#Harbor Herald

[an-established-butt-dent]

Wanderer

[hannahwdraws]

Just a couple of girls from The Free Marches

"I can't believe the girl I taught to weave flowers at the Arlathvhen grew up to be the 'fearsome' Inquisitor."

"I can't believe Varric didn't put two and two together sooner that we might have already known each other."

"Try not to blame him, you're so different from the girl I knew from back then."

"I'm still just a Dalish girl from The Marches"

[genshin-impact-updates]

Chivalrous Shadow, Shrouded in Cloud

"A new resident in the city, you say? Oh, it's Cloud— I mean, Xianyun. Don't be fooled by her usual manner... She's someone you can truly rely on when the going gets tough. If you ever find yourself in trouble, just tell her — I'm sure she'd be willing to help."

— Madame Ping

◆ Name: Xianyun

◆ Title: Passerine Herald

◆ New Resident in Liyue Harbor

◆ Vision: Anemo

◆ Constellation: Grus Serena

Everyone has something to say about Xianyun: "That tall woman with the updone hair," "that bespectacled artisan," or perhaps "that talkative new neighbor." They all say different things, but together they paint a picture of the impression she leaves — of someone who's witty, chatty, warm-hearted, and easy to get along with.

But that's not how Xianyun sees herself. In her own eyes, she's inarticulate, reserved, and unyieldingly proud. Aside from her mastery of mechanics and knack for making all kinds of little trinkets, it's an entirely different image from how others would describe her.

Some curious individuals, seeing how her mannerisms and bearing set her apart from ordinary folk, are convinced that she's a heroine — so they go around trying to uncover her heroic backstory and whether she goes by any other names.

Ask the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's consultant, and with a wave of his hand, he'd say: "Xianyun? We're not well acquainted, but going by her name, she sounds like a good person."

Ask Madame Ping from Yujing Terrace, and she'd nod and reply: "Xian... Oh, Xianyun? We've crossed paths, yes... She's a good person, you know. Once you've met, you'll find that your days seem to go by much more smoothly."

Ask Ganyu, and she'd nod too: "She is a heroine, but a very discreet one — hence why she's living incognito in Liyue Harbor."

Ask Shenhe, and she'd respond pensively: "Xianyun... Of course, she's a master. Whatever you do, you must not offend her."

As it turns out, such speculations are not wrong. There's far more to Xianyun than meets the eye, but those who know the full story are few indeed. If someone was to address her as "Cloud Retainer"... Well, people would know her instantly, and you'd hear a torrent of praise flow her way: "Who doesn't know Cloud Retainer? Noble, brave, loyal, and wise... A most worthy friend if ever there was one!"

So try asking Xianyun herself then: "Are you a heroine? Surely you're not... an adeptus?"

You catch the new resident just as she's working on her latest invention, her pride and joy — what she calls an "Exquisite Mini Broth Pot." She's too absorbed to take the question seriously, so she simply waves it off as a load of old nonsense and tells you not to bother her while she's busy.

As for what exactly an Exquisite Mini Broth Pot is... No one really knows, other than having been told that it brings out flavors much better than a regular soup pot. Likewise, none would know how profoundly it might impact Liyue Harbor's future gastronomic development. Suffice to say — if Xianyun says it'll be impressive, it'll be impressive alright.

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[self-awared]

The Rock's Crack

Inspired by @lum1nesc3nce

Tw/Cw: not proof-read, angst, violence, murder, fighting, betrayal, reincarnation

The pain of your lover's betrayal hurt worse than the actual stab of the spear. The countless times he had placed his contracts above you should have been the first red flag, but, as foolish as it sounds, love is a powerful force.

One of his contracts was to eliminate any threat towards Celestia. Obviously, the person on the other end of the contract was Celestia themselves.

The contract stated that Morax would have to kill anything that was even remotely threatening Celestia's rule. If he failed, Liyue would be destroyed just like Khaenri'ah had been destroyed years before.

You were deemed a threat by Celestia the moment you discovered that Celestia was the cause behind the fall of the nation you had loved long ago, Khaenri'ah.

You still remember the flash of remorse in Morax's eyes fade to coldness as his spear plunged into your chest.

He tried to make it quick and painless.

He failed.

You laid on a rock protruding from the ground, your golden blood dripping off of the rock and onto the warm grass below. You had barely registered the moment a blonde-headed boy approached you, an abyss herald standing behind him.

"How cruel the gods are. To kill their own lover with zero remorse." The boy spoke harshly as he placed a hand on the wound that had barely missed your heart and lungs.

You felt the warmth of the boy's touch spread through your body like a warm ray of sunshine. You welcomed it. Even if you could, you wouldn't fight as he picked you up and walked through a strange portal.

The nausea from teleporting knocked you out, which could have been for the better.

You had discovered that the person that saved you was named Aether, Prince of the Abyss. Ironic, isn't it? Being saved by the world's enemy, betrayed by the world's protector?

Nevertheless, as payment for the Abyss saving you, you joined them in their journey and traveled alongside Aether.

The fact that Teyvat was still prospering should have been a dead giveaway that you were still alive. And to Morax, the fact that the flowers still bloomed and water still reigned calm in Liyue's harbor, was a sign of hope.

The hope was multiplied the moment he saw you. Yet, he still failed to understand why you were surrounded by Abyss Heralds, mages, hilichurls, and numerous other monsters.

"...[Y/N]? What is this?" Morax held his spear loosely at his side as the adepti fought the abyss standing by your side.

"Isn't it obvious? You made a mistake. I'm the consequence." A small smirk creeped into your face as you lunged towards the God of Geo, your sword extended towards his heart.

"Please don't do this!" He cried out, blocking your blow with his spear.

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" You couldn't help but compare this moment to when you fought against him all those years ago, the memory of you begging for your life sticking in both of your memories.

The sound of metal hitting metal was the only thing that you heard, besides the screams of the civilians around you.

A swipe towards the feet, a thrust towards his heart, a swing towards his hands to disarm him... Your movements were calculated precisely.

Harnessing your elemental powers felt easier than ever.

You made the ground shake, the vines tear people around you to shreds, summoned lightning strikes that hit Teyvat with much force, formed tornadoes and hurricanes, started wildfires, made the air freezing cold, made tides rise...

Teyvat seemed to be as angry as you were.

In the middle of it all, Morax still fought you with grief in his eyes.

"Don't make me do this." He said breathily, swiping his pole-arm up diagonally, barely missing you as you stepped back.

"You actually think you can win?" You laughed, thrusting your sword at his chest.

Your tried to tune out the pained screams of the people dying, until you felt the pull of a prayer. Everytime someone prayed to you, there would be a tug on your heart, as if conveying you to answer it. You never thought you'd feel that when you were the cause of their pain.

"Creator!"

"Creator! Help us!"

"Creator!"

The screams of people calling out to you filled the air, making you falter in horror. What were you doing?

You never meant to go this far- You just wanted revenge, you never meant to kill anyone- you just wanted-...

He had plunged his spear straight through your chest, making you wheeze as it hit your lungs, taking advantage of your distracted stage.

You met his eyes.

There were tears in them, as he knew there was no way you would survive this time.

"Im sorry..." His voice cracked. The air stilled and became warm again, the vines receded, the tides calmed, the fires went out, the ground became still, and the storms faded.

"Don't be... I'm the one that's sorry." You coughed, falling into his arms as your golden blood tainted the spear.

"I'll come back. I swear on it."

Your last words were written in the history books. He still remembers the pain in your voice even as he became Zhongli.

You had become etched into his memory like a crack in a rock: unable to be removed or fixed.

He wrote stories about you, told your tales, read fanfiction of you to see what people thought, and making sure those that tainted your image were punished.

Even after that fateful day, even after all the chaos you caused, he still loved you.

So, there was no way he couldn't recognize the sense of warmth that filled him when the traveler entered the teahouse with Childe.

And, low and behold, your reincarnation followed the traveler shyly.

You kept your promise.

[ifightformyfriends]

You seem to have some thoughts on the matter. How do *you* feel about Baldur's Gate 3

Not really any opinions on BG3 specifically, except that it's clear that Larian put a lot more effort into balancing the game than WotC ever has, and it's unfortunate for Larian that the game's development was used to harbor Zac S accomplice Mike Mearls so that WotC could state he was no longer on the D&D design team when people were calling for consequences for his roll in bringing on, enabling, and protecting known serial sexual abuser and transphobe Zac S as a heralded consult in 5e's development.

Mechanically I've seen a lot of talk about how...not even true RAW, but improved RAW 5e just isn't as fun for people when there's not a DM to handwave things or allow cool off the cuff "Greentext" moments that have nothing to do with the actual ruleset being ostensibly played and paid for. Even with some added stuff for Martials to do there's no "Describe your attack" or "Make a called shot" that is so often used to downplay that Martials are on a whole different, lower magnitude of agency to exert influence on the world around them. And this is after Larian went out of their way to improve them! Buffed Action Economy, setpiece combat with interesting interactions, some semblance of giving them actual abilities, but it can't make up for the fact they're 5e Martials. It is hilarious seeing people brought face to face with the actual ruleset for the first time instead of what their DM does to make the system a fun experience.

And I just saw earlier today, it's got people talking about how there's so much Fantasy Racism if you play a Tiefling that is just so unnecessary except for the fact that it is RAW and how the game is presented without your DM and table going "But we're going to ignore that".

Which is very much the same in that it is people being brought face to face with the actual system WotC produces and sells for the first time instead of their DM's system they've agreed to give WotC credit for. I maintain that 5e was a system designed for passive revenue generation because D&D is the property Hasbro got as a free gift when they bought Magic the Gathering, and it was designed specifically for DMs who were used to 3.5's brokenness and doing the heavy lifting to run games for new-to-TTRPG players and that's why the true north of the ruleset development was to not look intimidating to new players. And for that narrow purpose, it succeeds! But then it got popular and the system was not prepared for such wild ideas as "New DMs wanting to run games without an internalized encyclopedic knowledge of the system". To use a car as a metaphor, WotC realized they could design a game that used the DM as the engine instead of the driver's seat, saving a ton in development costs in doing so. And BG3 has some people realizing that what they thought was a car was actually just a frame they paid full price for.

TL;DR: No significant thoughts on Baldur's Gate 3 really, same thoughts as always on WotC and 5e that people will awkwardly ignore and sweep under the rug until their NEXT big PR fiasco that they'll shallowly ask forgiveness for and people will somehow give them and the cycle will begin anew.

[fancyfeathers]

Hi so this is my First time asking so im a huge of zhongli Fan and if in that au we were like wanting to Go out without him how would he react ?

Time Alone

You sat at the table, by the window in your home in Liyue Harbor, looking over the city. Your husband sat across from you, his finger tracing the rim of his empty tea cup.

“Zhongli…”

“Hm, yes my love?”

Your eyes traced the outline of the buildings, shops, and stalls. You have been out in the city with your husband a number of times, it was a common if not daily occurrence for the two of you, but always together. With the upcoming event of the Rite of Descension your husband will be quite busy, addressing how Liyue is to be run for the next year. For you this time normally meant you were often sent off to Jueyun Karst and placed under the care of the Adepti while your husband addresses the mortals of Liyue. It was so lonely for those days, the adepti watched over Liyue and while they cared about you deeply they did not exactly have the time to give you company, you were sent there so nothing would happen to the wife of Rex Lapis when he was to busy to protect you even if you didn’t need protection, it was just a way to keep you from running off.

“I was wondering…um…” You left yourself grow nervous as your husband gave you his full attention, his golden eyes felt like they were staring right into your soul. You swallowed the lump in your throat and just bit the bullet. “I was wondering if I could stay in Liyue Harbor during the Rite of Descension, please?”

“My love-“

“Please, it’s been over two thousand years since I’ve done anything on my own…”

“Beloved-“

“Don’t get me wrong I get along with the adepti just fine, especially Mountain Shaper and Cloud Retainer, maybe not Moon Carver so much, but it gets so lonely especially when I know the people of Liyue are celebrating and I can’t see them during it-“

“(Name)!”

Your husband raising his voice, not quite yelling, made you fall silent and almost shrink in your chair. Your eyes glued down on the tea cup in your hands, almost scared to look up at your husband as your heard him sigh. His hand came up to gently tilt your head and make you look at him. “It is dangerous to leave you alone, without anyone to protect you.”

“Zhongli please, just because I’m not as strong as you doesn’t mean I’m helpless, I’m still a goddess.” You said, still trying to convince him who was clearly unsure still. “Besides even then this city doesn’t know who I am, I doubt a Fatui Harbinger or an Abyss Herald will come after the wife of a funeral parlor worker.”

That made Zhongli crack a smile and chuckled which gave you hope, and rightfully so.

“Very well, I will see what we can arrange.” Zhongli stood up as he continued talking, picking up the tea set to clean. “I could perhaps find a way to have myself or someone else check on you.”

“Thank you, thank you so much Zhongli.” You sprang up and almost without thinking about it you sprang up and hugged him, leaning across the small table, wrapping your arms around him. He nearly dropped the tea set as he set it down to hug you back, a smile coming across his face at your joy that felt so rare to him these days.

[explodingchantry]

dai harbors such disdain for the elves it's honestly baffling. Both of your elven companions hold disdain for the dalish. neither of them ARE dalish. a dalish inquisitor barely gets a say in being forced to carry the title of herald of andraste and inquisitor. their clan can be wiped out in a war table mission with no consequences, no cutscenes, no dialogue, no nothing as a result. you can get one of the most beloved companion of the game defending slavery to you. you can get an elf to command orlais from the shadows but the game goes to great length to let you know that she is corrupt and untrustworthy, too, like the humans.

solas, who is FRAMED as being not just trustworthy, but extremely knowledgeable and wise, denies his connection to the elves. he believes himself better than the dalish who are foolish worshippers of the monsters who enslaved them millenias ago, and better than the city elves who let themselves (in his eyes) be persecuted by humans. if you romance him he takes away your vallaslin, one of the most culturally significant symbols of the dalish, because it actually used to be a marking forced upon them by their evil slaver gods. ther dalish are constantly, over and over, portrayed as foolish and misunderstanding their past and heritage, with very little opportunity to argue against that even as a dalish inquisitor.

Non dalish know more than you even when you are a dalish inquisitor. Morrigan, a HUMAN, teaches you, a dalish elf, about ancient elvhen magic and artifacts. Solas, who through the game is portrayed as a non-dalish elf, teaches you about ancient elvhen magic and artifacts whilst at the same time mocking the dalish who wish to retain their culture, heritage and knowledge

it is so meanspirited. the reveal that solas is fen'harel does very little to soften the blow, especially since it's hand in hands with the reveal that flemeth, a HUMAN, is mythal.

i know there's some interesting lore bits that ties ancient elves to humans, but that doesn't matter, okay? What matters is that the fucking writing is biased against elves. the writing could've raised these questions, offered these earth shattering discoveries, without being so mean spirited and biased against elves and especially the dalish.

imagine being a player who doesnt care to dig into the deeper lore, whose never played a dragon age game before. you would be left scoffing about how foolish the dalish are, obsessed with their past to the point they'll happily believe falsehoods and venerate evil slavers. you wouldn't care about any of the lore implications. and even if you did, it wouldn't remove the negative bias the game really shoves at you. it's literally baffling how no one in the writer's room was like "hm, maybe we should offer a proper dalish point of view to some of these things. maybe we should hold back on the fantasy racism just a teensy bit, considering our fantasy races and cultures are deeply tied to real ones in the real world with very obvious inspirations. it might be best to not portray one of our marginalised races and people as stupid idiots who got their entire heritage all wrong. maybe."

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Docktown, Minrathous (in the daytime, in contrast with the gameplay reveal video), reminding us that Minrathous is built on an island. maybe the magic-monorail-looking bridge here is actually the single bridge that goes to Minrathous, like in the lore?

Docktown is the home of Neve. the distinctive floating building is in the distance again. compared to Ferelden, the buildings in Minrathous are like another planet entirely! Tevene architecture/design is so hostile - spikes on chairs, spikes on the sides of buildings.. I wonder if the doorway here is the entrance to the tavern/bar here [second image]. if you look in the window to the left of the door, the figure on the right could be the 'bouncer' at the top of the steps in the bar image. also, outside of here are tables and barrels, like you might expect outside a tavern establishment.

I'm curious about the heraldry of the boat in the harbor with the blue unfurled flags. it reminds me a bit of this Fereldan heraldry, but the animals are the wrong way round and it isn't quite right. either way, the heraldic animal is also present as the prow of that boat and one other.

Elf Rook (either City or Dalish but without vallaslin applied in CC), Emmrich and Harding. Rook is a sword-and-shield warrior here, Veilguard symbol on their chest plate, Warden symbol on their shield. Maybe this Rook has the Grey Warden background? anyways, looking closely at Rook's chest plate here, with the gray metal armor, the purple Veilguard symbol on the left, the 'bandolier' of three brown leather pouches across their chest, and the diagonal lines on the plate going the other way, it looks like maybe this Rook is wearing the same 'iconic[?] Rook outfit' as in the key art, or at least the torso piece. They both also have the metal shoulder plates, purple fabric over the elbow area, brown leather gauntlet etc. It's just that in this screenshot Rook isn't wearing a helmet/hood (or has them toggled off in the Options menu? ^^). anyways, I love that purple seems to be the 'iconic[?]' color for Rook, and also look at how this long-haired Rook's hair flows and sits around their neck and shoulders! and again the detailing is cool, like scratches on the shield and stuff.

Harding's arrow is glowing. Is her bow or arrow enchanted or have some kind of stat buff, or could this be an example of her magical powers in action, like her tarot card art might suggest? also, we can see from the tall skeleton/undead statues in the background and the skull-lid vases in the foreground that this shot is from the Necropolis.

The groupshot at HQ is so [cat crying screaming].. 🥺🥺 I love it so much, with the round table it has like Knights of the Round Table vibes or something and it's so nice to see everyone together and in their casual outfits too. I hope there are lots of moments like this in the game. ^^ Davrin is whittling wood, something that reminds me of Halsin and my Inquisitor (who is Dalish, and also had that hobby). Did some people.. bring their chair of choice to the meeting room hh? Davrin's looks like it was carved from a tree stump. Harding and Neve have a comfy sofa. Emmrich's looks kind of gothic and Nevarran. Taash's stool [?] is gold and practical-looking.

Taash looks so bored hhh. here we can see Bellara without her magical gauntlet. Do you think Manfred and Assan come to the team meetings..? :D Lucanis has impeccable tailoring, with lil bird-skull looking buttons at his collar. he's buttoned right up and professional looking even in his casual downtime, even when some of the others are the opposite. unsurprisingly his casual clothes have that blue-black corvid feather sheen. surely he has coffee in his mug. ^^ I wonder what Neve's drink of choice is though? from the way Lucanis leans here, do you think Lucanis and Emmrich is one of the companion-companion relationships that might develop like Taash and Harding?

Harding looks so cute and cozy on the couch with the cushion and her slippers, I can't take it. and I really love Neve's casual look with her scarf and hair like that!!

I think this scene is probably from the Lighthouse. Game Informer mentioned that it had a library, which is the central area of the The Lighthouse, and that it's there the party will often regroup and prepare for what’s next. Could this be one of those moments in there? ^^ in the background are stacks of books, and books on shelves, like a library would have. on the table is an assortment of scrolls, maps, papers. you can see a feather quill pen and red wax seals. having the maps in front of Davrin, a Warden and monster-hunter who has probably travelled far and quite a lot, is a nice touch. some of the books look quite ornate and arcane-ish, and are there a few of the 'Bellara'-style triangles on the table as well? and what do you suppose is the blue diamond-looking thing with white veins on the table?

(I'm also curious what the golden thing in the top right is.)

we can tell from the way it looks but we also know from a file name that this is the Rivain Coast. it's beautiful, it looks so bright and hot, the water is so blue. we first saw this locale in the Thedas Calls trailer from Dragon Age Day 2023. again, in the distance, we can see that statue.

From a file name, this is Arlathan Forest. everything is suffused in soft golden light, almost whimsical and Fable-like the Game Informer piece said. this shot is framed with those familiar trees with orange foliage e.g one, two, three. this place reminds me of some of the elvhen ruins we got to see in Trespasser. in the top right is green Veil/Fade shenanigans. a place where the Veil is weak, or the edge of this particular Veil bubble? past the wall of green it looks like some of the buildings are broken thanks to the warping, and there are floating rocks.

and look closely at some of the assets -

there's an owl, which are associated with Falon'Din and Andruil. lots of those howling Fen'Harel wolf statues. they look just like they do in DA:I (I don't mean that they look bad graphically or old or anything, just that the details are the same!!) which is awesome for consistency (also cool to see these return, so many of the art assets in DA:I were rly cool), and might even be the same assets being re-used (which is sensible and sensical for game design, something Mark Darrah talked about before). nb, just in case, I'm not saying this as a comment against asset re-use, it makes sense to do and I was excited to see these DA:I or DA:I-style ones in these caps!

[ninibeingdelulu]

Both of them ??✧

Plot: They came to comfort you.

A/N: Suggestive??

The cramped cabin felt suffocatingly claustrophobic as you huddled trembling in the corner, tears streaking silently down your flushed cheeks.

Echoes of your fallen comrades' dying screams reverberated through your mind's frantic, panicked spiral.

Eren - that twisted embodiment of rage and hatred incarnate - unleashed untold horrors upon the world.

Countless dead beneath a merciless stampede of Titans set on rendering humanity extinct. All over some misguided bid for twisted vengeance.

And now, you teetered on the razor's edge of that genocidal abyss alongside your remaining friends.

One wrong move, one faltering of conviction...was all it would take to get swept over into that ravenous maw of obliteration right alongside Eren's monstrous ambitions.

Hot, stinging droplets splashed from beneath your tightly-squeezed lids as you buried your face in your knees.

Why?

Just...why had everything gone so horrifically awry?

A metallic groan heralded the cabin door swinging open with an ominous creak. You flinched instinctively, shoulders hunching defensively as those cloying shadows spilled across the floor towards your curled form.

Until two deeply familiar, gruff voices sliced through the keening misery ricocheting endlessly within your skull.

"Hey, kiddo. You alright over there?"

Steeling your composure through shuddering inhales, you dragged the heels of your palms across your cheeks before glancing up at the striking figures framed by the threshold's bleak lighting.

Jean and Reiner gazed down with matching masks of grim resolution - all taut jawlines squared with stubborn fortitude masking the softness simmering in those slate and honey irises.

A marked departure from the roguish, incandescent youths once hell-bent on proving themselves amidst those carefree military training days in the sun.

Lean muscle solidified by battlefields replacing wiry boyish forms, chiseled features sharpened by years of combat severity into something inhumanly statuesque.

Even the unkempt stubble misting matching jawlines lent some wild, rogue charm belying their hardened edges.

All at once, you registered a searing pang twist through your core quite differently from the anguish clenching it mere moments prior.

It smoldered hot and insistent, quickening your pulse until you felt dizzy and curiously feverish despite the chill swaddling the tiny cabin.

Whoa...when did they get so...?

Your mind faltered lamely through the haze of adrenaline and lust thrumming white-hot through your veins like heady liquor.

Heat blossomed undeniably in your cheeks as sordid thoughts scattered your reeling focus.

"I'm...I'm f-fine!" you squeaked, dropping your gaze with a violent shake of your head.

As if harboring notions that sordid involving two of your closest comrades wasn't depravity itself.

The very idea of pleasuring not one but both those towering, battle-hewn Adonic specimens spurred viscous, all-too-vivid fantasies to swamp your psyche.

Fevered daydreams where every lascivious hunger, every illicit friction, every indecent cry got magnified tenfold by the unholy prospect of being sandwiched between their bulging musculatures.

You silently reprimanded yourself through labored breaths, willing the sinful deluge corrupting your senses away through sheer force.

Until Reiner planted one massive paw squarely on your shoulder, fingertips sinking into the taut cords of muscle there.

"Don't give us that bullshit," the hulking warrior growled, blonde stubble swaying with the rippling motion of his voice. His honeyed irises lashed by pale lids bored into yours with blazing, unshakable intensity.

"We're way past hiding shit from each other."

"That's right," Jean chimed in, mirroring Reiner's steely countenance.

His slender fingers brushed the stray tendrils matted to your sweat-sheened brow with startling tenderness.

"So talk to us - either of us, or both. You know it's okay to unload on your fellow soldiers for once."

The simple weight of their voices - deep, gritty ravers caressing over every syllable with such unspoken affection and care - proved your undoing.

Unleashing a deluge of scorching, mortifying yearning pooling liquid-hot in your loins with a disconcerting pulse.

Oh Fuck...These sinful thoughts...how is this even possible right now? About them of all people. After everything we've been through?!

Yet as maddening lucidity trickled back into your lust-glazed eyes, confirming the lusty sparks mirrored amidst Jean and Reiner's equally molten expressions, you realized something profound.

You craved this unorthodox outlet. The ultimate intimate submission, the total escape into primitive bliss beyond reason or complication or crushing stakes.

To shatter apart completely in your beloved brothers' loving, capable hands like surrogate messiahs ferrying your shattered spirit into ecstasy's sanctum reprieve.

Mutely, you nodded before surging to your feet - backing away on wobbling legs until your shoulders bumped the cabin's reinforced wall.

Two pairs of searing gazes speared you to the spot, radiating the same furnace of scintillating energy that pulsed through your veins and ached between your thighs.

Heartbeats stampeding in your ears, a hyper-awareness sharpened your vision onto every tantalizing detail.

How Reiner's broad chest ballooned with undulating breaths, eyes glittering with primal promise.

How Jean dragged his tongue along the plush curvature of his lower lip, leaving it slicked and swollen in unconscious temptation.

Fuck. They want this too. Really, really want it.

Gasping aloud at the delicious epiphany, you watched blithe and expectant as both demigods surged forward - powerful strides unwavering and unbroken.

Gaits predatory yet betraying no urgency nor aggression, just the promise of total unhurried obliteration upon celestial impact.

Two behemoth silhouettes consumed you within their intersecting, heated eclipses, blotting out reality altogether.

Fingers splayed against your rain-slicked window of separation, breath quickening until the first feverish graze of Reiner's searching fingertips scorched across your jugular...only to freeze in tandem with Jean's insistent tug at your chin as a familiar voice echoed through the hall beyond.

"Hey guys? Where'd you all run off t-- oh, there you are! Got a second?"

Armin's curious tenor crashed through the thickened veil like a bucketful of ice water extinguishing smoldering embers.

All three of you snapped back with a violent, breathless jolt.

Gulping audibly, you averted your eyes and hastily mumbled some excuse about needing air before bolting from the oppressive cabin confines.

Footfalls ringing out against hollow steel, you fled the unbearable, unresolved tension blazing in your wake alongside the feverish maelstrom of unrequited, sinfully fervid hunger threatening to chew you asunder from within.

[yirafiel]

"#1 Trashiest Romance Novel" - The Harbor Herald

"I never expected to find the most reliable picture of modern Eorzean political dynamics in a smut novel" - Dewlala Dewla

thanks xiv twitter

[zweetpea]

Contracts or Biddability (part 1 of 2)

cw: Pg13, innuendos and vulgar language, and so much cringe, some pop culture references too.

“The end.” The cryo abyss herald closed the book.

“That was a really sad story.” You said as your eyes glazed over. The Abyss order had kidnapped you and held you captive for a while now. You weren’t sure how long you’ve been down here but the food was good enough and they’d borrow enough books from the surface to keep you entertained.

“I’m sorry. We weren’t been able to borrow anything else because of the security around the Favonius library.”

“Well, you could just let me go and I can find something on my own.”

“No! We need you here to further our plans!” He panicked.

“What plans? What happened to Dvalin? What’s the deal with Andrius?”

“Just calm down my liege. All will be revealed in time.” He patted your head and walked away.

“I want to go home.” You curled up in a ball.

“Aaaaahh!” Someone yelled. That ear piercing scream roused you from your sleep.

‘Should I shout for someone?’ You thought. ‘What if somebody broke in? But if it’s a fire and they don’t know that I’m still here…’

“Help! Help me please! I don’t care who! I just want to see the Sun again!”

The door squeaked open and you thought that maybe your pleas would be recognized, until you saw that the man who walked in was a Pyroslinger Bracer. “Why is the Fatui here?” You whispered meekly.

He raised his rifle towards you head. “Wait, please! Don’t kill me! I wanna live, wanna live!” He shot, but the bullet bounced off of your skull and fell on the ground. “Well… that was anticlimactic.”

He shot you again 3 more time. “Ow! That hurts, dickhead!”

“How are you alive?”

“Hehe. We’re immortal Buffy we can do anything. Oh yeah? Clap.”

“My name’s Vincent.”

“Oh for shucks sakes.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m sure the Doctor will be very interested in you. For now I’ll take you back to Childe though.”

“Ew! Dottore needs to back the F up before he gets smacked the F up for what he did to Collei.” Vincent bound you hands, then grabbed your arm and pushed you through the Abyss. “Hey real quick for my internal monologue I need to know what pronouns you use. My names Gen with a G apparently. I’m gender fluid and I go by they/them.”

“…uh, Vincent Powers and I’m a man.”

“So… he and him?”

“Yes? I’m so confused why you’re confused.”

“Well, I didn’t want to assume.”

He brought you back to the surface and it felt wonderful. Then he placed you in the back of a cart and you two and the rest of his squad set sail for Liyue.

It’s been maybe two hours since the Fatui captured you and you’re finally at Liyue Harbor. They’ve taken you to the Northland Bank to meet Tartaglia. Vincent threw you onto the ground at Childe’s feet.

“What the Abyss is that thing?” His presence is all consuming.

“That “thing” said that they’re name is Gen with a G.”

You look up and see the red head eying you up with disgust. You return the glare and proclaimed, “I finally get to meet my rival. I swear to you, I’m going to seduce Zhongli and get his cock!”

“Excuse me?” He looks at you even colder than before.

“You heard me! I’m willing to take him up my ass if he’s gay.”

“You are vulgar and repulsive.” He pressed his water blade things against my throat and sliced across it. You fell back onto your butt at the pressure.

“Ow. Yeah, um—Mr. Tartar sauce—that’s not going to work. I’m kinda immortal, somehow.”

“How dare you insult me! Do you know who I am!?” He grabbed you by the top of your head to look him in his eyes.

“Honestly if you look at me like that more often I’d let you have a piece of my ass any day. I just assumed that you were a bottom but I’ll let you creampie me if you become my sugar daddy.” His face burst into crimson. He threw me onto the ground and stomped on my throat. “This is turning me on.”

“Get this thing out of my sight.”

“Hey I’m a person! I have feelings you know!”

“But what about Dottore? Wouldn’t he like to examine them?”

“Dottore will have both of our heads if we bring him this thing.”

“I’m not an object, I’m a person! You see, this is why Zhongli will never love you.

“You know what? Since you’re so obsessed with Mr. Zhongli, why don’t I just send you to him?”

“You’d do that for me?!” You shouted excitedly.

“Sure. If it get’s you to leave me alone.”

“But Childe, they’re immortal. You don’t come across something like that every day.”

“Hey can I have a delusions? I don’t have power over the elements but I don’t think I can die so a delusion shouldn’t be a problem for me.”

“Fine!” He threw a delusion connected to a chain at you. “NOW GET OUT! TAKE THEM TO SEE ZHONGLI IF THEY WANTS TO SO BADLY!!”

“Hey! This one’s broken!” You yelled at him as you were being dragged away.

“You never specified if you wanted a working one or not!” He smirked back at you.

Ugh this sucks! You still have nothing to defend yourself with! You can at least tie the stupid thing around your wrist.

“Mr. Zhongli? Is Mr. Zhongli here?” You asked someone at the Funeral Parlor.

“Hm? Did someone call for me? I was just about to head out.”

“Hello Mr. Zhongli. I’m Gen Z, spelt with a G.” You extended you hand to shake his.

“Hello Gen.” He took your hand and shook it. ‘His hands are so big.’ You thought. ‘Heheh, dirty mind dirty mind dir-dir-dir-dir- dirty mind!’

“Excuse me. Why is your bracelet glowing?” He asked. You look down and see that your delusion has started to glow yellow. “Huh?”

‘Have I resonated with geo?’

[seafoamreadings]

week of march 3rd, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: there is a lot of aries-favoring astrology this week especially where the lunar nodes are involved, so big things are happening even if they seem small at the moment. the one big thing to watch out for as a possible hiccup is mars square uranus; be very careful. your impulsive nature may get you into some trouble with accidents or fights. slow down and think carefully.

taurus: it may seem like everyone is trying to push your buttons this week, maybe all week long. try to be patient with them, they are likely inconsiderate but not truly malicious.

gemini: mercury conjoins neptune and then heads into aries at the end of the week. before that aries ingress, be cautious with the words others say as they may not be quite true, even if there is no outright or intentional lying. once mercury is safely into aries, though, social circles are likely to become much more fun, even a bit rowdy.

cancerians: especially if you've been wanting travel or try something philosophically or spiritually new to you, this week's new moon in pisces can be quite beneficial for that. set relevant intentions and watch them bear fruit over the next several weeks.

leo: this week it is important for you to stay out of debt, and try to be forgiving of what other people might owe you whether it's financial or otherwise. you can also set powerful intentions with this new moon to pay down credit cards, pay off loans, or simply form stronger interpersonal bonds with people you deeply care for.

virgo: do not neglect communication and connection in your closest and most important relationships, even if it feels a little bit confrontational or scary to do so. what is flimsy may fall apart but that is to make space for where you're really meant to be.

libra: if you can start out the week strong in your routines and rituals, your day-to-day life, making it fun and sacred, then by the end of the week your relationships are, one way or another, rewarded. probably in a huge way, due to the karmic nodal influences.

scorpio: overall amplification of pisces vibes suits you if you've been feeling kind of fizzled out, you get some juice. plus mercury into aries can help you make connections out in your day to day life. but none of it works very well if you sit home and pout too much!

sagittarius: you're widely known as more of a nomad than a homebody, but if you care for your physical base of residence and set kindly intentions around it this week, you'll be pleasantly surprised as to how much fun and excitement it opens up to you in seemingly unrelated ways.

capricorn: likely you're always the lee of the rock to your friends and acquaintances but this week especially you are a safe place, a calm harbor in what others are perceiving as a harsh storm. don't let them take advantage of your kind strength, but don't deprive anyone of safety either. your boundaries are important.

aquarius: your ideal schedule this week should start out with a lot of rest, cleaning and clearing, and planning, and then after the new moon continue with good, sturdy financial intentions. resources and abundance can flow to you if you have cleared the space and made good choices.

pisces: the new moon in your sign heralds many beautiful and favorable things to come. be clear in your intentions - it will result in more powerful manifestations, although you are manifesting whether you mean to or not. watch for signs and you will see your desires take physical form over the next few weeks.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 1 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter One: The Devil's Trumpet

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, 

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Sooooooo… I don’t know a lot of Game of Thrones lore… so I ask for your patience and kindness when it comes to this fic, cause I know there will be some inconsistencies. I would stay up late at night, staring at the ceiling of my bed, constantly imagining that I could save Oberyn Martell from the Mountain. This is the story that I have been dreaming about for almost two years now. This fic is loosely based off The Glory on Netflix, it’s a show all about revenge which felt fitting for a Game of Thrones fic. There’s not a lot of Oberyn Martell yet in this chapter… but the next one for sure he’ll be there ;)

Song: as good a reason by Paris Paloma

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DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 280 AC

From the moment your mother bartered you away to the Targaryens, you harbored no illusions about your worth in her eyes. Born to a minor lord, your father's coffers were never overflowing, and upon his death, your mother wasted no time in casting you aside like a discarded toy. It was a transaction as cold and calculated as any.

As a mere girl, you were thrust into servitude within the Targaryen household, your days filled with menial tasks and fleeting moments of respite. Your mother's indifference had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, yet you dared not dwell on the past, for in the world of kings and queens, survival was a luxury afforded only to the cunning and the strong.

So, you learned to keep your head down, to swallow your pride and obey without question. In the grand tapestry of courtly life, you were but a humble thread, weaving your way through the intricacies of power and deceit with the practiced ease of one who knows their place in the hierarchy of the Seven Kingdoms.

News of the betrothal between Princess Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen spread like wildfire through the streets of King's Landing, igniting whispers of anticipation and speculation among the common folk. And when the day of their union finally arrived, the Great Sept of Baelor bore witness to a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur, as the noble houses of Westeros gathered to witness the marriage of two powerful dynasties.

In the wake of their wedding, the newlyweds departed for the ancient seat of Dragonstone, leaving a wake of excitement and intrigue in their wake. Within the stone walls of the island fortress, the air crackled with anticipation, as servants bustled about in a frenzy of preparation for the arrival of the newlyweds.

In the hushed corridors of Dragonstone, amidst the flurry of activity that heralded the arrival of the royal couple, you found yourself singled out from the bustling crowd of servants. With a sense of unease mingled with awe, you were ushered into the inner sanctum of Princess Elia's chambers, thrust into a position of unexpected privilege.

As you navigated the opulent surroundings, your heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The eyes of the court seemed to follow your every move, their silent scrutiny a constant reminder of your newfound status.

Perhaps it was Princess Elia's keen observation or her innate sense of compassion that led her to notice the subtle cruelties inflicted upon you by your fellow servants. The older maids, with their twisted smiles and mocking jests, seemed to take pleasure in your misfortune, their actions a reminder of the harsh realities of life within the walls of Dragonstone.

Yet, in the presence of your new mistress, you found solace and sanctuary, a refuge from the cruelty of those who sought to belittle and demean you. With each passing day, as you tended to her needs with a quiet diligence, and you felt a sense of belonging that had long eluded you.

As Princess Elia's pregnancy progressed, you remained steadfast by her side, attending to her every need from dawn till dusk. With each passing day, the weight of responsibility rested heavily upon your shoulders, as you labored tirelessly to ensure her comfort and well-being.

When the time finally came for Elia to bring forth new life into the world, you stood beside her, a silent witness to the agony and ecstasy of childbirth. Her cries pierced the air like a dagger, each shriek a testament to her strength and determination. And though fear gripped your heart with each painful contraction, you remained steadfast in your resolve to see her through this trial.

With the arrival of Princess Rhaenys, the air seemed to shimmer with joy. As Elia cradled her newborn daughter in her arms, her eyes alight with love and exhaustion, you offered words of comfort and admiration.

"You have brought forth a beautiful child, Your Majesty," you murmured softly, your voice a gentle reassurance in the flurry of the birthing chamber. "You have done marvelously."

A weary smile graced Elia's lips as she gazed down at her precious daughter, her fingers tracing the delicate features of the babe's face. "Thank you for your kindness," she replied, her gratitude evident in every word.

And so, with the birth of Princess Rhaenys, a new chapter began in the lives of the Targaryen dynasty. As the babe was presented to Rhaegar's parents at court, the halls of Dragonstone echoed with the whispers of anticipation, a testament to the enduring legacy of House Targaryen.

As Queen Rhaella cradled her granddaughter with tender affection, her eyes alight with joy and pride, King Aerys the Second stood apart, his expression twisted with disdain. With a sneer of contempt, he recoiled from the child, his words dripping with venom.

"Smells Dornish," he remarked, his voice laced with disgust.

Your jaw clenched with suppressed anger at his callous words, a silent witness to the depths of his cruelty and madness. In that moment, as you beheld the scene unfolding before you, it became abundantly clear that the king's heart was as black as obsidian, his soul consumed by the darkness that lurked within.

TOURNEY AT HARRENHAL, THE YEAR OF FALSE SPRING, WESTEROS — 281 AC

At Harrenhal, nestled in the verdant heart of the Riverlands, Lord Walter Whent played host to a grand tournament, a celebration that spanned ten days and drew lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms. Within the storied halls of the ancient castle, whispers of intrigue and ambition mingled with the clinking of goblets and the strains of music, each moment pregnant with the promise of both glory and treachery.

Amidst the throng of nobility, you moved with the silent grace of a shadow, your keen eyes and sharp ears attuned to every murmur and gesture. As a mere servant, you lingered on the periphery of the festivities, your presence all but unnoticed by the illustrious guests who reveled in the splendor of the occasion.

On the first night, as the Hall of a Hundred Hearths blazed with the warm glow of torchlight and the scent of roasted meats hung heavy in the air, you observed the comings and goings of the noble houses with a keen eye. From the stalwart Starks to the enigmatic Howland Reed, the northern lords mingled with their southern counterparts, their alliances and rivalries simmering beneath the surface like a pot ready to boil over.

Amidst the revelry, the figures of legend and lore moved with an aura of mystique and allure. Brandon Stark's easy charm drew Lady Ashara Dayne to the dance floor, while the shy Eddard Stark found himself swept up in the rhythm of the music. Benjen Stark's playful banter with his sister Lyanna elicited laughter and teasing, a glimpse into the bonds that bound the Stark siblings together.

And then, amidst the swirling throng of dancers, you caught sight of him: Prince Oberyn Martell, the embodiment of charm and charisma, his laughter ringing out like silver bells in the night. As he twirled Lady Ashara Dayne in a graceful waltz, his smile illuminated the room with its brilliance, casting a spell over all who beheld him.

But you knew better than to linger on such fleeting distractions, in the glittering spectacle of courtly intrigue, shadows were lurking in the corners, secrets waiting to be uncovered. And so, with a determined resolve, you turned your attention away from the beguiling prince and towards the task at hand, knowing that one must always be vigilant, lest they be consumed by the machinations of power and ambition.

The tourney at Harrenhal stretched across ten days, a spectacle of martial prowess and pageantry that captivated the hearts and minds of all who attended. In between the clash of swords and the thunder of hooves, champions emerged and legends were born, each contest a testament to the valor and skill of the knights who jousted and fought in the name of honor and glory.

From the seven-sided melee to the fierce competition of the joust, the tourney boasted a variety of events to entertain the crowds, including archery contests, axe-throwing competitions, and thrilling horse races. Yet, amidst the revelry and excitement, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air, a whisper of uncertainty that hinted at darker forces at play.

As the final moments of the tourney drew near, all eyes turned to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the golden-haired champion whose prowess in the joust had earned him victory over four knights of the Kingsguard. Yet, it was not his triumph in the lists that would become the stuff of legend, but rather the fateful decision he made in the aftermath of his victory.

Standing amidst the gathered nobility, you watched in disbelief as Prince Rhaegar bypassed his own wife, Princess Elia, and bestowed the crown of blue winter roses upon Lyanna Stark, the betrothed of Lord Robert Baratheon. This was the moment all smiles died. The air crackled with tension as murmurs of confusion and outrage rippled through the crowd, a clear sense of unease settling over the festivities like a shroud.

In that moment, as the fragile peace of the realm hung in the balance, you felt a chill run down your spine, a premonition of the chaos and bloodshed that would soon engulf the Seven Kingdoms. For in the blink of an eye, the seeds of war had been sown, and the fate of Westeros hung in the balance.

DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 282 AC

In the dimly lit chamber of Dragonstone, the air was thick with anticipation as Princess Elia fought through the pain of labor, her strength waning with each passing moment. Beside her, you stood as a silent sentinel, offering words of encouragement and support as she braved the trials of childbirth once more.

With each command to push, Princess Elia's resolve hardened, her determination a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf her. Yet, it was evident that her delicate health posed a formidable obstacle, her frailty a constant reminder of the challenges she faced.

And then, amidst the hushed whispers of the attending maesters, the sharp cry of a newborn babe pierced the air, a herald of new life amidst the shadows of uncertainty. With a ragged sigh of relief, Princess Elia's weary frame slumped backward, her brow glistening with sweat as she drew in ragged breaths.

"It's a son," the maester announced, his voice ringing with reverence as he presented the newborn prince to his exhausted mother.

A flicker of joy illuminated Princess Elia's weary features as she reached out trembling hands to cradle her newborn son, her touch gentle and reverent as she welcomed him into the world. With tears of gratitude glistening in her eyes, she pressed her lips to his tiny forehead, whispering words of love and devotion as she held him close to her heart. 

Prince Aegon was born.

KINGS LANDING, WESTEROS — 283 AC

Chaos erupted across the realm with the dawn of the new year, as news of Lyanna Stark's abduction by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen near Harrenhal spread like wildfire, igniting the flames of conflict between rival houses.

In the Vale of Arryn, the clash of steel and the cries of battle echoed through the mountain passes, as Lord Jon Arryn marshaled his forces to defend his homeland against the encroaching storm of war. Meanwhile, in the coastal city of Gulltown, the once-impregnable defenses crumbled under the relentless assault of Robert Baratheon and his forces, with the valiant Marq Grafton falling in the heat of battle.

With Gulltown secured, Robert Baratheon wasted no time in rallying his own banners to his cause, sailing swiftly to his ancestral seat of Storm's End to muster his forces for the coming conflict. Yet, even as he prepared for war, Robert's gaze turned to the stormlands, where the first major battle of the campaign awaited him.

At Summerhall, within the ruins of the ancient keep, Robert Baratheon faced his foes in a brutal clash of arms, his skill and valor turning erstwhile enemies into staunch allies. With Lords Grandison and Cafferen, as well as Silveraxe, pledging their fealty to his cause, Robert emerged victorious, his path to the north now clear as he prepared to join forces with Jon Arryn and the northern lords in their quest for vengeance.

All throughout the chaos of war, you bore witness to the dark machinations of the Mad King as he conspired to unleash destruction upon King's Landing itself. Ser Jaime Lannister, his white cloak billowing behind him, stood witness to the sinister plot hatched by the Alchemists' Guild, while the rest of the Kingsguard were scattered, their loyalty divided amidst the brewing conflict.

In the midst of this turmoil, Lord Qarlton Chelsted, Hand of the King, emerged as an unexpected ally, his friendship and concern for your safety a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of fear and uncertainty. Yet, as whispers of the king's treachery reached his ears, Lord Chelsted's conscience could no longer remain silent. With courage and conviction, he confronted the Mad King, pleading for mercy and reason in the face of madness.

But mercy was a foreign concept to Aerys Targaryen, his mind consumed by the flames of paranoia and tyranny. In a cruel and chilling display of power, he condemned Lord Chelsted to a fate worse than death, his screams echoing through the halls of the Red Keep as the flames consumed him.

In the wake of this horror, you found yourself thrust into the cruel embrace of the king's wrath, your cries of anguish falling upon deaf ears as the searing pain of the iron rod seared your flesh. Bound and helpless, you endured the agony of your punishment, a silent testament to the cruelty of those who held power over life and death.

When consciousness returned, it was to the gentle touch of Princess Elia, her soothing words a balm to your wounded soul. With tears of shame and gratitude, you sought to apologize for your weakness, but the kind princess silenced your protests with a gentle shush, her compassion a beacon of hope in the darkness.

"Rest now, dear child," she murmured, her voice a soft melody of reassurance. "You have tended to me with care and kindness. Now it is my turn to watch over you."

In the warmth of her embrace, you found solace amidst the pain, your heart heavy with the weight of your suffering but buoyed by the kindness of one who saw beyond the scars to the strength within. And as sleep claimed you once more, you whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the Seven for the gift of Princess Elia's compassion in a world consumed by cruelty and strife.

The rest of House Targaryen remained blissfully unaware of the dark schemes brewing within the walls of King's Landing. Queen Rhaella Targaryen, her eyes veiled to her husband's descent into madness, remained preoccupied with her own concerns, while Prince Rhaegar Targaryen marshaled his forces for the impending conflict.

In the depths of the city, hidden from prying eyes, the pyromancers of the Alchemists' Guild toiled in secrecy, their hands guided by the whispers of their mad king. Thousands of jars of wildfire, that volatile substance capable of unleashing unimaginable destruction, were meticulously placed in strategic locations throughout the city. From the shadows of the Dragonpit to the hallowed halls of the Great Sept of Baelor, and even beneath the very foundations of the Red Keep itself, the city of King's Landing was a powder keg awaiting the spark of war.

As the flames of conflict spread across the realm, each battle leaving its mark upon the land, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung in the balance. Amidst the chaos of the Stoney Sept, where narrow streets became blood-soaked battlegrounds, Prince Doran Martell grappled with the weight of his decision. Bound by duty to his king yet driven by love for his sister, Princess Elia, Doran reluctantly pledged his support to Prince Rhaegar's cause, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the dangers that lay ahead.

Following the fateful clash at the Trident, the Mad King's grip on power grew ever more tenuous. In a desperate bid to consolidate his rule, Aerys named Rossart, his favored pyromancer, as his new Hand of the King. Yet, his reign of terror would be short-lived, as the flames of rebellion engulfed the realm. With his wife, Queen Rhaella, and their young son, Prince Viserys, sent to the safety of Dragonstone, Aerys's grip on reality slipped further into the abyss, his madness driving him to unspeakable acts of cruelty and betrayal. Locked within the walls of King's Landing, Princess Elia Martell and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon, remained prisoners of a king consumed by paranoia and fear.

MAEGOR’S HOLDFAST, THE RED KEEP — 283 AC

Lord Tywin Lannister, who had stubbornly refused calls to arms from both the loyalists and the rebels until that point, appeared at the gates of King's Landing with an imposing army of twelve thousand men, mere hours before Eddard Stark would arrive. Lord Tywin professed his unwavering loyalty to King Aerys, and while Lord Varys, the cunning master of whispers, counseled Aerys to keep the gates locked, the king chose to heed the advice of the manipulative Grand Maester Pycelle, ordering the gates to be opened to Tywin's men. With the arrival of the forces from the westerlands, the city of King's Landing became a target for plunder and destruction.

As the realization that all was lost sank in, Aerys, driven by madness and desperation, commanded Rossart, a pyromancer, to unleash the hidden caches of wildfire throughout the city, hoping to reduce Robert's forces to mere "ashes and bones".

In a final act of cruelty, he tasked Ser Jaime Lannister, the eldest son of Lord Tywin and the sole remaining knight of his Kingsguard present in the city, with killing his own father and presenting his head as a gruesome gift. However, Jaime, torn between loyalty and reason, defied the mad king's command. Instead, he turned his blade on Rossart, knowing that Aerys would simply find another pyromancer to carry out his destructive plans. Realizing the imminent danger, Jaime rushed back to the Red Keep and put an end to Aerys' life in the throne room, just moments before soldiers from the westerlands stormed in.

Meanwhile, Ser Gregor Clegane, known for his massive size and brutal nature, accompanied by Ser Amory Lorch, made their way into Maegor's Holdfast. Their mission was to eliminate the remaining members of the royal family, solidifying Robert's claim to the throne and demonstrating House Lannister's complete abandonment of the Targaryens.

The resounding crash of the door being forcefully shattered reverberated through the room, punctuated by the shattering of glass and the piercing screams that filled the air. You, trapped in that room, could do nothing but bear witness to the horrific scene unfolding before your eyes. Gregor Clegane callously hurled you towards the fireplace, the searing heat scorching your skin, as he believed you would perish amidst the flames. Bleeding and disoriented, you lay on the floor, your vision blurred by the pain that engulfed you.

In the middle of pandemonium, you watched in horror as Princess Rhaenys, a mere toddler, was dragged from beneath her father's bed by the monstrous Clegane. The screams of the innocent child echoed through the room as she was mercilessly stabbed over fifty times. Aegon, Elia's son and the last hope for the Targaryen line, suffered an equally gruesome fate as Gregor brutally smashed his head against a wall. With Aegon's blood and brains still staining his hands, Gregor proceeded to rape Elia and ultimately ended her life by crushing her skull. 

As Gregor and Amory callously departed, their hands stained with the blood of their heinous acts, they paid no heed to your crumpled form, assuming you were dead. Silently, you feigned death, your battered body lying motionless on the floor. The sound of their heavy footsteps slowly faded away, their hearts devoid of remorse, as they never once faltered or looked back.

With fresh burns scorching your body, the searing pain and stinging sensations intensified, causing you to vomit on the side of the bedroom, overwhelmed by the horrifying sight before you. The people you held dear, the ones who reciprocated your affection, were now lost and lifeless, torn away from you forever.

In a state of despair, you crawled and stumbled, driven by an unknown force or perhaps a touch of divine intervention. Miraculously, you managed to navigate the treacherous secret passages of the sacked city, escaping the clutches of danger. The reason for your survival remained a mystery, lost in the chaos that surrounded you. Perhaps it was your unwavering determination or the small flicker of hope that compelled you to keep moving forward, to honor Elia's memory and the children who were denied the chance of a life.

You couldn't recall how you found yourself on the shores near Blackwater Bay, gazing out at the vast expanse of the Narrow Sea. Kneeling in the cool, wet sand, you felt the water recede, stinging your burns and prompting an uncontrollable urge to scratch, causing fresh blood to flow. Your bruised stomach throbbed with pain.

Exhausted from the relentless pursuit of survival, you yearned for respite, for an end to the constant struggle. Slowly, you began to crawl toward the ocean, knowing that the cold embrace of the water would bring solace, relieving the incessant itch of your scars. What more could you desire? This, perhaps, was the only path left.

But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Standing at the precipice, you let out a piercing cry, releasing your anguish into the air. With every ounce of strength, you struck your arms, the very arms that bore the visible reminders of your torment.

In that moment, you chose to defy the darkness that threatened to consume you, refusing to succumb to despair. At the edge of the world, you stood tall, your cries echoing across the empty beach, a testament to your resilience and determination to get revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 287 AC

In the ancient city of Braavos, where secrets whispered through the narrow alleys and the canals flowed with mysterious tales, you found solace amid the chaos. Once a believer in the gods, you had come to realize that their existence was nothing more than a facade, a comforting illusion for the masses.

Having scraped together enough coin, you secured passage on a ship departing from Blackwater Bay, leaving behind a turbulent past and seeking refuge in the anonymity of Braavos. The city welcomed you with its vibrant streets and diverse inhabitants, offering a chance at a new beginning.

From baker to cleaner, nurse to animal keeper, and occasionally even a tutor to minor Ladies, you took on any job that would sustain you. Your tireless work ethic caught the attention of the nobles, who saw value in your dedication and entrusted you with their precious steeds. However, the privilege of working for the Lords came at a cost, as some would cross boundaries and attempt to take advantage of your vulnerability. Yet, you stood strong, extracting your payment and moving on.

Throughout the years, you meticulously saved every coin, seeking out the teachings of various assassin guilds and skilled swordsmen. Disguised as a boy, you delved into the secrets of High Valyrian, honed your swordsmanship, and mastered the art of poisons. The guilds taught you to discern truth from lies, and to control your facial expressions, laying the groundwork for your vengeful plans.

As you went about your duties in the bustling stables, you tried to steal moments to study the intricate notes on potions, mumbling the descriptions to yourself. Suddenly, a sharp smack landed on the back of your head, causing you to wince in pain. "Quit your foolishness and focus on your work!" your employer reprimanded.

"Don't be too hard on her! Look at all the burn scars on her legs and arms," one of the older stableboys interjected, coming to your defense. Gritting your teeth, you offered a quick apology, knowing that it was best to comply with your employer's wishes.

Resuming your tasks, you discreetly tucked away the notes into your pocket, their pages smudged with the grime of your surroundings. Your determination burned within you, fueled by the scars that adorned your body, a constant reminder of the pain and suffering that fueled your quest for revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 294 AC

The scent of salt hung heavy in the air, you had grown up immersed in their language and customs. Fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, you clandestinely absorbed every morsel of information you could gather about the events unfolding in Westeros. Alongside your studies, you dedicated yourself to the art of combat, honing your skills with weapons and tirelessly toiling in a variety of jobs that allowed you to pursue your clandestine education.

As the boat that would carry you away from Braavos was being prepared, one of the enigmatic faceless men, who had taken an interest in your journey due to the scars that adorned your flesh, approached you. His hooded eyes locked onto yours as he inquired, "Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"

A mixture of determination and uncertainty danced in your gaze as you responded, "They seek servants for the Red Keep. The time is drawing near, and I must gather further intelligence on a select few. It appears that more than just the Lannisters are entangled in this web of power." The faceless man nodded, acknowledging the complexity of the situation.

With a silent understanding, the boat began its departure, carrying you across the waters of the Narrow Sea. Standing at the bow, your eyes fixated on the horizon, a sense of purpose and anticipation surged within you as you braced yourself for the unknown challenges that awaited.

RED KEEP, KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS — 298 AC

In the hallowed halls of the Red Keep, where whispers of power and deceit echoed through the stone, you had spent years serving as a humble maid, donning long-sleeved dresses regardless of the season that enveloped Westeros.

Maintaining a low profile was imperative to the success of your clandestine plan. As you arranged your quarters, a haven of secrecy, you opened a worn journal containing a meticulously compiled dossier. Every page adorned with detailed sketches and meticulous notes on the individuals implicated in the tragic demise of Princess Elia. Royals, lords, and ladies from every corner of Westeros found their place within those ink-stained pages. Their routines, preferences, lovers, and dark histories were meticulously chronicled, forming a tapestry of knowledge that would fuel your pursuit of vengeance.

Locking your quarters behind you, you ventured into the mist-shrouded gardens, a white datura flower delicately cradled in your hand. As you spun the delicate bloom, the devil's trumpet, between your fingers, a solemn chant escaped your lips, carried away by the ethereal fog. "Anyone who inflicts harm upon their neighbor shall bear the same injury."

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A fracture for a fracture. The concept of just retribution swirled in your mind, the very embodiment of justice. Yet, a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. Was such fairness truly fitting? Was it not too generous, too even-handed? After all, fairness is a fleeting concept in this treacherous game, isn't it?

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[cilil]

Eönwë Week - Day 6: Noldor

AN: Another headcanon post for today. Thank you to @ruiniel, @a-world-of-whimsy-5 and @tar-thelien for additional suggestions!

Today's topic: Eönwë and the Noldor (some of them)

𓅛 Out of thousands of Maiar, many of them unknown to the Children of Ilúvatar, Eönwë is among the most widely known and recognized. While he may not have appeared in Middle-earth for a long time, he was present in the War of Wrath, stayed on Númenor for a while and his duties as the Elder King's herald resulted in Valinor's Elven inhabitants to get well acquainted with him.

𓅛 While Eönwë has most of his day to day dealings with the Vanyar due to their proximity to and friendship with Manwë and Varda and in later ages retains a certain fondness for the people of Númenor, he has always felt some sort of kinship with the Noldor in particular, even more so than other Elven people at times.

𓅛 Now, Eönwë is not a craftsman and his talents lie in the art of battle, as gentle at heart as he may be and despite any secret wishes he could be different that he might harbor deep down. Yet even when peace still reigned in Valinor, he sensed the same fierce bravery and resilience within the hearts of many Noldor that one would find in fellow warrior spirit among the Ainur and he respects and admires such traits, whether they be used for good or for ill.

Fingolfin & Finarfin

𓅛 It was for these reasons that Eönwë felt immediate kinship with the younger sons of Finwë whenever he met them during his visits at their father's palace. Fëanor he had often seen as well, but as he grew older he was pretty much always busy with his projects elsewhere and later with his own family.

𓅛 Especially close and cordial was Eönwë's relationship with Finarfin. While always friendly with almost everyone he meets, Eönwë had never presumed to be a friend of the Eldar, thinking that he might intrude on their affairs and overstep their boundaries if he approached them like he would a fellow Maia, but Finarfin was particularly determined to prove him wrong.

𓅛 Sometimes alone, sometimes together with Fingolfin, the youngest prince never missed a chance to approach him, having developed a special interest in birds and bird-like Maiar. Fingolfin's interest was, once the childish fascination with all things new and exciting had passed, of a more political nature, but he too found Eönwë's company enjoyable.

𓅛 When Melkor started sowing seeds of unrest among the Noldor, however, this also affected the princes' relationship with Eönwë. While they hadn't come to distrust him or think of him as a hostile agent of the Valar feigning friendship, there was something on the mind of Fingolfin in particular: The fact that Eönwë had been hailed as a hero of past battles among the Ainur and that he had to possess knowledge of weapons and war that he had never shared with the Eldar, not even his friends.

𓅛 Supported by Finarfin, Fingolfin eventually confronted him about it. Eönwë had already been fearing that they would and, after a bit of poking and prodding, told them about the battles he had fought and the reason why he never spoke of his deeds or taught much of his art: While his skill was renowned and respected, he found no pride in acts of violence and killing and feared that his teachings and involvement would only enable more conflict.

𓅛 Yet the two princes argued against this, saying that he knew well from his past how some conflicts were inevitable and they as well as their family and their people would be left defenseless if anything happened, especially since he himself had told them that the Ainur are forbidden from using force against the Children. Though unhappily so, Eönwë saw the wisdom in their words and agreed to teach them - but in return they had to promise to only ever raise their swords against the forces of evil and never against their kin.

𓅛 This Fingolfin and Finarfin did promise and so began their relationship as training partners. After feeling guilty initially - thinking he was going behind his lord's back, though technically Manwë had never forbidden such activities specifically - Eönwë soon came to enjoy these sessions because he was taking action and helping people he likes and wants to be safe. He was also proud of their progress.

𓅛 Everything was fine and Eönwë felt closer to two of his dearest companions than ever... until the rebellion of the Noldor. Being bound by the laws of the Ainur, he couldn't intervene on behalf of either side and had to watch his worst fears come true.

𓅛 To say Eönwë was relieved when Finarfin returned would be an understatement, though their joy was dampened by the fact that Fingolfin and all of his and Finarfin's children had left. Eönwë did his best to assist and support Finarfin during the tumultuous times that followed, but publicly and privately (Eärwen was not exactly happy either, but that is a story for another time).

𓅛 While saddened by some of the deeds of the Noldor, Fingolfin retained Eönwë's respect and fondness for his heroism in Beleriand, particularly his duel against Melkor. It was a magnificent showcase of how far he had come and Eönwë couldn't help feeling just a tiny bit of pride that one of his incarnate companions and training partners had held his own against a Vala for longer than anyone had expected.

𓅛 Going to war with Finarfin at the end of the First Age was bittersweet for Eönwë. It was comforting to fight together with one of his closest friends, but he also thought he was selfish for feeling this way and was worried that Finarfin would die or get hurt. Eönwë considers it a great blessing that they were able to make the journey home together as well.

Fingon

𓅛 With Fingon Eönwë didn't have too many dealings directly while he still dwelt in Valinor, something he later found regrettable.

𓅛 He occasionally spoke to him during social events or as part of his duties, sensing his valiant spirit and finding himself fond of Fingolfin's house in general. Fingon also joined his father for training sometimes, which Eönwë allowed, knowing that Fingolfin and Finarfin would pass on their knowledge to their children anyway (a logical conclusion that they had also never denied).

𓅛 Fingon's daring rescue of Maedhros was what garnered him great favor and renown within the household of Manwë in particular, from the Elder King himself to his Maiar, Eönwë being no exception. He admired not only the bravery of the act itself, but also the diplomatic benefits and how it aided in achieving more of a union among the Finwëan houses and the Noldor as a whole.

𓅛 Eönwë, alongside his lord and his fellow Maiar, mourned the last stand and death of Fingon.

𓅛 It may be that Fingon was on Eönwë's mind when he attempted to make peace with Mairon after the War of Wrath, only to quickly find that he wouldn't achieve what Fingon had.

Celegorm

𓅛 Taking the shape of raptors, Eönwë is also a hunter and sometimes joins Oromë's Maiar for their hunts. It's the only activity that allows him to chase and attack a target without having to worry about seriously injuring or killing someone by accident, as he has to when training others or engaging in mock duels.

𓅛 Eönwë had occasionally played with Fëanor's ferocious children when they were young and they enjoyed climbing all over him, pretending he was a big monster to slay and receiving shiny, fluffy feathers as a prize from him.

𓅛 Thus he and Celegorm were already acquainted and fairly friendly with one another once Celegorm started joining Oromë's hunts as well and it didn't take long until a sort of tacit understanding grew between them: They were both looking for an outlet for their darker and more dangerous impulses. And Eönwë, even if he worried about it sometimes, would never judge someone for sharing this trait of his.

𓅛 What he did end up judging Celegorm for was his treatment of Beren and Lúthien, since Eönwë has ever cautioned his Elven friends and companions to exercise restraint with any sort of violence and deems any sort of coercive behavior against a lady to be very wrong, especially after having witnessed Melkor harassing Varda and Arien (more or less successfully, but still).

Maedhros & Maglor

𓅛 Like Celegorm, Eönwë had known Maedhros and Maglor from an early age and his interactions with them were friendly, especially since they tended to be a little less unruly than their brothers (in this case meaning less likely to pluck the poor herald or walk all over him in the literal sense).

𓅛 While Maedhros got more involved in Noldorin politics as he grew older and Eönwë began to value him as a calming, rational presence, contrasted by the sometimes explosive temperament of his father, Maglor devoted most of his time to his craft. This led him to the halls of Ilmarin many times, performing songs and taking part in theatrical performances that impressed even the less literary inclined Maiar.

𓅛 Eönwë missed the various members of Finwë's house that left for Middle-earth, having come to appreciate their different personalities.

𓅛 In the aftermath of the rebellion and shortly before the War of Wrath, Eönwë had a few interactions with Nerdanel who asked him to look for her remaining sons and made him promise to at least try to bring them home to her. Eönwë agreed to this, saying he couldn't promise to be successful, but that he would try his best for her sake.

𓅛 At the end of the War of Wrath, Maedhros' and Maglor's demand to have the Silmarils returned to them came as no surprise. Even so, Eönwë genuinely and fervently hoped they would heed his words - as they had done in the past and might have done in another situation - and not go for the jewels, as he knew exactly what the outcome would be and wanted to prevent any more death and sorrow caused by the Silmarils; this is also why he didn't pursue Maedhros and Maglor when they stole them from him, the other main reason being his promise to Nerdanel.

𓅛 It was at this point, however, that Eönwë resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do to help them anymore and that they had made their choice, leaving them to their fates.

𓅛 Eönwë found himself left with the devastating task of informing Nerdanel about the various fates of her sons and that he had, in fact, not managed to bring any of them home to her. However, I like to think he revealed to her that Maglor was still alive (if she didn't already know herself) and promised her that he will one day return to Middle-earth to look for him again.

𓅛 I'm planning to touch on this in an upcoming Eönwë-centric fic, but the plan so far is that Maglor declines at first and eventually, after the Third Age concludes, expresses a desire to return to Valinor, come what may, though he feels like he has no place on any of the ships. Eönwë then takes him home, taking the shape of an eagle and letting him ride on his back.

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[saladruiner]

I wrote a fanfic to channel my Dragon Age brain rot/Solavellan angst. enjoy if you'd like.

A sharp gasp escaped Lavellan as she jolted awake, and though by then she should have been accustomed to the distant observer in her dreams, her heart still pounded as if she'd run the length of the Hinterlands.

The dream had been a good one, for once. They were dancing on the balcony at the winter palace, she and her lost love. It had felt as real then as it had in her dream -- a stolen moment suspended in time, absent any of their burdens. He was so free with his smiles, so warm, so handsome in his fitted formal clothes, that her heart ached afresh to remember it.

She became aware that she was dreaming, but still they danced, the indistinct music repeating the same few notes over and over. Hungrily, she took in his face, the way he gazed at her so tenderly, the feel of his arms around her, so warm and surprisingly strong. The good dreams like this, the happy memories, were so scarce that she wanted to draw this one out as long as she could.

The nearing end of her dream was heralded by a sudden, discordant note from the band, one that made her pause and peer into the ballroom. There, at the opposite end of the cavernous room, Solas -- the real Solas -- watched her, his expression a symphony of emotions. Foremost among them were longing, regret, and self-loathing.

Lavellan ran for him, her entire being alight with the hope that this time, this time, she could touch him, talk to him. Around her, the ballroom was suddenly overrun with people. They were indistinct as most people were in dreams, but frustratingly solid and blocking her path. She dodged them when she could, or shoved them out of the way, and lost sight of Solas in doing so. By the time she reached where he had been standing, he was gone, and she woke up.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she swung her legs out of bed and sat to look around her small home.

She had no finery. Everything was well-made but functional, with the most lavish being her battle gear. Her only table was covered in papers: letters from friends, the rough draft of her personal recollection of the Inquisition, and whatever reports Leliana's birds delivered to her. A chair was next to the table, with her travel pack resting half-full in its seat. Her bed and a chest to hold her few belongings were the only other pieces of furniture. She hadn't seen the point of decorating a place where she spent so little time.

If she had wanted, she could have returned to her clan, or could have taken up Varric's offer to live in Kirkwall. After the Inquisition disbanded, her strongest desire was to be with her family again, to surround herself with familiar sights and sounds that wouldn't hurt as much as Skyhold's empty halls.

But one week back among her people was all she could handle before she left again, with no guarantees of returning. They asked too many questions, not least of which were about her missing vallaslin. She couldn't bring herself to tell anyone but the Keeper the awful truth of their markings. Keeper Deshanna gazed at her with such sorrow, as though she could read the hurt on her very soul, but said little. By the fifth day, Lavellan resigned from her position as First to the Keeper. By the end of the sixth day, she was packed and planning her journey.

She tried Kirkwall next -- so busy and full of people, all who knew her name and her deeds. They treated her like a spectacle, staring at her whenever she so much as tried to go to the market. Part of it was her missing arm, but she knew Varric's recounting of the Inquisition was making its rounds. They wanted to gawp at the famous Inquisitor who foolishly fell in love with a trickster god.

Varric was so busy as Viscount that he rarely had time to meet with her, but she didn't harbor any hard feeling for him. The city was important to him, as was evident by his many rebuilding efforts. She wanted to try to be happy there, to show she appreciated all his hard work, but a month was all she could manage. Varric was sad for her to leave, but he understood. As one of her closest friends, he knew more than most that her missing arm wasn't the most fractured part of her.

After Kirkwall, she moved here -- a small, one-room home, unassuming and out of the way. It was quiet and far removed from any prying eyes. There was a village close enough that she could go for supplies when she needed, but otherwise, she kept to herself. That is, when she was actually home.

Lavellan looked at where her left arm abruptly ended at the elbow. She'd had offers to be fitted for a prosthetic, either for function or appearance, but she always turned them down. Her missing arm was, in her mind, proof that Solas cared for her. He'd saved her life when he could have just as easily ended it.

Even so, he evaded her grasp, both in dreams and the waking world.

Over the past ten years, she traveled far across Thedas, following whatever breadcrumbs she could find. The fact that Solas had taken no overt action to further his agenda should have been a relief, but it was frustrating that any true sign of him she found was long cold.

A sharp tap at her window made her jump and look over. A dark bird peered in at her, a small scroll tied to its leg.

In a matter of moments, she had the window open and the note retrieved. To her surprise, the letter was from Harding and not Leliana. Though they'd been friendly, the scout nearly always went through the former spymaster of the Inquisition. Lavellan's adrenaline spiked as she read the short note once, twice, then a third time. Then, she was rushing about her home in a flurry of movement. In less than ten minutes, she was gone, her dream forgotten.

---

The strange fade-dwelling, the place she now knew he'd been inhabiting until recently, was loud with shouting voices as she burst through the door. Some of the shouts were aimed at her, but she ignored them, her gaze fixed on a tall frame affixed to the opposite wall.

"Who--?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan!"

"That's the Inquisitor?"

"Why is she here? Harding!"

She strode purposefully across the room, stopping before what she assumed was an Eluvian, her eyes boring into its empty depths. The shouting behind her intensified, but she paid no mind as a figure stepped into view within the Eluvian's frame.

He hadn't been expecting her. That much was obvious by the shock, devastation, and regret on his face. But there was Solas, the closest he'd been in years, yet still out of reach.

"Vhenan." His voice was distant and echoing, as if from the other end of a long tunnel. He looked exhausted. Perhaps that was why he was trapped; he expended too much power in his failed ritual and was now unable to escape the prison he himself had created.

A hurricane of emotions stormed within Lavellan, yet her face remained stoic. She couldn't decide what her prevailing feeling was. Rage was certainly there in spades, as was relief, sorrow, frustration, and her own exhaustion. She was aware that the yelling behind her had quieted as the two lovers stared at each other through yet another barrier between them.

Magic swirled around her severed elbow and flowed down, forming a ghost of the limb she once had. Her spectral fingers flexed, then curled into a fist. Solas didn't flinch, not at the warning shout from somewhere behind her, and not when her conjured fist smashed into the Eluvian.

It didn't shatter. She knew it wouldn't, but she needed some outlet for the turmoil within her. And she needed to show that she wasn't afraid, not even under the threat of the world ending. So many unsaid things, so many years of pain, powered her single blow against the Eluvian's surface. It rippled violently for a few moments, then stilled to show Solas was still standing there, still watching her sadly. Willing to take whatever punishment she'd meant for him.

Lavellan turned abruptly to face the group she'd interrupted. They were an eclectic group, not unlike her inner circle from the Inquisition. One, a human woman, approached her cautiously, her wary gaze taking in the former Inquisitor's appearance. Energy crackled around her -- another mage, then -- but she made no move to attack.

Harding hesitated a few steps behind her, looking nervous. "Um, Rook, this is Inquisitor Lavellan -- former Inquisitor, I mean."

"I know who she is." The woman's eyes flicked briefly to Solas, then returned to the former Inquisitor. "Why are you here?"

Lavellan met Rook's stare. If only she could read minds as Cole could, then perhaps she could quickly discern what kind of person this woman was. She would have to trust that Harding's instincts were right, as they usually were.

She squared her shoulders. "Tell me what you need."

Rook blinked. Lavellan could practically see the thoughts working behind those searching eyes. The former Inquisitor had access to great sums of money, important connections, and was a skilled mage in her own right. And here she was, offering all that she had.

One corner of Rook's lips finally curled up in a small, lopsided smile. "Inquisitor," she said, offering her hand. "Welcome to the Veilguard."