#avvar cullen

[marikamalia]

[whoisnotmyname]

hairstyles i'm playing around with bc i'm officially doing that avvar companion au for gunnjar (may or may not lead into that mock up dao dlc i mentioned)

[maternalcube]

i havent played inquisition in a few months but i sure did dream about it last night

[gaqalesqua]

Lady Trevelyan encounters an Avvar demanding her valuables, and nobles like her don’t simply hand them over…

TW: dubcon

[zulefandomgaming]

Rylen, modded hair for PC (via NexusMods). This is my imagined 'When the Storm Breaks' version of Rylen, and he takes the place of the Master of the Hunt. Chapter 24 posted.

[honeysunai]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Cullen Rutherford x Lavellan reader

During the two years after Corypheus' defeat, Lavellan had to leave for months on end to seek her allies to keep the Inquisition afloat. Amidst the diplomatic endeavors, a letter from Cullen finds its way to her. author’s note: I'm writing this because I absolutely love Dragon Age. It's one of my favorite game franchises and I adore Cullen. Tumblr needs more Cullen. This is probably my favourite one shot I wrote ever. wordcount: 1,3k

The days are getting frustrating.

She has been working day in and day out to keep peace between her allies to bring them to compromises over the Inquisition. She was after all, in title still, the Inquisitor. Her unwavering commitment led her to bend rules and relinquish much, driven by an unshakeable determination. A lingering sense of unease gnawed at her, as if some malevolent force lurked in the shadows, ready to exploit any moment of vulnerability. The Avvar tribes from Frostback Basin were the least helpful and indulgent in her needs. She needed their written support in the continuation of the Inquisition and be part of the protectors of the realm and with such a generous and honorable offer she was humbled.

Humbled by bitter words and disapprovals beyond measures. After two days of diplomatic quarrels and revisiting the pros and cons of their alliances they still hadn't made up their mind.

She sat at a desk made of bones and dark wood with her head in her hands. She had to come to the realization that soon it would be the end. No one believed the Inquisition useful any longer, no one believed her to be of use no more. No matter how hard she'd work to keep the fires of hope burning, it was now a mere flicker as she reminisce the past.

She missed the old days, the action, the adventure with her friends. She missed Bull and his teasing; her reading times with Cassandra when the world wasn't burning; her chess games with Dorian, her endless training with Blackwall; her drinking friend, Sera and Josephine and her stupid dancing lessons that she'd grown to love. Amidst the nostalgia, a pang of longing hit her for the one she left behind months ago to pursue her quest: her beloved, Cullen.

Closing her eyes, she let the scenes unfold in her mind's eye—the tentative glances exchanged in Haven, the warmth of their shared laughter amidst the chaos of the Inquisition's formation, and the quiet moments stolen in the tranquility of Skyhold. But one memory she'd always cherish was the day he'd invited her for a game of chess, a game Dorian has taught her and he was a very severe teacher.

The flickering candlelight bathed the room in a warm, golden glow as Lavellan and Cullen sat across from each other, an ornate chessboard laid out between them. The air hummed with anticipation, the only sound the subtle clink of chess pieces being moved.

Lavellan's fingers danced gracefully over the carved ivory pieces, her eyes alight with a strategic fervor that belied her calm demeanor. "Your move, Commander," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "I must admit, Inquisitor, I wasn't expecting such a challenge."

She grinned, capturing a pawn with a swift move. "Well, Commander, it seems elves aren't just skilled with a bow. We have a few tricks up our sleeves when it comes to chess as well."

Cullen chuckled, a warmth spreading across his face. "I'll remember to never underestimate you."

The game unfolded with a balletic precision, each move a careful dance of intellect and banter. Cullen, initially taken aback by the unexpected prowess of his opponent, watched in awe as Lavellan executed her strategies flawlessly.

As the tension mounted, Lavellan leaned back, studying the board with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Your move, Commander. Don't tell me you're surrendering already."

Cullen's gaze met hers, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Never, Inquisitor. I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

With a triumphant smile, Lavellan declared checkmate. Cullen's surprise was evident, his eyes widening in genuine admiration. "Well played," he conceded, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Lavellan leaned in, a sly grin playing on her lips. "A game well fought, Commander. Perhaps you'll catch me off guard next time."

Cullen leaned back, a subtle twinkle in his eye as he crossed his arms. "One can only hope, Inquisitor. Surprises can be quite... captivating, after all."

The victory wasn't just in the game but in the shared laughter that followed, a playful banter that hinted at the deeper connection blossoming between them. She couldn't help but smile at the memory of that victorious chess match—the strategic moves, the playful banter, and the spark of flirtation that hinted at the beginning of something more profound between them.

They've been through the hells and back and their love was stronger than it ever was, but this didn't mean she didn't miss him any less. He was on her mind every night and every morning, wishing he'd be there next to her. He would comfort her and make her laugh to ease the frustration that plagued her.

"What would you do, Cullen?" She'd muttered under her breath while pinching the bridge of her nose.

A knock on the door of her cabin echoed and she rushed to opened the door hoping to receive positive news of the clan chiefs, but was met with a messenger from Skyhold.

"Inquisitor, a letter for you." The man offered her the folded parchment with the sigil of Kirkwall molded in the red wax that held the paper from revealing the words written inside. She thanked the man and returned to her desk with her eyes glued on the wax seal. The Inquisitor's heart raced as she carefully unfolded the parchment, a mix of anticipation and longing swirling within her chest.

"My Dearest Vhenan,

I find myself surrounded by the quiet shadows of Skyhold, the empty halls echoing with the absence of your laughter. In these moments, I am acutely aware of the words I struggle to say, the gestures I fumble, and the emotions that elude my grasp. So, in the silence that separates us, I turn to this parchment, attempting to weave the sentiments I cannot articulate in person.

The future of the Inquisition has scattered us like leaves in the wind, and each step away from you feels like a stumble in the dark. It is in these quiet spaces, where your presence is most keenly missed, that I realize the depth of what we shared. You, my love, are the melody in the chaos, the anchor in the storm, and the warmth in the cold solitude.

I am not gifted with eloquence when it comes to matters of the heart, and my attempts at grand gestures often fall short. Yet, in the silent chambers of my thoughts, you are ever present, a constant hum in the background of my consciousness. Your courage, your kindness, and the way your eyes light up with passion have become the compass guiding my way.

As we find ourselves on separate paths, know that you are the sun on my horizon, the spark that refuses to be extinguished. I miss you more than words can convey, and with each passing day, the ache of your absence grows. Every quiet moment serves as a reminder of your touch, and every fleeting memory stirs a longing within me.

In these lines, I attempt to bridge the distance that stretches between us, to convey what my stumbling words fail to express. Until the day our paths cross again, carry with you the truth that you are missed, loved, and cherished beyond measure. The ink on this parchment may be a poor substitute for the warmth of my embrace, but it carries the essence of a heart that beats for you.

Yours, always and with all that I am,

Cullen" With each word, she felt the weight of Cullen's emotions, the sincerity of his struggles to express what lay in the depths of his heart. A tender smile curved her lips as the ink on the page painted a vivid picture of his love.

Her fingers traced the lines of the letter, as if seeking a tangible connection to the man who had become her anchor in the chaos of Thedas. The sincerity of his words resonated within her, echoing the sentiments she had sensed but had not dared to voice aloud.

As she reached the end of the letter, a gentle warmth enveloped her, like a soft embrace that bridged the physical distance between them. Tears welled in her eyes, not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming realization that she was deeply, wholly loved. In that solitary moment, she felt an unspoken bond, a connection that transcended the miles that now lay between them. With a soft sigh, she whispered, "I'll be with you soon, vhenan," as if the wind could carry her words across the continent.

[am1vf]

Harding: "[The Avvar] are very tall, aren't they? I was considering a proposal for Commander Cullen. Avvar allies with Dwarven archers astride their shoulders."

Iron Bull: "Oooh! I like the way she thinks! We should keep her around. For Mayhem."

Harding: "Yesss! Mayhem!"

Okay. I love them. XD

[antigone-ks]

Spoils of the Avvar

Summary:

After visiting the Avvar, Quiz shyly admits to Cullen that she'd like to see him in nothing but his furry mantle and a loincloth. He opts to surprise her with a full-throttle, bride-stealing Avvar roleplay one night.

Originally written for dragonage_kink, 2015

Warnings: consensual dub-con roleplay

Tags: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan; Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford; 

Roleplay; Sexual Roleplay; Virginity Roleplay; Explicit Sexual Content; Established Relationship; Avvar Cullen; Sexual Fantasy; Roleplaying dubious consent;  But not actual dubious consent; Furry Mantle fetish; Cullen is game for anything apparently; really cliched speech; sex is better with barbarians; Oral Sex; some people are better at roleplaying than others; dominant cullen; 

Chapter One

“They’ve read his books?” Josephine looked delighted.

“Well, one of them has,” Evelyn said, grinning. “He only mentioned Hard in Hightown, though. Nothing about . . . the others.”

“They’d hardly need something like Swords and Shields, though, would they?” Josephine asked. “Somehow the Avvar have always seemed so, so naturally bodice-ripping.” The women ignored the sotto voce “Maker’s breath . . .” from the other side of the war table.

“There is more to romance than tearing off one’s clothes,” Cassandra objected. “And they wear so much fur, it cannot be easily done.”

“Oh, the Avvar understand romance, Cassandra,” Leliana replied, a little smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “There may be less bodice-ripping, but there’s enough dashing warriors and swooning maidens and bride-stealing in any good Avvar tale to satisfy even you.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“I can picture the dashing warriors,” Evelyn said, thoughtful, “they’re all very tall, and their weapons are massive; I – “ she broke off at a choked sound from the final advisor.

“Can we decide on a strategy for this issue, or should we table the discussion?” Cullen asked, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Leliana turned to the door. “Some scouts have recently returned; I’ll see if they have new information. Josie, find out if we have anything useful to trade. They do enjoy Orlesian spices; it could open another door for us.”

Evelyn leaned against the war table as the three women filed out, Cullen fiddling with one of the map-markers. He looked up suddenly as the door shut. “Massive weapons?” he grinned. “How did you see any of their weapons?”

“Well, they wear them right out in the open. Big hammers. Swords made for just the right sheath.” She smirked at him. “Your ears are red.”

“You’ve been gone for two bloody weeks, and before you even say hello you’re talking about hammers and, and bodices. And ripping bodices.” His arm snaked around her as he bent his head. “I never knew you had such a filthy mind,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his lips, when at last they parted.

“Surrounded by dashing Avvar warriors, and you thought of me?” His lips traced a path down her neck as he slid a steadying arm around her waist.

“I thought of you a lot,” she confessed, sighing against his cheek. “Especially you in your furry mantle. Sometimes in nothing else.”

His warm breath huffed against her neck as he chuckled. “What, really?” She made an affirmative sound and he straightened, looking into her eyes. “Just the coat?”

“And maybe a loincloth. Sometimes paint.”

“I only wear loincloths on very special occasions.”

“We could go to my chambers and see how special today is . . .”

The blare of a horn signaled the return of Bull’s Chargers from their latest task. Evelyn sighed. They would want to debrief as soon as possible and move on to their celebratory drinking. “I think we’ll need to make it special very quickly.”

Chapter Two

The water hit her aching muscles, almost too hot to bear but instantly relaxing her. The scent of crushed embrium filled the steamy air, and Evelyn leaned back against the tub. Another long journey, nearly a month this time. A month of cold splashing baths and no tea and no Cullen.

Still no Cullen. He’d stood beside her at the war table as she gave her report, his fingers brushing against hers (quite brazenly, she’d thought, which was unlike him when he was on-duty), and hadn’t done more than murmur “that sounds like a good idea” when she’d mentioned going to the baths. She’d rather hoped he’d join her, but she was turning red and wrinkly and there was still no sign of him. Sighing, she wrapped a robe around herself and headed toward her chambers, hoping it was late enough to shortcut across the Great Hall without being noticed.

The Hall was utterly empty; not even Varric sat by the fire. Evelyn stared down the length of the room, a tense feeling creeping over her. Even in the evenings Vivienne would often be up researching and crafting, usually – if it wasn’t too late – with a young courtier dancing attendance on her. But all was still, as if the world held its breath.

Unsettled, she pushed open the door to her corridor and closed it decidedly behind her. A prickling feeling at the back of her neck made her spin around, peering into the shadows. Her heart pounded painfully as she heard a breath, a movement, a –

“Cullen?” She collapsed against the door, pressing a hand to her chest. “Andraste’s flaming hairy damned . . . things, why are you lurking in the dark?”

“I was waiting for you, lady.” His voice was different, deeper, darker, with an edge and an accent not his own.

Evelyn pulled her robe tighter and tried to look indignant. “I . . . I waited for you, in the baths.”

“Your men might have seen me, lady. I couldn’t let myself be thwarted beforetimes.”

“Um.” He stepped out of the shadows, the pale light from the windows shining on his hair, twinkling off the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. Strapped to his back? He wore it at his side. She’d made him choke on a frilly cake once, running her fingers over the pommel during an endless meeting with nobles. But now he had it – the sheath was – her cheeks flamed almost painfully as she realized that his sheath was missing because his trousers were missing because he wasn’t wearing trousers because he was naked – blessed Andraste, was that a loincloth? – under his mantle. His furry. His mantle. The mantle with the fur. The furry mantle she wanted to see him in and nothing but a loincloth and

“Paint?” she asked tentatively.

The light struck the side of his face and she saw swirling kohl markings down his cheek, around his eye. He looked wild, and dangerous, and somehow bigger than usual and oh, Maker, he moved like a prowling lion as he approached. If she pressed any closer to the door she’d leave an Inquisitor-shaped hole in it, and anyway this was Cullen, and she’d asked for this. Something like this, anyway.

His breath whispered across her face, his eyes hooded as she looked up at him. “Is this for me?” she murmured.

“I would do anything for you, lady.” His body pressed against hers, his hands sliding to her waist. “Let me claim you. Let me have you.” Her breath hitched as his lips traced the shell of her ear. “Submit to me, my pretty lowland maid.”

Evelyn felt giggles, unbidden, threatened to erupt from her throat. It wasn’t funny, she wasn’t amused, she was – she was nervous, just as if this were real. Well, two could play at this game.

Wriggling ineffectively, she threw her head back (a bit too hard, it bonked against the door and Cullen winced for her) and exclaimed “owOh, oh no ser, no! I must not!”

Even in the dimness, she could see his grin. His hold tightened. “Don’t fight me, lass. You shall be mine.”

“Unhand me, you barbarian!” His mouth twitched, then he swooped down and claimed hers. His lips, usually so soft, were hard against hers, demanding. He pulled her body tight against his, his muscled thigh slipping between hers. She mewled against his mouth as he rocked them together.

“Barbarian, am I?” he growled, tangling his hand in her hair. “A barbarian would take you here, against this wall, and let your people hear you scream. Let the men who want you hear your pleasure and know that a barbarian has given it to you.” Stooping, he swept her up into his arms. “I am no barbarian, lady. You will beg me lay claim to you.”

He started toward her chambers, stopping at the first flight of steps to rearrange her weight while she tapped her fists against his chest, protesting quietly. “No, you mustn’t! Let me go! Put me down – No, really, Cullen, put me down, these stairs are tricky.”

Setting her down, he looked momentarily stymied, then – “Will you walk to your fate, lass, or must I force you?”

“I needn’t be carried like a babe, ser. But, but you will not have me, brute!” she flung at him, marching up the stairs. As he followed, Evelyn was certain she heard him snickering.

Chapter Three

The fire was blazing, furs were piled into a nest before the hearth, and Evelyn took a moment to appreciate how much effort Cullen had put into this night. She gazed at him warmly as he approached, skin golden in the firelight. He smiled lopsidedly and reached for her, brushing the hair from her face and gently pressing his lips to hers.

“All that I have is yours, lady.” Cullen leaned his forehead against hers, eyes softening for an instant, before turning predatory. “If I may have all that is yours.”

“I have nothing, ser,” Evelyn said, looking down modestly.

He pulled her closer, provoking a gasp as his hardness pressed against her stomach. “No, lass, you have everything I desire.” One finger traced the line of her throat down, down, following the edge of her robe and dipping between her breasts. Evelyn squeaked and pushed at him, drawing a grin as he held her tight.

“I warned you not to fight.” Cullen’s smile turned hungry. Evelyn had only a moment to brace herself before his leg swept behind hers and he bore her to the ground atop the furs. His body radiated heat, and the scent of him, the warmth of the mantle cocooning them, made her feel as if the world had disappeared and there was nothing left but the two of them. She craved the caress of his naked skin against hers, the slick of their sweat as they moved together. Her legs parted, cradling him in the center of her being. His eyes glazed as the heat of her brushed his still-covered cock.

Pinning her wrists in one large, calloused hand, Cullen raised himself enough to force open the robe. “Conquering you will be so sweet,” he murmured, cupping her breast with his free hand. She arched beneath him as he flicked his thumb against her nipple, her cry swallowed by a punishing kiss. Trapped beneath him, she could do no more than gasp when his mouth followed his hand, suckling at her, nipping and teasing. Pleasure arced through her veins and she struggled against him, needing to touch him, to stroke him, to pleasure him as well as he did her.

“Please . . . please, Cullen-“ she gasped, and he released her, lifting her enough to pull the robe from her body. Evelyn wrapped her arms around him, fingers running through the fur at his neck and up into his hair. Her lips sought his, and she felt him tremble and for a moment thought the games were over and he would take her then, hard and needful.

Instead he nuzzled at her neck, seeking that sensitive spot below her ear, murmuring softly as he unwound her arms and laid her back into the nest. The fur beneath her was soft, smooth against her bare skin. She wanted to writhe against it, against the fur and against him, trapped between them until she could feel nothing else. She reached for him as he leaned over her and he caught her hand, brought it to his mouth.

“Lowlander,” he whispered, her pulse jumping as his lips brushed over her wrist. “Open yourself to me.” He kissed the tip of each finger, then guided her hand down his chest and lower, lower to the straining hardness still hidden in the loincloth. “You see that I need you. Let me give us both pleasure, my sweet maiden.”

“Ser, I cannot.” Evelyn gazed at him through her lashes, schooling her face into what she hoped was a wide-eyed innocence (but feared was just simple-minded). She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “Please, ser. My maidenhead is all that I have, and it belongs to my husband.”

She wasn’t sure how he would react – was it too much? – but she got her answer when Cullen ground against her, eyes black with desire. He was so hard, and he knew exactly where she was most needy. She gasped and arched beneath him as he thrust again, then loomed over her.

“Your maidenhead,” he scoffed. “You writhe like a cat in heat, lass; you’re ready to be taken. You need it. And,” he lowered himself until his weight pressed her into the furs, his lips against her ear, “when I’m inside you, you’ll call me husband.”

How could something so staid and . . . and socially acceptable sound so unimaginably filthy? Evelyn whimpered and bucked helplessly against him as he sucked and bit at her neck, his hands leaving trails of fire as they roamed her skin, cupping her breast gently, then giving a bold squeeze. He swallowed her gasp, stole her breath with his kiss, and descended lower. He stroked the tender flesh of her thigh, watching her face with heavy-lidded eyes. As his fingers brushed through her curls, Evelyn gasped and reached for him.

At once, he gripped her wrist. “Be still, lass,” he whispered. “Let me please you.” She pulled against his grip, twisting against his strength, needing to touch him, to stroke his hair, to show him how very much he did please, but she could not break free. “I said lie still,” he said, his voice harsh. “Else I will bind you, and you will be at my mercy. Do you want that?”

“Oh Maker, yes,” she whispered. “But not now.”

“Not now,” he agreed. “Later, I’m going to fuck the air from your lungs. But for now,” he kissed the back of her hand, “be my good girl and let me love you.”

“Yes, ser,” she breathed, as he dropped her hand and slid both of his along the crease of her thighs, cupping her mound between them. He pressed a kiss, almost chastely, to her plump mons, then his thumbs parted her lips and he gently kissed her hooded pearl. Evelyn held her breath, held herself still, as his breath ghosted over her, his thumbs stroking along her lips. If she’d thought herself wet before, it was nothing compared to the moisture gathering as he toyed with her. He kissed her again, and she sobbed in need.

“Like a cat,” he whispered against her, so softly she didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it, but she felt it crawl inside her skin, sparking against her nerves and setting her aflame.

“Please. Please, ser.”

“Please what, darling?” He kissed her again, just a touch of his lips to her, and her thighs quivered.

“Please kiss me there,” she whimpered, lifting her hips to show him.

Cullen chuckled. “I am kissing you there. Do you want more?” Before she could respond, he licked a long line up the seam of her lips, dipping deeper to flick against her clit, and she wailed.

“Yes, yes, Maker, yes please pleasepleaseCullen!”

He buried his face between her thighs and devoured her. His lips closed around her clit and he sucked, hard, as his long fingers teased her entrance, opening her gently. The contrast made her writhe. Evelyn covered her face with her hands as he stroked her slowly, invading her patiently, inexorably.

Cullen pulled his mouth from her with a gasp. “Maker’s breath, you’re so wet,” he said, sounding awed. “You’re dripping.” His finger curled inside her, and she mewled as he added another, sliding in a little more quickly, curling to match the other. His thumb pressed against her nub, the tips of his fingers found that perfect spot, and as he lowered his mouth to her again Evelyn sent up a prayer of thanks for this man and his hands. And his mouth. And his – and his – his hand thrust harder, his tongue flicked against her, and suddenly she was bucking and shaking, sounds like a trapped animal coming from her mouth. Cullen pushed her through it, not stopping until she twisted away and closed her legs. He chuckled as her thighs trapped his hand; he cupped her gently and let her ride him until the final throes dissipated.

Chapter Four

A warm drowsiness spread through her, limbs too heavy to move. Her eyes blinked slowly at the shadows on the ceiling, hazy and sinuous. Cullen gathered her into his arms, nuzzling her ear, his lips moving slowly along her neck. She could easily fall into sleep in this moment. She might, actually. It would take huge incentive to keep her awake. She shifted against Cullen.

Ah, there it was.

Evelyn cuddled close and rocked her hips, smiling lazily at his hiss. “Oh, ser, what have you done to me? I have thrown away all modesty for the sake of a few kisses!”

She felt his lips press against her temple. “Sweet maid,” he murmured, voice achingly low, “how can modesty stand against such delights of the flesh?” He seized her thigh, pulling it up over his hip, rocking hard against her. A bolt of pleasure shot down to her toes, and she gasped. His thumb caressed her lower lip. “And now you shall show me the same delights.”

Evelyn gasped theatrically, as heat spread through her body. “I cannot!”

Cullen smirked at her. “You don’t fight like an outraged maiden any longer, lass. Do not speak like one.”

Evelyn jerked out of his grasp and sat up, drawing a fur close around her body. “How dare you! It’s not my fault that a barbarian has kidnapped me and ravished me – “

“I haven’t ravished you yet.”

“ – threatened to ravish me, and made me feel such unmaidenly things – “

“And squeal such unmaidenly things.” Cullen was grinning outright, his grin, not his Avvar-predator smirk. Evelyn leaned forward, pecked her lips against his scar, and gave him a shove. It was like pushing a boulder.

“You beast!”

She surged upward, almost reaching the stairs before he caught her in his unyielding arms, pulling her tight against his chest. “Unhand me, or I will call the guards!”

“Do you want them to see your shame, lass?” He tugged the fur loose, baring her to the cool night air. Her nipples hardened, her skin flushed. “I will have you. I do not care who sees.”

“I could have you here where we stand,” he whispered, his hands moving down her body. He thrust against her, his heart thumping unsteadily against her back. “Would you like that, sweet? Do you want me to mount you, here, like a stallion covers a mare?”

Oh, Maker’s fucking breath yes.

Maker, he was still clothed. Well, still loinclothed. And furred.

His hand slipped between her legs, through the dampness that lingered, and parted her folds with an obscene sound. “That is no way for a maiden to be claimed, but I will do it unless you yield to me.”

Evelyn shook her head, gasping as his fingers drew circles around her bud. His other hand pressed against her back, gently but inexorably bearing her down against the railing. She rested her cheek on the cool stone and rocked against him, against his hand and against the thick weight that thrust against her core. He could almost push into her, just enough to make her thighs tremble and head swirl, and her breath caught on a sob when he removed his hand from her and pulled away.

“Cullen. Cullen, please,” she whispered as he caressed her back. “I need you. Maker, please fuck me.”

A rustle of cloth, and his cock slipped between her folds. Evelyn braced herself to push back against him, to take him deep, but he held her in place with more control than she’d known he possessed.

“Sweetheart, if you do what you’re thinking our evening will be over far too soon for my pride to bear.”

Her answering chuckle turned into a groan as he thrust so very slowly into her, shallowly as he would a true maiden. He was so careful with her, so gentle she felt overwhelmed with it, overwhelmed with the fullness of him moving inside her and with the fullness in her heart. He stroked her tenderly, running his fingers through her hair, whispering soothingly to her, until at last he was buried completely inside her. Bending over her, Cullen kissed her shoulders, her back, the hair at the base of her neck.

“Cull . . .” her voice choked off, unable to squeeze past the feeling of her heart lodged in her throat.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his own voice thick. “Darling. Evelyn.”

At last he moved, pulling back until he lay just within her, thrusting forward slowly until the tip of him touched her womb, repeating until she writhed beneath him. She felt him smile against her shoulder.

“Lass, are you ready?”

“Oh yes . . . yes.” Evelyn braced herself as he straightened and began to move in earnest, his hips beating out a quick rhythm against her buttocks that matched the pulsing in her blood. She began to arch against him, and his hands pressed her down again, against the railing, holding her a still vessel for his lust.

“That’s it, sweet, take me deep, let me fill you, let me – ah – let me have you,” his voice broke and he gasped, hips stuttering. Evelyn gripped the railing and pushed back, forcing him deeper, to the barest instant of pain. Her breath came in sharp staccato moans, her cunt aching with need. She was so close, Maker, give her only a moment more and she’d –

She jumped as his hand swatted across her backside, then squealed in outrage as he withdrew from her.

“I did warn you,” Cullen said, more teasing than reproachful.

“You absolute bastard,” she hissed, turning on him. He laughed and caught her hands, pulling her against him and capturing her mouth with his.

He spun them toward the bench that rested by the railing and sat, pulling her into his lap, guiding her legs to cradle him, his cock nudging her entrance. “I need you like his,” he whispered against her lips. “Need to hold you.” She shifted against him and took him inside, took him fully as he took her mouth again. “Need to see your face as you come apart on my cock.”

His hands fell to her hips and lifted her, guided her, settled her into a rhythm that had them both crying out. His hot breath ghosted across her breasts, his mouth suckling her until she arched back, running her hands through his golden curls to hold him against her. She had no words now, only mindless mewls that fell from her lips with every thrust of his hips. One arm wrapped around her hips, moving her quickly; the other hand slipped between them. At the press of his thumb against her bud, Evelyn hissed and Cullen raised his head to look in her eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered, pulling her hips down hard. “Look. At. Me. I need – “

Her body quaked.

She saw only his amber eyes,

felt her cunt clench,

heard an animal moan,

(is it me? Is that me?)

felt warmth filling her,

bathing her core.

When at last she returned to her body, her own body, the body on Thedas and not in some desire demon-wracked corner of the fade, her head lay against Cullen’s chest, his heart pounding in her ears.

She smiled and cuddled closer. “That was the nicest welcome-home-from-a-bog gift anyone has ever given me.”

“I certainly hope so.” His voice was rough and breathless, his lips soft as they grazed her forehead. “I’ll carry you to bed in a moment. Or, no, we need to. Um.”

Maker’s breath, that he could blush after what he’d just done to her.

“We need to clean the barbarian seed from my freshly-ravished thighs?” Cullen made a noise, half-laughing, half-choking.

“Just so, my pretty lowland maid.”

[v-arbellanaris]

So we all agree, Andraste was a mage. But! If she was also possessed by a spirit?! The Anders parallels alone make me froth at the mouth. Something something 'if you saw your prophet now you would call her an abomination'. Their storylines are so similar and then dai and subsequent materials had the gall to act as if Anders was wrong

i DO believe that if andraste had been a mage (and i do tend to think she was tbh), she would have been possessed simply because we're shown in jaws of hakkon the exact relationship between their gods and spirits. like canonically, the avvar worship their gods, who are spirits. augurs get themselves possessed and unpossessed easily. i 100% buy that if andraste was a mage, then the maker is a spirit that she worshipped. (i'd also be kind of terrified at the implications. the nightmare fed on fear - fears of the blight, specifically. and it's that powerful...)

but yes. i really kind of dislike the wider implications of having made ameridan a dalish mage (esp with the way his beliefs are represented) but the one thing i DID love is how ameridan is explicitly the kind of person cassandra and cullen want to put into the circle. ameridan himself would never have been allowed to exist outside of the circle in the modern day. and i fully believe - with his religion, with his very casual power that could lock away a spirit as powerful as hakkon for hundreds of years, with his influence - if ameridan had been in the circle, they would have tried to kill him during the harrowing or made him tranquil. this... idk? is hypocrisy the right word here? whatever it is, it was so obvious that the chantry - whose first divine was a general from drakon's army, hand-picked by drakon to lead his chantry - buried his identity after the signing of the nevarran accord instead of using his existence as a mage to argue that the mages chose the circles for themselves.

now ive got a brainworm like if andraste really did crawl out of the fade in dai... can you imagine...

[marikamalia]

I am rewriting and translating old fic of mine. The story's structure follows the game's progression quite faithfully, but I change and embellish many things - and add more angst. Lots and lots of angst. xD

[princehendir]

There are so many Avvar!Cullen aus where they just invent an entire new character that looks like Cullen in order to fetishize shitty tropes about indigenous people

Yeah exactly and it's like, why this guy specifically. I mean the part where the already kinda iffily written fictional indigenous group is somehow made 10x more offensive than it is in canon and then fetishized is unfortunately very par for the course & unsurprising, but it is weird to me that Cullen/Inquisitor is the only pairing this happens with. None of the other LIs get Avaar AUs/"oh noo we have to do Weird Avaar Marriage Custom because of, reasons"-fic, at least not that I've seen, and honestly I don't understand why. How was the Avaar-Cullen connection made in the first place? Am I even sure I want to understand.

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan is called to see the Commander.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,624. Rating: all audiences. Warnings: talk of addiction withdrawal.)

Chapter 21: Forgive Me

Trevelyan did not usually take her morning walk in the courtyard, so near to the infirmary, but a change of pace was often a good panacea to the boredom of routine. That was her excuse, at least.

But she was far too cowardly to actually step into the infirmary, and enquire after the Commander’s health. It wasn’t her place to ask, really, and it was better for him to rest. That was her excuse, at least.

Instead she continued walking, greeted a few of the mages she knew as they passed her by, kicked at the weeds outside the Herald’s Rest, and headed down to the lower level.

Soldiers trained here. Feet churned up dust as they pushed forward into attack; grass tore beneath heels that dug in for defense. Trevelyan skirted the clattering horde, one eye looking out, checking, just in case.

But they were under the watch of no Commander. Captains seemed to patrol the lines instead, and conducted their instruction with an admirable accuracy.

So Trevelyan wandered on, to the market just beyond. Sellers had set up, and were already doing business. Denizens of Skyhold bustled about the tables, examining the wares on offer. Being in the mountains, this was likely the only taste of commerce they got.

Trevelyan joined the crowd. Perusing the stalls might help keep her mind off things.

And there was one in particular that caught her attention: a bookseller, with an array of tomes on a pantheon of subjects, displayed elegantly on a ream of purple crushed velvet. The dwarven man behind the stall—warm-skinned with dark hair—gave her a beardy smile as she approached.

There were only so many books in Skyhold’s library. Trevelyan wondered if she might find something new here.

An Astronomer’s Illustrated Guide to the Stars, read one golden title, embossed onto blue leather. Trevelyan certainly didn’t recognise this one. The moon and Satina were even engraved into the cover! It was beautiful.

“May I look at this?” she asked the seller.

“’Course,” said the man.

Trevelyan gently opened the book. The Inquisition had literature on the stars, of course, but none illustrated so. There were the constellations she knew—the Oak, the Maiden, Sacrifice (their Tevene names included!)—but also their Elvhen and Avvar interpretations. Comprehensive indeed!

“Lovely book, isn’t it?” the seller-man commented. “You don’t get many like that.”

“It’s wonderful,” Trevelyan agreed.

“That does mean it’s a bit pricier than the rest, but it’s worth it for the quality. Most books I stock are about ten to twenty silvers; this one’s forty.”

Trevelyan stared at him, agape. “Oh.”

She hadn’t quite expected to be buying anything. She was confined to the mountains as much as these other folk. This was the only taste of commerce she got.

Besides, it wasn’t like she had any money.

Her father hadn’t wanted her to possess a (what he called) ‘running away fund’. Trevelyan had begged her parents for something, only finding success when she mentioned how poor they’d look if they sent her with nothing.

The compromise? All her money was kept in a lockbox, and Cara had the key.

Forty silvers was nothing to her parents. And Trevelyan had been doing quite as they asked, spending so much time with the Commander it had driven him to sickness. She could persuade Cara.

“I don’t have any coin on me now,” she told the seller, “but I can fetch some! Would you be able to hold this until I return?”

The man shook his head. “Sorry, miss, had too many occurrences of holding things, only for people to never come back. Impacts trade.”

“Fair. Then I’ll be as quick as I can!”

Trevelyan hurried away, as promised. Out of the market, past the soldiers—she took the stairs back to the upper courtyard two at a time! (She took the ones to the Great Hall a little slower).

Catching her breath at the top, she locked eyes on the next flight that awaited, and—

“Lady Trevelyan!”

Couldn’t go anywhere in this damn castle without finding oneself summoned to conversation. Trevelyan turned. A runner, from the direction of Montilyet’s parlour, swerved towards her.

Trevelyan allowed them to approach. “How may I help you?” she asked.

They bowed. “Your Ladyship, the Ambassador wishes to see you.”

“Right now?”

“If you’re available,” said the runner. “I can tell her you’re delayed, if you wish.”

Trevelyan thought on it a moment, but shook her head. “No, no. Thank you.”

After all, she had something of an idea as to what this might be about. As urgent as the book was, this was more so. Montilyet’s open parlour door beckoned.

She answered its call. “Lady Monilyet?” she said as she entered.

Montilyet, behind her desk, stood on sight. “Oh, Lady Trevelyan! That was fast.” She stepped out to greet her properly, and asked: “How are you feeling, this morning?”

“I’m fine,” said Trevelyan, who was actually a concentrated mess of worry. “How is the Commander?”

“Better,” Montilyet reassured her, “but still recovering. However, he has asked to see you—that is why I called you here. He is waiting now”—she glanced at her parlour’s other door, that led to the War Room beyond—“but only if you are happy to see him.”

Trevelyan pushed out an uneasy breath. “Is he well enough for this?”

Lady Montilyet sighed. “He and I have different answers to that question. But, he insisted.”

“Then, all right.”

Montilyet nodded. “Please, take a seat.”

Trevelyan did as requested, choosing her usual place on the sofa. It felt odd without Lady Erridge beside her, or the Baroness sewing in her chair, or Lady Samient reclined on another.

Lady Montilyet, meanwhile, had moved for the door, and disappeared beyond. Trevelyan took this moment to prepare herself for the man that might emerge.

The door opened. She was pleasantly surprised.

The Commander stepped out of his own accord, firm on his feet, at least. His skin had its colour back, and his eyes seemed more alert. He did not wear his armour, nor his mantle—just a simple shirt and a quilted jacket, left open at the front.

He was good at masking the pain.

“Commander,” she said, standing by instinct, “how are you?”

His voice was hoarse, quiet. His reply: “How are you?”

Trevelyan forgave him the trespass of not answering, as she recognised an audible guilt in his question. “I’m well, thank you.”

He managed a little nod in response. Lady Montilyet came to his side, and directed him to a seat. The walk over was stable, but slow.

His weight sank onto the chair with a creak, evident of the heaviness of one whose body felt as lead. At least sitting seemed to settle him. Trevelyan waited until he was comfortable, to ask again:

“Commander, how are you?”

“He is better,” answered Montilyet, for him. She remained at his side, observant. “The healers said he recovered well enough in the evening to return to his own bed. Though aches and pains still linger, and will for a few days yet.”

It seemed this was enough to give the Commander courage to speak: “I am sorry you had to… witness that,” he told Trevelyan, not meeting her gaze. “Thank you, for fetching help.”

Trevelyan shifted along the sofa, to take Lady Erridge’s usual spot. She tried to catch the Commander’s eye—and, when she finally did, smiled at him. “I am glad to see you better.”

“I am sorry,” the Commander repeated. “That day… I had forgotten my medicines. I—believe Josephine told you about them?”

‘Josephine’ interjected: “It was not just that day. The healers said it was four of his last six doses that had been missed—hence why this flare was so terrible.”

Trevelyan’s next question, of how such doses had been missed in the first place, was answered before she could voice it:

“Lyrium affects memory,” the Commander explained. “I forget things, on occasion. But forgetting my medicines meant that the forgetting only worsened. One missed day, turned into two, turned into four. I’m sorry.”

Trevelyan regarded him softly. “I hope you do not mean to blame yourself, Commander.”

“It is my fault.”

She shook her head. “With things like this… lapses happen. No matter how you try or how you prepare, as with anything in life, we are still prone to stumbling. I fear if you blame yourself, it will only dissuade you from continuing this path.”

He finally looked her in the eye. “I do want to continue,” he said, voice regaining strength, “if I prove it’s possible, others may have a chance...”

Trevelyan smiled. Perhaps Baroness Touledy was not compatible with the Commander romantically, but she was not wrong that he was like-minded. Trevelyan was determined to have them make friends of one another yet.

“That is an honourable purpose, Commander,” she told him, “and I think you will succeed in it. I believe you have the fortitude.”

“Some call it sturbbornness,” Lady Montilyet commented, with a smile.

Trevelyan shared in it. “That too.”

The Commander evaded her gaze once more. “I appreciate your faith in me,” he said. He took a breath before continuing—“I, ah...”—but lost his chain of thought.

“Commander?”

He shook his head. “Forgive me. My head aches.”

Lady Montilyet’s smile dropped, and her regal demeanour returned at once.

“You had best return to your room, and take the rest of the day,” she told him. “And do not think you may work. I have had all your reports removed.”

His displeased frown was rather funny—but it soon turned to one of effort, as he pushed himself up from the seat. With a grunt, he stood. Trevelyan rose as well.

“If there is anything I may do to help,” she said, “please, do tell me.”

He smiled, albeit weakly. “Thank you. I hope you are all right.”

“I am, I promise you. Rest well, Commander.”

“Thank you.”

Satisfied, he allowed Lady Montilyet to escort him to the Hall door. They were met by a guard at the threshold, who took the Commander’s flank, and marched with him as if following his lead.

Trevelyan leant back as far as she could, to watch him go. Once gone from view, Montilyet let the door swing shut.

“I am sorry for surprising you with this,” she said as she strode back, “but the healers tell me that as soon as his mind was present yesterday, he was asking for you. He was terribly concerned that he had caused you upset.”

Technically, he had, but given that it was hardly intentional—and that the majority of the upset was her own anxiety—Trevelyan had little injury to report.

“I’m all right.”

“Indeed,” said Montilyet, arriving at her desk. “Thank you for agreeing to this. It will have settled him greatly.”

“Of course.” Trevelyan stood. “I take it all engagements between him and his suitors are cancelled for now?”

Though Lady Montilyet had begun counting coin on her desk, she paused to address Trevelyan:

“Naturally. Until he feels well enough… and, after I have informed the other Ladies.”

Ah. Time to save Lady Montilyet a job.

“They already know,” said Trevelyan. Montilyet’s eyes widened. Trevelyan quickly clarified: “It was not me who told them. They had figured it out from the rumours they had heard.”

This seemed to be accepted as an adequate explanation, and, thank the Maker, Lady Montilyet dug no further. She finished counting her coin, and with her quill, struck through an entry on a ledger.

Trevelyan would have left her to this work, but lingered. There was still something she needed to know. After a moment to build her resolve, Trevelyan crept closer to Montilyet, and asked:

“Your Ladyship, just in case, may I know—what are the signs of one of these flares? If you can tell me, that is.”

Montilyet thought a moment. “Few have happened while I have known him, but… I suppose there are commonalities. First, there is the distractedness—he always seems to lose focus, in the days before.”

Trevelyan thought of the chess match between him and Lady Samient. Not his best play. In fact, he had been rather… distracted.

“Then, of course, the irritability—more so than usual!”

The training, she had interrupted with the Baroness. It took very little for him to leap to her defence that day. Trevelyan wondered that she had not realised it before.

“And… also hunger. I worry when the cooks say he is eating well. A healer once described it to me as like the body is trying to satisfy a hunger that it can never fulfil.”

That damn crumble. Of course he’d eaten the whole thing. Trevelyan cursed herself.

“Thank you,” she told Lady Montilyet regardless. “I shall bear it in mind.”

Her mind, indeed, ran over the three almost obsessively, so that she would not forget. Eager to be away and write them down, she curtsied, opening her mouth to give a farewell and take her leave. Montilyet raised a hand.

“Wait a moment,” she instructed. “I have something to give you.”

She turned back to her desk, and collected what she had been preparing—a small purse. It jingled pleasantly as she picked it up, and offered it to Trevelyan.

“Here. Your wages, for the last week.”

Trevelyan blinked. Wages?

She took the satchel, and drew it open. Golden coin glittered within a silver sea. Maker, this couldn’t be right.

“Usually this would be the bursar’s role,” Lady Montilyet explained, “but I wished to give you this first one myself, as a personal thanks for your work.”

Trevelyan counted the coin. “But… this can’t be the right amount?”

“Seven royals is a good wage,” Montilyet told her. “Better than most.”

But Trevelyan’s head shook. “I know—it’s too much.”

A realisation came across Lady Montilyet’s face. Her open mouth closed into a soft smile.

“This is not a Circle allowance,” she explained, “this is a fair wage for fair work.”

“Are you certain?”

Lady Montilyet placed her hands on Trevelyan’s, and closed them around the purse. “This is your money, Lady Trevelyan. Spend it as frivolously or frugally as you wish. It is yours.”

Trevelyan already had an idea. “Thank you,” she said, tying the purse-strings back up tight, “thank you.”

With a low cursty and a very fond farewell, she hurried out of Lady Montilyet’s office. There was a book in the market that needed her attention!

And now, it would not even be her parents’ money with which she bought it. It was her own money. She would pay for that book, and it would belong to her, wholly and completely. They could never take it from her, claiming they were the true owners. It would be hers.

Trevelyan almost tripped over herself, running down the steps to the lower courtyard. Clutching the purse to her chest, she weaved her way through the lingering crowd of market customers, and found that velvet table.

But the book was gone.

“Do you have that book?” she asked the seller. “The astronomy one?”

She did not like the expression that took his face.

“Sorry, miss, sold it just a minute ago; I did say someone else had their eye on it, but they were keen as you.”

“Do you have no other copies?” she asked, desperate.

He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s a rare one. But, I could have another by the time I return.”

“Oh! When will that be?”

“I pass through here whenever I’m travelling between Ferelden and Orlais—should be back in about… three weeks, say? Maybe a month.”

Too long.

“I’ll be back home by then,” she told him. And she’d be returning with nothing of her own. “Thank you, anyway.”

“Wait, wait!” He scribbled something on a scrap of vellum, and offered it to her. “This is the name of the book, and the author. Show that to any bookseller worth their sovereigns where you live, and they’ll find you a copy, I’m sure.”

Trevelyan smiled, and took the slip. “Thank you.”

But it was a poor consolation prize. She trudged back towards the stairs, contemplating her misery. No pretty book. But the money was something, at least. She’d have to find somewhere to hide it, where the snakes that called themselves her ladies’ maids wouldn’t see.

Perhaps she could even set a trap.

Sure enough, when she at last arrived at her room, one of the little vipers (Cara) was turning down her bed. Trevelyan was grateful for her smock’s large and concealing pockets.

“Your Ladyship,” greeted Cara, “some things arrived for you. A letter from the Bann and Lady Trevelyan, and an Inquisition woman delivered a parcel.”

“Thank you,” said Trevelyan, “you may go.”

Cara curtsied, and made her way out. The second she was gone—with a glance back to check—Trevelyan scurried to her bed, poked a hole in the mattress beneath, and stashed her money in there. Worked well enough in the Circle.

Satisfied it was adequately hidden—though she would make sure to check every morning and every night—she worked her way to the post waiting on the table. The parcel Cara had mentioned was a rectangular sort of shape, and decently thick. The letter was a letter.

Trevelyan forwent her parents’ admonishments for now, and took up the parcel. Wrapped in brown paper, and very poorly too, she quite easily found a gap to tear into.

And revealed a blue leather beneath.

In disbelief, she tore the rest of the paper away. The book! The book of constellations! Illustrated, complete! Here. How?

She opened the cover. A note awaited her.

To Lady Trevelyan, it read, something for you, by way of apology. C.

Her heart fluttered. Buying something for herself was one thing, but having something bought for her was another. Trevelyan had never had anything so lavish bought for her—at least, in earnest. All her parents’ purchases had been begrudging.

Her hands stroked the pages—all hers, every constellation, every star—before she snapped the book shut, and held it to her chest. Apology most certainly accepted.

She would have to do something for the Commander in return. A book for him, perhaps? It would be nice for him to read, especially something other than a report, during this rest of his. She could get him a romance! A better one, than his current recommendation.

Though… such a thing might be taken the wrong way. Like a winking suggestion. But, she could always—

Her reverie was cut short, as her eyes caught the waiting letter from her parents. Sighing, Trevelyan set down her book, and picked up the letter. The seal of House Trevelyan cracked open, and revealed its contents:

To our daughter,

I am writing to remind you of your upcoming banquet, for which you shall be in attendance. I faithfully request that you comport yourself with utmost dignity and elegance. Nobles of all regions shall be in attendance, and our reputation should be kept polished in their presence. Remember to—

Trevelyan set the letter aflame in her hand, and watched it burn to nothing more than ash. She had something better to read, now.

And she knew the perfect place to read it: the battlements, that very night.

***

And Maker, it was a lovely night.

With the same flame she used to light her parent’s letter, Trevelyan illuminated the pages of her new book—careful so as to not award it the same fate—and used it to map out the stars above.

Each people had a different story for them. It reminded her of the Commander. So many different interpretations she had heard. But as with the stars, she need not adopt any for herself. She could have her own meaning, for the heavens, and for him.

She wondered how he had fared today. If he had actually taken his rest, or instead intimidated some soldier into bringing him his reports. Likely the latter.

Had everything been all right, they would have walked together again this afternoon. There was a pang in Trevelyan’s chest when she thought of it. A shame.

“Comman—oh!”

The nightwatchman’s call startled Trevelyan. But it seemed she was not the only one.

She whirled, to see the Commander in retreat. Still in his lighter clothing—though his jacket was now buttoned up against the cold—he was attempting to return the way he had come.

Trevelyan hurried to catch him. Not hard, considering his present state.

“Good evening, Commander!” she called.

He stopped and faced her, reluctant—or perhaps shy. He performed a small bow, likely all his aching muscles could manage.

“I just wished to say thank you, for the book,” she told him, smiling—brighter and more genuinely than she had for him all this time. “It was very kind of you. I had been looking at it myself this morning.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, “it was the least I could do.”

“You didn’t—oh, well.” She wouldn’t argue with his stubbornness fortitude tonight. “I shan’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you.”

He smiled, at least.

“If you were headed this way, you can pass,” she reassured. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh—if you’re sure.”

“Whatever gets you back to bed the fastest,” she joked.

He chuckled, but it soon turned to a cough. “Right. I’ll... be on my way. Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

She clutched the book close as he passed, her smile not leaving her as she watched, nor as she returned to gaze at the stars. If he were not so unwell, he could have joined her, perhaps.

That would be… nice.

[hyperbali]

For the DA Veilguard Asks: 4, 8, and 11?

4. What does your worldstate look like going into DAV?

Well, it sounds like they're not using the Keep anymore, and I'm not sure what questions are going to be asked for the worldstate setup at the start, buuuut...

DAO: Jeanne Amell, of course. Jeanne doesn't have a ~canon romance (though I could be persuaded if someone makes a good argument). King Alistair and Queen Anora. Werewolves cured, Circle mages were saved, Ashes untouched, Redcliffe saved with the whole family alive (though Jeanne took the demon's deal and then killed it), King Bhelen with a destroyed Anvil. Loghain survived. Morrigan got preggo with Kieran. Architect was killed. Both Amaranthine and the Keep protected. All companions alive.

DA2: I'm having a hard time deciding if I'm going to go with Adnan or Amelie, but they pretty much have the same story beats. Humorous Mage Hawke. Romanced Fenris (OT3 Isabela). Carver is a Grey Warden. Anders is alive, but unhappily so. Merrill kept the Eluvian. Aveline is married and stayed Guard-Captain. Varric didn't keep the idol, and Bartrand is alive. Sebastian's causing Kirkwall a lot of headaches. Helped Tallis. Sided with the mages. Sided with Larius.

DAI: Proserpina (Panini!) Lavellan. Artificer Rogue. Technically romanced Iron Bull, but given Solas is in love with her, I'm wondering if I should mark the Solas romance. Dorian is besties, but headed back to Tevinter. Blackwall is back to being Thom Rainier. Chargers are alive, Bull is Tal-Vashoth. Harmond pressed into service, Sera stayed. Solas helped his spirit friend. Cole made more human. Varric dealt with Bianca. Helped Vivienne try to save the Duke. Josephine helped the Du Paraquettes and the Montilyets regained their status. Cullen stopped using lyrium. Leliana was softened and eventually made Divine. Helped the mages in Redcliffe, who joined the Inquisition. Strong-armed Celene, Gaspard, and Briala into working together. Loghain stayed in the Fade, Grey Wardens were exiled. Pina drank from the Well. Exposed the truth about Ameridan and became respected by the Avvar. Found out the truth about lyrium. The Inquisition stayed together as a peacekeeping organization. Pina vowed to stop Solas no matter the cost.

8. What faction are you excited to learn the most about?

All of them, barring the Grey Wardens?? Though I might start with a Lord of Fortune.

11. What's one thing you'd really like to see in this next game?

Varric not being killed

Hard to say... I'm mostly trying to keep my expectations low, given just how long the dev cycle has been and the massive layoffs last year. I'm definitely not pre-ordering. I guess I'm kind of just hoping to be pleasantly surprised, lol.

[zulefandomgaming]

Chapter 17 posted, Avvar AU post trespasser, Avvar Cullen & Inky. 5 New chapters posted in the past 4 weeks, new chapters updated every Friday.

[greypetrel]

essentials 2, life 3 and 8, party 4 for any/as many blorbos as you'd like! c:

Hi Laya! :D

Aaaaah thanks for asking!

Tis the prompt list

Essentials - 2. What class do they belong to? How did they initially train and learn their skills?

Alyra: Double-wielding rogue. Trained in her clan following the master-hunter. Very talented and quick-witted from the start. Raina: Double-wielding rogue. Learnt it on the go, mainly in tavern brawls and fighting thugs, through trial and error. She's a self-learner, Isabela gave her some proper training. The lack of style and picking up whatever works from the street made her pretty unpredictable in a fight. Garrett: Mage/Healer. Learnt the basics and some elemental magic from Malcolm. Picked up Spirit-healing from Anders, but he's just good with bones for that. Merrill taught him blood magic. Aisling: Mage, Learnt from Keeper Deshanna, weather/storm spells come the most natural to her. Knight-enchanter style was taught to her by Commander Helaine, but she asked Cullen to for training with a regular sword to have some extra exercise. Radha: Double-wielding rogue. Learnt as a hunter as well, as Alyra. Observant enough to pick up techniques and forms from whomever she faces.

Life - 3. How many languages do they speak? Do they have any sort of accent?

Alyra: Elvhen, Trade. She learnt Orlesian as soon as she realized she was actually entering politics and the bigger Warden organization was from there. Has an accent on Orlesian and Trade. Raina: Trade. She picked up Elvhen from Merrill, and some Rivaini from Isabela, she can form some sentences and understand it, but don't ask her about grammar. And a couple of sentences (mainly insults) in Tevene (she asked Fenris specifically for insults), but she couldn't speak it nor understand it. She picks on accents very quickly, so she has a little accent. Garrett: Trade. Started learning Tevene to impress Fenris, on his own had terrible results. Fenris later on took pity and helped him. Some sentences and words he picked up in Elvhen from Merrills, but he couldn't understand it nor speak it. Has an accent. A strong one. Aisling: Elvhen, Trade, Tevene. Learnt Tevene on her own after the clan was chased up to Hasmal by a group of enslavers. Picked up a grammar, started to study it, had the whole clan learn the basics in the worst-case scenario. Has some basics of Orlesian because of the Inquisition, and asked the Augur to teach her Avvar, but wasn't there for long enough to know more than the very basics. Has an accent on everything that's not Elvhen. Radha: Elvhen, Trade. Some basics of Tevene (see above why). Asked Bull to teach her some Qunlat out of boredom on the way. Has an accent on everything that's not elvhen, lighter than Aisling's.

Life - 8. What sort of education did they receive?

Alyra: Trained as a hunter and in Elvhen history and lore by the hahrens in the clan. Started studying history and law when she got in Denerim and realized that not knowing that was severely impairing her in the political schemes. Kept Nathaniel so close because he had a proper education in politics and how to run an Arling that she lacked and picked up from him. Raina, Garrett: Leandra homeschooled them, taught them to read and write and calculate herself. Raina never got much further, she likes reading but her memory is selective and she won't retain informations she isn't interested in. She's curious, but will prefer to listen to someone speaking. Garrett started to pick medicine and anatomy books as soon as he started to learn healing magic. Aisling: Deshanna taught her history and lore and rituals of their people, magic and herbalism, reading and writing. Dorian taught her some better Tevene and maths -she's talented for it but lacks some basics. Josephine taught her history and genealogy, but she found it hard to remember all the names she wasn't interested into. Radha: Taught hunting and how to navigate woods, elvhen history and lore in the Clan. She is the daughter of the Keeper, the First and Second are her siblings... She picked up some magic theory as well along them. Not that she can put it in practice. She loves to read and loves non-fiction best. Picked up every single book she could get her hands on. She loves history the best.

Party - 4. Are there any companions (or advisors) they don’t get along with? Have any of them ever left the party?

Alyra: No one ever left the party, but she never got along with Wynne. She meddled in her own life too much, she didn't like the constant wining about being old and decrepit when she's 50. Never made it a mystery that she didn't like her. Raina: Sebastian. She recognizes it's Elthina's fault and blames her... But leaving his country in need to be a priest is not the kind of prince she likes. Tried to push him towards claiming his throne back, but she insulted Elthina one too many times and he didn't listen. Both him and Anders left the party after the Chantry exploded. Sebastian on his own willingness, Anders she kicked out. Garrett: Anders. He didn't like how he treated Fenris and Merrill. When he told Anders he was learning from Merrill, they actively quarrelled, and something broke. The moment he defined Fenris an animal was the moment Garrett took all his trust away. He didn't leave, he made him stay in Kirkwall to fix his own shit (and take responsibility for all the lives lost), but it wasn't out of liking him. Aisling: Vivienne. They're antipods, there's a mutual respect over abilities, but no friendship. She actually considered kicking Cassandra out of the Inquisition after the Arbor Wilds and her comments in the Temple, but refrained out of all the time she helped her. They made up, but she was close. Radha: Blackwall. Spotted he was hiding something soon. Didn't trust him one bit after he was of no use with the Wardens, couldn't give them insights... She defined him as "all mouth and no trousers" before the big reveal, with that all her suspicions got confirmed and all his big speeches had no hold on her. Gave him to the Wardens as he wished, he left the party. (the Iron Bull admitted he was a spy and was reporting to the Qun. It was more sincere and he never played behind her back.)

And then we have Friar Hawke who basically gets along with Isabela and Fenris alone. For now, who knows by Act 3, maybe he'll manage to disgust them both as well.

[slavicafire]

while I understand cost limits and all sorts of different restrictions, voice actors playing main characters in games should not also just play npcs, nor other significant characters. hearing cassandra's voice with a wonky accent as an orlesian noble or avvar rando is one thing. getting slapped with cullen's voice for anders in awakening is just a nightmare