the burlap. For months he’d heard that strange apostate potter around the rotunda and he’d never even considered that if he scratched hard enough there might be claws beneath that skin.

Dorian tried not to dwell on the fact that he’d called a possible God an unwashed hobo to his face. Hopefully that wouldn’t come back to bite him later.

AKA: Dorian and his amatus consider what the future holds for them both post-trespasser

AO3

***

“Whatever happens, I wouldn’t change the years we’ve had together for anything.”

Another flash of light cut through Kele’s hand. It was angrier now, teeth and lightning heaving him to the flagstones by the eluvian. He was back on his feet before Dorian could grab him, posture rigid, eyes set like iron. The herald. The inquisitor. Chosen and unbreakable to the world. 

Only the slight waver in his lip betrayed him.

 “I love you, Dorian.”

It was a gracious goodbye. Soft. Open. The sword in his other hand that would have cut Dorian less.

Tears caught on the edge of his answering laugh. An old defence, like the smile still stitched on his face. Not quite a mask. Not quite the truth either. No one needed to see the grief splitting him open, vicious as the one tearing his amatus from the inside out.

The anchor faltered, the greys of the crossroads now eerily quiet. The last moment of calm before the storm, the last moment to truly be honest. His fingers dug into Kele’s palm, a fool's hope at holding the future back. It burned as he finally found the words.

“I knew you’d break my heart you bloody bastard.”

Halamshiral reminded Dorian of home in the best and worst ways. Chittering nobles, gaudy perfumes, beautiful golds and silks covering up the blood and shit beneath. Add a few dragon motifs it would almost be the spit of it, everyone pieces in the game they didn’t have much of a choice in playing. That was unless you knew how to flip the board. Blind your opponent and take what you want while they’re reeling from the shock. It was a skill he’d picked up himself years ago, a delightful side effect of just being himself in most situations. It was a skill Kele had shown several times as well. With his answers, with blades, with dark looks that had barons and bandits alike lost for words.

He’d even managed to stop the hen pecking of the Exalted Council for more than five minutes. Maybe later they could joke about what it had taken to do so.

Later. Dorian rolled the word on his tongue. Something he would have killed for back in the crossroads. Now they have it. And he has no blasted clue what to do with it. 

Kele shifted slightly on the bed, the bandaged stump of his left arm disappearing beneath the sheets. His hair was tangled ink on the pillow, the same shade as the shadows under his closed eyes. Never had he seen him sleep so soundly, even with the more and more creative ways he’d tried to wear the other man out. This couldn’t be the only way to get his head down for more than a few hours.

At least you still have time to try, he reminded himself. He’s here. With you. For as long as you stay.

Dorian adjusted himself on the chair someone had brought for him. The infirmary they’d deposited Kele in smelled like citrus and linseed oil, the walls slathered in a depressing shade of green. But at least it was quiet. Solitary. No demons or cult members waiting in the shadows with knives and claws.

Well, no more than usual when it came to either of them.

The soft light through the window carried the buzz of the council members milling about like insects outside. How long they’d been there eluded him. Hours? Days? Time seemed like such an irrelevant concept given the deluge of information that had smacked into him like a stone wall.

The memory still wept like an open wound.

Arcs of lightning, a scream. His? Kele’s? He doesn’t know. The man he loved withering under magic he couldn’t even grasp the edges of, his body literally ripped in half by the man standing over him. Armoured. Unrecognisable in his shining mien.

Dorian tugged at the thread of that last part. The one mystery still yet to be fully unraveled.

It was a universal truth that everyone held their secrets a little too close to the surface. Even Solas. There had always been something there, an arrogance Dorian couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then he’d been too distracted to wonder what actually lurked behind the paint and the burlap. For months he’d heard that strange apostate potter around the rotunda and he’d never even considered that if he scratched hard enough there might be claws beneath that skin.

Dorian tried not to dwell on the fact that he’d called a possible God an unwashed hobo to his face. Hopefully that wouldn’t come back to bite him later.

The Dread Wolf. That’s what he called himself, or rather what the Dalish did. The words Kele gasped wet and desperate into Dorian’s shoulder as what remained of his arm crumbled with every step.

He slammed the memory closed after that. The pain that broke in his chest still lingered. Warm. Not entirely unfamiliar. Strange, he considered, how sometimes it felt oddly good to ache. Something Kele had opened in him, setting up camp in his mind then his heart and twisting Dorian up in knots he didn’t want to untangle from– everything he was told to avoid. 

Lust was easy. Love was dangerous. It was something people of his carefully curated background were not supposed to strive for. Perhaps in another life, he didn’t. He’d have sat quietly, doing what his family wanted. Worn the mask, married some unfortunate girl so they could glower at each other from either end of an impossibly large dining table and drink through just enough trysts to produce another unlucky Pavus heir. Then the days would blur, swirling in red wine and fake smiles, everything planned down to the final blood-stained letter: the right soirees, the right coin in the right hands, the right people disappearing until he’d look in the mirror and see the Archon’s crown or his father staring back. 

Even years, lifetimes later, the whole sordid affair still made his stomach turn.

A life spent banging and screaming on the inside. Anguishing but accepted, any criticism met with the same flat refute: The world is heartless. This is how we survive. 

The mantra echoed in his mind on quieter nights. Cold and to the point, so very Tevene. And as it turned out, yes, the world could be heartless– inescapably so. But did he join a heartless cause? Fight a heartless fight? Touch a heartless lover?

He reached out to gently untangle Kele’s earring from his hair.

Love given without expectation– and here Dorian thought he couldn’t be surprised anymore. Nothing in the game of power and politics was ever given freely. 

“I’m the magister that’s using you, that's what they’ll think.”

“Go ahead and use me then. Or are you all talk?”

Dorian laughed quietly to himself. By the Maker Kele was glorious. Back when he thought that their fearless Inquisitor simply enjoyed the taste of fire and bad decisions. He didn’t exactly expect him to stay, to fight for him, to look at him as more than whole and think about after.

After was here. After was Dorian taking his father’s place in the Magisterium. After was proving that he was his heir but not his tool. 

Dorian stood up and paced to the door, rubbing the deeper pinch in his brow.

After meant leaving. But he’d be damned if it meant letting go.

Sheets rustled softly behind him.

“Going already? And here I was waiting for a proper goodbye.”

Dorian whipped around and met Kele’s tired eyes. 

“Amatus.”

He closed the space between them in a decidedly ungraceful flurry of feet and hands. Kele’s skin was pale, lips dry, bones cracking with every slow movement– but awake. Here. 

Kele shifted, traced his fingers through the unstyled mess of Dorian’s hair. “You look awful. Which means something really terrible really must have happened.”

His laugh caught on tears again. Warmer ones this time. “You’re such a beautiful bastard. You know that right?” he answered, catching the hand by his face.

“So I’ve been told.”

Dorian’s eyes dropped to the bandaged arm now resting between them. It was his sword arm, one that had touched him, killed for him, brushed him to sleep when SKyhold’s corridors blew especially cold.

“Does it still hurt?” He asked, his mind running fast. He could get him a prosthetic. Something strong. The best works of Tevinter technology. He did have the influence now, he just needed to send a raven to..

Kele tapped his face, cutting off his train of thought. “I’m alright,” he answered with a smirk.

“Well that sounded convincing.”

Kele rolled his eyes. “I can’t really be anything other than all right now, can I? Need to work on switching my sword hand though but at least I’m not completely ‘armless.”

The words fell with an almost audible thud on the sheets between them. Dorian dropped his forehead to his.

“I’ve seen people killed for less, amatus.”

Kele laughed, soft as sandpaper against stone, before pulling the other man into the bed next to him. He shifted until he was leaning against his chest, remaining hand gently tracing the skin of his knee. Dorian pressed his nose to the nape of his neck. He smelt of sweat, healing herbs and the ghastly fragrance of this room. 

He made a note to have a larger tub sent to his room when they had the chance.

“So- how’s the Council going?” Kele asked. “Please tell me it’s all miraculously sorted itself out while I’ve been asleep.”

Dorian started to unpick the tangles in his hair. “They're all still waiting for you. The dauntless Inquisitor who’s going to let everyone know which way this great force is going to topple. Gone forever or stuck under the Chantry’s heel– I’m almost glad I won’t be here to see the aftershocks.” There’s ice behind his tease. He remembered the break in Kele’s eyes when he’d found out he’d be returning to Tevinter permanently. 

Kele leaned back against his shoulder. “Do you really think you can change anything? Make Tevinter something… good?”

He knew there was no malice behind the question. It’s one that had been turning around in his head like a charred boar on a spit the entire journey to Orlais.

“Good is a relative term. Better would be more accurate,” he started. “But I’m not the only one that believes the Imperium is broken, not rotten. If I have a foot in the door to actually make a change, then why not take a leaf out of your book? Plus I happen to have made a few new friends in higher places now.” His words were stronger than they were. The foundations for something worthy were there. History, Art, magic, the stones of ancient Thedas running along so many streets– maybe one day he could leave the country and not be spat at. Even if the title of wicked magister had a little panache.

He tucked an errant strand of hair back behind Kele’s ear. “But that’s all in the future. And without this being an utterly ridiculous question, how do you feel?”

Kele looked down at the remains of his arm. “Broken, but not rotten I suppose.” He traced the bandage, his eyes suddenly snapping to Dorian’s. “Wait did Solas take my arm or is it laying around somewhere?”

Dorian stiffened behind him. He’d almost forgotten his amatus had a talent for asking the most disarming question in any vaguely serious moment. “What a macabre question. You know, I didn’t think to check if it was still on the ground. I was more worried about you still being alive when we finally got to you.”

 Kele’s fingers curled under Dorian’s chin. “Did I scare you?”

“I’m never scared.” Dorian rolled his eyes at Kele’s raised brow. “So yes. Obviously. And if you’ve given me any premature grey hairs I’ll never forgive you.” One day he’d tell him of the hours sitting here, raw, terrified, counting breaths, heartbeats, reminding himself– alive alive alive.

Kele twisted into his lap, rising to press a gentle kiss to the edge of Dorian’s mouth. “Just once, can it be easy?” he whispered, kissing him again, firmer. “Can we just be without having to fix the world?”

Dorian softly traced his cheek, then the vallaslin curving under his eyes– memorising. Just until he could do it again. “Fixing the world was the easy part, amatus. We had to stop Corypheus, everything else felt so small by comparison. Now we have the rest of our lives to sort out. Countries to fix, Inqusitions to break.” It was easy to yearn for days spent murdering both  demons and random strangers. Back when they had one goal. Life or death. Black and white. Simple. Now those pages were filled and the blank ones were waiting. Whether they would be filled with harmonies or heresies was anyone’s guess. 

Kele pressed a finger to Dorian’s lips, eyebrows drawn down. “Well, we need to stop Solas now. Last I checked, bringing down the veil would affect Tevinter as well even with a floating palace. That’s one goal isn’t it?”

Dorian’s surprised his eyebrows don’t fly off his skull. “He wants to… what?”

Kele chuckled. “I need to fill everyone in but long story very short, The Dread Wolf needs to be found. And I suppose having someone inside the Magisterium could be very helpful on that front.”

Dorian softened under him, something warmer than a blush spreading his skin. “You suppose correctly.”

Kele reclaimed his mouth, kissing and holding until everything else disintegrated around them. The crowds outside, the scorn and sneers, the roles they still had to play– gone. Just the two of them. Two mismatched shapes finding edges that fit together so perfectly.

“You’re never getting rid of me,” Kele murmured as they pull apart, eyes hazy, skin richer and hot. “Go to Tevinter or the very ends of Thedas, I’m hunting you down. I can still be your left hand even if I don’t have mine anymore.” His words exuded colour, melting away the dull shades surrounding them. Dorian squeezed his arm, ready to pull the both into the future. 

Now, it didn’t feel so daunting.

“You always were.”

Dorian returned to Tevinter to take his father's place in the Magisterium. As rumors flew about the Imperium's infighting, Dorian was spoken of often as a voice of resistance against corruption. Along with Magister Maevaris Tilani, he formed a group called the Lucerni to restore and redeem Tevinter—a fight many thought hopeless.

Magister Pavus's allies said that his greatest strength lay in the lover he left in the South, but still conversed with via message crystal. Some claimed to have seen the Inquisitor on the streets of Minrathous on rare occasions, sneaking into the heart of Tevinter to aid his amatus.

[thewardenisonthecase]

Test of Faith - Part 1

part two // part three

Meredith Stannard x Elizabeth Hawke

Read on AO3

Summary: Knight-Commander Meredith begins to grow suspicious of the Champion's behaviour. Why would an apostate so easily help the templars?

To quench her doubt, she gives Elizabeth a task, one the mage thinks she can turn to her benefit.

A/N: this is between acts 2 and 3 btw

word count: 1,967

Tyrant. 

Paranoid. 

Irrational. 

She had heard it all before, even the less pleasant remarks. 

They said she ruled with an iron fist, but how could she not? Abominations and blood mages ran amuck in Kirkwall, and she knew the cost of leniency well. If the leash she held on the mages was short, it was of their own doing.  

After all, as a faithful servant to the Maker, it was her duty not to allow this city to become another Tevinter, to not let it fall to magic. 

Meredith Stannard was a great many things. A fool, however, was not one of them. The Champion must take her for one, if she truly believed that she would fall for that act.

It was strange. Nearly a week after Elizabeth Hawke had been declared the Champion of Kirkwall, she was found on the Gallows, practically pledging her allegiance to Meredith. 

‘If there’s any assistance you need, Commander…well, you know my address.’ The Champion had said before leaving. 

It had to be a lie, afterall. Meredith had never met a mage so willing to help a templar, much less the Knight-Commander herself. 

The first time she had called the Champion for help had been for a menial task. Something as simple as delivering a message, to see if she would keep her word and that she did. Whenever called upon, she would eagerly appear in the Gallows and do as instructed. 

Meredith’s doubts about her were beginning to shake. It began with the Champion overstaying her welcome one particular day, after reporting back to the Commander. Instead of simply telling her of what had happened, Elizabeth began to actually talk with Meredith. 

She dismissed her almost immediately, but by the fourth time she tried to initiate a conversation, the templar caved in. They had spoken for more hours than they should have had. And it happened three other times after that. 

She regretted it now, allowing the Champion to get so close. 

She would not easily trust an apostate, one who she still hadn��t ruled out being a maleficar. Mages were more cunning than they let on and Elizabeth was not going to be an exception. The smiles had to be calculated, and her appraising words of the templars had to be sweetened with lies. Meredith would not be fooled. 

And so, after two weeks of pondering on her next move, she finally figured a way to discover the Champion’s true allegiances. 

She sat on her desk as she waited for the knock on her door. She told the Champion to come in.

Hawke walked in, a smirk on her face.  “And just when I thought you were starting to miss me, you call me back.” 

Meredith did not respond. She stared at her, before leaning back on her chair. “Tell me, Champion.” She said, “Is this all an act?” 

There was no need to walk around the subject. 

Elizabeth made a look of confusion. “Pardon me?” 

“You’re an apostate.” She began. “The only reason you’re even allowed to leave is because of your status.That you would come to the Gallows and entertain me with conversation is most disturbing.” 

Elizabeth raised a brow. “And here I thought you liked our chats.”

Meredith ignored her comment, no matter how true it had been. She hardened her face. 

“Every report I’ve received about you in the past years always included you helping other mages. Ser Karras made an impassioned speech on how you were unfit to serve this city due to fooling him once.” Meredith leaned forwards on her chair, her stare growing stern. “So tell me, Champion. Why should you, of all people, be agreeable to the templars?” 

She could see the mage gulp. “Can’t I have had a change of heart?” 

Meredith raised a brow, incredulous. “Am I supposed to believe that?” 

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” The Champion said, and Meredith immediately thought of at least ten different reasons, but she stayed silent. 

Elizabeth took a deep breath before she spoke. “I have spent the last four years seeing the chaos in Kirkwall. The only ones who have been capable of giving this city any sort of stability have been the Templars.” She said. “As the Champion, shouldn’t I show the people that they can trust the order?”  

The two women stared at each other, as silence filled the room. 

Meredith’s eyes narrowed. “Is that your attempt at getting in my good graces? Saying the things you think I’d want to hear?” 

Elizabeth smirked. “I can’t believe you’d think so poorly of me.” 

“I am not stupid, and from what I hear, neither are you.” 

The mage put a hand on her chest. “My, was that a compliment, Knight-Commander? I’m flattered.”

Meredith closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. She was getting nowhere with this. She stood up from her chair. “I tire of these games, Champion.”

“I am not-”

“Enough.” She cut her off, watching the Champion gulp, before turning around to stare at the window.

Mages and their deceitfulness…words were not enough to convince Meredith. She needed something tangible, some way for the Champion to show where her allegiances truly lied and if she could be trusted. 

She faced the mage. “Five days ago, three of our mages escaped the circle.” She said, as she walked towards Hawke. “They have managed to evade us at every turn, no doubt with outside help.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Let me guess, you want me to track them-”

“No.” She interrupted her once again. “They have been cornered inside a cave, but their magic has made my men unable to enter.”  She stopped right in front of Hawke. “You will go there and you’ll get those mages out. Then there will be no doubt.” 

The Champion looked at her, scanning her face. Meredith raised her chin up, staring down at the mage.

A moment passed between them, silence reigning in the room until finally, Elizabeth nodded and said “Alright. These mages will be back here in no time. But under one condition.” 

Meredith huffed “You’re in no position to make demands.”

“Then I guess you won’t have your mages.” 

Meredith clenched her jaw, as her patience was spreading thin.“What is it?” 

“If I bring them back, I need to be sure they won’t undergo the rite of Tranquility.” 

“No.” 

“Then I guess you’ll have to keep hunting.” Elizabeth took a step back. 

“They could be blood mages. I will not take chances.” 

“I’ll verify that. If they are maleficarum, I’ll kill them myself. But otherwise, I need to know they’ll be safe. Isn’t that the point of the circle?” 

Meredith gritted her teeth, as she huffed. Were the Champion anyone else, she would have not accepted such insolence. 

But an idea popped into Meredith’s head. 

Finally, she said “Fine, then. If they surrender themselves, they will not be made Tranquil.”

. 

‘Maker, this was a bad idea’  Elizabeth thought to herself, as she walked up to the cave. Even from a distance, she could feel an essence emanating from it, no doubt a ward put there by the mages. 

She examined the magic around it, until she figured a way to dispel it. She wondered, then, if Meredith had lied when she said even the templars couldn’t put it down - they were incompetent, yes, but surely not that much. 

It didn’t matter anyway. Elizabeth took a deep breath as she walked into the cave, alone. She couldn’t tell her friends what she was doing. 

She knew they wouldn’t understand. 

All of the times she met with Meredith, she did so secret. It was hard enough to keep up the lie,  - every word of compliment to the templars felt like burning acid on her tongue - she didn’t need their scrutiny either. 

Elizabeth had told Varric of her plan, once. To be friendly to the Knight-Commander, of getting on her good side so that she wouldn’t look at what she and her apostate friends were doing. Keep your enemies close, she told him. 

“I don’t know, Hawke. Messing with the Knight-Commander is the sort of thing that’ll only end in trouble.” He told her, and now, she kicked herself for not listening to him. 

Her lies were starting to catch up to her, and she feared Meredith was aware that every other time she was sent to capture some mage, she let them go. A few sweet words here, and an air of conviction were enough to convince most templars, and luckily, the mages she had helped did a good job of never showing up again. 

Hopefully, she could do this one more time, though her approach would be different. Her plan was to convince the mages to return to the circle, and then make a heartfelt plea for mercy. The thought of having to beg Meredith for anything made her shiver, but she couldn’t risk losing the trust she had earned so far.

It didn’t mean she needed to betray her ideals. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a spell flying near her head, narrowingly missing her. She turned around, and saw one of the mages staring at her, his hand glowing with fire as the other held on to his staff.

“Stay where you are!” He shouted, but as Elizabeth took a tentative step forward, she noticed he was shaking. 

“If you’re going to threaten someone, you need to have a good enough aim to back it up.” 

“I said stay back-”

“Wait!” She heard another voice, and another mage, a girl, who was hiding behind a rock, stood up. “That’s the Champion, you idiot.” 

“The Champion’s here? Maker’s tits.” The third mage, an elf, came out of his hiding spot. 

“It’s Andraste’s tits, you idiot.” 

“Shut up, the both of you.” The girl said, before turning to Elizabeth, taking a step forward. “Champion, we’ve been harassed by templars for the past week.”

“I know.” She lifted a hand, stopping her. “It’s why I’m here.” 

“You’ve come to help us then?” The elf asked. “We’ve heard of you helping other mages break out of the circle.”

Elizabeth took a sharp breath before saying “I…I’m here to bring you back to the Circle.” 

“What?! No!” 

“You’d turn on your own kind?”

“Champion, please.” The girl pleaded, as she rushed towards Elizabeth, holding her hands, begging. “We can’t return, you can’t do this to us. Please, she’ll make us Tranquil if we return!” 

 She looked down at the girl, holding her breath, eyes sad. She held the girl’s hand as she spoke “I wish I could do more for you. But I promise, if you come with me, you’ll be safe. I won’t let them hurt you.” 

“Are you working with them now?” The elf said. “How could you?” 

“I am not working with them.” She replied, coldly, not looking at him. “But I am not in a position to oppose them?” 

“How come? You’re the Champion. It’s not like they can touch you. You’re the only mage in this bloody city with any voice.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue as she took a deep breath. She couldn’t lose control now. “You have a choice.” She turned to face him “You can come with me, and I’ll make sure you’re all alright, or you can stay here, and the Knight-Commander and her templars will kill all of you.”

The cave grew quiet, as the three mages looked amongst themselves. 

“How can you be so sure? How will you stop them from making us Tranquil? The Knight-Commander doesn’t listen to anyone.” The girl asked. 

“She’ll listen to me. I know it.” Elizabeth said with as much confidence as she could muster and prayed they’d listen. 

They looked at each other one last time before nodding. “Alright. We’ll go with you, Champion.”

.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Moodboard!!

I'm not using this to write a story or anything, just wanted to collate a bunch of pics I took into an aesthetic moodboard :)

anyways yeah!! All pics by me :)

(for those wondering who the title is talking about, the moodboard reminded me of an old oc of mine! I'm rambling about her under the cut)

So Minevra Starr is a private investigator working in an old, worndown mall in the last magical district on the planet. She hates magic and doesn't want to acknowledge its existence, but she can't venture too far out of the district for too long, lest someone recognise her for what she is.

Here's an introduction to her :)

A long time ago, the apostate Minevra stood against the gods to save her sister. She was stoic, even as they punished her with a thousand years of agony, loving beyond measure, refusing to sacrifice her saviour to the very end, and most of all— honest. In the millennia that passed since her death, she turned from a cautionary tale into an inspirational one. I was named after her. And of course, in the manner of such things, I am nothing like her.

Minevra is crotchety, sly, amoral, and extremely money-minded. But beneath her veneer of heartlessness lies a heroine, like the ones of legend. When shit hits the fan and the gods come for the Old Quarter, she goes toe to toe with their Chosen and wins. Oh, and she's a lot older than she looks.

Now, someone can easily put two and two together and realise Minevra's hiding something. In fact, it's practically an open secret that she's the Minevra of myth. But every single person who's set out to irrefutably expose her with evidence has been stumped. You'd think it's because a detective like her would be good at erasing her tracks, or that time washed away all the proof. But no.

It's because she's not Minevra at all. Her true name is Stella (forshadowed by her last namd Starr), and she was Minevra's sister. She was a fool whose magical antics brought the wrath of the gods down upon her, and she used her beloved twin sister as her scapegoat. For thousands of years, she spread the lie that her sister died a hero to assuage her guilt.

And that's when she finds out her sister —the real Minevra— is still alive.

Anyways <3 Taglist!

Non-dark writing taglist:

@falco-underscore-77, @keeping-writing-frosty, @watermeezer, @vampirelover890, @the-archivist-14

@trippingpossum, @sm-writes-chaos, @endless-demon, @seastarblue, @lyraoctaviawrites

@beloveddawn-blog, @aseriesofsmallthings, @kitkins13, @illarian-rambling, @urnumber1star

@thevoiceintheabyss, @cain-e-brookman, @aalinaaaaaa, @kaeru483, @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife

@finickyfelix, @possiblyeldritch, @glassfrogforest, @an-indecisive-nerd, @pastelpinkhobbies

[fenharels-chewtoy]

Back when I played Inquisition, I followed Solas’ advice with little thought—it felt right, it felt natural. Aside for one or two times, I went with the most sound argument from my companions which was often his. Had a little reflection and wrote what my Inquisitor thought about this Post-Trespasser.

Lavellan, as much as she is touted and praised as the Inquisitor and leader of the Inquisition, always took the time to talk to her inner circle and advisors. Every decision carefully weighed, opinions from each of her loyal companions measured and analyzed.

More often than not, she would follow the advice of the majority, though she seemed to hold favor for the opinion of one elven apostate.

It wasn’t much of an issue, as his advice was almost always sound, and the Inquisitor often found herself agreeing with his conclusions after much thought and everyone’s input. It felt natural for him to become one of her most trusted advisors.

(Some, she knew, wondered if her involvement with Solas was skewing her judgement. She proved them wrong time and time again.)

How much of a fool she looked now.

She stared, body numb, fresh blood still staining her clothes.

The Dread Wolf’s six eyes glinted back at her from a mural in the Vir Dirthara.

Ma serannas, lethallin.

[maharellasa]

WILD IDEA but what if scout harding was working for fen'harel all along?

she's no one and came from a village and just happens to be a very skilled scout

in the missing, varric mentions not being able to trust people anymore, so charter makes a point out of only recruiting harding to avoid future betrayals

in the same comic, she just happens to have a lead on solas's lair (i know she had no reason to lead them to solas deliberately if she's on his side, but solas told charter "you're many and you're not fools" in TN, so maybe he deliberately manipulated their search so they couldn't pose an actual threat to him, and at the same time lead them to arlathan forest where they could see they were interfering with forces they do not understand)

it's always the apostate mages that have the recurring theme of betrayal in this franchise and now suddenly harding has gained powers, and not just any powers, the same power solas has (I know technically solas has the same power as her but that's not the point)

update (and that's a far reach but well it's interesting): her forehead scar is on the same spot as solas.

she's the person you'd least suspect because she's just the cutest, in this essay I will—

[bonesofapoet]

Fenris cannot begin to imagine how it would feel to betray you.

He thinks about the possibility sometimes, during the sleepless nights he spends among the ruins of his old life. The pull of his anger seems fueled by the ghost of Danarius, haunting him through old journals written in his hand, or aging books he finds with his old master's scrawl pressed into the margins. A house crest on an old tunic here, an heirloom Tevinter antique there. The memories are not so loud now, so fresh, but they still scratch and scream and loom with every dull ache from the lyrium kissing his skin, even if its only in his subconscious.

And yet, his ire is projected onto you, in the silent moments. He knows better than to dwell on them, knows that you of all people will be by his side to the bitter end. It was, after all, you who took his hand and kissed the ache away from his knuckles on the eve of Danarius's final demise. You, who took up his cause alongside yours, without a question, without hesitation, without a doubt. You, in all your graceful, graceless beauty extending your hand to him again and again and again, never once wavering in welcoming him into your little chaotic family.

He recalls how he has fearlessly died for you, without a hesitant thought of his own. How he's carried you home and dressed your wounds after excruciatingly rough nights when the weight of the world rests oh, so heavy on your shoulders. He does this, without even wondering why he stays until you fall asleep, a book cradled in his bruised hands by the fire. Fenris, who is wary of your friendship with Anders, worry settling deep into his bones that one day you'll live to regret the kindness you extend to him on faith and grace alone - when the Abomination gives you nothing but half truths and the promise that you're far better off not knowing the extent of his heart.

And yet, he is no fool blinded by heartache and this new feeling of steadfast loyalty. He has to choke down a pull from an old vintage bottle hidden in the depths of the wine cellar as he realizes - and not for the first time- that even with his deepening disdain for magic and apostates and Magisters, he could never imagine smashing all he has built here to pieces.

This is home, now, whether he fully realizes it or not. You are his home, in all your stubbornness and your passive aggressive optimism that maybe - by some miracle of any kind - this battle could end in anything other than bloodshed. It's in these moments especially, that Fenris begins to wonder if it's not you, truly, who he blames - but himself, at the root of it all. He, who has sworn to protect not only himself, but others from the wrath of magic used in unholy ways.

And then, of course, he comes to Kirkwall and falls in love with someone who wishes to hinder the Circle instead of help it.

He comes to this conclusion as he's greeted by the bottom of the bottle and a swift knock on the weathered front door of his estate. And, quick as they come, all those thoughts slither away back to their shadows as you enter. The door clicks closed behind you, and Fenris simply stops. Stares. Almost drops the bottle hanging loose and precarious from his fingertips. Moonlight shines down into the foyer through filthy, filmy windows, illuminating your silhouette in a glowing halo of silver divinity. It's a sight he's seen a thousand times, yet he's always knocked breathless by the beauty radiating from you eternally, incandescently. Especially when you're fighting side by side, covered in unmentionable ruin.

His name falls through your lips, soft and gentle and kind as you meet him where he stands in the middle of the room. His eyes immediately soften and his posture relaxes the closer you come to touching him. He reaches for you on instinct, palm coming to graze your cheek in a gentle caress, with a heart bound to beat right out of his chest. The sting of aged wine is long forgotten. Thoughts of treachery and betrayal are distant memories from a lifetime ago. It's nothing he'll ever consider again, he thinks, because how could he when you're so impossibly bewitched with one another?

[perkeleen-lavellan]

"You never ask me to play chess with you," Sacha blurted out over the collection of reports he was currently arranging on the bed. Bull had been counting the moles visible on his neck while the ice Sacha had spelled for him slowly melted inside his waterskin.

Bull was used to hot environments, he had grown up in a tropical jungle after all, but the dry heat of the Western Approach after years living in the milder temperatures of eastern Orlais was something else. No one was immune, even Sacha had taken to practically stripping just to his underthings while resting inside his tent and waiting for the sun to set. They moved at night when the air was practically freezing. Trying to get expeditions done in day time here was a complete waste. Everyone just sweated out their hydration in the first hour of moving, and they'd end up wasting precious water. That was the difference between this forsaken desert and the jungles back home. In Par Vollen the nights were only mildly cooler than the days, and the humidity easily fooled you into thinking you weren't dehydrated.

"Are you listening?" Sacha turned his head towards him.

Bull closed his eyes slowly then opened them.

"Yeah, I heard you."

"Well?" the elf prompted impatiently.

"I thought you were trying to focus," Bull glanced at the ignored papers and teased.

"Clearly it's not working," Sacha huffed, and turned fully to crawl over and sit in front of him. He looked irritated. Heat and overwork. The Venatori presence made Sacha unable to relax even in a camp as well guarded and hidden as theirs. It was an unfortunately familiar sight to Bull. In enemy territory you could never truly relax.

"Jealous?" he asked casually.

"Please," Sacha scoffed. "Of Solas?"

He was. That primal part of his brain no doubt had him asking why Bull would pick Solas for his games, a reportedly self taught apostate, instead of a schooled man like Sacha.

"I didn't think you'd enjoy chess," he said simply.

"Why wouldn't I?" Sacha asked, childishly indignant.

Bull smiled. "Let me rephrase. I didn't think you'd be able to play it without getting way too competitive. Like you had to prove something by winning."

"Is that not the point?" Sacha said, lips curving dangerously as he leaned closer to his face. Bull would not be cowed.

"They taught you chess in the Circle didn't they?" he asked while ignoring the nails that came to rest on his thigh. Not pressing down but threatening to, should he misspeak. "What for?"

"Because it's etiquette. It hones the mind-"

"And when you were in the Circle they made you play against each other?"

Sacha's brow twitched. "Of course."

"And you liked winning?"

"Of course," Sacha repeated annoyed. "Bull, if you have a point-"

"So when you lost, did you feel like you had just lost at a game, or did it feel like you lost more than that?"

Sacha pursed his lips.

"Did it make you angry?"

"So what if it did? No one likes losing."

"No. But especially not when their future is part of the stakes. Feel free to correct me, but everything you've told me about the Circle has given me the impression that you were always competing against your peers there. And not like the friendly rivalry you find among soldiers. Your lives were literally dependent on how you performed, and I know you noticed that, because you learned to play that game. So I didn't think you'd enjoy playing chess with me just for the sake of it. You'd be unable to take the loss as just a loss."

Sacha retreated back a few spaces, his hands settling firmly on his own lap. The sensation his touch left behind was only the faintesd tingle. "You're assuming I'd lose," Sacha said accusingly.

Bull only raised his brow as if to say, 'see?'

"Fine," Sacha snapped and rolled his eyes. Then after a moment, in a quieter voice he asked, "So it's not because you don't think I'd be a challenge?"

Bull sighed.

[daitranscripts]

Cassandra Deleted Dialogue

Cassandra Masterpost

—

Cassandra: Leliana mentioned a Grey Warden in the Storm Coast, did she not? I have my doubts their disappearance is related to our troubles, but she is not often wrong. I would look into it.

—

PC: I was hoping we could spend some time together.

Cassandra: I suppose there is nothing pressing right this second.

Cassandra: If you like, certainly.

Cassandra: Are you not heading out of Skyhold? As you wish.

Cassandra: I’d enjoy that. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: I’ve never understood this game.

Cassandra: Ha! Can you believe it? I’ll win this round yet.

Cassandra: How often must Varric play this to become as good as he is? It boggles the mind.

Cassandra: You’re cheating, aren’t you? Can you cheat at this?

Cassandra: Madness. I only draw a card once I no longer need it.

Cassandra: Andraste’s tits! Why do I keep playing this?

Cassandra: I’ll play my hand! Just… give me a moment. It will come to me. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: I’ll go easy on you this time. Three bruises is enough, I think?

Cassandra: (Chuckles.) You almost had me that last time. One more bout!

Cassandra: Now then, a little practice bout, yes?

Cassandra: Take me down if you can, Inquisitor. Do your best.

Cassandra: Let’s see how you fare in one-on-one combat.

Cassandra: …years of practice under my mentor, Seeker Byron. The man was a warrior without peer.

Cassandra: Maker’s breath! Fine. One more bout, and then I give up. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: The uniforms were Josephine’s doing. It’s still a mystery to me.

Cassandra: …and there I stood at the monastery’s gates, the apostates staring at me as if my hair were on fire.

Cassandra: The Lord Seeker never let any argument go. He was like a dog who refused to let go of a bone.

Cassandra: …so I opened the chest only to find an entire cache of lyrium vials. “Just some rags,” ha!

Cassandra: …twelve templars in one Circle. I never saw the like before or since. The knight-commander was beside himself.

Cassandra: You notice how they look at you? There are many who would give anything for such reverence. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: Interesting that this ruin stood empty all this time. I wonder how Solas knew of it?

Cassandra: Majestic, isn’t it? Of all the spots in Skyhold, I think this is my favorite.

Cassandra: …and then twice again before the battle was through. It took me weeks to recover.

Cassandra: …and so I said to the man: “is this a jest? Put your trousers back on, you fool”

Cassandra: …and they would look at me with such fear in their eyes. I could never stand that part of it.

Cassandra: …nine times out of ten, it was nothing. Just fears and useless superstition. (Sighs.) ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: I never said I was frightened of horses. They just… have such large teeth.

Cassandra: Can we ride fast? I prefer galloping, and I suspect the horses do as well.

Cassandra: Do we have any apples? I can’t believe I forgot to bring even one.

Cassandra: …and the chevalier’s horse threw him, on cue. I could not stop laughing.

Cassandra: No, nobody solely speaks Orlesian any longer. Well, perhaps the marsh-folk.

Cassandra: I always wanted to visit Minrathous. Someday I’ll see the twin guardians for myself.

—

[Part of the jealousy dialogue. These lines are not technically deleted and can be heard in-game using the bi-Cullen mod. (ask me how I know)]

Cassandra: It’s probably nothing, but it claims that you and Commander Cullen are…

Cassandra: Ah. Is Commander Cullen aware of that?

—

[Low approval scene. It may still be in the game, but I cannot find the plot trigger for it.]

Cassandra: Honeyed words. Liar’s tongue. And I fell for it all.

[docholligay]

This doesn't QUITE fit the lies they told themselves I WILL EEP WORKING ON THAT FOR LATER I HAVE AN IDEA but this like, came out

No one would ever accuse you of being overly complicated. This would hurt you to hear, and so I would never say it, nor let others say it in your presence, but it is true. It is true, and it is beautiful, and you would never accept the beauty of that simplicility. You are a perfectly made vanilla ice cream, an exotic and delicate thing, sweet and pure. Unappreciated for that same purity and straightforward perfection. 

It is a shame, that I see what you say so plainly, whether or not you choose to say it aloud. 

We are in desperate times, my darling. Even this sacrifice, however noble, is unlikely to bear any fruit but our death, and Galaxia’s knowledge that she is not so powerful as she imagines. There is a satisfaction in that, of course. You and I, us, indomitable to the end. No power can tame us. 

I mentioned it so offhand. I did not expect you to ever agree. I expected you to fight by Usagi’s side to your last breath, ever her faithful knight astride a white horse, looking to absolve yourself of the sin of being born. You are not the world’s greatest pragmatist. You are a romantic. 

And yet you turned to me, your voice shaking in ways only I could know. You turned to me. To the dark, and the hopeless gambit of the pretended apostate. A ripple in that vanilla, suddenly. The end of the world makes fools of us all. 

I love you. I love you and I would follow to the ends of this earth and beyond. I would march into hell itself and let us be tossed apart by the winds, over and over, and move to recapture you each time. The brush of your finger on mine every other millennia would sustain me for eternity. 

I love you and so, ripple or no, i could read every thought on the sweet vanilla of your mind as we stood together, after. The dust of what was Hotaru and Pluto still caked on the edge of my uniform. 

“We did it.” You said, half to convince yourself, as you turned the bracelet’s gem in the light. “We’re hers now.” 

Usagi will beg and plea and cry and it will come to nothing at all. This world is doomed, even for the brilliant beauty of your courage and the steadfast herald that is your belief in our princess. I follow you into the dark, and I am not afraid. With you, nothing can hurt me. 

No thing but one. Something I realized too late, as you looked at me, love in your eyes, doubtless, but something more, something i did not realize I would see so vividly and plainly. Something I did not realize would just so jaggedly and so deep. 

You think it so easy for me to turn traitor. 

The deepest pain?

I wish you were not correct.

[cassiaorsellio]

Dragon Age OC - Demon Tag Game

thank you @in-the-drowning-deep for the tag 👀 (drowning's is here)

How to play: Pic (if you want) of your OC, a little blurb about them, and what demon would be attracted to them and why. Use the demon's codex entry if you’d like and tag some peeps!

tagging: @arcandoria // @hildryn // @dragonologist-phd // @wardentabriis

EUGÉNIE & DESIRE DEMONS

So frightened was I of this creature's legendary abilities to twist the hearts of men, and so relieved was I when I looked across the table into her dark eyes. This was a fearsome creature of the Fade, but as I spoke with her I slowly came to realize that this demon was merely as misunderstood as we mages are, ourselves." — from the journal of former Senior Enchanter Maleus, once of the Circle of Rivain, declared apostate in 9:20 Dragon.

"You were a fool," Eugénie answered the Shame once. "Your desires exceeded your reach, so you became an Abomination. You destroyed us."

If there is one demon that dogs the Seraults, it is Desire. Her ancestor invited it into their history. While it is not canonically confirmed what sort of abomination the Shame became as a lot of his identity and history is lost, Desire makes the most sense to me based off what we do know. After all, desire demons aren't just using their victims' lust, it's about wealth and power too. The Shame became an abomination because of his desire for power and ambition.

And of course, considering how much the Shame's history haunts the Marquis(e), of course I have to give the same demon to his descendent. Eugénie is ambitious. She has great designs for the failing marquisate and she doesn't want to see Serault fall because of her father's failings. She looks at the books, she accepts the Divine's challenge, she does what she must. But she surrenders her great-aunt to the Orlesian Chantry for the Divine's favour. She desires unsuitable partners (Ademar, the Bard, and Sylvaine, the Abbess) and being at court corrupts her a bit. She indulges in vices she previously didn't (gambling being a major one), she sets her eyes on a prize and she's very much using another's desire for her to her advantage. It's a fairly standard move in the Game. Her ambition to climb higher is what eventually gets her mother and sister killed in 9:52.

What a delicious target for a desire demon: the Shame's very own progeny with the very same dark and dangerous eyes.