#but BOY did i hear flemeth in there

[heniareth]

Morrigan's comment towards Alistair, the "So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?" is such an objectively nasty thing to say but also. Also!! This is Flemeth. This is Flemeth's brand of "humor". These are the only jokes Morrigan has ever been exposed to and the TONE SHE USES HERE!!! Morrigan I love and appreciate your attempts at bantering please please let me give you a crash course in jokes that will make everybody laugh

[malvolios-yellow-stockings]

I'm getting DA:O brainworms again, but there's something so delicious about unhardened Warden Alistair growing into an unrequited (but actually kind of requited) love for (Mage) Warden who romances Morrigan and leaves him behind. Like, there's this one person who's been trying to convince you of good in this world, telling you not to grow cold, this person who was your right hand man, or, moreso you were his. This boy basically, you stumbled upon, who experienced the real world for the first time with you by his side. A man you walked Ferelden up and down with. Someone you've entrusted your life to and spilt blood for and who has done the same for you. A friend who has indulged your fancies, who reluctantly did things for you, who helped you bury a king who hadn't treated him kindly. And you've never really had feelings for anyone before him, at least like this, and you don't know what they are. And then you see him mingle with the Witch of the Wilds. See how he looks at her, trying to be cocky to impress her. See her twist this man into making decisions you're sure he'd never agree to were she not there to whisper it to him. And when you turn to the rest of your companions, they mock you and warp your concern. You are ready to give your life for this man, if it means slaying the Archdemon and ending the Blight but he speaks of some Dark Ritual. And it makes your soul grow weary and scared. And then Morrigan disappears and you finally think to yourself - this was for the best. But your friend is inconsolable. He talks of her with a fog over his eyes and a wistfulness that tugs at your chest. You try to keep him close to you but can feel him slipping away as you lose most of your contact. Maybe it's for the best. You hear of his exploits while on your missions with the Wardens. You try to keep away from him because seeing him once again makes you remember how it once was. It makes you flinch to remember his attempt at making you a king to rule beside Anora. The cold calculation of it all, his action unrecognisable to you. How much even the thought of it hurt. Maybe he hadn't been your friend? Maybe he hadn't understood you after all. But you joke about it, try to make it funny in your head. He's surely like a brother to you. Who couldn't forgive their brethren? And then you hear of his disappearance. The worst thoughts present themselves to your Taint-bitten imagination. And then you realize what he was doing. Some or other mention it, a mirror of some kind, something elven, you think, (maybe he was finding his heritage?) And then you hear it whispered. Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter. Yes, that Flemeth, they say. And you've never felt more betrayed in your life. You never got to say goodbye to him. To throw a jab one last time. And you grow bitter, because isn't it grand to finally understand that everyone leaves you in the end. You were born a royal bastard but you were an expendable means to an end and you will always be. And you abort this love and twist yourself into a leader because you know how much Thedas needs you, people like you, even though the place itself and the people around you might not. You still think of him from time to time. What became of Morrigan and him, but you forget the sound of his voice and the way he brightened your days and made you believe in something better. What remains is a dull sense of betrayal and bitterness with the man who turned on his principles and left you behind. And, Maker, it makes you twist with guilt. Get over it, you think, he has chosen a dark path.

(Mind y'all -

- I refuse to believe that the whole of Ferelden doesn't know why the HoF disappeared (when he goes with Morrigan). I just refuse to buy into it.

- I'm writing this at 2 fucking am and so working at 5% brain battery and 2% coherence and I'm not caught up on DA lore - I'm currently playing Inquisition, about 50 hours in, and have just met with Alistair again, which is what pushed me to write this drabble anyways.

- His painful and palpably disappointed dialogue about the Warden walking a dark path and the way the party reacts to his concern over the Warden being with Morrigan in Origins always kind of make me feel a pinch of what if? Alistair repressed bisexual

- Surana is my fave Warden as is apparent

- I am fully aware I am UPPING THE ANGST and I say - I want more!)

[rosella-writes]

WIP Whenever

Thank you @theluckywizard and @anneapocalypse for the tag! I have a bit of the chapter I just posted for this fic, which explores how Morrigan must feel about having the proverbial rug yanked out from under her when Alistair leaves upon Loghain being recruited into the Wardens.

“I see you staring owlishly at me, young lady,” he muttered, only after ensuring that no others could hear. Zevran and Rhiannon had retired, presumably to mate yet again, and Leliana held the others enthralled in a story about a lady chevalier near the fire at the other end of the camp. Loghain looked up at Morrigan once more, the flames reflecting in his icy blue eyes. “I suppose you disapprove of my being here as well.” Morrigan sniffed, then glanced at the others again with this new thought in mind. She supposed the others had kept their distance, even now. “No, indeed,” she finally said, as dry as the biscuit in her hand. “You are a vast improvement over Alistair.” Loghain’s brow hardened, but he did not look away. He appeared almost… regretful, as if he would like to apologise, or justify himself, or even defend the boy he had displaced. Instead, he shook his head and finally dropped his gaze to the bowl in his large, war-scarred hands. “That, however,” she muttered, not ungently, “is not saying a great deal.” The former general scoffed, then took a hearty bite. He had a generous appetite, as befitted a new Warden. “He is Cailan’s brother, certainly, but I did see some of Maric’s stubbornness in him as well. He did not bend, nor yield, and for that I have respect.” “Do you not hold disdain for such an unfit king at your capable daughter’s side?” Loghain raised a brow, and his eyes — Morrigan challenged him once again with her unwavering gaze. Flemeth could not teach her the proper way to maintain eye contact, nor when to look away, and so she chose to use her golden stare to its full effect.  “It does not surprise me that you would be impressed by Anora,” Loghain finally said. “She is a brilliant woman, possessed of sharp wit and a sharper sense for politicking than I. She is much like her mother in that.” “Of course she is,” Morrigan snapped. “A girl raised by a sensible mother will be sensible herself, of course.” Loghain chuckled, suddenly, and Morrigan frowned in response. What had she said that was so funny? She had not intended to be humorous.  “You remind me of her,” he finally said, “somewhat. I have had the good fortune of knowing many sensible women in my lifetime.” Morrigan sniffed. “Then you are lucky.”

Tagging (with no pressure!): @plisuu @melisusthewee @blarrghe @cleverblackcat @viiisenyas @oxygenforthewicked @samcadoodles @breninarthur @sulky-valkyrie @mxkelsifer @v-arbellanaris💚

[viiisenyas]

I got tagged by @oxygenforthewicked​ and @psalacanthea​ (several times aaaaah) so here it is! It’s a continuation of my last chapter in Val’s POV (since it was long af and I had writers block I had to split the blasted thing) 

Warning: just a slight implication of SA :(

Valeriana

She was quiet as she followed Garrett and Flemeth through the dense forest towards the outskirts of Baldering. Valeriana ignored the perturbed chatter of Bethany and Carver, and the sympathetic gaze that Aveline kept giving her as she also remained in silence. 

She was grateful that Carver was able to walk after she’d healed him, though that was where her appreciation ended. The horrific day had nearly come to an end as the sun hung low on the horizon, and Valeriana furrowed her brow, pressing her palm against her face. 

It seemed like something straight out of one of her nightmares. In just mere hours, the home she had been welcomed into was destroyed by the darkspawn, and now Leandra’s corpse was rotting among the beasts they’d managed to cut down. And there was a child growing in her womb. She inhaled sharply, feeling the sting of grief pulling her heart once more before she shook her head, and ran her fingers through her tousled hair.

Maker, why? Why must You be so cruel?

“You should make camp. You’ll need your rest,” Flemeth suggested as they entered a clearing of the forest.

“We haven’t any supplies,” Carver muttered, raising a brow. “And what about the darkspawn?”

“You can make do.” She offered a curt nod, sliding her gaze between the group, “Worry not, dear boy. You all will be safe.” 

“We’ll need to build a fire.” Aveline sighed, “I’ll go and collect what I can.” 

“No need.” The Witch shrugged before she lifted both of her hands above her head. The foreign incantation rolled off her tongue easily before orbs of white light descended from above them, and illuminated the small meadow. 

“You’ll not want to draw attention to yourselves.” Flemeth hummed before taking a seat in the grass.

The soft sound of a sniffle emitted from her left, and Valeriana turned, catching a glimpse of Bethany wiping her tears away with her sleeve. The Tevinter apostate sighed as she pondered what to say. She knew what it was like to lose her mother, and Valeriana gave her a pitiful look before averting her gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Bethany,” She murmured, “Your mum walks with the Maker in peace, now.”

“Thank you.” Bethany nodded, and Valeriana offered her hand to her. She squeezed it gently, and gave a weak smile before Valeriana led Bethany towards Carver and Garrett who both began to make themselves comfortable, and she sat beside the eldest Hawke.

“Are you alright?” Bethany asked after a pause, “Do you want anything to eat?”

“I… I’ll be fine.” She replied, fixing her gaze on the ground, “Carver, are you in pain?”

“No. My leg feels a lot better, now. Thank you for what you did back there.” The younger Hawke’s soft smile dropped, and he glared at his brother before turning his attention back to Valeriana. “But you shouldn’t concern yourself over me. You’ve already got enough to worry about as it is.” 

“I never wanted it to be like this.” She confessed, unconsciously rubbing her abdomen.

“What do you mean?” Bethany asked.

“I… I wanted children, but…” Valeriana shook her head once more as tears stung her eyes. 

“The Maker has a sense of humour,” Garrett scoffed, scratching his beard. Valeriana looked up to find that he hadn’t spared her a glance. She was surprised to hear his voice after hours of silence, and she tilted her head as he continued, “You want children, and He gives you the spawn of that fucking Templar in the middle of a Blight.”

What?

Valeriana’s eyes rounded from his assumption, and a whirlwind of emotions overcame her. Confusion. Grief. Anger. She was offended that he’d assumed the child was Trevelyan’s and she gaped at him in disbelief. 

“Ser Trevelyan isn’t the father!” She raised her voice, letting go of Bethany’s hand as she stood.

“What?” Garrett rose to his feet, and took a step closer to her, grasping her arm. “Who else did that to you?” He demanded. She didn’t notice his siblings standing with them as she pulled away from him.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Hey!” Aveline swiftly approached, stepping between them as she pushed Garrett back a few paces. “If you don’t lower your voice, the darkspawn will descend upon us all!” 

“Back off, Aveline!” Garrett barked.

“It’s the Warden you were talking about the other day, isn’t it?” Carver asked as tension settled between the warriors. “He’s the father?” 

Hawke and Aveline exchanged glances before they both turned to face Valeriana, and she exhaled through her nose, answering the query with a nod.

“What Warden?” Garrett narrowed his eyes, jaw clenching.

“He was an apprentice in the Circle.” Bethany explained, placing a hand on Valeriana’s back. “He joined the Wardens in Ostagar recently, and... She loved him.”

Another pause settled between them, and only the sound of the forest could be heard as the wind shifted through the trees. Valeriana didn’t miss the way the Garrett’s tense posture relaxed, and she began to gnaw on her lower lip, anxiously while he lowered his gaze.

“Oh." Hawke’s tone was softer as he broke the uncomfortable silence. 

Just ‘oh?’ No apology?

Valeriana scoffed quietly, and her lips curved down into a frown. She knew he had good intentions, but she was still enraged by his sudden outburst. Instead of allowing bitterness to overcome her, she simply exhaled through her mouth.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Valeriana.” Aveline murmured, “I may not have known him, but I do know he fought and died with honour.”

She looked up to meet the widow’s gaze as tears began to slip from her eyes, unnoticed. “Thank you.” 

“What was his name?” Aveline tilted her head.

She hesitated for a moment, and her brows knitted together. She shifted her eyes between the siblings as they all shared sympathetic expressions and she finally answered.

“His name was Arthur Amell.”

[dreadfutures]

Happy Friday! For DADWC, I am craving more Morrigan and Kieran, "Shivering in a place where the Veil is thin"

Thank you for this!!!! I can't get enough of these two…

For @dadrunkwriting :

More snippets of Morrigan and Kieran in Serault.

Rating: G

-:-:-:-

There was no pause, no chance to catch their breaths.

One day it was late summer, air tinged sepia at all times. The distant buzzing of flies blanketed the Marquisate from dawn to dusk. Even as a bear, Morrigan rarely encountered such pests here, but she could hear their threat over her shoulder at all times.

Not flies, Mother, Kieran told her when she slammed her quill down and cursed the droning noise. The trees just have a lot to talk about.

Then they should grow mouths, like sylvans do, and stop their rattling! she'd responded dourly, but the trees—or rather, the Spirits within them, no doubt—did not heed her request.

One day it was late summer, air tinged sepia at all times with wildfires from across the distant Blasted Hills.

The night came and brought a frost that woke her from her dreams as surely as fingers on her neck. But it was not Halevune, returned from a mission; it was a breeze from an open window, where her son sat, shivering.

She pulled a fur from the foot of the bed and dragged it with her along the floor to his side, where she joined him on the wide lip of the windowsill. But Kieran did not move to take the offered warmth. His face remained turned upward to the red moon barely visible through the smoke. His hair had grown long in their time away, and it hung in a messy cascade over his brow and curtained his eyes from her.

Morrigan watched that profile in silence, for it lay around them thick and cold as a crypt. She shivered a little, too, despite herself. Sometimes, when they sat in silence like this—when he clearly communed with the things that watched from the Beyond—when they trespassed in places where the Veil was thin, she feared that he would turn his eyes upon her and there would be someone else looking back at her from behind his eyes. Would that creature, that being, be as much my son as this boy I know? she wondered once, but not now.

Now, she released her breath slowly, calmly, and waited.

"This place is like a waking dream," Kieran said in a shaky voice. "But I can't control anything like I can in the Fade."

He blinked slowly, lashes catching on his hair.

Morrigan tilted her head slightly and pursed her lips. "The Fade is not kind here," she told him soberly. "It comforts me some to know you cannot yet make it manifest while awake. But your control will come in time, my son."

Kieran shivered again, and this time he reached for the fur. She wrapped it around him and pulled him, thus bundled, into her arms. With her cheek upon his head and her thin, wiry arms banded across his back, she hoped to give him the anchor he needed to cast off his worries. But it would not be, she knew. He had borne these worries far longer than he should have—at a much younger age than he should have been aware. She supposed it was her curse, as well as her gift, for having raised him surrounded by so much magic.

"We have both seen the signs," she said gently across his brow. "They may seem fleeting to you, but I am sure of them."

Her son stirred in her arms, and she pulled back enough for him to turn his head and look up at her.

Morrigan's heart nearly stopped. The eyes that looked back at her were mirrors of her own—and her mother's. Overnight, Kieran's amber-brown eyes had become rings of burning, burnished gold. And while it was true that she had seen the signs of his developing magic for some time now, she had not quite been prepared for something so sudden or so…familiar.

She took one more breath and purged all thoughts of Flemeth from her mind. She would not allow this moment to be tainted with the very fear that had driven them so far from his father, and his friends.

"Look in the mirror, my love," she whispered. "You are a mage. 'Tis no mistake."

-:-:-:-

The night was cold, and a frozen morning followed.

And like that, winter was upon Serault.

[luvhrs]

shadow and bone — ep 3 thoughts:

(might have to stop here and continue tmrw after i finish this stupid stats hw 😤)

rapunzel!alina with all the light imagery in that dream

suddenly i'm watching bridgerton

i like this ginger lady miss safin can they be besties

whoaaa a tailor??? how many kinds of grisha are there :o

sAGGING TITSJDKFJDJ

kaz seems pretty adamant on the sun summoner not existing 👀 i wonder why

pretty nina~ yo now that i think abt it the extent of heartrenders' powers must be p wide tho couldn't they also just. stop someone's heart from beating in a snap

cool cinematography again!! (is that even what it's called) why is jesper eating the random biscuit(?) 😭😭😭

money money money. ain't it funny. in a rich man's world

god i'm sorry there's gonna be a lot of jester loving on here he is just. So Very Attractive and i am So Very Weak

andddd he took a detour to gamble 💀

kirigan appearing out of nowhere bcs ~shadow~ also this silhouette shot is very nice

oh my i wonder how she'll show her power. let's go exalted council

me to kirigan if i were in alina's place: [rihanna voice] what's wrong with me? why do i feel like this?

how did alina do that??? did kirigan cause that somehow??? bcs shadow needing light or vice versa or whatever but either way i'm excited to see her fight and awaken more of her power aaAAA

"you were perfect" silco haunts me. anw kirigan is very sus to me rn this feels like his plan wASN'T THAT TOO EASY

uhhhh ok sudden hostility from zoya 😐

KAZ HOLDING A GOAT IS THE BEST THING I'VE SEEN TODAY

ooh look man of progress poster (i'm just making arcane and DA references now lmao sorry)

"hope is dangerous. it clouds your judgment." sounding a lot like "emotions always screw everything up." kaz and hank ik y'all are just 2 big softies

oh no nina's still in trouble!!

convenient ominous giant train!!

GODDAMMIT JESPER

YO THIS IS SO INTERESTING I FEEL LIKE I'M ON A FIELD TRIP BUT WITH MY LIFE ON THE LINE

MAL WE MISS YOU LOVER BOY :(

OOOO ALINA A FIGHTER U GO GIRL

ok zoya has the hots for kirigan the "she's in good hands" thing /was/ in jealousy (also yeah nadya(?) me too ngl hahsjdjdd)

stag again??? what if these are her memories coming back to her 😳

bet kirigan's lurking (haha get it) in this library somewhere. oh wait that's the spiritual adviser. he's a bit creepy 😭

i absolutely love how many kinds of grisha there are!!!!! feels like pokemon. i gotta know them all

as a burnt out gifted child with nothing left of my gift now but a desire for academic validation, i like baghra bcs if she were my mentor she's the type i'd want to impress. and she's pretty

OMG SHE REMINDS ME OF FLEMETH!!! I AUTOMATICALLY LOVE HER MORE NOW

THIS TRAIN RIDE GIVES ME SO MUCH ANXIETY. THE COALLLL

oh i just noticed the grisha's uniform design depending on their power i'm BLIND

are these all the grisha existing rn or no? there are less than i expected

bro go easy on alina can i order an adjustment period 😭😭😭

JESPER ACTUALLY HUGGING THE GOAT IN RESIGNATION I'M CRIGNGJFNF

WTF JESPER COOL MOMENT??? HELLO????? MF MY SISTER IS SLEEPING BESIDE ME I CAN'T GO FERAL RNDJIEDIIJE

he's so fucking cool ohmygod you guys and if i repeat this scene all night

but also he shifted his weight fuck what's gonna happen???

THE SHOT OF THE GUN. OH MY FUCKING GOD. THAT'S SO FUCKING COOL WHAT. WHAT. IS HE ONE OF THOSE SHARPSHOOTERS???

THE SHARPSHOOTING IS COOL AF YES BUT HEAR ME OUT: HE WAS HOLDING. THE GOAT. THE ENTIRE TIME.

he is forming a lifelong bond with that goat i bet that being said i would like your hand in marriage sir

also jesper's actor giving us everything??? (also everyone else rly goddamn i hope the other charas get cool solo sequences like this too!!!) wHEW that GAZE at the beginning and then after everything seamlessly transitioning back into the funny clever persona 🤌🤌🤌

THESE BITCHES ACTUALLY MADE IT THRU. HOLY SHIT THAT DESERVES A STANDING OVATION

yo i rly love alina's letter to mal tho... idk there's smth so human abt it. it's abt the perpetual "i can go anywhere i want, just not home" feeling!!! it's abt the self-discovery and finding your place in this world!!! how it's a universal experience and yet every person goes thru it uniquely, not to mention blindly. smth hopeful in knowing that even the most powerful person in the world probably struggles with their identity

"you have always been my true north, mal." BITCH I'M 😭😭😭😭😭 that is the sweetest thing ever girlie dON'T U DARE CHOOSE KIRIGAN OVER MAL I SWEAR TO THE SAINTS

[theharellan]

I transcribed the memories and journeys Solas shares with the Inquisitor for my own reference. Plus some notes I have on them, including how it accounts for (some) of Solas’ movements pre-Inquisition and how they reflect on his character.

Ancient Ruins

“I found the ruin of Barindur, a lost Tevinter city buried beneath a dead and barren wasteland. Volcanic ash had sealed it tight. In one dark moment, every living creature in the city seared and smothered. They were statues in the ashes, like mold made to recall the lost.”

“I found an ancient dwarven thaig no longer sheltered by the stone. An earthquake had exposed it all to daylight. A thousand dwarven corpses lay, the victims of a darkspawn horde, their last stand marked by one great ring of armour. In the middle, one small body, clutching tightly to a small stuffed toy.”

“I found in the Korcari Wilds a humble cottage far removed from any of the simple Chasind tribesmen. The trees and weeds had not reclaimed the home nor did the Chasind dare to come and steal the trinkets still remaining. It was empty, long abandoned, but the world feared she might return.”

Old Memories

“I saw a savage human horde go marching toward the battlefront. They sang a soldier’s hymn to keep formation. The primal music shook the ground. These savage unwashed warriors carried harmonies no Chantry choir has mastered. Though their cause was all but hopeless, they sang songs that made the spirits weep.”

“I saw a dwarf emerge into the light of day and shield his eyes against the sun, the first time he had seen it. The tears were streaming from his eyes. I thought them from the blazing light until I saw the rock he held so tightly. Then he laid the rock down gently, and left it as he walked away.”

“I saw a young Qunari working in a simple kitchen, baking bread as she was ordered every morning. In every loaf she broke the rules. She’d take a pinch of sugar and would fold it to the center, like a secret. And this small act of rebellion brought a shining smile across her face.”

Spirits

“I met a friendly spirit who observed the dreams of village girls as love first blossomed in their adolescence. With subtlety, she steered them all to village boys with gentle hearts who would return their love with gentle kindness. The Matchmaker, so I called her. That small village never knew its luck.”

“The Alamarri crossed the Frostback Mountains to escape a beast they called the shadow goddess in their stories. I met the spirit they fled. She walks the Fade along the southern tundra, weeping, lonely, forgotten. Great Ferelden formed because a lonely spirit drove her prey away.”

“I found an ancient spirit who had once been undisputed king of almost every land I had discovered. Like pride or rage, it was the Fade’s reflection of a feeling. When I asked which one it was, the spirit faltered. ‘They’ve forgotten,’ said the spirit. ‘There remains no word for what I was.’”

My thoughts

1) Solas’ Movements

The location of Barindur isn’t confirmed, the best information we have is that it’s in Tevinter and not close to Minrathous. The most likely location would be a mountain range to the east, which would also place him nearer to the Silent Plains - a place with some connection to Solas (not only is the city located near there, but Merrill tells a tale about Fen’Harel that’s set in the Silent Plains and that’s where Genitivi and company go during Tevinter Nights).

I think he likely started in that general area of the north before moving south. This is also likely where he found the memory of the qunari, as I imagine it’s an old memory from the period where they controlled Rivain, Antiva, and Tevinter.

Most of the memories and ruins mentioned that have any discernable location take place in the south. He clearly spent the bulk of his time in southern Thedas, specifically Ferelden as he mentions both the Frostback Mountains and the Korcari Wilds. Several of his other memories seem to reference non-Andrastian southern cultures like the Alamarri.

2) Solas’ Priorities

There may be some indication he was looking for Flemeth? Or Mythal? I’m not sure what brought him to what was clearly Flemeth’s hut, but it would be an odd coincidence. He certainly didn’t seem surprised to find out she was still alive, and in Trespasser says himself she would be difficult to kill permanently.

He has a habit of finding memories that tell stories of hopeless lost causes-- the soldiers and their hymns and the dwarves who fell to Darkspawn-- or stories of rebellion which break from tradition-- the qunari baker, the soldiers, and the dwarf on the Surface.

It’s always notable to me who is missing in these stories. He tells you about qunari bakers, Avvar soldiers, dwarven exiles, and simple villages-- do you know who we don’t hear about? Kings, queens, chevaliers, the only mention of the Chantry is to compare them unfavourably to the people he is talking about. While Solas himself admits he takes some pleasure in the underhanded nature of the courts in ‘Wicked Eyes & Wicked Hearts’ these stories always indicate a tendency for Solas to look at the little things that time forgot.

I always feel these shared memories are the best indication that for all his cynicism, he doesn’t really meet the criteria of the cynical immortal trope. Not by my book, anyway. He takes too much interest in the small things, baking bread, seeing sunlight, finding love, for me to think he’s entirely weary of every day life. His voice actor delivers these lines with a cadence that suggests Solas thinks these memories are important, worth repeating and remembering. Despite everything he still sees a lot of beauty in the world around him, sometimes tragic beauty, and he’s glad to share it with his friend.

[the-horae]

tbh i want to know the answers to all of the warden questions but if you don’t feel like doing that then 1 & 2 for each companion? pretty please

Bless!! I’m so excited to do this!! I think I’ll stick to the companion questions just for brevity’s sake :) 

Zevran

1. How did your Warden react to Zevran’s failed attempt on their life? Were they amused? Angry?

Having grown up in the circle, Rowan wasn't accustomed to the concept of mortality, simply because she was raised in such a sheltered manner. I think that she failed to see the seriousness of the situation, and thought it was hilarious that she- an elf from the circle- was considered important enough to assassinate. 

2. Did your warden match Zevran’s lighthearted attitude or were they more serious? What sort of relationship did they have?

Rowan isn’t serious by any stretch of the word, and meeting Zevran helped to save her from being around the doom and gloom of Alistair and Morrigan (she loves them too, but Zevran brought a levity that she needed). They became fast friends, and grew a close bond. Though Zevran did flirt with her on occasion, their relationship always stayed one of deep friendship grounded on mutual respect and admiration. 

Alistair

1. What sort of attachment did your warden form with Alistair, if any at all? Were they close due to their shared experiences as Grey Wardens?

Rowan loves Alistair desperately, in a way that encompasses both romantic love and deep friendship. Since meeting him at Ostagar, she formed a habit of standing really close to him, almost hiding behind him. Even though she served as a leader for their group, she clung to him for comfort and support, which he gladly supplied. They are easily the closest of their rag-tag band, and never seem to leave the other’s side. 

2. Did Alistair’s parentage surprise your warden? How did your warden’s feelings on the nobility affect their relationship with Alistair?

Rowan wasn’t really surprised to hear of Alistair’s royal lineage. She told him once, just after Ostagar, that he bared a great resemblance to King Cailan. Of course, he said they both just had big noses and that was where the resemblance ended, but Rowan never let that thought go. When he finally told her, she simply smiled at him and playfully shoved his shoulder. “Ok, prince-y. Let’s go kill some corpses.” She had said, and Alistair just gaped at her as she skipped off. Rowan never made Alistair king, and favored Anora for the throne so his parentage didn’t affect them much in the end, much to Arl Eamon’s displeasure. 

Wynne

1. What did your Warden think of Wynne’s views of the circle? Did they have different experiences regarding the circle?

Rowan had known Wynne since she was a little child, and had many fond memories of her. Seeing her at Ostagar actually made her cry with relief at a familiar face, and every soul there was subjected to the sight of a tiny elven mage nearly tackling an old woman in what looked to be a bone-crushing hug. As for Wynne’s views, Rowan always thought that the circle was too restrictive, and they seem to agree on that front. Although, after awakening, Rowan became more and more angry with the circle, and the events of Dragon age 2 completely turned her against it. However, during the events of Origins, Rowan and Wynne agreed for the most part. 

2. How did your warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical?

Wynne was the closest thing Rowan had ever had to a mother, and so she hung on to every word she said with deep conviction. When Wynne voiced her skepticism about Rowan’s relationship with Alistair, Rowan was crushed. She was angry at first, asking why Wynne would doubt her like she was, but she soon understood that Wynne was just looking out for her. Once Rowan confirmed that what her and Alistair had was real love, Wynne softened to them and eventually gave them her blessing. 

Leliana

1. What was your Warden’s view on the chantry? Were they wary of Leliana due to her religious beliefs or lack thereof?

Rowan doesn’t dislike many things, but she is certain that she dislikes the chantry. Years of learning the chant in the circle failed to make her devout, and succeeded in fueling her skepticism. She studied the chant thoroughly, and the more she studied, the more she disliked it. Rowan was also a history buff, and the contradictions in the chantry throughout history only made her more distrustful. The Chantry was the reason that the elves suffered so greatly, after all. As for Leliana, Rowan was infatuated with her the second she saw her. She was too distracted by her lovely red hair and mirthful eyes to notice that she was wearing the garb of a chantry sister, and so she accepted her into her party without a second thought. As they got to know each other however, it became clear that they believed different things. Even so, the fact that Leliana actively criticized the chantry helped to earn Rowan’s trust, and they eventually became dear friends.

2. Was your warden curious about bards? If they had the opportunity, would they choose to become one?

As a mage, Rowan couldn’t become a bard, and she wouldn’t want to. After hearing all of Leliana’s stories, she knew that she didn’t have what it took to become one. Despite this, she never said no to a good bard story when Leliana offered.

Sten

1.Had your warden ever met a Qunari before sten? What did they expect?

Rowan, being the history buff that she is, had known about the ongoing war between the Qunari and Tevinter, and so she had done a good amount of research on Qunari before meeting Sten. Meeting Sten was one of Rowan’s favorite moments, mostly because she thought he was utterly fascinating, but also because she manipulated a Revered Mother to set him free. She knew that Qunari were exceptionally tall, but she was not prepared for the quality of Sten’s skin. She knew that Qunari skin contained different properties which made it hard like leather, but she was still fascinated by it. Once she and Sten grew close, he would let her research him through posing for anatomical sketches. He acted like it was an annoyance, but he secretly found her enthusiasm for learning endearing.

2. What did your warden think of Sten’s beliefs that people’s roles were determined at birth? Did they agree?

Rowan didn’t necessarily agree with his beliefs, but she certainly respected them. She would ask him the occasional question about his culture, always making sure to be respectful, and Sten would provide an answer. Even though Rowan didn’t share his beliefs, she often wondered what it would be like to have such certainty in your role in life. 

Oghren

1. What did your warden think of Orzammar? Were they impressed or did they become disillusioned with the city, like Oghren did?

At first, Rowan was fascinated by Orzammar. She thought it was beautiful, and the history attached to it was amazing to her. However, once she became more acquainted with the politics there, she realized how deeply flawed the city was. She ultimately sided with Bhelen, only because he would dissolve the caste systems, which she held a lot of disdain for. 

2. What were your wardens feelings of berserkers? Were they frightened by them? 

Like anything unconventional, Rowan loved the idea of a berserker. She would often grill Oghren about the practice, eyes sparkling with intense interest. She wasn’t afraid of them, most likely because she never truly grasped the concept of mortality, but she did hold a deep respect for them. 

Morrigan

1. What was your warden’s first impression of Morrigan? Did they trust her or were they cautious of her? 

Rowan liked Morrigan the second she laid eyes on her in the Korcari wilds. The idea of a mage living outside of the circle their entire lives fascinated her, and you can guarantee that she bombarded Morrigan with questions every chance she got. She instantly trusted her, maybe despite her better interest, but she held too much respect for the witch of the wilds to not trust her. 

2. Did your warden agree to help Morrigan kill Flemeth? Why or why not?

Rowan absolutely helped to kill Flemeth. It was a win-win situation, she could help her friend AND fight a dragon. Also, the joy in Morrigan’s face when she was presented with Flemeth’s grimoire made any dragon-related injuries worth it. 

Loghain (Rowan did not allow a war criminal to enter her party, and simply asked him to kindly die by her blade)

Shale

1. Was your Warden interested in golems upon meeting Shale? Did they think of golems as weapons or sentient beings?

Rowan was enchanted by Shale upon meeting them, and was constantly writing notes about Shale’s experiences. She believed wholeheartedly that Shale was a sentient being, and loved chatting with them whenever she could. She would also go out of her way to find new crystals for Shale to wear. Shale also allowed Rowan to sketch them, but only when they had their nice crystals on.

2. Did the realization that Shale was once a living dwarf surprise your warden? How did that change their views on golems?

Rowan was definitely shocked to find out that Shale used to be a dwarf, and after going to Orzammar, Rowan made it her duty (after the blight had been ended) to seek out any living family members of those who gave their lives to the Anvil of the Void. Her views on golems changed from fascination to feeling conflicted about them. In Shale’s case, they gave up their soul willingly, so Rowan did not pity them, and instead loved them as they were- a big, stony colossus. 

Dog

1. Who’s a good boy?

Chunk is the goodest boy to have ever lived.

Wow this was long but so fun!!! Thanks so much for asking about Rowan and her companions :))))

[bigfan-fanfic]

Vir’abelasan

~A story detailing the repercussions of Tash drinking from the Well of Sorrows~

Tagging @darlingrutherford​ 

“I can feel it... it’s... hungry.” Tash shuddered. He winced, the echoes from the Fade swirling around him. He had always felt the comforting presence of his guardian spirits swirling around him, but now... they were outnumbered. There was a throng of spirits out there, angry and vicious. But a presence beyond that nestled in the depths of the Well. 

Morrigan scoffed. “How could you possibly know that?”

Tash raised an eyebrow, although he kept his eyes fixed on the Well, as if it might reach out and grab him with a watery hand. “Abelas said that the priests put their will into the Well, right? What if it’s some sort of magical compulsion? A geas or something?”

Solas gave a soft noise of affirmation. “It is said that Mythal’s priests were exceptionally powerful, granted magic by their mistress…”

The witch seemed disconcerted that the child before her had thought of that and she hadn’t. “It is... possible. But that is all the more reason that I should take the power of the Well. I assume the risks.”

“The risks... and the rewards.” Vivienne scoffed. “I would sooner trust the Well to the false Warden than to the witch, my dear.”

“And you would have a child risk binding himself to the lingering will of elf priests?” Morrigan sneered. “And I thought that Madame de Fer could sink no lower.”

“Careful, darling, your famous husband isn’t here to mind your tongue for you.” Vivienne said tartly.

Blackwall huffed. “Can you two quit bickering? This isn’t a tea party.”

Tash nodded. “Play nice.”

Gale knelt next to him, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “What will it be, Tash? I hate to rush you, but Corypheus is coming, and we’ll need to get out of here.”

Tash glanced at Cole. “Can you sense the others? Are they safe?”

Cole closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Aura and Lottie are helping them take Samson. But… I can hear him.”

“We should go, then.” Tash sighed. “I wish Henry was here. He’d know what I should do.”

Morrigan clicked her tongue. “My husband is from the same world. He has told me that often the events here are changed from his foreknowledge. The choice is yours alone, young Inquisitor.”

Tash gave a soft whimper, his gold eyes looking from Morrigan to Solas to where Abelas had vanished, and finally to the Well. “It’s mine. I’ll drink.”

And despite Morrigan’s protests, despite Solas expressing his misgivings, Tash waded into the Well, the water rising up to his chest. He did not look back as he moved to the center of the Well of Sorrows, but his voice carried clearly to the others. “Mythal… if you’re real… mythal’enaste. Er… I don’t know the elvhen for it, but please… just don’t hurt me.”

And as soon as he reached the center, he shuddered, and then went limp, slipping into the pool as though he was a marionette and his strings snapped.

The Well exploded, water turning to dense blue fog, swirling around and around where Tash had fallen. Solas and Vivienne held up a barrier as Gale and Blackwall attempted to approach, unnerved by Cole’s mutterings of “He’s talking to her… she shouldn’t be there.”

Blackwall went charging forward as soon as the barriers were dispelled, Tash lying still at the bottom of the empty, dry Well. “Lad! Lad, are you alright?”

He scooped the boy into his arms, trying to determine what to do. And Tash’s eyes flew open.

They were blue. An unnatural, glowing blue that seemed to be bleeding from his irises across the rest of his eyes. Glowing blue lines etched themselves across his skin and up around his horns in a mimicry of the pattern on Abelas’ face.

”Vallaslin.” Gale murmured in awe. “Fenhedhis.”

Tash took a shuddering breath, but a strange chorus followed his voice, the whispering bass and tenor tones of men and an alto tone of a woman. His eyes, now completely a glowing blue, flashed as he stood and looked at Solas, head tilting.

The elf gasped and reeled back.

“Solas.” Tash said softly, in a strange way, as if he had not seen the elf for a long time. The chorus repeated his speech, just slightly out of sync, a few soft trailing whispers after his mouth had closed. “Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. Emma enasal, lethallin.”

But any response was lost in the arrival of Corypheus. Tash smiled cryptically and waved his hand toward the eluvian, and it shimmered at his command, opening the gateway. He turned his back on the rapidly approaching Elder One and moved at a stately pace towards the mirror, blue light streaming behind him to become water that formed the shape of an elf woman, rising up to combat the darkspawn magister.

Morrigan chanced one glance at the boy as they tumbled from the eluvian, safe in Skyhold. His eyes were still bleeding blue, his face lit up with the unnatural light.

Something was wrong.

- - - 

“It’s been three days! There is something terribly wrong with Tash!” Blackwall roared. And he was right. The young Inquisitor had not left his room in the intervening hours, not eaten a scrap of food nor a sip of drink. He had launched a terrible and powerful display of magic upon exiting the eluvian, breathing an unnatural fire in all the colors of the rainbow, blue light manifesting around him as a second pair of horns.

Awful sounds came from behind his door (he would not let anyone in, not even Gale), sometimes inane singing, and sometimes a babble of rapid-fire Elvhen, and most disturbingly, screams utterly devoid of the strange echo Tash’s voice had taken on, consisting only of the child’s cries. Cole had only approached the stairs to the Inquisitor’s tower when he collapsed, clutching his head in agony, repeating over and over, “Get her out get her out get her out get her out get her out.”

Varric had sent forward inquiries to Tash’s status, ones that Morgan could not answer. Morrigan had stated that there would be shouts from the Well, but this was something more. Even Henry couldn’t answer the question of what was happening.

“Solas…” Henry whispered to the elf, in the dead of night on the third day. “Mythal… is alive. Well, more like a shadow. Is it possible that she’s… possessing Tash?”

The elf cursed. “Why didn’t you say this before?”

���I didn’t want to change anything!”

Solas grabbed Henry’s wrist and dragged him up to the Inquisitor’s quarters, hurling open the door with magic, forcing their way past Gale, who had sat at the door with red eyes from worry and sleep deprivation.

Tash was perched on the railing of the balcony, staring at them with eyes that were now normal, except for the fact that they were ice blue. The vallaslin had vanished. And Tash cackled, the sound having no business coming from such a youthful throat.

“Mythal. Let him go.”

Tash leaned over the railing and let go.

“No!” Henry screamed, charging forward. But Tash had simply vanished. The Outworlder turned to Solas. “Kieran. Morrigan’s son. He’s in danger!”

 - - -

Kieran sighed as he walked away from his mother. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the Inquisitor returned. Mother usually let him stay up if he had nightmares, and he would sometimes play among the magic lights glowing in the night while she studied in the garden.

Morrigan felt a cold wind tingle the back of her neck and shuddered, suddenly realizing that she had lost sight of her son. “Kieran?” she called, standing up.

- - -

The Inquisitor was… different. He loomed out of the shadows, a finger pressed over his lips. “Hello, Kieran.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

They were. Tash didn’t have blue eyes. He was bright, and happy, and had gold eyes. This was… something else. This wasn’t Tash.

“I want to show you something, Kieran. Something amazing.”

“I… I don’t think so.”

Not-Tash’s face twisted in anguish for a moment and he looked terrified. “Run, Kieran!” he screamed. But almost instantly he resumed his oddly Tranquil-like state. “No, stay. I can help you, Kieran. I can stop the dreams. Just take my hand.”

“Kieran? Kieran!” Morrigan’s voice drifted on the wind, sounding oddly far away.

Not-Tash smiled. “I can help you, but you need to come with me. Now.”

- - - 

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, even as he ran with his wife through the Fade, accompanied by Henry, the boy from his world, and Blackwall and Gale. Morrigan had been frantic, unable to find Kieran, until Henry had shouted that he had been led into the Fade, through the eluvian. Which technically shouldn’t have been possible. But his fatherly instinct made him relax just a bit when he saw his child.

Although, seeing Kee accompanied by Tash and … oh no.

“Ah. Morgan. Long time no see. Still consorting with my daughter, then?” Flemeth chuckled. Tash spoke with her, their expressions identical.

Morrigan gasped. “Then… you…are Mythal?”

Gale immediately knelt in shock, and Blackwall yanked him to his feet. Mythal and Tash looked on in approval.

“See, girl?” they said. “Those are manners.”

“You will not have my son!” she yelled, advancing.

Tash and Mythal held out their arms, and extending from Tash came a pulse that rocked the Fade, barring Morrigan’s way with spikes of crackling green energy.

“This boy-Inquisitor is a Dreamer, you know. And he gave himself to my service because you couldn’t convince him otherwise.” Mythal-Tash taunted. The spikes faded. “But you need not worry. I mean neither him nor my grandson any harm. Merely to… exchange.”

She knelt to Kieran, and they witnessed her remove the Old God’s soul from him, promising no more dreams and letting him run to Morrigan and Morgan. Then she turned to Tash, who stilled.

“You came to me, honoring the old ways. With a clear mind and pure heart, you petitioned me for aid and drank from my Well. Though you are not of the People or my blood, you are mine, and I shall strike down your enemies for all your days. You have the knowledge from the Well, but now I shall grant you the wisdom to contain it. The voices shall not overwhelm you.”

She waved her hand over the Inquisitor’s face, and he sighed. Blue light flashed from his eyes before they faded back to gold, the only sign of his ordeal a thin blue ring just around each pupil.

“The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, boy. And it must be treated with caution.”

Tash’s eyes widened. “You… you hear them too?”

“They are the voices from Beyond, Tash. Pay them heed, for they protect you even as they evaded the grasp of the People’s gods.”

- - - 

And they exited the Fade, where Solas was waiting. “Holding open the gateway,” he had said. The elf looked to Tash. “Tash… are you well?”

“I think so…” Tash said, pensive. “I hope so. I’m worried, though. Flemeth…Mythal… she has power over me now. I’m worried about what she can do with it. But… either way, I know what we have to do next. I can hear the voices of the Well, but I’m in control. I can shut them off.”

Solas looked pale and deeply concerned, but nodded, his eyes scanning Tash’s face as if he could still see the vallaslin etched on his face in glowing blue lines. “I shall help you, Tash. I promise… I shall free you...”

[hollyand-writes]

One of the things that hurts me most about Bethany and Carver is how neither of them really get what they want out of life, regardless of which path they take in Dragon Age 2. 

And one of things I have noticed on my current Bethany playthrough after my many, many Carver playthroughs is how much more similar the Hawke twins are than I’ve seen talked about in fandom -- because, ultimately, their fears and worries come down to the same thing. It is easy to miss, though, because they express themselves so differently. 

In my playthrough, Bethany is not necessarily the cheerful “sunshine” and the optimistic “sweet little sister” I often see her depicted as. Carver is not necessarily the grumpy, sullen “middle child” type (although it’s never explicitly confirmed that he’s actually a middle child) I often see him depicted as, either. Bethany has her hard, frosty edges. Carver has his soft, caring ones. 

Both twins are foils for each other in many ways -- Bethany the mage, Carver the warrior; Bethany the one who openly talks about her feelings, Carver the one who doesn’t; Bethany the one who’s overtly religious/devout, while Carver is privately so; Bethany expresses through her words, Carver expresses through his actions; Bethany, who starts on high friendship with (and admiration of) Hawke while Carver... definitely doesn’t -- but their character arcs in DA2 and even many of their dialogues and reactions are the same. 

Note that when you go to Sundermount in Act 1, Flemeth’s advice to them is exactly the same, regardless of how opposite Bethany and Carver seem on the surface. 

“Regret is something I know well. Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul.” 

Curious, no? Why does Flemeth have the same advice for them on regret, despite Bethany being the “sunny” one and Carver being the “sulky” one? 

In a Regency AU longfic of mine, I write Bethany as the sunny, cheerful twin, but with a bit of the snark she has in game. The narrative choice I made to deviate her character from canon was because her circumstances are so different: both Hawke twins are alive, for a start. Bethany, in my AU, has every reason to be happy: she isn’t a mage, she is nobility, she lives in a nice house and has nice dresses and goes to parties where she got to flirt with a handsome prince and lives the life that she canonically loved so much in stories she read growing up. 

The Bethany in-game is... not quite like that. The Bethany in-game is worried. She is constantly looking over her shoulder for templars. The Bethany in-game talks with animation and interest and longing about what their life might have been like if they got to be Amells and nobility -- no poverty, no hiding, no running, no make-shift dresses that Leandra learned to sew when she ran away with Malcolm -- but also with a twinge of regret that her life couldn’t be like that. That her life couldn’t ever be like her dreams, like the stories she loves. 

The Bethany in-game is, as Carver tells you in the Legacy DLC, a girl who wanted so badly to just be “normal”. No magic. No hiding. No looking over her shoulder all the time for fear that the templars might come. Bethany is canonically a virgin in Act 1 but not because she’s this innocent, virginal sweet-little-sister type -- but because she was forced to hide. She couldn’t get too close to anyone, couldn’t let them ever see the real her, because she was a mage -- and because who could she trust, other than her family, not to sell her out to the templars? World of Thedas 2 talks about how she “never did anything fun [and] stayed down in her house most of the time.” It’s likely she didn’t want to be like that, but that she felt forced to be like that. 

(Carver had more freedom in that respect -- able to moon after Peaches or even get busy with her behind Old Barlin’s barn without worrying that he might accidentally reveal himself as a mage. It’s a secret that is easier to keep when it’s not you that’s the mage. And yet, even then, both Hawke twins found ways to help their neighbours and community in Lothering -- we learn from Act 2 letters that Carver helped a neighbour trap rats in the cellar, while Bethany helped the neighbour weed.)

And then, just when Bethany comes so close to that ideal life that she always wanted and dreamed of -- just as Hawke is about to hit the jackpot and reclaim the Amell Estate, and end all her worries about being a poor apostate unprotected by money or title (for that’s what the whole Deep Roads Expedition is about: Carver even says they need money, influence, status, anything to get the templars off their backs) -- her dreams are denied, again. She either goes to the Wardens or gets taken to the Circle. 

As a Warden, Bethany is obviously harder, bitter. Her interactions with you have more bite, less affection, and her regrets about the life she is now forced to lead are obvious. But I argue that while she seems “happier” in the Circle, she is not necessarily so. She is just better at hiding it in her letter to you -- and focuses on the fact that at least she is no longer forced to hide anymore. Her meeting with you during the Qunari battle at the end of Act 2 as a Circle mage is anything other than sunny: she is even cold towards Hawke: 

Hawke: ‘It’s a Hawke family reunion!”  Bethany, bitterly: “What’s left of it.” 

Or even: 

Hawke: “I’m glad you’re safe.” Bethany: “The city is under attack. None of us are safe.” 

Or even her angry response about you getting involved in Orsino and Meredith’s argument at the end of Act 3. Even as a Circle mage, you can hear the bitterness in her voice -- and if she comes back and fights with you as a Warden, it is obvious (at least to me) that she is still struggling to make peace with her new life and how its cost her even more than she thought her status as a mage already cost you all. 

But, as far as Bethany is concerned, at least in the Circle, she is no longer forced to hide anymore. If she can’t join you in (what she perceives, perhaps with some hint of envy in her interactions with you in the DLCs, as) your fancy life as a noble up in Hightown, if she can’t be “normal”, then at least she can be “normal for a mage”. Fleeing is exhausting. Knowing you are the reason your family are always fleeing -- or at least, one of the reasons your family is fleeing -- probably brings on a lot of guilt, at best... or even regrets that you were born and caused them so much difficulty, at worst. 

Bethany spends most of the game worrying about herself, for obvious reasons. Carver, on the other hand, spends most of the game worrying about you. 

Carver’s bitterness and regrets are more obvious than Bethany’s. Carver was not the boy who wanted to be “normal”: like he tells you in Act 1, “I want to be someone.” In the Wardens, he finds his purpose, albeit at a great personal cost he often glosses over in conversation. In the Templars, he is “a man still uncertain of his choice” but if there is one thing that can be said in its favour, it was his choice, for once. Not his family’s. Not Hawke’s. After all, what else could he do, when you chose to leave him behind and Bartrand returns without you and you’re presumably dead? When Fereldan refugees cannot find employment in the city and Aveline denies his application to be a city guard (which I believe would have been the best choice for Carver, and it’s kind of bittersweet that he only gets to be one -- or rather, help them out -- during DA:I when he’s been a templar for so many years and is addicted to lyrium). 

His mother is in mourning during Act 1 and won’t work; his uncle gambles all his money away. The templars are the only option open to a man of someone of his skills and desperation, and he naively joins thinking he can help people like Bethany -- his dead mage twin sister over whom he obviously has regrets that she was the one who died and not him. 

Both twins have a resentful streak over their circumstances, although Carver’s resentment is more obvious than Bethany’s (although Bethany’s resentment definitely comes out on occasion, much more so as a Warden; Bethany is just better at hiding/suppressing hers). Bethany’s codex entry says that “she could never give up her resentment of being different and fear for what their future would hold”. Carver’s resentment, on the other hand, comes from how that “difference” affected him and your family, not to mention the pain it caused Bethany over not “being normal”. 

Basically, neither the Hawke twins got what they wanted out of this life. They are forced to make do with less-than-ideal circumstances that turn them even further away from their hopes and dreams, whichever path you choose for them. They make do, and they cope as best as they can, no matter how well or imperfectly they do it. And it gets me in the feels every time. 

[emmalyneamell]

Kiss Writing Prompt

I got a prompt from @dickeybbqpit to write about an “Awkward Teen Kiss”!  This was actually pretty fun, thanks so much!

Here’s a link to AO3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851598

_________________

The calm quiet of the Circle’s library was interrupted by a soft curse from Jowan. Emmalyne tried to ignore him, keeping her head lowered as she concentrated on the words in front of her. It was early afternoon, and they were between lessons. While most of the other apprentices spent the free hour in their rooms gossiping with their fellow mages, Emmalyne preferred to use her relaxation time in a peaceful setting surrounded by her favorite things- books. Of course, Jowan always accompanied her, whether invited or not. She was used to it.

The book was one she’d visited many times before- Tales of Thedas: Fables and Folklore from around the Continent. Currently, the pages were opened to her favorite story- the tale of Flemeth. She was just getting to the good part when she heard Jowan mutter another curse, and she looked up at him with a glare which he failed to notice. He was leaning back in his chair across the table, snacking on a bag of candied nuts. He attempted to toss a nut into the air and catch it in his mouth, but it bounced off his chin and down his front. He’d been at it for the last few minutes, and there were more nuts that ended up on the floor than in his mouth.

Emma rolled her eyes and returned to her book. She turned the page carefully, slowly, holding her breath in expectation. On the next page was a beautifully colored illustration that filled the entire page, one that never failed to inspire her awe. It was a portrait of Flemeth with her love, Osen, and they were entangled in a passionate embrace. Flemeth was a vision of mythical beauty, with long raven hair that cascaded over her back and shoulders. She gazed up with wide, dark eyes and full red lips, and her figure was the perfect model of womanhood- small waist, full breasts, wide hips and swan-like neck. Osen was nearly just as beautiful, with golden curls and a handsome face, strong and masculine, though still young and smooth. The lovers had there arms wrapped around one another, and they were frozen in such a way that their lips almost touched, as though they were about to kiss.

Emma stared at the figure of Flemeth, comparing the picture’s looks with her own. What she wouldn’t give to look like that- but her own hair was a dull, mousy brown, too straight and too fine, which she always kept in a long, thin braid. She was shorter, too, and her breasts were almost nonexistent. Emma had dreamed for much of her life to be loved the way Osen loved Flemeth, but here she was, fifteen years old, and she’d never even been kissed.

“Jowan,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes still glued to the page, “do you think I’m pretty?”

There was a loud thunk as Jowan just barely caught himself from tipping out of his chair, and he choked violently on a nut. When the hacking stopped, Jowan looked at Emma with wide, watery eyes. “Um... what?” he croaked.

Emma sighed, impatient. “Do you think I’m pretty? It’s a simple question.”

Jowan cleared his throat and looked around, searching if anyone was nearby to hear. Or help. “I mean,” he stammered, “Well, you... I’m not... why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know,” Emma replied simply. “I’ve never been called pretty before, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m not pretty, or if it’s just that no one has ever told me I’m pretty. So?”

Jowan’s face flushed. He shook a tendril of dark hair from his eyes, and began tapping his fingers nervously on the table. “Well, you are sort of pretty, for a girl... I mean of course for a girl, you’re not like a goat, or a rabbit or something... haha.”

He chuckled nervously and dared a glance in her direction. Emma’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“A goat or a rabbit?” She slammed the book closed and stood, sending her chair back a few inches. “Maker, Jowan, what is wrong with you?”

She stormed out of the library, even as she was met with curious stares, and one old man who shushed her on the way. Her face was warmed by rage and embarrassment. Jowan was her oldest friend- her only friend, if she was honest. Why was it so hard for him to answer a simple question without turning into an idiot?

The rest of the day seemed to drag on, and finally it was time for the apprentices and mages to head to the dining hall for the evening meal. Usually Emma and Jowan went together, and sat next to each other, but he was no where to be found as Emma fell in with the rushing current of chattering students towards the hall. It felt strange to be going to supper alone, but then, Emma was still a little mad at Jowan. Or so she told herself.

Just before she reached the dining hall entrance, Emma was yanked to the side by the sleeve of her robe. She yelped in surprise, fear rising in the back of her throat as she imagined that she was in trouble for something she couldn’t remember doing. The Templars has never bothered her before, or even seemed to notice her, but she’d heard stories...

She was pulled out of the crowd and away, and that’s when she saw Jowan. Before she had a chance to yell at him, he put a finger to his lips and jerked his head to the side. “Come on!” he insisted, pulling her arm more gently this time and leading her down the hall. He stopped at a small, dimly lit alcove, and looked around cautiously before ducking inside and pulling Emma with him.

“Jowan, let me go!” she said in a harsh whisper, yanking her arm out of his grasp. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I needed to tell you something.”

“Can’t you tell me at supper? I’m hungry!”

“No, I can’t,” Jowan said. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “Emma, I want to say I’m sorry. And that... I do think you’re pretty. Actually, I’ve always thought that you were pretty.”

Emma’s jaw dropped, and then realizing how ridiculous she must look, she snapped it closed. She watched Jowan as he shifted his weight nervously from side to side, his gaze going everywhere but on her. They were already speaking in hushed voices, but Emma’s voice grew even softer as she said, “Really?”

Jowan nodded, and she noticed for the first time that he was blushing. He looked like a frightened little boy, rather than his true sixteen years. Finally he looked at her and said, “I don’t get how no one has ever told you that before. I mean, it’s pretty obvious to me. But then, I’m not exactly a prince, so I know it doesn’t matter much what I think, but...”

Emma must have been drunk on a mix of elation and shock, because she couldn’t understand a word of Jowan’s rambling. And also because she could hardly believe what she did next. Even as Jowan continued rambling, Emma leaned forward, put her hands on Jowan’s shoulders, and pressed her lips against his. Jowan was silenced with a surprised squeak, and he stood frozen as a marble statue. Emma closed her eyes, because she believed that’s what people did when they kissed. Jowan’s lips were thin, and a little wet, and they tasted like almonds.

Emma was suddenly struck with the horror of uncertainty. Should she move her mouth? Change the angle of her head? Why was he standing so still? She clearly hadn’t thought this through. She attempted to gracefully end the kiss, removing her hands from Jowan and taking a step back. His eyes were closed, and they opened in a daze.

“I um... thank you,” Emma said, because she couldn’t think of anything else.

Jowan stared back at her. “Uh... you’re welcome.”

And then they were both laughing, not too loudly, still careful about not being caught. “Come on,” Emma said, giving Jowan a playful tap on his shoulder. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

They sat together in the dining hall and talked as they ate, like they always did, even though the casualness of their conversation felt a little forced. As she went over the kiss with Jowan in her mind, Emma decided that it wasn’t so bad. She wasn’t certain whether or not she wanted to do it again- Jowan was her best friend, but she had never looked at him in that way. He’d been at the Circle for a year before she’d arrived, when Emmalyne was just nine years old. He’d looked after her, been kind to her when everyone else mostly ignored her. And when Jowan was bullied by the other apprentices, Emma was the first to stand up for him, to hold his hand while he cried.

They’d been through a lot together over the years. Her friendship with Jowan meant a lot to her, and Emma didn’t want to risk it for anything. They only had each other, after all.

[heniareth]

So I’m watching an Origins gameplay and... before the battle at Ostagar Alistair is much more decisive and willing to take responsability. It’s afterwards, when you talk with him in front of Flemeth’s hut, when you first get to hear that soft tone of voice that he uses when sad or unsure. I never noticed this, which is why I’m pointing it out; the deaths of Duncan and the other wardens really did a number on this boy, to the point where he doesn’t trusts himself with making decisions at all anymore because he let Duncan and everybody else die. And of course he hates Loghain to the Void and back. This explains so much

[allisondraste]

Temperance (4/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary:  Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:   Liss is determined to make that grumpy Howe boy her friend, but she isn't prepared for what that entails.

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

Highever, 9:15 Dragon

Liss had made a new friend, or at least she was bound and determined to make that quiet, grumpy Howe boy her friend.  Nathaniel — or Nate, as she had decided to call him — seemed much less interested in the notion, however. In fact, he didn’t seem interested in much at all, especially not normal things that kids should be interested in.  He had been staying in Highever for over a month now, and she had never seen him play, not a single time. He just attended lessons, read books, and followed Fergus around like he was a sad, little puppy. Liss didn’t understand why anyone would want to follow Fergus around.  He smelled like sweat and old cheese.

Papa told her she wasn’t to bother him, but she didn’t think that encouraging him to act like a normal kid was the same as “bothering.”  Nate did not seem to mind it much whenever she left her lessons early and sought him out. While he was never really excited when she dragged him outside to the gardens and enlisted him in her search for the perfect flowers to braid into a crown,  to play games, or even just to hide from Aldous behind some of the bushes, he didn’t complain. The only time Nate got annoyed with her was when she tried to make him wear the flower crown she had so artfully crafted. As soon as the white petals touched his pretty black hair, he blushed and took it off, handing it back to her forcefully.  She tried to remember not to do that again.

Liss had once again persuaded her way out of Aldous’ lecture, this time by reciting the entire tale of Flemeth and Bann Conobar from memory when he asked if she’d even paid attention.  Little did he know she had read several different versions of the tale -- multiple times. She did not need to attend to his instruction, especially when he couldn’t even pronounce the names properly.  She was only eight and she knew that it was Oh-sen, not Ah-sen. Obviously defeated, the man had grumbled about “Bryce’s know-it-all children,” thrown his hands up in frustration, and told her she was free to go.  Thrilled she did not have to sneak away this time, she skipped out of the room and into the open air.

She didn’t make it far as she had hoped before she felt a tug at her arm drawing her abruptly to a halt.  She spun to face the person holding her arm only to see Fergus towering over her with his eyebrows raised.

“Skipping again?” He spoke in a gentle kind of way that he always did when he wasn’t really serious.  “You’re going to get in trouble.”

“Aldous let me go, I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Please don’t tell Papa, Fergus.’  She clasped her hands together and pouted, earning her an eye roll and a hair tousle.

“Your secret’s safe with me, sis,”  Fergus answered with a smile, making Liss feel a twinge of guilt for thinking he was smelly.  Just a twinge.

Liss nodded and turned to continue her traipse toward the  courtyard, but Fergus called after her. “If you’re looking for Nathaniel, he’s out at the archery range.”

“Okay,” she chirped and took off running toward the castle gates.  The targets were lined up just inside the walls, where guards sometimes practiced.  There were no guards around at the moment, leaving the area empty and quiet.

Nate stood at the far end, several feet away from a target that was nestled in a corner.  She didn’t understand his affinity for small, secluded spaces, but she didn’t plan on pointing it out to him.  Several arrows already protruded from the target, close to the center, but not quite a bullseye.

Liss watched as he took another dull, training arrow from the quiver, line it up on the bow across his finger, and aim carefully as he drew back the string.  His eyebrows pressed together as he released the string, sending the arrow flying toward the target and landing directly in the middle. The corner of Nate’s lips quirked up at the hit, quickly turning into a grin that spread across his face.  It even lit up his eyes.

“Wow,” Liss exclaimed, causing Nate to jump and dart his head in her direction.  His smile fell briefly and then returned when he realized it was her.

“Did you see that?” He motioned toward the target with his thumb as he walked toward her. “I’ve never done that before.”

“That was amazing ,” Liss said excitedly, “Mama tried to teach Fergus to shoot like that, but he’s better with a sword.  How did you learn to do that?”

Nate shrugged. “I just practiced.”

“Can you show me?”

“You want to learn how to use a bow?” He blinked in disbelief.  “Are you allowed? Father never lets Delilah use weapons. Says it’s not something girls should do.”

“That’s silly.” Liss was indignant, puffing out her chest and turning her nose up.  “Papa says girls can do anything that boys can.”

“Right...sorry.  I’ll show you.” He motioned for her to follow him, moving to stand in front of one of the targets.  She ran after him giddily, eager for the chance to learn something new. Nate placed the bow in her hands and walked forward to retrieve the arrows from the target.  It was heavier than she expected, coarse wood rough in her palms. He returned with the arrows in hand and extended one out to her. “I never got why Delilah wasn’t allowed.  She’d be good at it.”

Liss took the arrow and stared awkwardly between it and the bow, unsure how to hold either, before looking up at Nate helplessly.   He laughed, taking her shoulders and squaring her up with the target. “Which hand do you write with?”

She raised her right hand and wiggled her fingers.

“You want to hold the bow in your left hand, then,” he explained, “And line your left shoulder up with the target when you aim.”  

“Like this?”

“Mhm,” Nate said with a nod, “Make sure your feet are far enough apart that you can balance.  Do you know what to do with the arrow now?”

Liss nodded in response,  hooking the end of the arrow on the string and lining it up with her finger, just as she had seen her mother and Nate do.

“Right!   Now you just shoot it.”

The bowstring was more difficult to pull back than she intended, and her arms shook as she attempted to aim.  Her posture failed her, and when she released the arrow, it soared directly into the ground. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and she expected to find Nate laughing at her when she turned to face him, but he wasn’t.  He only smiled gently and handed her another arrow. Fergus would have laughed at her.

“It’s harder than it looks,” he said, moving to stand behind her, lining her shoulders up again and holding her in place as she drew back the string and released the arrow.  It wasn’t a great shot, a bit too high, but it struck and sunk into the very top edge of the target.

“Oh,” Liss said, bewildered as she turned to face her friend, “I did it!  Thank you!” She threw her arms around him in an excited embrace. He stiffened, but didn't push her away.

“It’s-,” Nate began to reply, but he paused, blinking in the direction of the door to the castle’s main hall.  Liss turned to figure out what had caused him to stop, only to see her father standing a few feet away, smiling as he always did.  For a moment she worried that he would be cross that she was not in her lessons again, but he did not seem to realize she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

“Good work, kids,” he remarked cheerfully as he moved closer to them, tousling Liss’ hair as Fergus had done and giving Nate a pat on the shoulder. Despite his typically happy appearance, something was wrong.  He had a heaviness in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing, and his hand lingered on Nate’s shoulder as he addressed her. “Pup, I need to speak to Nathaniel for a bit. Why don’t you go find Fergus and the two of you get washed up for dinner?”

“But Papa, I-.” She wanted to stay with Nate, and practice shooting more.  She didn’t know why she couldn’t hear what Papa had to say, too.

“Elissa.”  His tone was serious, and she knew she needed to do as he said without protest this time.  She offered an apologetic smile to Nate, whose eyes had widened with worry, as she ran off to find her brother.  

It took awhile to find Fergus, who had been down in the kennels with the Mabari trainers and breeders.  His latest fixation was to have one of the puppies bond with him; however, he had no luck so far. Papa warned him that the more he tried to force a bond, the less likely it was to happen.  Fergus didn’t listen, though, and stubbornly went down to the basement each day to pester the dogs. She hoped it would happen for him soon, for his sake and for the dogs’.

“I shot a bow,” she told him proudly as they walked up the stairs to their rooms.

“Get a bullseye?”

“No, but I hit the target once.” She beamed, as she spoke. “Nate helped me.”

“Good on him,” Fergus said, a chuckle at the end of his words, “Maybe he can help me, too. Get mum to stop lecturing me about it.”  

After washing up and changing into a different dress, one that was not covered in dirty paw prints from being in the kennels, Liss joined her family in the dining room for the evening meal.  Her parents and Fergus were already seated, awaiting her arrival. Looking across the table, she frowned when she didn’t see Nate, his usual seat empty and unset. She turned her gaze to her father, who just shook his head, somberly.

“Where’s Nate?”  She pulled out her chair and sat down at the table that was nearly too tall for her.  “Is he okay?”

Her parents exchanged glances and nodded at one another before looking back toward Liss and Fergus.  

“Sweetheart,” her mother began, voice quivering as she spoke, “Nathaniel received some really sad news from home.  He didn’t feel like coming to dinner today.”

“Sad news,” Fergus repeated, “What kind of sad news?”  

“Apparently Nathaniel’s mother has been very sick for some time now,” her father said, “I don’t know if he told either of you.  I know that it is not something Rendon has ever mentioned.”

Liss and Fergus both shook their heads.  She remembered him talking about his father, sister, and brother, but not once since he had been in Highever could she remember him saying anything about his mother.  Especially not anything about her being sick.

“Is she okay,” Liss asked, scooting her chair out and standing up again, hands on the table.

“She died, pup.”  Her father frowned as he spoke, “Last week, actually.  The letter just arrived today. They poor lad wasn’t even able to go to her funeral, to say goodbye.”

“Bryce,” her mother said pointedly, laying a soothing arm on his shoulder.  Liss didn’t understand the exchange, but it upset her to see her father so clearly bothered.  He almost seemed angry.

“Is...Nate okay?” Liss was still standing, fists now clenched at her side.

“No, but he will be,” her father told her softly, “He asked if he could stay in his room instead of come to dinner.  I think he wants to be alone.”

Liss didn’t even ask to be excused before she took off running out of the dining hall, up the stairs in the corridor, and toward Nate’s room. She ignored her parents calls for her to come back, thinking about how she might feel if her mother were to die.  It made her so sad she could hardly stand it and she couldn’t even imagine what Nate was feeling. She knew her father was right and that he probably wanted to be by himself, but she was his friend, and she couldn’t just leave him all alone. If he told her to go away, she would, but she at least had to try.  

When she reached the door to his bedroom, she pressed her ear against the elaborately carved wood, but wasn’t able to hear anything.  She knocked, and when there was no answer, she let herself in, turning the knob and pushing the door open gently. She scanned the room, which was illuminated by a lone sconce on the wall, only to find Nate sitting on the floor in a far corner of the room, his back against the wall.  He traced the edges of a small, golden ring with his fingertips, staring at the ground. When he heard the door creak open, despite Liss’ attempts to be quiet, he looked up at her with swollen, tear-reddened eyes.

“Liss?”  His voice was hoarse, and barely more than a whisper.  

“Mama and Papa told me what happened,” she explained as she moved closer, sitting down next to him, “I’m really sorry.”

He said nothing in response, instead just closing his eyes and letting his head droop.  Large tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his chin, and she didn’t know what to do.  She’d never seen a boy cry before, and she was at a loss for how to make him feel better.

“I can go if you want me to,” she said softly, “Papa said you might want to be al-.”

“No,” Nate choked out, urgently, “Stay. Please stay.”

Unsure what else to do, she leaned over and put an arm around his shoulder.  In a swift, unexpected movement, he turned to wrap his arms around her in a desperate hug, his face buried into her shoulder so that she could feel the warm tears as the fell.  He wept and trembled against her and she put her other arm around him, reaching up to pat his head with her hand. It was just as Mama did when she was upset. She wondered if Nate’s mama had held him like this, too, but that made her sad, and sympathetic tears burned in her eyes before dropping to her cheeks.  

“I’m so so sorry, Nate,” she said, squeezing him more tightly, “I’m sorry.”

She held him for a long while, until his breathing slowed and became more even, his grip on her relaxing, his shaky body finally resting, as he fell asleep against her.  She guessed he had worn himself out, and she was glad to see him at peace. She was only slightly bothered that she was now stuck, unable to move him and not wanting to wake him up.

She was relieved when the door creaked open, and she looked up to see her parents standing there, framed by the light from the hallway.  Her father frowned, eyebrows furrowed as her mother brought a hand to her mouth. Nate didn’t hear them, and they both entered quietly. Her father hurried over to pick up Nate, carrying him to his bed and tucking him in under the heavy covers.  Her mother, noticing Liss’ own tears, rushed to her side and held her, much as she had held her friend just moments before.

“It’s so sad, Mama,” she mumbled into the the woman’s gown.

“I know, sweetheart,” she soothed, pressing a kiss against Liss’ hair, “I know.”

“My girl, you did a good thing tonight,” her father said as he knelt to join them.  “But you must be exhausted. How about we get you to bed?”

Liss nodded, still sniffling.  Tonight, she welcomed bedtime, comforted as she was carried to bed by her mother, who was still alive.  She said a tiny prayer before she fell asleep that the Maker would take care of Nate’s mother, and that he wouldn’t take her own, not for a very, very long time.

[lostinfantasies38]

Ruby Red

Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978027/chapters/49882940

Characters: Alistair/Morrigan, MHawke, Leliana, FCousland/Zevran (mentioned)

Rating: MA (explicit language, sex scene, non-con elements/ritual sex, graphic violence)

Summary: Alistair and Morrigan meet again in Skyhold's garden prior to the fight at Adamant Fortress. Memories buried resurface and renewed guilt burns bright. Ten years have passed and people can change, but is it enough for these two with a dark and bitter history?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, well, well.  What have we here?  A lost Grey Warden?  How unsurprising that without the Hero of Ferelden, you are always such.” 

Her velvety voice ghosted over him like a cold breeze, dropping the temperature around him by several degrees.  He closed his eyes tightly and grit his teeth in annoyance before steeling himself to turn around and face her.

“Morrigan.  And here I was hoping that the actual reason for your disappearance the last ten years was because you jumped off a cliff.”  Alistair crossed his arms defensively – an automatic mechanism he employed whenever she was around.  He caught himself and growled at his response.  He was thirty-one for Maker’s sake – he was no longer an unsure boy who cowered in her presence. 

She laughed richly at the effect she still had over him and he narrowed his eyes at how much it reminded him of Flemeth.  Clearing her throat, the witch spoke again.  “I see that you have found yourself in the midst of events that threaten to shake the world again.  But – so do I.  What do you suppose that says about us?”

Alistair shrugged his broad shoulders.  “Nothing good, I’m sure.” 

Morrigan studied him carefully.  “No quip about the Maker having a sense of humor then?  How curious.  I thought nothing could diminish your feeble attempts at humor.”

He scowled.  “People change.  Well, except for you, but that’s probably because you aren’t really a person.  You’re Flemeth’s daughter – a Witch of the Wilds.” 

She smiled coldly.  “Ah, there it is.  That famous antagonistic wit you always saved for me.”

With a mocking bow Alistair continued.  “Don’t forget Loghain.  I save my best one-liners for those who are sure to stab me in the back.”

Morrigan straightened even more, if such a thing were possible, her jaw working back and forth in unspoken anger, but her next words surprised him.  “I shall leave you to the garden, then.  Enjoy it while you can.  I hear the Inquisitor personally planted some of the rosebushes.”  On silent feet, she swiftly turned and ducked into one of the guest rooms off the garden.

Snarling to himself in disgust that he let her get to him again he brushed off his traveling armor, as though he could brush her off of him as easily as dust, and headed back into the castle.  He promised Leliana that they would spend some time catching up. 

It would take several days, if not a week or more, to make all the necessary arrangements for the assault on Adamant, so he and Hawke were spending the time in Skyhold.  It was the first time he’d had an actual roof over his head in months – not to mention a bed and a hot meal that he hadn’t been required to kill, dress, and cook himself.  Usually on the road, he stuck to jerky and hardtack because they traveled well and did not draw the attention of wild animals or unsavory humans.  Alistair was glad for the respite – he knew that going up against the entire Order was not going to be an easy feat and this opportunity gave him a chance to fully prepare.  Now, if only he could get that damn song in his head to shut up so he could get some decent sleep.

Pushing his encounter to the back of his mind, Alistair took the stairs to Leliana’s rookery and plopped down in the chair across from her.  She smiled warmly at him and took his hand across the jagged wood between them.  “Alistair, I am so glad to see you.  It’s been too long.”

He squeezed her hand lightly and smiled back.  “I know, I’m sorry.  I’m terrible at writing letters.  It was easier when I was still in Ferelden, but since the call to Orlais. . .well, I’m sorry.”

The rogue’s lips pulled down slightly at the corners in concern for her friend.  Hawke had told the advisors about the Calling that all the Wardens were hearing.  “There is no need to apologize to me, Alistair.  You are my friend and I am always here for you, you know that, don’t you?”

The strawberry blond swallowed thickly against the compassion in her voice.  So – she knew.  He patted her hand and nodded, as words had escaped him and he worried that if he opened his mouth, sobs would fall out instead.

 ~~~~~FULL CHAPTER ON AO3

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

Striking a Bargain

A commission for @kittenmarsh ! Thank you for your order, it was so pleasant to work with you! :)

Anders is on the run and finds himself in trouble... and in Flemeth's sights.

Characters: Anders, Flemeth, an unnamed daughter of Flemeth

Rating: T

Tags: past harm to Anders, but he gets better it’s okay, references to blood, post-DA2,

Words: 1,578

Read it on AO3!

==

He wakes up in bits and spurts, the Fade clinging desperately to his mind.

Sound, Anders registers first. Crackling leaves rattle the frayed edges of his consciousness like warning bells. Somewhere someone murmurs, the words garbled and indistinct. Soft footsteps draw near.

Touch, too, comes, in its own time. Fabric that chafes against raw skin. Gravity pressing him against the earth. The weight of his tongue in his mouth, how his hands curl at his side. Something burns along his abdomen when he shifts and he bites his lip; the barest touch of teeth on chapped, split skin is more violent than any Templar’s blade.

Blood trickles, and soon taste bludgeons its way to the forefront for recognition. Elemental iron, coppery and tangy and brackish on his tongue. The way the air has dried his mouth to rival the blight-born Anderfellan deserts.

“You’re awake. Good.” A voice. Someone is with him—Hawke? Not Hawke, no; Hawke stayed in Kirkwall, had armed him with the coat off their back and their own prized dagger and a threat-laced plea never to return.

He groans, throat hoarse from disuse, or perhaps overuse. He isn’t sure, it just aches in soul-deep agony.

“Wh—who…” He briefly tries to open his eyes, only to be met by a wave of nausea that crawls up his gullet like a demon. They close.

“Girl, the flask.”

“Yes, Flem—mother,” a second voice says.

Another sense kicks into gear: panic.

His heart creeps into his throat as he’s lifted by the shoulders, and whatever burned in his belly flares like the lava that floods the darkened floors of the Deep Roads. A bitten-off scream tears from his throat.

“Dramatic,” the first voice says, closer now, and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes to look. A flask is roughly pressed to his lips and dribbles water into his arid mouth, and he only saves himself from drowning when his throat convulses on instinct at the intrusion.

“Look at me, boy,” she says, the order clear, and he does when a hand grips his chin to force his face up.

She’s no different than when he laid eyes on her years ago, even though she wavers and splits into two before him. Eerie amber eyes peer dispassionately at his face, framed by the thick burnished metal headpiece at her brow. Her hair still rises like dragonbone from her face, somehow part of and separate still from her warrior’s crown. Her lips twist in a cruel smile.

“Flemeth,” Anders breathes, voice thin as a river reed as it scratches over his tongue. His gut quakes at her nearness.

“The very same.” Her eyes dart over his head, and she releases his chin. The flask returns and he is no better prepared the second time.

His gaze never leaves her.

“You remember me. Good. I enjoy people with their wits about them.”

She struts away and Anders tilts his head back to look up at the other woman, who eyes him with those same uninterested amber eyes. Another daughter, then? Or is this the one she mentioned when they met at the Sundermount altar?

He isn’t sure if he wants to know, all things considered.

“What to do with you…”

Flemeth’s idle musing catches his attention and sends his heart racing. Oh Maker, oh Andraste… She turns toward him, eyes bright and that knife-sharp smile creasing her features but never making it to her eyes.

“I have a bargain for you, boy,” she says. “Will you do an old woman the favor of hearing her out?”

Anders coughs and clears his throat. “Produce an old woman and I might,” he jokes weakly. She only arches a brow and he hurries to nod. “Yes, I’ll… I’ll hear your bargain.”

It might be a foolish agreement, but even sheltered Circle mages, raised far from the wilds of anywhere, know better than to trifle with the legendary Witch of the Wilds.

“Smart lad,” she says drily. “You’re dying. You know that, don’t you?” Flemeth comes closer, crouching once more to put them roughly face to face. “A run-in with some backwoods mage-hunter. Not even a real Templar. What a shame.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing,” he mutters. “She… I don’t think she knew what she was doing, and I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“But you did.”

“Yes,” he whispers. “To survive.”

Flemeth’s gaze goes curious. “You’ll do a lot to survive,” she observes, as if discussing the weather. “You and your passenger. But you didn’t heal yourself. Couldn’t. I can fix that, of course.”

His body still burns from the mage-hunter’s weapons, concentrated magebane and poison alike coating her blades and arrows. For as prepared as she was, she was sloppy. Anders’ hand rises to the arrowhead that still lies burrowed in his rib cage.

He closes his eyes. Her body rests somewhere in the forest, somewhere between her small town and here—wherever here is. He can’t quite remember, but it won’t be important for much longer.

“Magebane.”

She hums. “Tricky thing, that.”

“You said you had a bargain. If it’s something you want from me before I die, you might want to hurry.” His tongue is reckless, dropping words faster than his mind can weigh them for danger. “If it’s my heart you’re after, you’ll have to be disappointed; I’ve already promised that to another.”

Flemeth barks out a laugh, the sound jarring as it is melodious. “The pretty bird in the City of Chains. They’ve made it their own personal cage, haven’t they? Not that you didn’t help in that regard.” She chuckles again and he can hear the smirk in her voice. Her hand brushes his pauldron-clad shoulder. “Tell me, feather mage, would you do it again, if you could go back and change your little plans? Or would you fly away?”

Hawke? Would he…? Anders frowns. No, that’s not what she is asking. Justice swells at the edges of his mind, steadying the shake in his hands amid visions of blood-red light.

“Again. And again, and again after that.”

He opens his eyes and sees the Fade ripple and dance around them both.

“Good,” Flemeth says, voice terrible and echoing and vast, and the Fade swallows her whole, revealing only her glowing eyes and reaching hand.

A scream tears from his throat. Every mote of his being burns, unfamiliar magic forcing its way into his blood, pounding like a drum in time with his heart. His skin feels too small, too fragile, for the way she rips into his ribs with her talon-like nails.

An eternity later she rocks back from him and he slumps, breathless and half-dead against the woman who props him up. Flemeth examines the remains of the poisoned arrow with polite curiosity before incinerating it in her hand.

“Such a trifling thing, isn’t it?” she asks. “Bodies. So fragile, so restrictive.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Anders garbles out. The lava fades from his flesh and he can feel the weak ebbing of mana once more, comforting and cool in his veins. He bats his hand weakly at the flask but it’s pressed to his lips once more. This time he’s able to keep himself from drowning on dry land, so it’s a small measure of progress.

The water is soon pulled away and he smacks his lips once, twice, relishing the feeling, before turning his wary eyes to Flemeth. “You said you had a bargain,” he said carefully, “and I’m assuming you just held up your end of it.”

She laughs again. “What a smart lad you are. I think I might like you.”

Knickerweasels.

“I have something I need you to deliver for me. Ah, what is it about you Fereldans making such good couriers?”

She manifests a length of finely wrought chain from… somewhere, and Anders isn’t sure he wants to investigate how. A nail scrapes along her palm to strike a shallow cut, blood welling at an alarming rate for how minor the wound is. She blows on her hand and it solidifies; a glancing touch with the chain and it becomes a pendant, a bloody ruby hanging freely.

“Another necklace,” he says glibly as she places it over his head, speaking again before he can catch himself. “Do I need to find more Dalish elves?”

“Just one,” she answers. “A Senior Enchanter in Cumberland. You’ll find him and deliver it for me, won’t you? Do an old woman this small favor?”

Cumberland. Where in the Void was he? He retraces his steps mentally, almost two months on his own. He had been going… north, then east. He thinks. He isn’t sure. “Where am I now?” Anders asks with hesitation.

“Good question,” she muses. “Where are you?”

With that Flemeth stands, brushing imaginary dirt off her armor. The woman beneath him, so still and complacent to her mother’s demands, shifts and helps him sit up fully. Anders watches as they step away—oh, he’s in a small clearing. When did he get here?

He raises his hands to his eyes against the brilliant flare of light that sweeps over him and in a breath, they are gone, a giant high dragon taking wing with what can only be described as an amused roar.

Anders surveys the clearing tiredly. He barely manages to set the barest of wards before he falls unconscious once more, one arm curled protectively over his ribcage and the other clutching at the amulet.

==

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The Unsolved Mysteries Of Dragon Age!

{Video} https://youtu.be/tg_02ef9hKE Hey guys, Jackdaw here!

Today I'm immersing ourselves into the unsolved mysteries of Dragon Age so far, I'll be leaving no stone unturned plunging into some of Thedas' enraptured enigma's that've still remained unanswered since the end of Inquisition.

First up, let's talk about mysteries concerning the Religions of Thedas:

The Maker

Who or what is the Maker, this creator of all things, a question up for debate, some yearn for the answers of this enigmatic entity, others in Thedas care-less. As a seeker of the truth, I don't believe it's a case of who or what, but how, if Solas created the veil, then how does this Maker exist? What's their place in this world? What does this mean for the chant of light? How is there a Maker if elements of this holy book don't prove to be true? What is true? The existence of the Maker is one of the first, original mysteries in Dragon Age, it's not the idea of a God, it's these elements in the plot that the Maker seemingly influences, like the creation of the veil and the foreshadowing of a second coming. The Maker's influence is ripe throughout Thedas, yet still one of the largest unknown myths in this world, will we ever know the truth?

Andraste and her descendants?

Who was Andraste, more appro-pro what was she, such folly around her existence, her ashes had the power to heal a man back from the brink of death, she merely must be more powerful than an average woman if her ashes have this capability. Did she really ascend to Godhood after she died? Or could she have instead entered Uthenera, the elves endless resting practice, translated as immortal? Concerning her descendants, what's the case with her bloodline, could such a powerful bloodline still wander amongst us and unbenounced to us in Thedas today?

The return of the Elven Pantheon

The Elven Gods once ruled over Thedas as their supreme home, a place which flourished with all types of magic, such curiosities like the gift of immortality were considered the norm in ancient elvhen. But that time has since gone, the Dread Wolf locked away each of the Elven Gods, these powerful elven mages with such unique and magical qualities, each designated with a given task over the elven kingdom. Seemingly the Pantheon betrayed their queen as their hunger for power rivalled Mythal, whatever you believe happened, it's the truth is unknown, each Elven God was banished, the Dread Wolf's grief for his queen had destroyed him, he locked his kinsman away behind the creation of the veil, a barrier that stopped the flow of raw magic, this crushed the elven kingdom into a respite, the pillars of this primal empire crumbled, and little remains to this day. Rumours of the lingering Elven God's live on today, could they be living in the Fade, are they hiding from the Dread Wolf, could they be hiding in Thedas as we know today? All that is known is, each of these God's was banished away, not complete bloodshed, could they still be hiding out there, if the veil were to be destroyed, would that unleash these Elven Gods? Such a mystery remain unknown.

The Old Gods of Tevinter

Concerning Tevinter's religion of the ancient, the seven dragons of the Imperium, two of these Old Gods remain shackled, still in a slumber, locked in the Fade until touched by the taint. Both Razikel and Lusican, not only does this mean that two blights are still in store for Thedas, but we don't rightly know the story behind these Old Gods, did the Maker really lock them away, if not the Maker then who? Do they relate to something else, and if so, what? In any event, Tevinter would be the place to uncover the mysteries concerning the truth of the Old God religion.

Next up, antagonistic mysteries:

The Executors

The mysterious representatives who speak "on behalf of powers across the sea", presumably entities from beyond the Amaranthine and Boeric Oceans. They're believed to be organized and maintain a number of agents and resources across Thedas, their motivations are unknown. A potential one world order? Entities once created by an Elven God? An army manipulated by a submerged Titan? One can only fathom concepts of what these Executors are, Maker knows what they do on behalf of a higher up. There's only one thing we can guarantee about this order, they've made their presence known to the people of Thedas, and believe-you-me, they expect to return one day in grand scale.

The Seven Magisters

The Magister Sidereal, sickened, prideful, righteous and now blighted, these Magisters of old Tevinter worshipped the Archdemons as idols. It's common knowledge that each of the seven mages was turned into the vilest of creatures known as darkspawn, forever tied to the blight, they have the capacity to control darkspawn and live as immortal's through the very taint that binds them. The Conductor of Silence schemed to enter the Fade and become a God, to some element he got what he wished for when the Inquisitor sent him into the Fade, whether he's dead for good, that remains to be seen, however, the other six still yet lurk across the shadiest parts of Thedas, scattered throughout the world. One day hoping to seek out and speak to their chosen Gods, they'll be greeted with nothing but shame when they hear absolute silence. They're out there somewhere, Maker only knows if they're as twisted and redundant as Corypheus.

Solas & Mythal

The Dread Wolf & The Mother of Vengeance are the two remaining sentient Elven Gods in the Dragon Age as of 9:44, questions linger on the mysteries of Mythal's betrayal during the ancient elven times, when they ruled all of Thedas as supreme mages, with the capabilities of immortality. With the all unknowns surrounding Mythal's death, it's hard to believe that this woman was merely killed by her kinsman for her now to be scheming against Thedas with the only other member of the Pantheon who was sympathetic to Mythal, such coincidence that the remaining Pantheon are now locked away and Solas and this Elven queen are once more planning something revolutionary for Thedas. One must wonder if these two have always shared such antagonist aligences, now that the other Elven Gods are out of the picture? In any case, they intend of splitting the veil, bringing the old magicks back and tearing Thedas asunder, for what gains you ask? Speculation aside, their motivations are rather unknown. To bring a lost world back, to restore an ancient kingdom, to re-establish such a powerful foundation of magic, to kill the remaining pantheon? whatever the aim may be, it'd truly destroy the Thedas we know today.

The Titans

These 'Pilar's of the Earth' are sworn to be the very shapers of this world, with their trembles, they moulded Thedas into existence. The only true thing we know about these Titans is that they produce a raw material that the people of Thedas have harnessed for the ebb and flow of magic, this lyrium is said to be the skin and bones of these shapers, mining this lyrium has caused countless wars in the elvhen times, until one day, just before the veil's creation, the Titan's completely vanished, like a candle in the wind, they were snubbed out. Whether the elves were to blame or not, like most things that remains unknown, however rumor what have us believe that the Titans yet remain, the raw material that once strengthened and helped the flow of magic has become corrupt, tainted red, tormenting the users of this red lyrium, the trembles that accordingly forged Thedas into existence have reawakened since the Dragon Age, reshaping Thedas for the Titans once more, to say that these Titans were the shapers of the world is a stretch, however to claim their existence to be futile is ridicule, they're out there and there waking up, either deep underground, or Thedas itself, the Titan's seek a reckoning and they may just have it.

Mysteries concerning the characters of Dragon Age:

Leliana

Concerning our most resourceful spymaster, the once sister of the Chantry has an acclaimed bound to the Titans, one instance reveals that Leliana once was killed in her sisterhood life, during her time as a spymaster, she left Skyhold after the Exalted Council to disappear into thin air, never again to be seen or heard. Such mysteries cultivate of our lady being a lyrium ghost, could such an apparition exist? Does lyrium have the potential to raise people from the dead, or are the Titan's the true shapers of Thedas? What does this mean for our spymaster now, was she created with a purpose and now that elements of that've been completed, has she since been reduced to an eternal slumber? Or is she at peace by the Maker's side like she used to dream of, in any case, can lyrium be used to raise the dead from their sleep?  

Sandal Feddic

Shah-brytol, bastard, elven-blooded noble or even Titan born, Sandal Feddic is a dwarf of a few words, however it's clear when he speaks with more than one word, he has the gift of prophecy, the words he's spoken have proved to shape the tide of Solas and his scheme to destroy the veil, how can one, young, folly dwarf know the future of such a time to come. Not only does he have the gift of prophecy, but his immersive skills with lyriun have proved Sandel to be quite the competent killer, does his half-elven blood grant him the power of terrifying magics, or could this boy really be born of a Titan, whatever the truth is, we should keep an eye out on Feddic, he could be more dangerous than we expect.    

Morrigan & Kieran

The so-called 'inheritor of the next age' and her most powerful son, a boy fathered by one of the Grey Warden's who helped end the fifth blight. Either born with the soul of an old god or just estranged from this land, Kieran speaks prophecy too, his mother is the so-called inheritor. Perhaps he simply means she'll help with the coming battles, or he could be foreshadowing a darker side to Morrigan's story, Flemeth has intended on passing her Godhood onto her daughter, could this be the case for Morrigan, could she be destined to be the next vessel of Mythal? Is this prophecy, whether she likes it or not? Will Morrigan's eagerness to fleet from her mother come to an abrupt end?

Valta

Concerning the Titan's once more, when the first trembling occurred in the Dragon Age, a small team guided by the Inquisition checked out the source of these quakes. A nimble dwarf by the name of Valta joined that journey and by the end of it, she was struck by a Titan's heart with pure, raw lyrium that should've killed her, but instead gave her unbenounced powers. Whatever she's capable of, she's culpable to the Titans, and will aid them. The questions that linger are, what sort of power does she know posses and what does this mean for the Titan's and dwarves connection, can dwarves possess magic with the aid of Titans? It's all quite intriguing.

And finally, pure curiosity & foreshadowing:

Qunari

Is it really true when they say that Elves and Qunari are related by ancestors, that the breeders of the Qunari people decided to mix with dragons, creating the race of Kossith that we know on Thedas today? Are the Qunari bound by blood to both the Elven people and dragons? By mixing blood of the two, is the Kossith race some sort of experiment, have the Elven people created their own warriors, that over time have overruled the elves, are the Kossith even aware of their origin? More abruptly, questions linger on ties to the blight, moreover the idea of Kossith being immune to it, the idea that no Kossith could be a Grey Warden, perhaps dragon blood is the cure to the blight which would mean that the Kossith could help save the blight by sheer blood participation with the other races of Thedas. Who can say if they'd even decide to help the people, with ongoing wars against Tevinter and the spread of the Qun.    

The Blight

The origin of the blight is rather unknown, folk talk about the Maker descending it onto his creations as a plague, for punishment of their excessive pride. Others speak on red lyrim and the blight being created as a defence mechanism by the Titans to stop the elves from mining their bodies for the resource. And there are even those who simply relate it to the Old Gods just wrecking havoc on Thedas, the truth on this plaque lurks, even if one were to kill the two remaining Old Gods, the blight would still continue. So who can say where this taint started?

Dreamers

Rumours linger from the upper echelons of Tevinter society that mages, high up in the magisterium have the capability to solely enter the Fade physically, these dreamers are said to be hiding within the ranks of the Imperium, never revealing the power from which lurks within themselves, for fear of what it could mean. This hubris once destroyed the very heavens, to even speak or have the capacity of repeating those actions means death in Tevinter, and so they hide, never to be discovered with this power.

Griffons

Such a mystery are these beasts of legend, Grey Warden's once perished their enemies in battle mounted on a fabled Griffon, these beautiful, voluptuous birds choose their rides, and even mourned when such a rider would die in battle, Griffons are sensitive, phenomenal creatures and rumour has it, that they're not so extinct as one might think. In 9:42, thirteen Griffion eggs were found in the Anderfels, just across from the Grey Warden's HQ, Fort Weisshaupt. Nothing but hushed whispers comes from the fort as it's gone silent ever since the Warden's of Orlais were bound to the calling. If the Warden's are keeping these Griffons a secret, they could prove to be to of significant value the right person. Changing the tide of battle ever so greatly, however, these are only whispers of what's going on with the Grey Wardens, just know that Griffons are not so extinct after all.

The Veil

The final enigma surrounds the veil, the Dread Wolf has made it his scheme to split the veil, crumbling Thedas and restoring his kingdom, however, how could such a megalomaniac fulfil such a deed? His original intention was using the orb of destruction, with that destroyed, a question lingers on how would the God destroy the veil? Even so, what would happen when he did, would the world simply be brought to ashes, or with the Fade and Thedas together once more, with magic restored, could aspects of Thedas still be saved? What mysteries and secrets we'd uncover if Thedas and the Fade were made whole, such would be uncovered relating to these fabled myths like the Maker, Titans, Old Gods, Elven Pantheon, etc. It'd mean answers, but complete desolation for Thedas, only time will tell if prophecy remains to be true and if this Dreadful God will actually destroy the world. https://youtu.be/tg_02ef9hKE