#and since this was specifically made with my tabris in mind

[abyssal-ilk]

there is something to be said about the fact that sten invites the warden with him to par vollen when the warden leaving right after the blight would be a neglection of their duties– and duty is something sten holds very sacred. the warden's job is not done at the end of the blight, especially if alistair was killed or made king. someone has to rebuild the wardens and deal with the lingering darkspawn. and still, sten offers the warden a way out. a way to relieve themself of that duty and choose a new path, which is something he previously was pretty adamantly against.

just. thinking about him.

[translucentdragons]

My (current canon) Dragon Age OCs as parents:

Adansser Tabris: Adansser encourages exploration, learning by doing and knowing damn well to refer to Morrigan in anything magic-related. He learns Morrigan's routine until he can predict it, he learns Kieran's routine the same. He tells stories, plays and imagines with Kieran as he grows up. He never thought he'd have a child, so he's grateful. The only time he goes against protocol is when he introduces Kieran to his own father Cyrion, and his cousin Shianni. Luckily, Morrigan wasn't too upset.

Eris Hawke: Eris is scared. She's lived a life on the run and continues to do so. Moreover, the life life she's been leading has been death around every corner - more specifically death of family. If a child would come to be, it would be by accident and she'd have to be encouraged into keeping it. However, when the child is born she would treat them with the utmost care. Worrying that any undue poke or similar would ruin the precious life she's accidentally created. I am not entirely sure that Eris and Fenris would end up with a child, though.

Eth Lavellan: Eth has been supposed to carry on the Lavellan lineage, he is one of the clan's elite hunters. Due to this, he'd likely approach raising a child like he was - training. Since the child is likely adopted too, he would get right into it. Archery-training, hunting, trapping, survival... until Dorian would show him other ways. Show him the type of parents they both deserved growing up and Eth would try his best to be that parent instead.

Dirthera Mercar: Dirthera would be so. Damn. Excited. She'd begin nesting at the first signs of viable pregnancy, she'd get her hands on any existing research. She'd read to her bump, try her hand at piano and anything else. Then, the little bundle would arrive... and all that would likely fall apart. She'd get anxious and stressed while actively trying not to be, she'd second-guess every parenting decision she makes, made and will make. She'd cry at every little milestone and most definitely attempt to let her child live freely (maybe too freely). Luckily, Lucanis can weigh in, help a lot and more than likely calm Dirthera's harried mind when needed.

[ronqueesha]

Profile - Kallian Tabris

It's been a while since I did one of these. And I've been having a lot of fun adapting my beloved Dragon Age OC into wow, so this felt like a thing to do.

The Basics –––

Full Name: Kallian Tabris Age: Chronologically 37, physically 31. (19 when the Illidari were formed, 6 years frozen in the wardens' prison) Gender: Female (She/Her) Race: Sin'dorei, partially demonic Alignment: Chaotic Neutral In-game Names: Kallibris (WrA)

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Very dark brown/black Eyes: Born with vibrant blue/grey eyes. All that remains now are empty sockets that glow with unsettling fel energy. Height: 4'9", 1.4m Build: Wiry, thin, almost emaciated Common Accessories: Her warglaives, smaller blades hidden in her clothing, a tiny book with small pressed flowers in the pages Voice Claim: Cree Summer

Personal –––

Birthplace: Silvermoon City Residence: None Profession: None Hobbies: Still figuring that out, now that the legion is no longer a threat. In rare times when alone, she finds flowers she finds to be pretty and presses them into her book. Languages: Thalassian, Common, Demonic, Orcish. (but only the basics. She will not have an extended conversation in the latter language) Religion: None. Not anymore. Fears: Losing control, drowning, her own mortality

Relationships –––

Spouse: None Children: None Parents: Cyrion Tabris (father, deceased), Adaia Tabris (mother, deceased) Siblings: None Pets: None

Traits –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

RP Hooks –––

Former Servant Girl - Kallian's family have served the Sunstrider royal household for generations. Although they were commoners with no noble blood, they had always lived among the wealthiest and most elite of High Elf society. Kallian's old life was one of luxury and hard work combined, ensuring the estates, clothes and households lived up to the luxury expected of the nobility. A Very Angry Elf - Kallian suffered from intermittent explosive disorder before becoming a demon hunter, which made her life difficult enough. During the scourge invasion of Silvermoon, she watched helplessly as the undead hordes tore her family apart, only to immediately raise their corpses so they could attack Kallian. She had to destroy their shambling remains multiple times as they continually rose again, more disfigured and desecrated than before. Until all that remained were piles of meat and Kallian's broken, vengeful psyche. A Life Returned - The Illidari were formed to fight a very specific enemy. That enemy is no longer a major threat, and demon hunters all across Azeroth have had to find new purpose. With the Legion and the undead Scourge kept at bay, Kallian has found that her rage and singleminded fury have begun to dim, and she's found time to engage in hobbies and activities that once only existed as faint memories.

[raymurata]

Curiosity

ZevWarden Week Day 4 Candlelight Whispers: Opening up @zevraholics

“It would seem she got you good, my friend,” Zevran said, helping Alec sit up and regain his breath. The warden dusted off his hands, scratched from trying to break his own fall, and then lifted up his shirt to see the damage Mara’s kick had done. The shape of a boot was quickly darkening on pasty white skin.

Alec fumed, his brows knit tight, lips pursed into an even thinner line than usual. He lifted up his gaze to where the infuriated elven girl had disappeared, followed soon after by Alistair and Crookytail. “I should go after her, too. If she gets caught, she’s dead.”

Fierce as Mara might be, she was still an under-armed, lonely girl in the woods surrounding Denerim. If road bandits and wild animals were not dangerous enough, they were all certain that there would not be a lack of guards patrolling the perimeter, specifically searching for the fugitive Tabris. 

“Alistair and Crookytail will find her, caro,” Zevran reassured him, placing a hand over Alec’s wrist. “You should tend to that mark she left on your stomach first, yes?” 

The warden groaned, but did not reject the suggestion. He healed himself, then stood up and walked over to Morrigan’s tent to ask her for the favor of turning into a bird and making sure Alistair would find Mara. The witch agreed with a reminder that Alec owed her a favor in return -- it seemed that favor had already been previously discussed, but Zevran was not aware of the details. 

It didn’t particularly stir his curiosity. 

But Mara did. Or rather, Alec’s obsession with her. 

Back in Denerim, Alec had been adamant about joining forces with the Red Jennies to save Mara from execution, and the party had agreed to do so, albeit reluctantly. It was the right thing to do, given what they had learned from the Jennies, after all. 

What no one but Zevran knew, however, was that Alec had shown interest in Mara even before the Red Jennies had gotten involved. He had butted in a pair of complete strangers’ conversation immediately upon hearing Mara’s name. Even now, after Mara had rejected their cause, told Alec to sod off, and chosen to risk herself heading back into Denerim… Still, Alec was void-bent on keeping her in the party.

It was only when Morrigan returned with news that Mara had been found by Alistair, and that the two were engaged in conversation not too far from camp, that Alec agreed to retire.

“Now, caro, I find myself rather jealous. You were never so insistent I remain at your side, no?” Zevran said as they made their way back to their shared tent. “I recall you telling me to go on my merry way if I so wished.”

Alec pulled up a basin and cast water inside. “She is going to get caught by the guards and executed if she goes back there.”

“Not unlike me, yes? The Crows would have had their joyful way with my pretty face had I been left on my own.”

“I doubt that. You’re skilled,” Alec argued, and then immediately paused what he was doing, as if on reflex. He pursed his lips, and shook his head. “No. I mean, she is skilled as well -- I’m not trying to say that she isn’t.”

“Should we not let her figure out her own path, from this point on?” Zevran suggested, plopping down on their bedrolls. “Why does it matter so much, my warden?” 

Alec shook his head, then sunk his hands into the magically heated water, splashed his face and rubbed his skin clean. He washed his mouth, then fetched up a towel to dry himself up. In pensive silence, he undid his hair and combed it down; put away his belongings in his careful, neat fashion. It was only then that he joined Zevran in their bedrolls.

Zevran threw the furs over Alec’s body, snuggled up closer to him and nuzzled his long ear, nibbling playfully on the tip, having already accepted that Alec was not going to give him an answer.

“I think we’re related,” Alec said, looking up at the canvas of their tent. “I told you I never knew my father, right? But I’ve always known his name. Tabris. I knew he was an apostate, and that he was from Denerim.”

Zevran paused his nuzzling, but stayed close like that, the tip of his nose against Alec’s cheek. “That would indeed explain why you look so alike, bello.” They had all noticed it and pointed it out, but Alec had not given them a single answer so far. “Have you asked her about it?”

Alec bit his bottom lip, then slowly shook his head. He was looking up, avoiding eye contact entirely, his hands intertwined over his stomach, his shoulders tense. Zevran kissed the corner of his lips, made it a point not to press him for an answer.

“I just… I never met him, so it seems weird,” Alec said. “She might think I want something from their family. Also, I know the odds are minimum because she does look a lot like me, but… What if it’s just a coincidence and we’re not related at all? But like I said, that’s rather unlikely at this point, given the evidence.” He tapped his fingers on his own hand as he talked, his gaze never really leaving the ceiling. “But then, even so, why would she give a nug’s arse, right? I was thinking that if she could join our cause -- which I figured was a good option for her, given the atmosphere in Denerim right now, and the fact the alternative is getting executed… I figured…” He unlaced his hands and reached for a book by the bedroll, only to fidget with the corners of the pages. “I figured I could get to know her a little better, and if she’s alright I could actually ask her about it upfront. But if she didn’t seem like someone I could trust, I could come up with some reason why I would like to know if there are any mages in her family.”

“Either way, the end-goal would be to learn more about her family?” Zevran clarified. He knew very little about families, himself, but it seemed to him like Alec was overthinking this. “Would it not be easier to simply request that information from her now? It would save both of you a lot of trouble, given how she does not seem interested in joining our cause, yes? Noble as it may be.”

Alec nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s just…” He bit his bottom lip again.

“Not your favorite topic of conversation, is it? Family?” Zevran hazarded a guess. In these past months in his company, he’d seen Alec weave at least three different lies when asked about his life before the Circle.

Alec tsked, his mouth hanging open for a while before shutting again. He licked his lips. “It’s not like there’s a worthwhile story there. I told you already… What I remember are the years with my uncle -- from my mum’s side. He was an arse, and we were piss-poor, and he’d sometimes express his distaste over my mother having gotten herself knocked up by some random apostate from Denerim -- Since, you know, he ended up having to feed the offspring in the end. That’s all there is to it, really.”

“Oldest tale in the book?” Zevran asked sarcastically.

Alec chuckled, no mirth in his smile. “Yeah. A piss-poor elf in a shitty place, no parents whose freaking face he can actually remember. Sounds about right.”

“A toast to that,” Zevran joked, resting his head on Alec’s shoulder. Despite the sarcasm in both their tongues, there was an unspoken understanding in the air. “I, myself, never knew the name of my father. Whatever it was, the whores never cared to tell me. My mother’s, however, I do remember.”

“What was her name?” Alec asked, finally dropping his gaze from the ceiling and looking at Zevran instead. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Zevran smiled against Alec’s skin.

“Gianna,” he said. Weird to hear that name on his tongue after so many years. “At least that was the name the other whores knew. One of them once told me -- after much insistence from a younger, extremely curious me, for that matter. Perhaps to be rid of my unrelenting questions about my mother’s clan, Lucia, the whore in question, told me that Gianna was not my mother’s Dalish given name. Indeed, it does not sound even vaguely Dalish, mm? My younger self had never truly considered that detail. At any rate, Lucia told me my mother never shared much about her roots at all, and I suspect she might have chosen a new name to preserve her Dalish integrity, perhaps? I do not know.”

“Is that why the Dalish clan didn’t accept you as their own? Because you didn’t know her birth name, so you couldn’t prove you had Dalish blood?” Alec asked, reaching out for Zevran and gently running fingers through his hair.

“Perhaps. I doubt they would have accepted me either way, but no matter.” Zevran shrugged the thought away. It was his turn to shift his gaze, to stare at Alec’s lips rather than his eyes. “How did your mother die, my friend?”

“I don’t know that she did,” Alec said, his fingers ceasing their caresses. “She left. I was five, and I don’t really remember much at all from that time. I don’t even know that I really want to find where my father is, or meet him. He’s probably not worth the time, either.”

“But you are curious,” Zevran stated, mirroring Alec’s gesture and burying fingers in shiny, copper strands, enjoying the soothing texture of his hair as he combed it down.

Alec’s eyes rolled shut as if under a spell. His shoulders sagged on the bedroom. “I am,” he admitted, the ‘m’ dragged out for a second too long, much like a purr.

Zevran let out a sweet chuckle. “Curiosity may yet kill the cat, mm?” he said in jest. “If it is any consolation, I too would be curious, were I in your shoes.”

“Curiosity?” Alec said, also in jest. “You mean, Mara might kill me, innit?” he chortled, and wrapped his arm around Zevran’s middle, pulling him closer. “Better make the best of it before she does.”

“Mm?” Zevran hummed and waggled his brows. “And who am I to refuse you your last wish.”

[adverb-slut]

Breakpoint (Fanfiction) Part 2/6 | Beelzebub

Sorry for posting this late, guys!�� As you all know, this is a six-part story (only parts one through three are written so far) and focuses on each of the brothers (Satan being the exception since he was never an angel) breaking point in when they decided to rebel against their Father when they were angels up in the Celestial Realm.  

This specific chapter features Beelzebub and Lilith!

As always, you can read this story here on AO3.

Title:

Breakpoint

Summary:

These are the tales of when Belphegor, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Mammon, and Lucifer each decided to actively rebel against their Father and together incite the Great Celestial War.  

Genre:

Backstory/Lore

Rating:

T

Word Count:

3424

Additional Note:

This chapter chronicles the breaking point of Beelzebub!

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 1 | Belphegor here!

-

“Beel! ” Belphie’s eyes were steeped with betrayal.  “You said you’d come for me.  Where are you?”  

Beelzebub watched as his twin’s form disintegrated before his very eyes and reached toward him.  “I did, Belphie —I just couldn’t—”

“I’ve been waiting two years, Beel!" Belphie cried, more and more of his body disappearing into nothingness.  “ Two years!  We agreed to three weeks!  Are you even going to come for me at all? ”

“I’m coming, Belphie!” Beelzebub screamed, bolting out of bed and reaching forward as if to grab his missing brother’s hand.  His fingertips grasped nothing but air. He shivered, realizing it was just a dream—a dream that he’d had every day for the past two years.  

Two years.  That’s how long it had been since Beelzebub had seen his younger brother.  Two years since he’d left him on Earth, promising to come back at sunset three weeks later.  Two years since he’d gone to look for his brother after the three weeks were up, only to realize that Belphegor had moved around so much on Earth and was no longer in the same village that he’d left him.  Two years during which Beelzebub had spent every single waking moment of his eternal life when he wasn’t guarding Eden to look for his only brother in every human-inhabited region of Earth, forgoing most of his meals and sleep and taking only a few moments every night after searching to rest. 

He stared at the space next to him on his king-size bed where two years ago, Belphie would have slept and sighed.  He rubbed his eyes groggily—getting only ten minutes of sleep every night caused him to be perpetually tired—and looked at the golden clock that rested on his bedside table.  It read that it was dawn; the Guardians of Eden on the night shift would be almost done standing sentinel over the Garden by now. That meant it was almost time for him to get to work.

Beelzebub’s stomach growled in protest as he changed out of his sleeping tunic and into the pearly white robes and green sash that were his standard uniform.  His meal times had varied greatly in the two years that he had spent scouting the Earth for his brother. He could only afford to waste a few precious seconds on eating quick meals, none of which sustained him for very long.  

And today, since it was already so close to the time for his shift to start, he didn’t want to waste even a moment by grabbing something to eat. 

He raced toward the precipice of the Celestial Realm and launched himself off.  As soon as his feet left the cloud cover that made up the ground, he flapped his wings downward and began his descent toward the surface of Earth.

This trip always chilled Beelzebub to his very bones.  He could almost feel his hands curl underneath his brother’s arms as the two made their way to Earth—him to go guard Eden, and Belphie to go observe and interact with humans. 

He flew downward for a few moments before his feet touched the ground.  He walked north for several feet before he saw the silhouette of tall, imposing fruit trees and the other plants that made of the flora of the Garden of Eden.  

“Beelzebub!”  Adoniel greeted from the Garden’s entrance.  “You’re right on time.”

Chasan, the other angel on duty, saluted him.  “Good to see you.”  

“You, too,” Beelzebub replied.  “You guys can go; I’ll take it from here.”

As the two nighttime Guardians of Eden began to take their leave, Beelzebub glanced at the sky, searching for Tabris, the angel with whom he had shared the morning shift with for as long as the Garden of Eden had needed guarding.  Usually, Tabris arrived earlier than him, but today, he was nowhere to be seen.

Figuring the other angel had overslept, Beelzebub walked over to the entrance and stood erect, scanning the area in front of him for any intruders, as he always did.  

Several minutes passed by, and there was still no sight of Tabris.  Beelzebub began to worry; if his Father found out about his partner’s tardiness, there would be no doubt that he would be punished severely.  His Father wasn’t known for physically abusing His children for minor infractions like lateness, but the incensed lectures He gave were even worse than even the most abrasive whippings.  

As Beelzebub decided that today he would just have to do the work of two guards, he heard the sound of wings flapping.  He glanced at the sky, expecting to see Tabris, but instead, saw the figure of a female angel.

This angel was exceedingly beautiful, with long hair that cascaded down her back and features so fine that he had to wonder exactly how long his Father had spent fashioning her.  One thing, he noticed in particular, was her wings: they were massive and feathered, covered in jewels and various precious gemstones.  They were far too heavy to be of any practical use.  He figured that they were just ornamental.  He deduced that she must not be an angel that was usually sent down to Earth, else she would have been given functional wings, or none at all.

The woman angel caught him staring and blushed, tucking her wings behind her.  “Yeah, I wasn’t created to leave the Celestial Realm, much.” She fingered the gaudy feathers that adorned her back.  “They’re just supposed to look pretty.”

He then realized that she appeared familiar.  “Wait—you’re one of the Seraphim, aren’t you?”  No wonder she didn’t venture out of the Celestial Realm.  The seraphim were the most powerful angels—even more so than most Archangels—with beautiful voices.  They sat directly at the Throne of the Almighty, singing his praises day after day. 

“Yes, my name is Lilith.”  She reached out her hand, and he shook it.  “I’ve been assigned to be your fellow Guardian of Eden today.”

Beelzebub did a double-take.  Why in the world would God assign a mighty Seraph to do a menial guard job?  “What do you mean?” He looked around.  “What about Tabris?” When he saw the confused look on Lilith’s face, he elaborated, “He and I have been the morning guards of Eden for as long as I can remember.”

“You didn’t hear?  Tabris broke one of his wings yesterday.  He’s on bed rest for the next few days,” replied Lilith.

Huh.  Beelzebub hadn’t heard anything about his partner’s injury, but then again, he had been on full Belphie-searching mode, so he hadn’t had much time to pay attention to anything else.  He felt a twinge of guilt creep up but tried to focus on the matter at hand. “Ah, okay, but why you as his replacement?  You’re a Seraph—surely your worship is more important than this.”

Lilith blushed and wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “Well, I’m currently suspended.”

“What?  Why?” he asked, his eyes widening.  Seraphim were wildly devoted to their Father.  He couldn’t imagine one doing something to upset their Father so much that he would suspend them.

She took a deep breath and her blush deepened.  “Well, yesterday, my sisters and I were worshipping at the Throne, as usual, when I realized that one of the rhythms to the hymns that we were singing was written really off.  I first thought that maybe it was our fault and we were singing it wrong, but I checked and it was just written strangely.  So, I went to go take the music earlier today to Leviathan—you know, the Angel of Worship.”

Beelzebub could see where this story was going.  The Angel of Worship’s antics when it came to critiques of his praise songs were well-known.  “And he got angry with your comments, then went directly to Father, made it sound worse than it was, and got you in trouble,” he finished for her.  “Leviathan will do anything to make an excuse to go see Father directly.”

“He’s such a kiss-up, sometimes.”  Lilith shook her head and pulled out two spiced manna cakes from her orange sash.  

He couldn’t help but watch her unpeel the wrapper from the two cinnamon-and-clove flavored biscuits, his stomach growling loudly.  He blushed.

Lilith smiled and reached out her hand, offering him a cake.  “Want one?”

Beelzebub grabbed it, smiling and deciding that he definitely liked this angel.  The cakes were incredibly dry and were meant to be eaten soaked in milk and honey, but he was so hungry that he couldn’t care less and took a bite of the crumbly biscuit.  

“Sorry,” he apologized, his mouth filled with manna.  “I don’t get many chances to eat.”

She put a hand on his shoulder sympathetically.  “I heard about your brother—everyone has. I mean, he’s the Angel of the Sabbath.  Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find him soon.”

Beelzebub sighed, suddenly not so hungry, but swallowing the rest of the cake, anyway.  “I hope so.”

Lilith noticed the change in his demeanor and poked him in the chest.  “You’re Beelzebub, right? You’re supposed to be one of the best guardians ever—teach me your ways!”

A hint of a smile curled on his face.  He could see that she was just trying to take his mind off of Belphie.  “Being a Guardian of Eden isn’t so hard. Our goal is to keep humans away from the Garden, but even more so, away from the Tree of Life in the middle.”  He pointed east from where they were standing, in the direction of the Tree. “The fruit from that Tree has the power to heal any kind of ailment—including the effects of old age.”

“I thought it was supposed to make humans immortal and to heal angels’ diseases.”

“The angel part is true but not the human one—that’s just a rumor we spread to deter them from trying to find it, considering some humans are content and relieved with their mortality.  The real power is that every time a human or angel consumes one, it cures them of whatever sickness they’re currently suffering from, even if it’s just the aches and pains that come with being old.”

“I got you.  Well, that sounds easy enough, Beel.”

Beelzebub swallowed at the nickname; it was something only Belphie had called him, but he was surprised that it sounded right coming from her lips, too.  “It is.”

They stood side by side, guarding Eden for several hours.  It was almost sunset, and Beel wanted to get a head start on searching for Belphie.  But, before he could say anything to Lilith, he noticed a figure coming up over the horizon, hunched over and carrying what appeared to be a person.

“Who’s that?”  Lilith asked.

Beelzebub readjusted his stance and frowned.  “An intruder.”

And he was right.  Ambling up to them was an emaciated man, his tattered loincloth dirty and covered in what looked like dried bloodstains.  In his arms was a young girl, her unwashed hair plaited, looking just as worse for wear as the man carrying her.

“Please,” the man pleaded, walking up to Beel, who looked on ahead of him stoically.  “My daughter—she’s very ill.”

A pang of guilt shot through Beel’s heart, but he had seen cases like this all the time.  And as usual, he knew he had to turn them away. “I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Oh, my goodness,” Lilith cried, rushing to the man’s side, taking the young girl out of his hands and cradling her herself.  Her eyes widened and filled with pity. “What happened?”

“Our camp was raided by another’s several weeks ago, and we have no food.  Yesterday, our chief’s wife found some herbs to eat, but when my daughter consumed them, she grew very sick, and she hasn’t woken up since, even though she is still breathing,” the man explained, his eyes filling with tears.  “Several moons ago, an angel visited us and told us that my daughter would be the savior of our camp, but if she does not survive, I fear that we will be left defenseless.”

Beel’s heart skipped a beat when the man mentioned another angel.  “What did the angel look like? Did he have black and white hair? With eyes like mine?  No wings?”

“No, no,” the man said, pausing to analyze Beel’s eyes.  “He had tan skin, with white hair and dark blue eyes, tinted with gold. He also definitely had wings.”

Beel could feel his heart drop.  He didn’t know who that Messenger Angel was.  “Well, either way,” he sighed.  “Sir, we can’t help you. You need to leave.”

Lilith glared at him as the man protested, “But sir, we need to get to the Tree of Life.  The shaman of our camp has tried everything to heal her, but nothing has worked. We know the fruit from the Tree can heal any kind of sickness.”

Beel didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that the man somehow knew the true nature of the Tree of Life and stamped his foot.  “No. No one is allowed in the Garden of Eden.”

“We can make an exception for you, though,” Lilith amended, stepping aside to let the man pass.

This time it was Beel who glared at her.  “No, we can’t.  Lilith, that’s what we’re here for: we have to make sure no one can get inside the Garden.”

“Beel!  This man is desperate.  We can’t let that little girl die—we can’t!  What kind of angels would we be if we did?”

He massaged his forehead.  “Lilith, we have our orders.  We can’t just go making exceptions for people based on how desperate they are.”

“Look at her,” Lilith argued, gesturing toward the man’s daughter.  “I don’t care what our orders are; we can’t just let this girl die on our watch.  I don’t think Father will be angry if what we’re doing saves a life.”

For someone who was supposedly so close to his Father, Lilith didn’t seem to understand that His orders were absolute and that there was no loophole that could be exploited which wouldn’t lead to severe punishment.  

Since Lilith had decided to be so adamant, Beelzebub tried a different tactic.  “Lilith, this man was told by one of our Messenger Angels that this girl would save her camp someday.  Just trust that God will heal her—you know that He doesn’t lie.”

He thought that that point would get her to calm down, but it was to no avail.  “She’s suffering now, Beel.  I can’t allow that.”  She gestured toward the man and motioned for him to enter the Garden. 

Beel shook his head in frustration.  “There’s no point in letting him in, anyway.  The Tree of Life is guarded by flaming swords.  He can’t get to it.”

The man’s face crumbled, but Lilith was quick to remedy the situation.  “I’ll do it. I’ll fly above the swords, and I’ll pick a fruit from the Tree and give it to him.”

Beel blanched.  “No. No, you won’t.”

“Yes.  I.  Will.”  And with that, Lilith raced into the Garden of Eden.

-

Three hours.  

That’s how long it had taken for all four Guardians of Eden—and one temporary one—to be summoned to his Father’s Throne Room after the young girl had taken a bite from the fruit of the Tree of Life and had been revived.  

In the future, it would take God another year to summon Belphegor for his tribunal, but it had only taken three hours for Him to call Beel for his.

Beelzebub kept his eyes down, not daring to look at his Father’s blinding, lighted presence.  He, Adoniel, Chasan, the broken-winged Tabris, and Lilith had just been instructed to rise after falling prostrate before the Throne of God.  

The three angels who had not been involved in the incident gave Beel confused looks, but he couldn’t meet their eyes.  He stared at the floor, trying to imagine he was anywhere but here. 

His Father’s Throne Room was a place of judgment, and usually, the verdict was nothing but guilty.  He tried to take his mind off his probably impending doom—surely his Father would blame him for not stopping Lilith as she flew above the flaming swords guarding the Tree of Life and picking its fruit—by listening to the glorious notes of the piano that Lucifer played from God’s left side.

The Archangel of Music’s eyes were closed, like the world was nothing more than him and his music, as his fingers deliberately played the solemn notes of a melody that he had created.  Lucifer never played any song twice, and he used no sheet music. Every song that he performed was an original piece that he made up on the spot, the notes coming so alive in his mind that they leaped out of his fingers into the most rapturous tune.  

“Beelzebub, Tabris, Adoniel, Chasan, Lilith,” boomed the Almighty.

“We are here, Father,” they chorused, bowing their heads.

“It has come to My attention that one of My Guardians has allowed a fruit to be picked from the Tree of Life.”  The glow of God’s glory receded and then flared back even brighter, signifying a spike in His anger. “Which one of you is responsible for this?”

Beelzebub knew that of course, his Father already knew who took the fruit; He was merely giving the culprit an opportunity to own up for their crime and apologize—not that it would make their punishment any less severe.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Lilith.  The normally upbeat Seraph had her eyes glued to the ground, a terrified look on her face.  He frowned in sympathy; facing her Father’s wrath twice in such a short period of time would be a horrifying experience—once was enough for most angels to ensure they never disobeyed again.  

And besides, it wasn’t as if Lilith had—apart from breaking orders—done anything wrong.  She had technically saved a life, just as she had mentioned before. 

Beel gulped as the silence from the five angels filled the room.  It was so suffocating that he didn’t know if Lucifer’s masterful playing was sufficient to overcome it.  He stepped forward. “I did it, Father.”

His Father’s furious light subsided in surprise.  “You, Beelzebub?”

Of course, God knew that it was not him who took the fruit.  But, Beel knew how his Father’s mind worked.�� If Beel admitted to the crime, his Father would punish him for what he confessed and also punish him for lying, as well.  The Almighty still knew that Lilith had committed the crime, but Beel’s sacrifice for her would be enough to sate His anger, and she wouldn’t be punished at all.

His admission elicited shocked gasps from Adoniel, Chasan, and Tabris.  Lilith stared at him, her eyebrows downturned in agony. “No—” she began.

Beel interrupted her before she could get very far.  “—one expected this of me, right, Lilith? Well, they should have.  In fact, Father, I was not only the one who picked the fruit, but I ate it, too.”

“You ate the fruit, Beelzebub?”  his Father confirmed, even though He knew otherwise.  “You know not even angels are allowed to eat the fruit, as they can suffer ailments that can be healed, as well.”

Beelzebub gulped.  “Yes. You know I’ve spent many moons flying around Earth, searching for my twin brother, Belphegor, the Angel of the Sabbath.  In doing this, I haven’t gotten much time to eat, so in my desperation, I picked from the Tree and ate.”

“What gluttony you displayed, today, my son!  This appetite—so all-consuming that you would desecrate a sacred fruit for the pleasure of excess nourishment—this need for immediate gratification in the form of food, has caused you to disobey My orders and sin.”  The Almighty’s anger flared again. “You must be punished.”

“Yes, Father, you should punish me,” Beel replied, wringing the hem of his tunic nervously.  And punish me, and me alone, he added silently.

“This is your first offense, my son—I will make your retribution less severe, provided you understand the error of your ways.  Answer me, Beelzebub, do you regret what you did?”

Considering he hadn’t even committed any crime, Beel knew he couldn’t answer the question truthfully.  He turned his head to look at Lilith, whose eyes were overflowing with grateful tears, her hands over her mouth to drown out her sobs.  He knew that he would admit to the offense a hundred times if it meant she didn’t have to suffer for it.

So he answered the question in that context instead.

“No.”

[anora-mac-tired]

Anora and Loghain - a missed reunion

During the Mage Templar War, Anora, Former Queen, is on the run for her life but now leads a group of displaced mages, hiding from the templars. Loghain is a Warden. Neither knows the other lives.

Anora bit back a wince at the bitter smell of the salve Marlin was applying to her leg. The mage was young, younger than Anora at least, but wiser than his youthful appearance suggested, and he was fixing Anora with a stern glare. "You have got to be more careful Celia." 

She gave the herbalist a small, if somewhat sheepish smile. 

"Templar's are aggressive bastards, not my fault."

They had walked into an ambush, sort of. Anora had known they were there, in the area, just not where specifically. She had led 5 others to hunt them down, so that their group could move on. She had lost two in the fight, but every templar - ten in total - had lost their lives that day. 

That was 5 more marks to add to her helmet, personally. She was running out of space to be honest. 

They burned the two who had fallen, in a solemn ceremony. Anora had never gotten used to this guilt, when she lost one of her men. Their names had been Darren and Felicia. Darren had had combat training, having served in the Denerim guard, Felicia had only what she had learned from the band. Both had been volunteers, all the warriors were. They were the siblings, lovers, friends etc of the mages in Anora's ever growing band, dedicated to protecting their loved ones. 

Darren had joined up entirely on his own, he had been with the band since just after it started. He was a grizzled old veteran, but claimed he had once had a daughter in the circle. Felicia had a sister, a mage of 14, barely able to cast a spark, she and her sister had joined up at the same time, finding Anora's band while they moving through the hills around Wycome. 

That was 2 years ago. 3 years ago was when all this had started. 

Anora had been in the Marches when all the circles rebelled, she had not been privy to that though, as she was travelling through the wilderness at the time. Then she stumbled across three robed figures being chased by templars. The templars were raving mad, as any man would have to be to attack children. Two of the mages were barely adolescents, and the one leading them could only just have reached his 20th year. 

Anora had leapt to their defense, surprising herself by her ability to take down 5 templars by herself, but later she realized it was that Templars were not actually good at fighting against other warriors. They were trained to stab helpless mages to death, not defend against a trained, armed and armored opponent. 

From then on, her group grew, as she found more mages, and occasionally the odd few templars, though there was nothing to be done for their lyrium addiction and she sent them on their way, lest they begin to endanger the group. 

Now she led a group of fifty, thirty five of which were mages. Teaching people who had grown up in the relative comfort of a tower how to live and survive in the outdoors had been an arduous task, but one she took to gladly. 

At first, it had been extremely unnerving, to go from a life of solitude on the run, to suddenly having people under her care, looking up to her and relying on her for their protection, and most unnerving of all, trusting her. Even though she had absolutely no idea what she was doing, they trusted her. They had hope in her. 

Anora had forgotten what that felt like. Perhaps she never truly knew. She did not know if the people of Ferelden had looked up to her or even trusted her when she was Queen. 

And she would never know now, having being bested to the throne by a bastard and an elven mage of all things. 

King Alistair was a fair ruler now or so she had heard, but, there was still the bounty on her head which he had never lifted. And she knew why. Eamon had all but ruled through the boy, Eamon was the reason Anora was on the run for her life to begin with - a death sentence for not swearing fealty to Alistair. 

As if she would swear loyalty to the man who killed her father. 

"Celia?" 

Anora blinked, torn out of her thoughts and her eyes met with Marlin's, which carried concern. 

She waved her hand, "Just… thinking. I'm just… angry over Darren and Felicia." It was not a lie, she was, but Marlin did not need to know of her past. None in this camp did. 

Marlin put a hand on her shoulder, she felt it faintly through the thick black gambeson she wore, but the gesture was comforting all the same.

"They knew what they signed up for. Don't blame yourself. Blame-" 

"-The templars."

It was a motto she had repeated to herself time and time again. Darren and Felicia were not the first she had lost, and they would not be the last. Still, it did little to comfort, but it did fuel her for the next fight. 

She was not in a rush to face off against a group of templars again, but she would not mind getting the chance to remove ones' head from his shoulders again. 

That thought sent a shiver down her spine. Marlin raised a brow but said nothing. 

She was left to wonder to herself when she had begun to start looking forward to fighting, to killing. When had Queen Anora died and Anora the warrior been born? 

Perhaps, when she had been dragged out of the throne room and tossed in a cell, and then sentenced to hang. Good a guess as any. 

"Keep this bandage on for a bit, then come back around evening. The wound should heal up by then, but for now, please get some rest." He fixed her with a stern, knowing look, "Of the laying down and eating kind, not the sparring kind."

Anora grinned and waved a hand as she stood, "I know, I know. I learnt my lesson that time, Marlin. Especially since you won't let me forget it."

_

Loghain was utterly miserable. He was not soft, he had lived the first half of his life in the wilds, in tents, or just in the outdoors alone, But this trek through these forests in the Free Marches had proven to be utterly miserable.

It had rained earlier, and he was soaked completely through. He had not even bothered to remove his helmet, since it at least kept his head dry, and there was the possibility of it raining again. Delightful, he looked forward to that, truly. Their rations had been low, but the commander refused to stop until they reached further north, for reasons beyond him. 

He was just glad he was not the only one. Kallian Tabris, the normally smart mouthed elf with an infallible smirk, was glaring at her boots the entire way, the scar on her lip that reached from her left nostril to her chin twitching in that way it did when she was particularly pissed off, and she gripped her bottle of warden reserve - "Alienage Finest" - longingly. 

Loghain related, but the commander had said no drinking, they had to be sharp. He glared at Stroud's back, wishing it would pierce the metal there. 

"Hold there, wardens!" 

A female voice cried from the trees and the entire group stopped, and turned to it. The voice sent a bolt of familiarity through him, settling in his heart, which began to race. Could it possibly be…? 

The woman stood near one of the trees, on an overhanging rock. She was dressed in a dirty black gambeson and a dull steel breastplate. Fur had been thrown over her shoulders, though it was flat and low quality as far as craftsmanship was concerned. A dull black scarf was about her neck, and her face… 

Her hair was gone, the right shade of blonde, though it was damp and dirty. It was short, Shaved on the sides but long enough on top to be hanging in her eyes. And her face, a sharp square jawline and ice blue eyes. 

He would never forget that face. Anora. It had to be her!

He started shaking, he could not help it, though it was imperceptible to anyone around him. 

Except Kallian, who eyed him with concern and then looked back at Anora, understanding dawning slowly on her scarred face. 

He had heard she had escaped, after being sentenced to death. No one could confirm it though, as she had not been seen anywhere after the landsmeet. The sight of her being dragged off in chains still haunted him to this day. If he was not stuck in the wardens, he would have laid siege to the castle himself, and killed that bastard who claimed the throne, Alistair too for good measure. 

But here she was, looking for all the world like a bandit or mercenary. Why was she here? 

"Hello there, stranger. What do you seek with us?" Stroud asked, removing his helmet.

"There are templars prowling these woods, further ahead especially. I warn you, they attack any and all on sight. Even Grey Wardens."

They had already encountered Templars, further back. Nasty business that lot, but was Anora doing in a forest infested with them? He had half a mind to remove his helmet, step forward and ask just that. 

But he could not. 

Not in front of all these wardens. He knew Anora probably thought he was dead, as she never saw the aftermath of his trial, and it was not exactly public knowledge that he had been made a warden. 

His heart ached, painfully, as he realized he would have to leave without saying anything. Anora wouldn't know that he was alive. He had the luxury, and his relief was immeasurable, but she would not get the same. 

Tears stung in his eyes and he let them fall silently, hidden beneath the helmets visor. Stroud and Anora continued to talk, she was telling him which areas to avoid, which routes were the safest, where the Templars had likely set up ambushes, all but giving the man a mental map of the area. Her information would likely save them a lot of trouble and pain on the way. 

He burned to know how she knew all this. As he gazed at her though, he was struck by a different familiarity. The way she was so confident of the land around her, how she knew exactly where her enemy was. 

"If I may ask, what are you doing out here?" Stroud finally asked, much to Loghain's relief.

Anora shrugged, "I lead a group of refugees whom the templars hunt."

And there it was. Anora may as well have been the spitting image of Gareth, the grandfather she would never know, at that moment. He had led displaced fereldens during the orlesian occupation, helping them live out a life in the woods, albeit as outlaws. It was clear that refugees meant mages, and Loghain felt immense concern over the fact that his daughter was becoming involved, or perhaps had been involved for a long time, in this conflict between mage and templar. But as much concern as there was, there was even more pride and his chest swelled. 

Anora may have lost the crown, or rather had it taken from her, but she was a born leader, and she could not have made him more proud. 

Then the wardens were moving again, and Loghain had to settle for a brief final glance at his daughter, whom he had no idea if he would ever see again. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments. Anora's brow furrowed, but then Loghain turned his head, and they were gone. 

[whereismywarden]

OC Masterlist

@kiraia​ pointed out (rightfully so) that I made quite a few vague posts about my OCs, but that I’ve never properly introduced them. It’s true, mostly because I tend to wait until they are well developed to properly do anything with them, which doesn’t happen all that often. So consider this a formal introduction to my current OCs :)

(Under a cut because there are quite a bunch of them. I hope it works on mobile, because otherwise yikes! I’m very sorry.)

Sad Mages Worldstate

It’s probably the one I talk about the most. It’s the most developed worldstate, with the most developed OCs and I’ve written a lot of fics about them.

The Warden: Ana Surana [Tag | Complete bio | Fanfictions]

pairings: Ana x Daylen Amell (friends with benefits), Ana x Alistair (DAO romance), Ana x Carver (current pairing, now married) + I occasionally throw Isabela into the mix because reasons.

Born in the Gallows and taken to an orphanage in Highever until her magic manifested.

Grew up close to Anders, Jowan, Amell and (to a lesser extent) Finn.

Had a baby that she was forced to give to the Chantry.

Main DAO choices include: romancing Alistair, getting her heart broken after making him king, stupidly refusing to do Morrigan’s ritual and watching him sacrifice his life for her.

Later she starts dating Carver (whom she actually met at Ostagar where they had a brief fling before the Battle).

Takes part in the Mage Underground and helps Anders build his bomb.

Starts hearing the Calling shortly before DAI.

Is Hawke’s contact during HLtA.

The Champion: Alwyn Hawke [Tag | Complete bio | Fanfictions]

pairings: Alwyn x Anders (DA2 romance, on and off), Alwyn x Cullen (one time), Alwyn x Rylen (post DAI, considering making them endgame, not sure yet).

Purple Hawke.

Carver becomes a warden.

Supports the mages.

Develops a close friendship with Ana.

Breaks up with Anders after the Chantry explosion, wishing he’d trusted him enough to share his plan with him. They do get back together later on.

Is the first one to learn about Ana hearing the Calling.

Stays behind in the Fade during HLtA, but eventually finds a way out.

He was found by Inquisition scouts in the Western Approach, suffering from amnesia.

Later falls in love with Rylen.

(Note that I still need to update that last part into his bio.)

The Inquisitor: Violette Surana [Tag | Complete bio | Fanfictions]

pairings: Violette x Orsino (once twice), Violette x Samson (current partner).

Ana’s mum.

Orlesian who grew up in Ferelden during the occupation.

Was taken to the Gallows at age 13.

Was a close friend of Malcolm Hawke.

Had her baby (Ana) taken by the Chantry. Later escaped.

Hates the Chantry.

Attends the Conclave in the hopes that Ana might be there.

Starts sleeping with Samson after his capture because he basically said fuck the Chantry to her face and it turned her on.

Hardened Leliana becomes Divine.

Other OC: Neriah Amell-Hawke

Is Ana’s daughter. She got her out of the orphanage after the Blight (thanks, Leliana).

Her father is Daylen Amell. Carver adopted her when he married her mama.

Is 18 as of Trespasser.

Second Chances Worldstate

This one started off as an AU for a fic starring Ana and Alistair which is why these two worldstates are so similar. The point of divergence is that Jowan went to Amell for help instead of Ana for some reason.

The Warden: Daylen Amell [Tag | Fanfictions]

pairings: Day x Ana (friends with benefits), Day x Morrigan (DAO romance and while I did consider for a while not having him follow her through the eluvian, I changed my mind. There’s too much growth potential.)

His father was Maurevar Carver, because I say so.

Main DAO choices include: Sparing Loghain, Alistair becoming a drunk, not doing Morrigan’s ritual because he can just throw Loghain at the Archdemon (which he did).

Helps Ana get their daughter out of the Kirkwall orphanage. Bails on them right afterwards.

Does follow Morrigan through the eluvian and actually ends up being a decent dad to Kieran.

Does not become Ferelden’s Warden-Commander.

The Champion: Alwyn Hawke (yes, again)

Like I said, this was originally an AU, so it made sense to keep the same Hawke. There are quite a few differences, however.

pairings: none.

Does not bring Anders to the Deep Roads. Carver dies.

Suffers from severe depression afterwards.

Goes from purple to full blue after Leandra’s death.

Stays behind in the Fade. Probably won’t make it out in this worldstate.

The Inquisitor: Asaara Adaar [Tag | Fanfictions]

pairings: Asaara x Cullen (starts before DAI, now married).

Meets Cullen shortly before the Chantry explosion. They fall in love.

Not going into too much details because it will be part of Second Chances’ main story.

Other OCs: Ana Surana and Neriah [Main fic | Other fics]

Again, can’t go into too much detail because spoilers.

pairings: Ana x Carver (before the Deep Roads expedition anyway), Ana x Alistair.

Day brings Ana to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight to meet their daughter. She ends up staying after they get Neriah out of the orphanage.

Single mom. Works as a waitress.

They find drunk Alistair in their garbage. Ana wants to help him get better.

Other OC: Issala Adaar [Tag]

pairings: Issala x Varric (post-DAI).

Is Asaara’s overexcited little sister.

Likes to tinker with explosives.

Built a handheld cannon. It’s clunky, not very accurate and is prone to misfire. In other words, it still needs a lot of work.

Varric thinks she’s adorable so he made her his personal bodyguard.

Angry Dalish Worldstate

The Warden: Shaelyn Mahariel [Tag | Fanfictions]

pairings: Lyn x Tamlen (Origin), Lyn x Bethany, (considering Lyn x Alistair between DA2 and DAI but even that might be too cruel.)

Doesn’t want to be a warden.

DAO choices include: Alistair remaining with the wardens because he doesn’t want to be king.

No in-game romance, she was too heartbroken after losing Tamlen.

Eventually starts dating Bethany.

Travels to the Free Marches after the death of her clan to kill the man responsible.

Almost dies in the resulting fight against Hawke (thank the Creators Anders was there).

Goes home and confesses to Bethany that she almost killed her brother and that she would have done it had he not been so badass. They break up.

The two of them reconcile post-DAI, after Hawke and Merrill’s wedding.

The Champion: Kris Hawke [Tag]

pairings: Kris x Merrill (now married).

Blue Hawke.

Sadly couldn’t save Merrill’s clan.

Didn’t want to hurt Lyn that badly during their fight, he was just defending himself. Deeply regrets it afterwards.

The Inquisitor: no one specific yet, but likely a Lavellan romancing Solas.

Alistair stays behind in the Fade.

Elves in Luuuuv Worldstate

The Warden: Kallian Tabris [Tag | Fanfictions]

pairings: Tabs x Alistair (DAO romance)

Probably the most canon-compliant OC.

Main DAO choices include: making Alistair king with Anora as queen and becoming his mistress.

Madly in love.

Will have a happy ending.

No Hawke or Inquisitor yet.

Homecoming Worldstate

The Warden: Elaine Cousland [Tag]

pairings: Elle x Nathaniel (pre-DAO, now ex-husband), Elle x Leliana (DAO romance), Elle x Sebastian (current).

Was BFF with Anora during their childhood.

Actually met Sebastian before he was sent to the Chantry. The two of them had similar lifestyles back then, so when Elle visited Starkhaven with her father, the two of them developed a rivalry of sorts in their romantic pursuits (think Merteuil and Valmont, but a lot more light-hearted). They do spend one night together after learning that he is going to be sent to the Chantry.

Eventually fell in love and married Nate. They kept their relationship a secret, however. They divorced after the Blight.

Main DAO choices include: romancing Leliana, making Alistair king with Anora as queen, sparing Loghain and performing the ritual.

Her relationship with Leliana didn’t survive the distance.

Leaves the Wardens after the Chantry explosion and basically goes on the run from everyone because she feels responsible for what happened.

Helps Sebastian reclaim his throne. They fall in love. (I’m currently writing a fic about this, actually)

Still unsure about her DAI fate. Either she replaces Hawke in HLtA and stays behind in the Fade, or she becomes Inquisitor.

The Champion: Violetta Hawke [Tag | Fanfictions]

pairings: Letta x Isabela (DA2 romance).

Yes, she was totally named after Violette.

Is Kris’ sister.

Carver becomes a Templar.

Spared Anders.

Sails into the sunset with Isabela.

DAI fate will depend on what I decide to do with Elle.

The Inquisitor: no one yet.

Loghain survives HLtA.

I am considering having Neriah (yes, again) be the Herald with someone else as Inquisitor since she’s only a kid. In this worldstate, she grew up in Kirkwall’s orphanage before being taken to the Gallows. She escapes the massacre and Carver eventually takes her under his wing.

I'm planning to have two additional worldstates (I want one per warden origin). One called "Happy Dwarves" with a male Brosca romancing Zevran and one called "Dead Heroes" with a male Aeducan romancing Leliana (and probably Alwyn again, idk). I also have a couple of Cadashes that I want to put somewhere, a woman romancing Josie and a man romancing Divine Cassandra. Idk yet if they'll be Inquisitors or if I'll just add them to one of the existing worldstates. Odds are one will be Inquisitor while the other just tags along.

I probably missed a few things here and there, but that’s basically the gist of it. Thanks to anyone who actually stuck to the end, lmao.

[therealdragonnerdagain]

This is a retired gaming blog, blah, blah, blah. But I wanted to post this.

So I was playing Skyrim (Vilkas is a crappy follower -- Farkas is better) and for some reason, I started thinking about how I made that Loghain post about two (?) years ago and how Dragon Age fans misunderstood it.

I remember having some fans attack me, astonished and self-righteously outraged that I was "defending" a racist slaver. Meanwhile, other fans approached me in a friendly manner, shocked that I had apparently killed Loghain in the game even though I pitied him. These two groups were both under the impression that I liked Loghain, which was . . . utterly baffling to me.

It occurred to me that these fans must've been very young, because they were still thinking with a very black and white mentality. To them, pitying Loghain was equal to liking him (except it's not) and explaining why he did what he did in Origins was somehow the same as condoning his actions (again, it's not).

If I recall correctly, the purpose of my post was to recount Loghain's sins in a list where I explained why he committed each one through codexes, letters, and info I'd gathered in the game (working with Howe, Anora's schemes, etc).

Also, keep in mind that I always tended to write such posts after having taken my meds and right before going to bed, so they were often incoherent, drowsily written nonsense.

So ironic that I was accused of ableism while too out of my mind to write a decent post due to a medication for my MENTAL ILLNESS.

So ironic that I was accused of racism and condoning slavery, only to have my accuser turn around and make racist insults at me.

But whatever. Back to Loghain.

I think Alistair summed it up best when he said that people like Loghain and Anora think they're the only ones who can get anything done. Loghain thinking he was the only competent and trustworthy person in all of Feralden is half the reason Feralden nearly burned to the ground.

Yes, I pity Loghain. But, no, I don't like him. He's an asshole and I've never had a playthrough where I spared him (especially since I played elves so much).

I pity Loghain because he has PTSD and his wild paranoia was sad to watch. He truly believed Cailan was going to marry Celene when he clearly wasn't (something Inquisition and The Masked Empire only further proves -- Celene is queer, power-hungry, and in no way willing to marry a man) and if you take Loghain back to Ostagar, he rants and raves about Cailan's "betrayal" wildly. It reminds me of mentally ill people I knew personally.

So, yes. I pity Loghain because he is a broken soldier. And how could anyone have helped him? Thedas doesn't "do" mental illness well. As I mentioned on another post, Cullen is probably the first templar in (recent) history to open a rest home for broken soldiers.

What was more, Loghain had too much power. There was no one to stop him in the heights of his paranoia. Even Cailan couldn't do anything because he needed Loghain's help against the darkspawn.

Also, Anora would probably never speak to Cailan again if he sent her father away. I believe Cailan really loved Anora and was never going to marry Celene. Eamon (so high on having the king's ear) kept telling Cailan to find a new wife, and Cailan kept telling Eamon to mind his own business. So Eamon's letters, combined with the complete businesslike letters from Celene about an "alliance" both led Loghain -- in his feverish brain -- into believing his son-in-law was casting Anora aside, when nothing was farthest from the truth.

If you pay attention at Ostagar, Cailan is clearly annoyed by Loghain but can't be rid of him. I wouldn't be surprised if he suggested having Loghain retire to a chantry somewhere, only for Anora to become upset with him until he called it off. Remember, Anora practically worshiped her father.

Also, yes, I enjoy understanding the reasons why Loghain did what he did. That's because I'm a writer and I enjoy knowing the entire story. That does not mean I condone Loghain's actions.

I recall fans sneering on me for talking about gray morality and how the Gray Wardens were called GRAY WARDENS because gray morality is the entire theme of Dragon Age.

The fans were sneering on me because they thought I was using "gray morality" to excuse the elven slave trade. Only I wasn't. I never said it was right or necessary to sell the elves off to Teviner. In fact, it was completely unnecessary (when is slavery ever necessary?). And given the fact that my favorite Gray Warden was Kalian (and my second favorite was Mahariel) it was downright infuriating. (Kalian's father almost gets sold.)

Also, it wasn't Loghain that sold the elves. It was Howe, as theorized in another post of mine. Howe led a massacre against the elves after Tabris killed Vaughn, and when that wasn't enough to cow them, he used bio warfare and slavery to be rid of them. In fact, he did just about everything that has been done historically to people of color in real life -- why in FUCK would I excuse or condone this???

David Gaider stated on BSN (I believe the thread is gone now with the rest of the forums) that Loghain didn't even know what was happening in the alienage until you wave the slaver documents in his face during the landsmeet.

Loghain wasn't given a short stick by the plot. He was written wonderfully. He was written just well enough that you could pity him and hate him at the same time. And he felt very human. And very real. More real than Coryphshit, anyway.

Loghain had a full story arc with multiple outcomes. It's pretty much everything a fictional character in a video game could ask for. He wasn't given the short end of anything, in my humble opinion.

Even though Loghain wasn't directly (but was indirectly) responsible for the slave trade, he was still responsible for a lot of seedy shit. He was responsible for Uldred. He promised a man -- a slave -- his freedom, only to go back on that promise, which led to Uldred committing suicide by giving his body to a demon and wreaking havoc on the tower: the real Uldred was dead by the time the Warden arrived.

Loghain was also responsible for Redcliffe but couldn't be bothered to manipulate the Dalish into his control. No, they were already destroying themselves in a neat little plot about how the writers think white people aren't responsible for modern day oppression or whatever.

Anyway.

It's supposed to be ironic that Loghain depises the Gray Wardens and yet acts just like them, committing atrocities to do what is necessary (or what he THINKS is necessary) but not what is right. It's almost like the game was building up specifically for him to become a Gray Warden. Especially if you read the books, you can see what I mean. (The same kinda goes for Solas, though he's just a Loghain-expy anyway.)

My point is, fans of the game are too young to grasp its more mature themes, which reach beyond simple black and white ethics. Dragon Age: Origins is a world were nothing is black and white and nothing is supposed to be simple (again, not "condoning" slavery. Slavery is pretty simple: it's wrong). It's a world full of anti-heroes who do bad things to save the day.

Again, Howe wasn't doing something "necessary" in selling off elves, so I'm NOT talking about him when I speak about gray morality. I'm talking about Loghain, who firmly believed he was doing the right thing at Ostagar, even though he really wasn't. Loghain firmly believed that saving his troops and pulling them out would protect Ferelden, even if it meant sacrificing thousands of lives -- just as Solas believed sacrificing all those people on the mountain by tricking Corypheus into opening his foci was necessary to save his own people.

As a side note, it kind of pisses me off that Patrick Weekes wrote that segment for Solas where Solas talks about the battle at Ostagar being not so black and white. He tries to make it seem as if Loghain's actions could have actually been right in some way, but anyone who's paid close nerdy attention knows that Loghain was clearly WRONG. I believe this was done mostly to honor the player's interpretation but . . .

If Loghain hadn't barred the Orlesians from entering Ferelden, then pulled out his own troops, Ostagar would not have happened. Period.

During the first act of Inquisition, you can actually get in a fight with the quartermaster at Haven about Ostagar. It's another example of Patrick's Weeke's shitty writing, where he tries to get an emotional reaction from the audience by appealing to the player instead of the Inquisitor. He basically has no idea how to write for a video game and instead writes like this is a novel. 

The Inquisitor has no reason to care so passionately about Loghain and Ostagar, while those of us who played Origins do. Yet the Inquisitor is so angry, they act as if they were there (because we were there) when they really shouldn't give a fuck. This is immersion breaking, also stupid, and Weekes uses this method to pull us into the story emotionally multiple times throughout the game: Morrigan's introduction where the Inquisitor is smiling at a dangerous stranger as if they know her, the popular and much loved Teagan being a jerk in order to play on our feelings (and again not the Inquisitor’s feelings), etc.

Loghain wanted desperately to keep the Orlesians out because the war against Orlais had left him paranoid and suffering PTSD. Orlesians raped his mother and killed his father. Orlesians mounted the heads of his family and friends on pikes. Orlesians made his life a living hell.

And it was so, so easy to blame everything on Cailan once he was dead, wasn't it? But I don't think Loghain was really even blaming Cailan out of power-hungry maliciousness: he actually believed Cailan was a stupid child (Calian's name even means child) and would forever see Cailan through the "father filter."

Loghain has a Fade nightmare that was cut from the game and buried in the game files. In it, he is trapped with child!Cailan in the Fade and is bogged down by guilt and anger. He will always see Cailan as a child and will hate himself for killing him, even while still hating Cailan.

Yes, Loghain hated Cailan, possibly because he was the child of Maric and Rowan, Rowan being the woman he loved. He believed Cailan was a little boy who wanted war and had miscalculated the battle, when in fact Cailan was pretending to want war to keep his troops in good spirits (Wynne confirms this). Cailan knew they were going to die at Ostagar thanks to Loghain -- this is why he sends you and Alistair to the tower. I think he might have even known Loghain was sabotaging the tower.

Again, all of this is mentioned in Return to Ostagar. Nothing about Ostagar was "morally gray" as Solas (and Patrick Weekes, who apparently doesn’t know the story) would have you believe.

And yet, while Loghain's actions were very wrong, he was also not the mad, evil, cartoony villain Alistair saw him as.

Loghain was a sick man who believed he was doing what was right: THAT is what makes this situation morally gray.

Also, Loghain's an asshole because he's racist. I recall one playthrough he called my Mahariel a wild elf, insinuating that she was worthless because she was Dalish. And even though he worked with the Dalish in the books, he and Maric never really treated them like people. The elves fought in the war to liberate Ferelden and then got all of nothing for it and went right back to being socially, religiously, economically oppressed (correct me if I'm wrong). Sounds a bit like the Revolutionary War, huh?

All those nobles at the landsmeet screaming about how Fereldens don't believe in slavery, as if oppression ends at whips and chains.That entire scene at the landsmeet was very realistic, actually. How many white people today think people of color aren't socially, economically oppressed and that oppression ended with slavery? They'v got freedom and don't even know what it is. But if it was suddenly taken away, they would know. Oh, they would know. 

This grimdark crap is why I enjoy breaking the theme by playing a Warden who is not an anti-hero but a hero. Which means that Loghain always dies in my games because a hero would kill him, while a pragmatic anti-hero would make use of him.

The fact that Dragon Age: Origins is grimdark is what makes playing a shining hero so great. Dagna's line about the Gray Warden "It was a time of darkness, she was the only light" was perfect because of this.

I loved playing a hero who saved the day without resorting to pragmatism. I loved it simply because the real world doesn't work that way, and I wish desperately that it did; I wish that people could just be good for once.

I loved playing a hero and having Loghain realize my character was everything he should have been and everything he could not be. (Again, it's the same with Solas and a good, morally upstanding Inquisitor.)

That being said, I also believe a "good" Inquisitor would let Blackwall live. I believe the difference between Loghain and Blackwall is that  while one has a chance to overcome his own darkness, the other does not. Loghain never goes on a killing spree again should you let him live, but he also has to live in misery the rest of his life. Frankly, I always viewed his execution as a mercy kill. And if you defeat him in combat, he pretty much asks you -- with a content smile -- to kill him.

The point I'm trying to make, what I'm getting at is this:

I suddenly understand why series with more "mature," thought-provoking themes like Dragon Age and Mass Effect have been dumbed down and watered down into childish, cartoony, bullcrap.

The fans are too young to get it.

That's not an insult. It's just the truth. We're all naive and inexperienced at least once in our lives. That's the very definition of youth.

Look at Tales of Symphonia and Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of a New World. The first game -- while still a bit ridiculous, adolescent, and cliched -- at least has more mature, thought-provoking themes, situations that leave you questioning if you did the right thing. The second game is a bunch of adolescent whining, cringey cliches, and utter nonsense.

Dragon Age: Origins went from characters with depth, meaningful choices, and interesting npcs to Inquisition, the light-hearted, bubbly, bland, cliched, MMORPG/Skyrim wannabe, where your choices don’t matter and your own followers treat you like shit long after you’ve befriended them -- but only if you’re Dalish.

Mass Effect went from the same deal (mature themes, blah, blah, blah) to watered down . .  . everything. Tactics, choices, any seriousness or depth was all replaced with button-mashing combat and campy comic book drivel (yeah, I went there). Though don't get me wrong: at least the combat for Mass Effect was fun across all three games.

It's like the writers went, "Fuck it. The audience wouldn't appreciate or grasp mature themes anyway!" and gave us a bunch of cartoonish, ridiculous shit.

I wish they’d stop. If young fans don’t get it, then they don’t get it. Why change your games when the audience is still the same?

[feynites]

I am curious, who did your Hawke(s) romance in Dragon Age 2? Also, I am REEAAALLLY curious to see what spirits Thenvunin and Kel merge with in the 'Everyones an Abom AU'.

For the first question: I romanced everyone in various playthroughs of DA2, but I never really developed a particular attachment to any of my Hawkes, so I’m not very picky about shipping with that crowd. If that makes sense. The Hawke who had the most dramatic playthrough was a M!Hawke who romanced Anders, so I tend to default to him, or else I go with my sister’s Hawke, Malcolm Jr, who was a bit of an ass and spent most of his game pining for Aveline. (90% of his character comes from my sister’s impression of him, and watching her play and basically be like ‘ahhh, my dove!’ any time Aveline came on screen. She can also sneer ‘Donnic’ in a faux-M!Hawke voice that is just full of undeserved vitriol - but Donnic was fine in her playthrough. Also a running gag was that Malcolm was completely oblivious to the fact that Fenris was rather long-sufferingly in love with him.)

For the second, I mean, I wasn’t actually planning on… but, I guess it is called… I…

…Well I guess let’s see what Uthvir was doing in the version of this ‘verse where they didn’t die!

(Warning for child endangerment and threats towards children and physical menace of children.)

The Templars have gone quiet.

That is, Uthvir thinks, a bad sign rather than a good one.Because their sources have been going silent, over the past four years.Snuffing out like candles, running up across dead-ends, meeting unexpectedwalls and blockages and it is not as if the movement is dwindling. It might diedown, every now and then, might legitimately come close to ending, but over thecenturies they have learned to see the signs. They know what to look for.Everything in them is telling them that is an upswing, not a down.

But all the places they know, and the faces they havelearned to watch, have stopped yielding information.

They do not know if the leaks are being discovered, or ifthe organizing is simply wise enough to cover its tracks better, or if time hasmade them so accustomed to looking in certain places that they have forgottenhow to seek out others. They do not know what has and has not been compromised,and Fear is running wild with the implications. With the best avenues ofresponse. Withdraw to one of the bunkers? They are more remote, harder to find,but if they are already being watched and tracked, then they could be followed.Then the remote location might work against them. Send out warnings? Butwarnings for what? The danger of discovery is well-known, and contacting theothers might simply alert anyone with eyes on Uthvir as to where the rest ofthe clan is. Stay put, try to lie low? But that could just be turningthemselves into a sitting duck, if the only location that the Templars knowabout is this one.

They cannot afford to take long to deliberate, either. Amoment. A moment is all that it takes, sometimes.

In the end they leave messages in the Fade, in the old dreamnetworks that have not been used for a century. The ripples should catch someattention, but possibly not enough for the others to actively check it. Still,it would be harder for the Templars to discover such things; even if they havemages on their side, or spirits, discovering the network would be difficult, andinfiltrating it well enough to actually glean the contents of the messages, near to impossible. Unless one of theclan has betrayed them.

Uthvir does not think so, but they cannot afford to discountthe possibility.

They tailor each warning very specifically, for all that the contents must be vague. ‘Templars upto something – change security, withdraw if needed, clan may be compromised’.

They mentally review what they know of everyone. Selene andFelasel are with Dirthamen and Cirimeni again, out on their not-quite-farm. Nota good location, Uthvir thinks; it’s too remote for the security or anonymityof a densely-populated area, but not remote enough to afford the protection ofwilderness. But then, Desire and Pride are not apt to listen to their ‘over-precautions’.Melarue and that other one, they’re in Antiva again, with Varawell. Followingup a potential lead on more family. Their security level is questionable; it’sbeen months since Uthvir heard from them. They might even be the source of thelink, if one or all of them have been compromised. Eda is on her reserve, withher dragons.

And Thenvunin, Irenan, and Kel are at home, in their ParVollen city apartment. Or they all will be in a few hours, anyway. School willbe letting out soon. Thenvunin should be home, he said he was going to goshopping but they doubt he would leave it so late that he would risk not beingthere everyone else got home.

Uthvir leaves the public terminal they had been using tolook into their last dying ember of a lead, and sets off down the street. They considertheir car, as they get back into it. A somewhat flashy SUV, too conspicuous fortheir tastes right now. There’s another they can use to leave the city by, in aparking garage not far from the highway. They’ll head for Eda’s. Weighingthreat versus security, they think, the bunker near to the giant nest full ofdragons will be safest. The kids will be thrilled, and they can gather up Eda,and then investigate what may be going on in Antiva. If they can get thingssecure enough, they’ll fly over themselves.

But they can’t leave Thenvunin and the children. Theycontemplate it, but only for a moment. There’s a chance that putting distancebetween them might be safer for them. But there is an equal chance that it willleave them vulnerable, and it would be jarring to just suddenly abandon them.They won’t do that.

They stop at the elementary school first. Kel is youngerthan Irenan this time, Uthvir had her themselves, and has spent the past eightyears marvelling over how little has changed about her in the process. Thebiggest difference is that she is a mage this time around. Irenan is thirteen,now, at the awkward stage of painful growth spurts, his horns hardening and hisindependent streak kicking in with a vengeance. Uthvir expects to find himwaiting outside the school for Kel; his own lets out a little earlier, and heusually waits for Uthvir to come get them here.

There are a lot of parents and kids milling about. But notIrenan’s distinctive outline.

They give it a minute. Their nerves are heightened due tothe situation, they know. They remind themselves that they do not really knowfor certain what is going on, or if they are a target; and even if they were,today, of all days, would not necessarily be the day that something happened.

The bell rings.

The classes empty out, children eagerly dashing away fromtheir classes to waiting cars and parents, older siblings and guardians. Uthvirsees the other children from Kel’s class, recognizes little Alistair and hisbrother, the redheaded Tabris girl, the pack of Rutherford children – anothergroup they have been keeping one eye on, at Varawell’s request. A few morechildren they can’t name, but can recollect from class activities, field tripsthey have helped with and parent-teacher conferences.

No Kel.

They park the car properly, and head into the school.

Kel’s teacher is friendly, if more sugary-sweet than Uthviris inclined to like, and prone to talking down to his students. He’s in theclassroom, organizing a few things at his desk, when they push past the lastfew stragglers and head in.

“Where is Kel?” they ask, disinclined to preamble.

The teacher blinks up at them.

“Oh! Ser Elvhen,” he greets. “I thought you would haveknown. Kel was called away from class at lunch time. There was a familyemergency? Your husband came and got her…”

Uthvir is already turning away, though, their hearthammering and their mind racing enough that the lights flicker, just a little.They pull out their phone, and quickly call Thenvunin. Heading for theprincipal’s office.

The call has gone to voice mail by the time they reach theirdestination.

Thenvunin is not apt to ignore their calls.

They have to remind themselves that it could actually be an emergency. The reminder feels thin, however. Mirenais in Orlais, visiting with friends. Something could have happened to her, butThenvunin would have called them first, in that case. They have no missedcalls. No texts. A check at the principal’s office has the vice principalconfirming that Thenvunin – or someone sufficiently like Thenvunin to keep Kelfrom kicking up a complaint – came and got their daughter at noon. They phoneagain, as they make their way back out to the parking lot. Fear is riding high,now, licking at the threads of connections it can find. But the school iscrowded, and rife with the anxieties of students, and teachers, and frettingparents.

Checking Irenan’s school reveals the same results. Someonecame and got him at noon, citing a ‘family emergency’, and nothing else.

Uthvir tries phoning Thenvunin again.

Voice mail, again.

Someone has takenthem.

Yes, obviously, butthey need to figure out where, and so they also need to figure out how.Thenvunin came and got the children. It could have been an imposter. It wouldtake a good one to fool Irenan and Kel, but a shapeshifter might be able tomanage it for the time it would take to get in and out of the school. Gettingthe voice right would be the trickier part. On the other hand, it could haveactually been Thenvunin himself. That seems… likelier, though if he thought thechildren might be put in danger, Uthvir cannot see him willingly going andgetting them. By all accounts, he had gone in alone…

What if they are hurt?

…But he could have been deceived. Made to think there was an emergency. He still would havecalled Uthvir, they think, but there are ways to interfere with calls…

What if they arekilled? What if we have lost them again?

…They need to go to the apartment. There is a component theyneed for their tracking spells to work, and a backup, and if not they will haveto head for the storage locker near the docks. If someone has taken them, ifthe Templars have taken them, then itwill be to get to Uthvir. There will be something. A message, a trap; even ifall else fails they will not have vanished into thin air.

Kel is a mage, now.They will hurt her. They will hurt them all. Condemnation by association;aiding and abetting an abomination.

The children are justlittle, and Thenvunin does not know much beyond basic self-defence…

The steering wheel creaks and Uthvir forces themselves totake a breath. Focus. They cannot get pulled over by a police officer, theywill eviscerate whichever unfortunate soul tries it and that will be conspicuous.

The roads seemed to have grown exponentially in the time ittakes for them to get to the apartment, however.

Gone since noon. Hoursoff, now. They could have boarded a plane. A boat. Could be in the back of atruck somewhere, driving away.

They could be dead.

Uthvir gets to the apartment in one piece.

The security measures are intact. Wards undisturbed.Frustrating. They hold out hope that this is just a misunderstanding, thatthey’ll get inside and Thenvunin and the children will be there, safe and soundif slightly perplexed at Uthvir’s state. But the apartment is quiet. Just asthey left it this morning, more or less. There are still a few dishes in thesink. Thenvunin’s favourite coat and his city shoes are gone. He was taken while he was out, then.

But there is one piece of news.

The cage by the terrace is shut tight, and it does not takelong for a frustrated racket to kick up. Screecher normally spends theafternoons flying off towards the park at the edges of the city, huntingsquirrels and menacing the occasional jogger. The apartment has a garden, aswell, and with some extra incentive, the building’s owners have agreed to givetheir exotic pet free reign. But not in the mornings. Thenvunin must have leftshortly after Uthvir went to work, and then not come back at his expected timeto let Screecher out.

Uthvir opens the cage, and is immediately treated toscolding cries. Fear cracks, andsomething in Screecher answers. The bird freezes, halting its reprimandstowards Uthvir, and cocking its head.

The best component for the strongest tracking charm thatthey have ever made is in this bird’s feathers.

There are others, of course. At any given time there is achance that Screecher will meet with an unfortunate accident. The bird’sprovenance has seen it through more lifetimes than Uthvir is certain of, butthey will not bank on it being indefinite. However, all things considered,Screecher has been more permanent than a lot of factors in their strangeexistence. And its nature makes it uncannily predisposed to such magic.

“We have to find Thenvunin and the children,” they informit.

Screecher doesn’t offer a protest to this.

Uthvir begins to cast the spell. It doesn’t take long, butit’s possible they overdo it a little. Two of the lightbulbs in the roomshatter, and the television screen cracks, and one of their weaker wards diesin a burst of overwrought magic. But Screecher does not move, not even when itbegins to glow, slightly. And then the air snaps and Uthvir’s lungs ache, and theyfeel their shadow grow big enough to swallow some of the daylight in the room.Something tugs behind their ribs. A direction.

There.

Screecher alights onto their shoulder, and they all but flyback out of the apartment again. Barrelling down the stairs, and out throughthe doors and into their car once more. Their teeth and sharp and their nailsare long, and their skin is itching, threatening to crack as they forcethemselves to breathe, to think, to keep their focus as they take back off downthe road. Barely aware even of Screecher as it settles onto the passenger seat,and cries angrily at anything that veers too close to their vehicle.

They have to find them.

Have to.

 ~

 Kel’s class is in the middle of watching a movie – a rareand much-appreciated event which most everyone has been looking forward to, eventhough the movie itself is kinda boring and old – when she gets called out ofclass. The school’s secretary whispers with the teacher for a moment, while theother kids are watching the movie; and then tells Kel to get her bag.

“Your Papae is here to get you,” she says. “Something hashappened, but he wants to tell you about it himself.”

Kel frowns, worried, but nods in understanding.

“Is my nanae alright?” she wonders.

“Yes, they’re alright,” the secretary tells her. They go tothe office, then, moving quietly through the halls so as not to disturb theother classes. It doesn’t take long, just a few minutes of sitting in one ofthe office chairs before her Papae comes.

Something’s wrong, though.

She goes up to him and he puts an arm around her shoulders,but it doesn’t… feel right. He’s all stiff and there’s just… something notright? She can’t put her finger on it, though. He doesn’t really seem upset.He’s polite to the school’s secretary and the vice principal, who comes andpops their head out to check on them before disappearing back into the office.His clothes are wrong, though, she realizes. She’s never seen her Papae wearthese ones before, and she thought she knew all of his clothes.

But… he was going shopping today, wasn’t he? He promised toget her new sunglasses, too, since her old ones broke.

“Papae?” she asks, when the grown-ups have finished talking.“What’s wrong?”

He pats the top of her head, awkwardly.

“It’s nothing too bad, sweetheart, but I’ll explain whenwe’re in the car,” he says.

“Are Nanae and Irenan okay?” she asks.

“Of course they are. Irenan is in the car too, waiting forus,” he tells her, and takes her by the hand. Holding just a little too tight,as he leads her out of the school, and the sense of something is wrong doesn’t go away. But Kel is thinking that itmust be that something has happened to make her Papae act strangely. Making hisvoice just a little too high, and his mannerisms a little too stiff, and it’snot until she sees the car they’re heading for and realizes that she doesn’trecognize it, either, that sheremembers Nanae’s warnings about shapeshifters. Shapeshifters other than them,who wear disguises, and sometimes even make themselves look like other,specific people.

“Papae, what’s the password?” she asks. She should haveasked that first! That’s what thepassword is for!

Papae looks down at her, and she knows. She just knows. It’swrong. It’s all wrong, his eyes are wrong, they’re the same colour but theyaren’t looking at her right, and that’s nother father!

But before she can open her mouth to scream, everything goesreally bright and then really dark. Painful and deep, aching and drowning atonce. Her head swims and the world dissolves into ribbons of bright colour, andher voice dies in her throat before it can even get past her lips. Her skinfeels too hot. Too, too hot, and it feels like someone just tried to punch allof her bones at once.

And then it goes dark, as Kel feels an awful lurch of terror.

Her dreams feel like they take a long time to come.

There’s something itchy about the darkness that takes her.Like scraped knees catching on rough fabric. Like the sense that she needs tobe doing something, needs to be not sleeping, but she can’t wake up, either.She drifts in that odd sense of urgency and inaction for a long time. A bag ofrocks, covered in ants. Itching, itching, until she feels something twitch, in the dark.

Something big moves beneath her.

Oh, says a voiceshe feels like she knows. It is you.

Everything starts to tip, then, like a chair fallingbackwards. In the moment when she expects the lurch, then, she opens her eyes.Scratchy, heavy eyelids, and bright lights, and there are arms around her. Armsshe knows, and a scent she knows, and she sighs before she remembers that’s not my father, and then she goesrigid with fear again.

“Kel?” her Papae says, though. And his voice is right. Hesounds upset, but he sounds the right kind of upset. “Da’vhenan? How do youfeel? Does anything hurt?”

Her vision clears, and she sees his face, then. There arebruises on it, and blood on his lip, and there’s Irenan, too. Sitting rightnext to them, with his hands behind his back for some reason, and his headalmost on Papae’s shoulder. He’s not bruised, not that she can see, but hisbrows are furrowed and he looks like he’s scared. But he’s trying not to showit, because he’s Irenan.

“Kel, are you hurt? Where does it hurt?” Papae asks her,with his eyes red around the rims and a purple bruise on his temple.

“She’ll just be a little sore,” someone else says, fromsomewhere she can’t see, with a voice she doesn’tknow. Papae glares in their direction, though. Hurt and scared and mad.

“She is a child,”he says. His arms move around her, but they’re moving weirdly, and he doesn’tbrush her forehead or cheek. Kel blinks a little more awake. She feels like shebruised both of her knees and her elbows, and her chest aches, like she justran really hard into a rock or something. She’s done that before. One time shefell down a hill and bruised her shin, and landed on a boulder. Her chin gotscraped up and Papae took her to the doctor, and he got really mad about thathill and made the school put a fence around it and dig out the boulder.

“What happened?” Kel asks.

Papae looks back at her, and bends down and presses a kissto her forehead.

“You got hurt, da’vhenan,” he says. “How do you feel? Isyour head okay?”

She thinks about it.

“My arms and legs hurt,” she tells him. “And my chest issore. Papae, your face is all bruised…”

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t mind that, I’m fine. What does yourchest feel like? Where does it hurt?”

Kel wriggles around, meaning to put a hand over her ribs.But then her fingers brush something, and she frowns. Sitting up a little bitmore, she realizes that there’s metal on her papae’s wrists. And there’s ropeon her brother, too, and some bruises on his arms. She swallows, and then looksaround. She doesn’t know the room they’re in. It looks a little bit like theschool basement, but there’s no heater or little box windows. Just grey walls,yellow light,  and a man she doesn’t knowhandcuffed to a pipe.

The air feels heavy, too. Stuffy, but not, and she can’tfeel her magic very well.

She doesn’t like this.

“Where are we?” she asks again. “Where’s Nanae?”

“Shhh,” Papae tells her. His bottom lip is trembling alittle, like he might cry, and Kel gets that sinking feeling she always haswhen he’s upset.

“It’s okay,” Irenan tells her, shifting his legs around. “Wejust need to… to wait. Help’s coming. These guys think they’re gonna trick ourNanae, but they’re wrong. Nanae’s gonna get here and they’re going to be somad, they’ll tear this whole place apart, and we’ll be back home before dinnertime. We’ll have pizza to celebrate.”

Kel glances over at the stranger handcuffed to a pipe.

“What guys?” she wonders.

“The guys who hit Papae,” Irenan tells her, and Papae sucksin a breath and then makes a quelling motion at him. But Kel was pretty sure hegot hit, anyway, because he looks like he did. “They made that other guy, overthere, pretend to look like him so they could kidnap us. He’s a shapeshifter.”

Oh.

“I figured that out!” she says, pleased about one thing, atleast.

Papae’s eyes water a bit.

“I know you did. My smart girl,” he tells her.

She asked for the password, she remembers, and then… he musthave cast a spell on her.

That really hurt.

She sits up, and Papae keeps his arms around her, eventhough his hands are cuffed together. They’re real handcuffs, too, not like the toy ones she found under his bedone time. There are no soft fuzzy bits, and they look like they hurt. Kel leansagainst her father’s chest as she examines his wrists, and he asks her morequestions about where she hurts and whether or not her heart is beating reallyfast. If she feels dizzy, and things like that; but she’s starting to feelbetter.

After a while, she feels good enough to get up and lookaround. Papae tells her not to go near the stranger, but after a minute he letsgo of her so she can look and see if she can find anything that might help themescape. She looks for wards, like the kind Nanae makes, but she can’t find anysigns of them. There are no sigils or runes or anything, and she even goes intoa corner with cobwebs trying to look, and checks the undersides of some of thepipes.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s on the inside of the pipes. Nanae did that, one time, under the sink. Keldoesn’t have a wrench, though, and the pipes won’t twist in her hands.

The stranger clears his throat.

“Little girl,” he says.

“Don’t talk to her,” Papae snaps, furious.

The stranger doesn’t even look at him. He’s human, althoughhe’s not as big as some, and it looks like it’s been a long time since he had ashower.

“Little girl,” he says, again, clearing his throat. “I thinkyou might be able to get this pipe. If you can untwist it-“

“Kel, come here,” Papae tells her, in his no-nonsense voice.

She hesitates, just for a minute. Just until she remembershow bad it hurt, and how scary it waswhen the stranger was pretending to be him. And then she goes back over, whileIrenan squirms around. It’s hard to be comfortable with his hands behind hisback, and his horns are probably itching again. She reaches up a hand andscritches the bases for him, and he lets out a relieved sigh.

The stranger swallows, and then lets out a big sigh of hisown.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t have a choice-”

“Shut your mouth,” Papae hisses. “No choice? You could havescreamed your head off the minute you set foot in Irenan’s school building. Youcould have called for the police, could have run, could have hit the firealarm. You could have tried any of that before you even attempted to deceive me, but instead you hurt my children!”

“You don’t understand!” the stranger shouts back. “You don’tknow what they’re like. Call thepolice? They own this whole town! They’re everywhere! You can’t escape them,they’ll always find you and when they do, they’ll do things to you… they’llwatch you and follow you, never let you sleep, never let you be… alwayswatching…”

He sobs.

“Save it,” Papae says, and Kel’s never seen him be so mad atsomeone who was crying before.

The stranger’s face twists.

“Oh, sure, blame me,” he snarls. “Blame me, when you’re theone who fucked one of those things.Fucking an abomination! And it’s myfault that they come for you, come to clean up the mess, when it’s creatureslike that ‘nanae’ of yours and fuckers like youwho ruin it for the rest of us! Make them think we’re all twisted monsters,while you go around happily making demon babies and perverting ox brats-“

“Children, cover your ears!” Papae insists, and he looks soupset that Kel actually does it, for a moment.

Irenan doesn’t, though.

He just glares at the stranger, and when Kel sneaks herfingers apart so she can hear better again, he starts shouting, too.

“You used blood magic on my little sister, you sick fuck!”he says.

“Irenan!” Papae scolds, because Irenan said the ‘F’ word.

Irenan’s eyes are shiny now, though.

“Well if he’s gonna say it then I’m gonna say it, I’m notletting him call us names…”

Papae makes a sound, and then leans in towards him. It takessome doing, and Irenan seems like he’s going to be standoffish about it, butthen he shuffles closer and presses his face against Papae’s shoulder. Huffinga little as a few tears slip down his face, and Kel feels her own eyes itchbecause there’s so much shouting and crying and bruises and trouble, and shejust wants to go home. She wants Nanae to come and say that everything’s okaynow.

Irenan’s still crying when they heard a loud groaning sound.Like a big door opening.

Papae stiffens, and then he shifts forward, and makes Keland Irenan go behind him as much as they can.

Some part of her expects to see her Nanae came rushing in,then. Or maybe just really hopes to. So it feels like someone’s dropped anentire bag of ice cubes in her stomach when three strangers come into the room.Two men and a woman, all with hard faces, and upside-down swords on theirshirts. They’re human. Wearing clunky boots and heavy gloves, and one of themhas a gun.

Kel’s never seen a gun in real life before. Not one thatwasn’t a toy, anyway. It’s shiny, and it takes her a moment to even realizewhat it is; for half a second she thinks it’s a knife, but it’s the wrongshape.

The strangers stare at them.

“Girl’s a mage?” the woman asks.

“No,” Papae says.

“That’s what’s on the record,” the shapeshifter tells them.

“It’s a mistake. She’s not a mage. None of us are,” Papaeinsists. “If you let us go, we won’t say anything. We won’t tell a soul, we’llpretend that none of this happened…”

The lady gives Papae a hard look.

Then she gestures towards Kel.

“Grab her,” she says, to one of the men at her side. The onewho isn’t holding a gun.

“No,” Papae says. “No, don’t you touch her! She’s just agirl, she’s not a mage, leave her alone, she’s a baby, you can’t touch her-“

“Hands off, leave her alone!” Irenan says, too, and Kel endsup wedged between him and Papae but the human is a big guy. Bigger than the onechained to the pipe, with eyes like ice, and he just backhands Irenan out ofthe way.

“Don’t you touch my son!” Papae shouts. “Get your hands offof my children, get your hands off of my children!”

He’s shouting as loud as Kel has ever heard him, and she’sterrified when the man finally grabs her and drags her across the room. Shekicks at him but misses, and his grip on her arms is hard enough to bruise. Thelady doesn’t even blink. She doesn’t even really seem to look at Kel, justright through her, as the man who isn’t holding her levels is gun at Papae andIrenan, while they both fight against their handcuffs.

Kel freezes.

There’s a gun pointed at her father, at her brother.

And she can’t feel her magic. She wants to do something, she has to something, she’s the one who has magic here but she can’t feel it, and they’re gonna hurt herfamily, they’re gonna hurt her family andwhere’s Nanae-

She doesn’t even realize how hard she’s crying until the manholding her shakes her, and it’s like all the breath gets rattled right out ofher lungs.

There’s a moment of silence with her gasp. She looks atPapae, and Papae looks at her. His face all flushed and bruised, and mad andscared, and he’s still trying to keep Irenan behind him, and he’s trying toreach her, and this is the worst dream Kel has ever had.

She wants to wake up now.

“Please,” Papaesays. “She’s just a baby. My baby. Please.”

“Nothing has to happen to her,” the lady says. Her voice iscold.

They’re all so cold, these people. Monsters. Ice in theirveins.

The lady keeps talking.

“We’re just going to ask you a few questions,” she says.“And you’re going to answer them. If we like your answers, the girl will befine. If we don’t, well… my associate here has yet to practice his skills on areal abomination. The girl presents a good opportunity for him.”

Papae looks like he wants to scream.

He bites his lip instead, as Kel looks up at the man holdingher again. What skills? What’s he supposed to practice?

It sounds… bad.

“What do you want to know?” Papae asks.

The woman settles her hands in front of herself.

“How many of you are there?” she asks.

Papae blinks, and swallows.

“How many…? You… you have my whole family here. Except formy spouse. And my mother…”

The woman snaps, and the man holding her loosens his gripjust enough to pull a knife from his belt. The metal gleams, just like the gun.Papae’s eyes go wide.

“No!” he says. “I don’t know what you’re asking! What areyou asking? I’ll answer, how many what, howmany what?”

The woman makes a gesture, and the man settles the knifeagainst Kel’s shoulder. Near her neck. The blade is warm, from where it’s beenpressed against his skin. Her eyes drift towards it. Nanae told her want to do,if someone had a knife like this. Stomp on their instep, and then hit theirgroin as hard as she can, and then their elbow to make them drop it. Theyshowed her how. But she’s supposed to run away, then, and there’s nowhere torun away to.

And the other man still has a gun.

Kel looks at her brother.

Irenan shakes his head, just a little, and she stays still.

“How many abominations are there?” the lady asks. “We knowthere’s a nest. More than just your spouse and daughter. An entire infestation;so tell me, how many are there?”

Papae looks like he’s going to cry.

“I don’t know,” he says.

The lady moves and the man grabs up her hand, and Kelstruggles but he’s really, really strong, and he makes her put one of herfingers out straight and presses the knife up to it-

“FIFTEEN!” Papae shouts. “There are fifteen!”

Kel’s heart is pounding, and her eyes can’t move away fromthe sharp metal pressed close to her finger. She’s shaking. She doesn’t want toget one of her fingers cut off, she doesn’t want to, she’s so scared and theman is almost smiling now, smiling ashe holds the knife to her and stares at it, too. The lady gestures for him tostop, though, and he does. He stops again, crushing her but not cutting her.

“Nanae!” Kel cries, as hot tears spill down her cheeks.Maybe if she calls, they’ll come. They come when she calls. When she’s scared,when Papae’s hurt and her brother’s sick, they always come. “I want Nanae!”

“Quiet!” the man snaps at her.

She swallows, her vision blurring.

“You’re lying to me,” the lady says. “So I see we need toestablish the consequences of that. If you give me an answer I don’t like, I’llhurt one of your children. But if you lie…I’ll kill them. After all, you do have two, don’t you? And in the end, I’m justgoing to get everything out of your spouse as well. So I want you to tell methe truth. Even when it hurts. Honesty is cleansing, they say – and Makerknows, your ‘family’ needs a good fire.”

“No-“ Papae says.

“Let’s see if Round Two goes any better. Kill the girl,” thewoman tells the man.

He shifts his grip on the knife.

“Do it, Kel!” Irenan shouts.

All three grown-ups whip around to look at her, and thenPapae makes a sound she’s never heard him make before, and surges forward. His handcuffs clink and the pipe he’s chained to snaps, and so does his shoulder,cracking like a chicken bone as water spills out across the floor. Everythinghappens so fast, then. The lights flicker and the gun fires, and Papae tacklesthem, and Kel watches, wide-eyed and up close, as the knife sinks into hischest while they all land in a heap. The air charges up like a storm. Like theblanket that has been thrown over everything has just caught fire. She can hearIrenan wrenching himself away from the pipe, too, sliding in the spilled waterand the lady shouts something and… and…

Papae glows.

 ~

 Screecher has loved Husband for a very long time.

Since before Small Red came. Since before the cycles came.Since before the hatchlings came, and the round-ears came, and the big hornscame. Sometimes, Screecher is not sure of what is true in the world. If theyare a bird, or a spirit, or a memory. Sometimes they are not sure of ground, orthe sky, or the sea, or the places where dreams live, or the places whereclouds drift. These things could all be lies. The world is full of them. Sometimesgood lies, sometimes strange lies, sometimes nice lies, and sometimes cruellies. Tricky lies and lies that are still true, somehow, and twist themselvesup in all the things that are and all the things that are not.

But Screecher loves Husband.

This is true. This is what makes Screecher… Screecher.

And Husband loves Screecher back. Has loved Screecher backsince the Beginning of Screecher. If he did not, then this truth would not beso true. It would not be so strong. It would not be so easy for Screecher tofind Husband, when they know to look. The magic that Small Red put in theirfeathers would not shine like a beacon in the place of dreams, and Screecherwould not hear Husband so well when he is calling.

When he is screaming.

When he needs them.

It is not an easy thing to fly through the space-between-spaces,and it is not an easy thing to fly through fast-moving traps of metal androaring. The car-beast that Small Red is using to speed towards Husband, but itis not fast enough. Small Red is good for moving in the shadows. Not in thebright daylight, of roaring things, and heat, and stone.

But Screecher is Love, and Love, old and long love, made ofmany tethers which cannot break – that is something that flies, when it must.

Husband is screaming for help, in the ways of the deep, deepneeds.

So Screecher flies.

Through the car-beast and through the Other Place, throughmetal and magic and skies made of both. Screecher’s wings tear and feathersbreak, and light spills through the places where its blood flows. But there isnot time to care about such things. Love flies through the roads it made,through Bestest Nest and dirt and sky, to where Husband’s heart is beating andvoice is screaming. Through walls of stone and will, that break like glasswindows when Love barrels through them, and sends their makers staggering.

Husband is screaming.

Hurting.

Loving.

Youcan’thurthemyoucan’tmybabiesmychildrennoIwon’tletyouIwon’tletyounohelpnomybabies…

Love does not stop flying until it reaches Husband’s heart.

It has never flown so close. In all the years Screecher hasbeen trying to make a place for Husband, they have been trying to repay him, insome ways. Because Husband’s heart was Screecher’s first roost, even if theyhave never truly been there before. It is warm, and bright, and like the neststhey have tried to build, it is always too cruelly confined by things aroundit. Sometimes things which Husband has done himself. Sometimes wicked gardenerswho have come and torn out branches. Ripped out nesting, and lit fire to the edges.Taught Husband to make his heart smaller.

But when Love reaches it, Husband’s heart bursts like asong.

Like a star bursting to life in the dark place where peoplehave hurt the ones he loves.

They love.

Screecher has loved Husband for a very long time.

Thenvunin… Thenvunin never knew how much, before thatmoment. Never could have comprehended that any living thing would love him –him! – with an affection that defied eternity. Even knowing Uthvir’s love hasspanned centuries, part of him has never quite believed in it. Not that he has disbelieved it, either, but some part ofhim, he knows now, had always wondered if it were truly possible. To be soloved. To be so…

But he feels it.

He feels a love for his own self that he has never known,beating in his own heart, now.

For a moment it stills him. Like a dream, it’s a moment thatseems to take forever, and is over in the blink of an eye. And then he draws ina breath, and his chest aches. The knife in it burns like the light spillingover his skin; like the weighted things at his back. Wings. He has wings! The thought flits through him in mingled aweand perfunctory understanding. Of course he does. Of course he has wings, howelse would he fly?

But there is more to worry about than wings.

Thenvunin scoops up his daughter, as the Templars stagger. Kel. Kel, hatchli… baby. Daughter. Hisdaughter, and that man still has onehand on her, still too close. Thenvunin snatches his child away from the fiend,and then gathers up his son, too, the angles of his body still awkward but heis used to that. Awkward body. Too many limbs, and his chest with too muchache, and his arm hurting but these are things he knows. Things that matterless than his children, and getting them away from danger.

Stay away from my children!

The Templars are blown back again, but they are quicker torecover, this time, chasing after them as Thenvunin struggles up the stairs.Battering at the heavy door, with wings and arms and the air is turning again,now, drowning him as the rush of light and energy starts to sink, like theheavy weights of his children in his arms. Irenan and Kel try to kick at thedoor, as a rush of sinking, sucking energy hits Thenvunin from the Templarsbelow. The Templars, gaining. He puts his children at the door and turns toface them, using his wings to block them, making himself seem bigger andscarier. He will rend them apart!

The last lightbulb in the room dies.

The heavy door flies open; torn back off of its hinges, aspitch darkness floods down the stairwell.

“Nanae!” Kel cries, running right into it.

Irenan is not far behind her.

“Go, go,” Thenvunin murmurs, as something strikes him again.Curses and prayers. His shoulder twists and the knife wound stretches, andbleeds. Red droplets spattering against brown and white feathers. He careenssideways, but something catches him. A long, dark tendril, that curls aroundhim as whispers thicken in the air.

“The other one! Shit, the other one’s here!” one of theTemplars cries.

“Yes. I am,” Uthvir whispers, with an unspoken promise ofviolence somehow carrying through the words.

“Maker-“

The words do not get further than that before they arechoked off in a scream. Thenvunin staggers, supported by things unseen as hefinally makes his way into the darkened room. He cannot see much, but eventhough the air itself is blacker than night, he can see his children. Andflashes, here and there; of sharp things moving downwards, cracking where theyrace over the stairs behind him, and rush through the air over his head. Hehears the mage who took his children cry out, once, and then go silent; hedoesn’t spare much feeling for him.

He makes it back to his children, to a far corner of theroom, and the sense of a familiar hand settling on the shoulder that doesn’thurt.

“Thenvunin…” Uthvir whispers.

He almost falls over, again. Heavy. Too heavy. His chesthurts; his heart hurts, too much, ohhis love, his children, he needs… he can’t… it hurts…

“Help,” he manages.

Hush, the darksays. We have you.

He gathers Irenan and Kel to him, and falls into dizzyingdarkness of a different kind.

 ~

Irenan loves his family.

He knows it’s not really the ‘done thing’ for mostthirteen-year-olds to be all mushy about it, and he’s not a really bigexception on that front, but he’d never deny it. In fact he’d probably clockanyone who suggested otherwise – and some people have. Being adopted’s notalways easy, for a lot of reasons, and being adopted by parents who look sodifferent has its own issues.

But Irenan loves his family. He loves his nanae, who scoopedhim up out of a public orphanage when he was too little to remember anythingmore than some bright colours, and the plastic tray of his highchair, and theway their leather jacket felt underneath his cheek. His loves his papae, whodotes and fusses and is always worrying if his horns are itching, if his hairis alright, if he’s hungry or cold or lonely. He loves his Gramma, who made himhis favourite pink flamingo costume when he was four, and who always calls himher ‘tiny grandson’, even though he’s nearly as tall as Nanae now and everyone knows he’s probably going to be big. Heloves his little sister, who’s always quiet and shy until she decides to beanything but. He loves his big sister, who lives out in the wilds and raises dragons and used to let Irenan ride onher shoulders until he got too big for it.

He loves his family. He trusts them to be his anchor in thestorms. So even though his nanae can get dark and creepy and weird, he’s neverafraid of them. And when his papae suddenly starts glowing and sprouting wings,he’s still more worried about the knife in his chest than what he might havedone.

There’s… a lot of blood.

And his hands are still cuffed. He’s got them slung around Kel,anyway, but he can’t exactly pull out the knife and he probably shouldn’t because then his father might bleed to death, but there’s so muchmagic going around he doesn’t know if having the knife in there is keeping himfrom healing or what. He doesn’t know exactly what his papae’s done, or if it’sall his nanae – his papae’s not a mage,he’s not supposed to be able to do anything – and he’s almost crying, becausethe place their in is dark and full of whispers. But they’re his nanae’swhispers.

His nanae came. He was right after all.

And they’ll know what to do, but they’re also busy fightingoff the Templars, so they can’t do it right now. His papae crumbles in a heapof blood and light and wings. Kel wriggles her way out of his grip, but Irenandoesn’t fight her, just makes his way over and helps roll their father onto hisback. So the knife doesn’t get pushed further in. He’s sweating, and his handsare shaking. His ears keep ringing with the sound of the shot that had goneoff, in the basement. The one that had nearly hit him. And the guy holding theknife to his sister; the knife in his father. The one that had nearly killedher, while all Irenan could do was watch.

He can hear them screaming, now.

He wonders if it’s messed up that he likes it. That everyshout they make, makes something in him answer with a vindictive snarl ofsatisfaction. He hopes his nanae is tearing them apart.

But then he remembers. He’s a big brother. He reaches overand covers Kel’s ears, because Papae can’t exactly do it, now can he?

She squirms.

“Irenan-”

“No, don’t listen,” he says. “Papae wouldn’t want you to.”

Kel gives him a mulish look, even though her face is alltear-streaked and messy, and she’s shaking, too. But then she reaches up anddeterminedly clamps her hands over his own ears, and Irenan kind of laughs.Bubbling and hysterical.

He hopes Nanae knows which one held the knife to her. Hehopes they rip off all of his fingers.

It takes a while for the screaming to stop, so he thinksthere’s a decent chance of it. He’s not sure where exactly their nanae is, in the dark. They can change shape a lot,and Irenan’s kinda thinking that they might actually be everywhere. But not long after the screaming stops, some lightstarts to filter in through the windows. The door downstairs swings shut with asolid clunk. Irenan starts to makeout more things about their surroundings. Dusty walls, and a table, and whatlooks like the front room of a house that hasn’t seen a lot of kind use. There’ssome bird crap on the walls, and cracks on the floor. Plants growing throughthe windowsills here and there. Outside he sees trees and bushes, rather thanother buildings or sidewalk.

Nanae walks over. Not really seeming to come from anywherein particular, but not exactly stepping out of nowhere, either. Papae’s stoppedglowing, although he’s still bleeding. Irenan has to resist the urge to rushover to his other parent as they check his father’s knife wound, but he doesn’thave to resist it for long. A blink, and his nanae’s fiddling with the lock onhis handcuffs, and then pulling them off.

Kel clings to their nanae’s side, latching on, and Irenantips forward and their arms come around them both. However small his nanae is,they never seem to have a problem holding everyone.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, now,” they say. “Nanae’sgot you.”

Kel starts bawling, then, and Irenan… doesn’t do muchbetter.

He’s not really sure how Nanae gets them all out of thederelict old farm house and into the car. He thinks they grow an extra pair ofarms, maybe, but he’s not really paying a whole lot of attention. Outside it’sa clear and sunny day, just as it had been a few hours ago. Nanae makes him andKel get in the car, but doesn’t stop them from watching as they heal Papae. Theair tingles with the spells they start casting, as they pull out the knife, andthen straighten the wrong angle of his arm.

Irenan watches their fingers carefully brush the hair out ofPapae’s face, and something in him eases, just a little. Something he didn’trealize was still tight and hard, that eases even more when he sees the steadyrise and fall of his father’s chest.

From the car window, he can see his papae’s wings betternow, too. Big and mottled, and there’s something kinda familiar about them, butnot in a way that he can place. There are feathers on other parts of him, too,Irenan realizes. And his fingernails are black, and clawed like Nanae’s areright now. Long and sharp as talons. His shape doesn’t change back, even as helies there.

“Is Papae okay?” Kel asks. She’s holding Irenan’s shirt sotight it feels like it might rip.

Nanae looks up.

“He’ll be fine,” they say. “He’s just very, very tired now.Magic’s not easy, especially when you’ve never done it before.”

“How’d Papae do magic?” Kel asks.

Nanae looks up at them, and is quiet for a long moment.

“He made a deal with a spirit,” they finally say. “It’sharder for non-mages to do that, but it is possible. He was… it was very braveof him.”

They brush a hand over Papae’s cheek. Irenan almost thinkshe sees it shake, a little.

“We have to go,” Nanae says, finally. “There are things totalk about – I need to check you both, first, and make sure you’re okay – but wecan’t stay here. And we can’t go back to the apartment. I’m sorry. We’ll haveto go someplace else, and it will take some driving to get there. So I need youtwo to just hold on, until we’re safe. Can you do that?”

Kel nods, straight away. Irenan hesitates a little longer.He has a lot of questions, but… he understands.

He does.

So he nods, too. Nanae smiles at them, and then he has themcome out of the car – first Kel, then Irenan – and checks them over. Healingtheir bumps and scrapes and bruises. Irenan hadn’t even realized how bad hiswrists were hurting until they stop. Kel gets double-checked when Irenanmentions that the shapeshifting stranger used magic on her, and their nanae isquiet like they’re being very deliberatelyquiet; like they don’t want to do anything that might seem frightening. Buttheir hands are gentle and careful as ever as they cast their last healingspell.

Then they have to fit Papae into the car.

Wings and all.

In the end Irenan helps fold him into the backseat, whichleaves just enough room for Kel to squeeze in with his head on her lap. Then hegets into the front seat, while Nanae drives.

He thinks he sees their hands shaking on the wheel.

His own have stopped, but only just barely.

“Are you okay, Nanae?” he asks, quietly.

They look at him.

And then they reach over, and brush a hand across his head.Between his horns. For a few seconds, their eyes slide shut. Like they’retrying to feel the whole car, and everyone in it; and know they’re alright.

Irenan gets it.

“We’ll all beokay,” they promise.

It’s not the easy answer. But Nanae doesn’t give easyanswers, they give true ones, and right now, he thinks that works better than aplatitude would. Because it wasn’t okay. None of that was okay, and now thatthey’re not in danger, he thinks he might be angry. He thinks he might be hurt,and furious, and frustrated, and a little broken by it all. But it will be okay. It will be okay again,because his nanae said so and because they wouldn’t tell him that if it was impossible.

He lets out a breath. They put their hand back on the wheel,and then start the car again. The engine rumbling quietly as they pull off downan unfamiliar dirt road, overgrown and dusty.

There’s nothing on the radio, and nobody seems inclined tolook. After a while the crunch of the road beneath the tires starts to lullthrough him, and exhaustion takes over everything else. They’re safe. Nanae’sgot them. Irenan shuts his eyes and leans his head against the window, andwants to be home so badly it burns. He’s too big to go crawl into his parents’bed anymore, but that’s exactly wants he want to do. He wants to wake up in it,five years old again, with Nanae chasing away the last of his bad dream, and Papaesnoring gently beside him, and his baby sister snug against his chest andprobably drooling on him.

He doesn’t know if that’s a real memory, or just a bunch ofimpressions fitted together. But it works, and so he imagines it, as the carrolls along and the scent of rotten basement lingers like a bad aftertaste.

Eventually, the dirt road turns off onto a bigger dirt road.And then onto the highway, just like it’s a weekend trip to visit Eda. Nanaekeeps driving until it’s after dark, before turning off and up another dusty,winding Fereldan road, and into the parking square for a motel that they’venever stayed at before. Kel’s asleep by then, slumped against the seat withPapae’s head still in her lap, but both of them are breathing and neither ofthem are bleeding. Irenan thinks he should pick up his sister, help out withthe heavy lifting; but Nanae tells him to go open the door to their room, andhe does, too tired to really manage much else.

Not that Nanae looks much better. They carry Kel in first,and then Papae, though. Settling them both onto the same bed, before they closethe door, and start laying down wards.

By the time they finish, they’re staggering.

Irenan moves reluctantly over to the unoccupied bed.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Nanae says, catching him by the shoulder. “Ionly warded one bed. You’ll have to cram in together.”

Irenan feels a rush of relief. He nods in acknowledgement,not even inclined to complain as he strips to his shorts, and escapes more ofthe lingering scent of that basement. He wants a bath and a shower and maybe asteam clean, some salve for his horns and oil for his scalp, for he barelymanages to get himself and Kel under the covers. Nanae tucks in Papae, then pullssome blankets off of the second bed, and settles down onto the floor besidehim, with Papae’s wings dipping off of the mattress. Really close to a lampthat’s probably going to meet a tragic fate in the morning.

Whatever, he thinks.

They’ll deal with it when everyone wakes up. Just like allthe questions they haven’t gotten around to yet.